The Contest

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Author’s note: this story won’t float everyone’s boat. No story ever does. If you like the idea of a loving wife having a chance encounter and giving herself to multiple men this story might just be for you. If it’s not, walk on by. There will be plenty of other stuff to keep you entertained.

In it our hero Milly isn’t looking for trouble on her best friend’s hen night — but when she’s asked to judge a contest between three massive, eager men, she discovers that size really does matter.

What begins as a filthy little game soon spirals into something much hotter, dirtier, and more reckless than Milly could ever have imagined.

———————————————–

“One more round of shooters, then on to the club!” Milly shouted over the noise.

A chorus of cheers answered her.

It had already been a long afternoon — and an even longer evening — but the party wasn’t slowing down. If anything, it was only just getting started.

After all, how often did you get to be maid of honour for your best friend? Two weeks out from the wedding, here they were: a dozen women in their late thirties and early forties, letting loose in a city far from home.

Milly had hired a minibus and driver to get them there. The first bottle of Prosecco had been popped before they’d even pulled off her drive, and the bubbles had flowed freely ever since. Now, cocktails and shooters were disappearing just as quickly.

She grabbed £50 from the communal float and made her way to the bar, heels clicking against the polished floor. She didn’t mind playing drinks runner. It gave her an excuse to flirt with the young barman who’d been eyeing her all night.

Probably young enough to be her son.

She didn’t care.

Milly knew exactly what she looked like — and she knew the effect she had.

Early forties, five-seven without heels, an athletic frame that still turned heads without trying. Her breasts — a perfect, perky 34C — still sat high and firm on her chest, begging for attention in anything tight. Her legs were long and toned from years of gym sessions she half-pretended to hate.

Shoulder-length fair hair framed her face, softening the sharp, feline green of her eyes. Tonight, smoky makeup made them even more dangerous — the kind of look that made younger men lose their nerve halfway through a sentence.

People often called her a MILF — and Milly enjoyed the label more than she admitted.

She liked the idea of being the kind of woman who haunted some cocky young lad’s fantasies, the kind he thought about later, hand tight around his cock, moaning her name into the dark.

Yeah, she liked that thought a lot.

She smiled inwardly as she felt the hungry glances that followed her. The outfit had definitely hit the mark.

A tiny black leather skirt, gleaming under the lights, hugged her hips. Zips and buckles traced the curves of her thighs. Her top — a flimsy white scrap of material — barely contained the shocking pink push-up bra underneath, and the way her firm tits strained against it was frankly obscene. Expensive black patent knee-high boots with killer stiletto heels completed the look.

Tonight’s dress code for the hen do had been simple: slutty.

No angel wings. No sashes. No cheesy crap.

Just unapologetic, fuck-me energy — and they’d all nailed it.

The first ‘game’ of the night had been an inspired invention: who could get off the most men before midnight. You kept your own count. Milly was currently at ten — respectable — but still trailing behind the bride-to-be Daniella, who was sitting pretty at eighteen.

Milly glanced at the clock. Nearly eleven.

Still almost an hour to add to her tally.

Maybe the hot young barman would help her close the gap.

She squeezed past a couple of middle-aged blokes at the bar, feeling their eyes travel hungrily over her body. She smiled to herself. Still got it, she thought.

The barman spotted her and practically jogged over.

“What can I get you, gorgeous?” he asked, with the confident smile of a man who knew exactly how good-looking he was.

One of the men next to Milly huffed loudly.

“I was here first,” he muttered. “Just ’cause I ain’t got tits.”

“Sorry, pal,” the barman replied breezily. “Be with you in a sec.”

Milly shot the man a quick wink before turning back to the barman, letting her cleavage do some heavy lifting.

“Twelve Slippery Nipples, please,” she said sweetly.

She thought she saw the slightest blush creep up the young man’s neck as he turned to make the drinks.

Good, she thought.

Maybe he’d be thinking about this moment later, with his cock in his hand.

When he returned, setting the drinks down with a flourish, Milly handed over the notes. She leaned across the bar, pressing her tits together to deepen the valley of cleavage, and brushed a kiss against his lips — soft, fleeting, just the tip of her tongue teasing the edge.

Then she turned, tray in hand, and strutted back to her friends.

The kiss probably wouldn’t count towards escort bayan şişli her tally — but the memory was delicious all the same.

She almost laughed as she pictured the poor lad fumbling himself raw in the staff toilets.

At the table, her friends were already standing and dancing, shrieking with delight as Milly handed out the shooters.

Another of the girls shouted that it was time to head to the club if they wanted a proper dance. That seemed to be the consensus.

