Meeting Corey
I never imagined I’d be married to a guy like Corey... the love of my life. He’s tall, tan, thirty-six, finance director with thick forearms and strong arms that stretch the sleeves of every shirt he owns. He’s got those clean, classic finance-bro good looks; square jaw, warm brown eyes, and a confident smirk that says I know exactly what I’m doing. When he works out at the gym, guys glance. Girls stare. I know because I’ve watched them.
Even under a suit, you can tell Corey works out. Not in a bodybuilder way; he’s lean, sculpted, with firm pecs, a faint six-pack, and that low, tight waist that makes every pair of pants sit just right. But it’s not just his abs that get attention. It's... the bulge. It has a reputation of its own. Every time he walks by in gym shorts or slacks, people notice. And so did I.
And then there's me...Liam. Thirty-three, an attorney, white male, kind of serious, kind of shy. My coworkers call me “the spreadsheet twink” behind my back because I’m meticulous, organized, always in loafers. I’ve got brown hair, a boyish face that makes people think I’m younger than I am, and a big, jiggly ass that Corey noticed from the first moment we met.
We met grabbing coffee. I was running late for court, juggling two files and a phone call, and he was ahead of me in line. I spilled my entire latte down my slacks. He handed me napkins and said, “You’ve got a great jiggly bubble butt. Hate to see a big ass like yours ruined by caramel drizzle.” I blinked. Flushed. Somehow, I still gave him my number.
On our first date, I told him, flat out, “I’m not looking for a quickie. I’m saving myself for the right guy.” He just smiled and said, “Good. I’m looking for someone to wake up next to for the rest of my life.”
And now... here we are. Three years later. Married.
I’m standing in our honeymoon suite: five-star resort, ocean view, champagne chilling in a bucket and I’m still trying to catch my breath. There are rose petals on the bed, soft jazz playing, and Corey, my husband, is slipping off his suit jacket and walking toward me like a slow, confident storm.
We never had sex while we were dating. Not once. Not even oral. We kissed, made out, held each other at night, but I made it clear from day one: I was saving myself for marriage. For someone who’d wait. And he did. He never pressured. Never guilted. He kissed my forehead and said, “I can wait, Counselor. I’m not going anywhere.”
I sit at the edge of the bed, heart pounding. Corey turns to face me, already undoing his blazer.
“Hi,” I say softly.
He smiles. “Hi, husband.”
I laugh nervously. “So... we’re married. Which means...”
“No more waiting,” he finishes, stepping closer towards me.
My breath catches. “Yeah. No more waiting. I’m ready.”
He cups my face in his hands and kisses me slowly. One of those kisses that makes you feel like time stops. Then his hands slide down, gentle and sure, caressing the sides of my waist, grazing the curve of my hips.
“My baby,” he murmurs. “My Liam. My smart-ass lawyer with the ass of a pornstar.
I’m gonna take good care of you tonight.”
I shiver. “Why do you look so calm?”
“Why do you look so nervous?” he counters, grinning.
I glance down, then quickly back up. My face is already hot. “I’m just... a little scared.”
His expression softens. “Of what, my love?”
I hesitate. My eyes flick toward the obvious bulge in his slacks again, straining against the zipper. “Of...you know... that.”
He chuckles. “My cock?”
I nod sheepishly. “Yeah. I mean... I’ve never seen you nak-ed, but I’m pretty sure you’re really big.”
“Oh yeah?” he teases, stepping a little closer.
“It’s not just me,” I add quickly. “When you’re doing hip thrusts or bench press at the gym? Guys. Girls. Everyone stares. That bulge. The imprint in your shorts or tight gym leggings. I’ve literally watched people stop mid-rep to check you out. You’ve got, like... a reputation.”
His grin widens. “So you’ve been paying attention to my bulge, Counselor?”
“I’ve been trying not to,” I say, flustered. “But it’s kind of impossible. You wear those tight compression workout gear and fuck...everything is just... there.”
Corey laughs softly, that deep rumble that always makes my chest flutter. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll ease you into it. Nice and slow.”
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “Promise?”
He leans down, presses a kiss to my forehead. “I promise. I’m yours now, remember? Every part of me. And I’ve been saving it just for you.”
Corey steps back slightly and smirks. “Let me ease your fears, Liam.”
He kicks off his shoes, one at a time, with the kind of casual confidence that makes my chest ache. His hands go to the buttons of his shirt, working from top to bottom, slow and unhurried. Each click of a button undone feels like thunder in my ears.
My eyes never leave him.
