A Huge Problem
Mitch stared at his huge cock. It was the bane of his existence.
Ever since he’d been old enough to get laid, women had run screaming from his monstrous organ. To make things worse, he’d gotten drunk one night and someone had dragged his sorry ass into a tattoo parlor. Written in gothic script, just under his navel, were the words “The Phallus from Dallas”. The worst thing about that being, he lived in Austin. If the woman wasn’t screaming at the size of him, she was rolling on the floor laughing at the tattoo. And the dark didn’t help—the damn words were fluorescent.
If he ever got his hands around the neck of the bozo who’d hauled him into the tattoo parlor he’d… Hell. He’d been so drunk it was possible he’d done it to himself.
That would teach him to go out gambling and drinking. Sure, he’d won the championship. He’d deserved a bit of fun, so he’d gone out and gotten shit-faced drunk. He had a vague recollection of staggering around trying to pick up every gal he saw and being generally obnoxious. He’d acted like a jerk.
But to wake up with the most dreadful hangover of his life and the words “The Phallus from Dallas” written on his lower belly was terrible punishment. After that, he’d never touched another drop of liquor and promised he’d stay away from gambling. He’d sworn that on his knees, and in exchange, he’d prayed for a woman to call his own. Someone to love him and share with him all the joys and sorrows of life. He wanted a wife and a family, something better than just his two hands to warm his cock.
He looked once more at his colossal cock. There had to be someone out there who wouldn’t scream and faint at the sight of it. Someone with a heart to love him, and a body to fit over his—
A nicker brought him back to reality. He reached over the bars of the corral and patted the shiny, red hide of his beautiful mare, Hi Ciarra. “Well, at least I have you,” he told her, but his heart was heavy and he sighed. His daydreams were just that—dreams. He’d better get his mind back to tasks at hand. He had a long week ahead of him, and he had to get his farm in order.
Hannah Hunt from Houston had a horrible headache as she headed her Honda towards the highway. She had a bit of a drive before she reached the Dallas-Fort Worth area and her destination, the Pro Bull Riding Association finals, but she didn’t mind.
It would give her time to dream of that hunk of a man that kept her temperature hotter than the asphalt in the midday heat. She had memorized his face…tanned and lean, his square jaw marked with a sexy cleft, and that smile—lazy and knowing…as if he could be rode all night and put away wet and still come back for more. Hannah’s fantasy and wet dream all rolled up in one.
Hailing from Austin, Mitch Winston was known as “The Phallus from Dallas” because when he’d won the Dallas-Fort Worth PBRA bull riding championship two years running, a rumor had started that he was hung like a Brahma bull. The moniker had stuck, and every woman dreamed of sneaking a peek at the lusciously long cock that reportedly had to be shielded by a special cup for the bull riding event.
Hannah wanted more than a peek. She was obsessed with having Mitch ride her the way he clung to the back of those bulls. Only she wouldn’t try and buck him off… No, siree, she’d lock her legs around Mitch Winston and feel every inch of that dick slide into her till he was wedged as tight as he’d go, and then she’d make him give her more. She’d clench her cunt around him till he creamed inside her, and still she’d milk him until he’d had the ride of his life.
Hannah had seen how the women buzzed around The Phallus as he exited the arena, like honeybees looking to pollinate. There was no doubt Mitch could have his pick of women but his fast and loose attitude wasn’t fooling Hannah one little bit. She was the only woman for Mitch Winston and she’d make him see that!