The shirt slips off his shoulders and down his arms like it’s being peeled from marble. Underneath, his chest is tan and lightly dusted with dark hair; not too much, just enough to make him look grown, masculine, real. His pecs are thick and sculpted, each one moving slightly as he breathes, and his nipples are pink and firm, peeking through the light hair on his chest.
Below that, his abs flex with each movement. Not a bodybuilder six-pack... something leaner, tighter. Like he was carved by someone who knew exactly what they were doing. Every muscle flows into the next. Obliques like ribbons. A faint happy trail leading down, vanishing into the waistband of his slacks.
My mouth goes dry. I don’t even realize I’m whispering until I hear myself say it: “Fuck. My husband... you’re—uh...”
He looks at me, amused, shirt hanging from one hand. “Yeah?”
“You’re beautiful,” I blurt. “Like, really beautiful Corey”
His smile softens. Not cocky now... just warm. Like he’s been waiting to hear that.
“Thank you, baby,” he says, stepping closer.
He undoes his belt next, teasingly slow, eyes never leaving mine. The soft jingle of the buckle makes my skin prickle. He slides the belt free from the loops with that confident, practiced ease - like he’s undressing for me and only me. It drops to the floor with a heavy, quiet thud. I flinch like I’ve just been told a secret.
Then Corey brings both hands to the front of his pants, fingers moving with delicious slowness. The button pops open. The zipper glides down with a low, steady zzzzip. He parts the waistband of his pants with a quiet sigh, and it starts to fall. Just a few inches at first, catching on his hips like even his pants don’t want to let go of him.
That’s when I see it. The bulge. Corey's big fat bulge. I mean, I’ve seen it before. In gym shorts. Through slacks. Pressed up against the front of his jeans. But this is different. This is up close. Corey is standing just a few feet from me, and his cock is packed into the tightest pair of black trunks I’ve ever seen and it’s straining. Full. Heavy.
The front of the underwear curves outward like he’s got a rolled-up sock shoved down there. Except it’s not a sock. It’s him. His fucking cock. And even soft, it’s so fat that the cotton fabric is pulled taut around it, leaving nothing to the imagination.
The outline of the head is thick and defined. I can see the curve of the shaft, the vein snaking up the left side, and the wide base anchoring it all. His balls are clearly visible too, full and low and massive, one hanging slightly lower than the other, like some kind of physics-defying display of potency.
My mouth goes dry. I’m sitting on the bed but I feel like I’m falling.
“Holy fuck,” I breathe.
The bulge twitches, like it heard me.
Corey smirks. “You okay, Counselor?”
I blink slowly, heat rising in my face. “I... Jesus, Corey.”
He chuckles, stepping closer. “You like it?”
I nod without thinking.
“You scared of it?”
My nod is even slower.
He hums, pleased. “I figured you’d be curious,” he says, running his hand down over the front of the bulge. He palms it lazily, squeezing a little, showing off the heft.
The way the fabric gives under his grip makes me dizzy.
“You always wear those compression shorts at the gym,” I say hoarsely. “The whole world can see this thing bouncing around.”
“I like when you watch,” he says, fingers now toying with the waistband. “You think I do those hip thrusts for fun?”
“Fuck,” I whisper.
He laughs. “Wanna see more?”
My brain short-circuits. “Yes.”
He hooks his thumbs into the waistband, but doesn’t pull yet. “You sure, baby?”
I nod quickly. “Yes. Please.”
Then, slow as hell, he starts to peel the trunks down. First the waistband lowers. Then the top curve of the bulge is free, his cock pushing forward as if it’s desperate for air. Inch by inch, the cotton rolls lower, revealing skin: warm, tan, and dusted with soft hair that leads down to a base thicker than my wrist. The shaft spills out like a secret, still half-soft but already growing. The weight of it makes it swing forward a little as it’s freed.
And then... slap.... the whole cock flops out. Long, thick, heavy. It hangs there, big and gorgeous, the head flushed a soft pink, the crown already glistening slightly with the start of arousal.
His balls hang low and full, the skin tight and warm-looking, like two heavy eggs cradled beneath the thick trunk of his cock.
I don’t even realize I’m biting my lip until he steps closer, the head of his dick just inches from my face.
“Say hi to your husband’s cock,” Corey grins. “It’s been waiting three years to meet you.”
“Hi Monster Cock,” I mutter.
DanXWrites: If you’re enjoyed this story, I share a lot more erotica on Patreon including future chapters of this story posted on there. Feel free to check it out.