“Three, two, one…” they chorused — and then slammed the shooters back.

Milly felt the warmth spread down her throat, sweet and fiery. She gathered her bag, along with the others, and they spilled out into the cool night air.

She was about to cross the street towards the club when she glanced at her phone.

The screen lit up immediately.

Several missed calls.

“Shit,” she muttered. Her mum.

For a moment, a cold worm of panic slid down her spine.

“Girls, I’ll be over in a minute,” she said, nodding at the nightclub across the road. “Just need to make a quick call.”

“Don’t be long!” someone shouted — but they were already halfway across the street, laughing and shivering in the cold.

***

Everything was fine.

Of course it was.

It always was.

Still, Milly was glad she’d checked. There was something sobering about those flashes of fear that snapped you out of a drunken haze — if only for a minute.

Now, with the adrenaline fading, she felt the warm buzz of alcohol again and smiled to herself.

Time to dial the night back up.

Milly adjusted her skirt, tucked her phone into her clutch, and sauntered across the road towards the club.

The neon sign above the entrance pulsed against the night: Alley Cats.

Strobe lights danced on the wet pavement, and the heavy thump of bass music thudded against her chest as she approached.

There was no sign of the other hens, but several large groups of young men loitered outside, smoking, laughing, and sizing up everyone who walked past. They must have been early twenties, Milly guessed. Maybe younger.

As she passed between them, their conversations stuttered. She caught a few low whistles, a muttered “fuck me,” and more than one pair of eyes tracking her arse.

She smiled inwardly.

Still got it, she thought again.

The short flight of steps led into a small lobby, the floor sticky under her heels.

It was a throwback — everything about the place screamed late ’90s nostalgia: red walls, low lighting, the distant smell of stale beer and cheap perfume.

At the back of the lobby was a cash desk where you paid entry, guarded by two thickset doormen. Beside them hung a heavy pair of red velvet curtains, drawn closed, muffling the chaos beyond.

Milly joined the short queue behind two young men arguing with the doormen. She caught the tail end of their conversation, voices raised to compete with the muffled thud of music.

“Come on, mate,” one of the lads pleaded. “We’ve come a long way for this. We’re not gonna cause any trouble.”

The younger of the two bouncers — big, bald, and surprisingly relaxed — pointed to a sign on the wall.

“Entrance of large single-sex groups is at management’s discretion.”

“No way,” the bouncer said. “Close to thirty lads from two rival rugby teams? Not a chance. Find another place.”

“But we’re not rivals!” the second lad protested. “We’re playing in the same tournament. There’s no beef between us.”

The older doorman — broader, bearded, with the kind of build that suggested he could snap most people like twigs — let out a low chuckle.

“I don’t give a fuck,” he said cheerfully. “Seen it too many times. It all starts fine… then someone gets a bit Billy Big Dick, and next thing you know it’s fists flying and pint glasses smashing.”

He grinned wolfishly.

“And trust me — I’ve got the biggest dick here. No one’s out-swinging me tonight.”

Milly couldn’t help smirking.

Charming, she thought.

Still, the two young men looked deflated. One of them half-turned, ready to admit defeat to their mates waiting outside — but the other caught his arm, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Wait,” he said. “Got an idea.”

He turned back to the doormen, speaking louder now.

“You reckon you’ve got the biggest cock here?”

The older bouncer snorted. “Fact, mate. Not opinion.”

“Alright then,” the lad said, grinning. “Let’s settle it. A little competition. You pick yourself — and we each pick the lad from our team with the biggest dick. Quick check. If either of our boys beats you, we get in.”

The doormen burst out laughing.

“You’re fucking kidding,” the bald one said.

“Nope,” the lad said, grinning even wider. “Come on. Where’s your balls, big man?”

The bearded bouncer — the one who’d claimed the title — leaned in, smiling like a man already sure of victory.

“You’re on,” he said. “But when you lose, you fuck off quietly. Deal?”

“Deal.”

The lad turned mecidiyeköy escort and scanned the lobby — and his gaze landed on Milly.

“You!” he said, pointing at her. “Miss — would you help us out?”

Milly blinked.

Was he serious?

“We need a neutral judge,” he explained, still smiling. “Just a quick visual. Choose who’s biggest. That’s it.”

Milly hesitated.

Every instinct told her to laugh it off, make an excuse, rejoin her friends.

This was ridiculous. Probably a bad idea.

And yet…

The alcohol warmed her blood.

The outrageousness of it all sent a little electric thrill down her spine.

What a story this would make for the hens.

She cocked her head, considering.

“What exactly would I have to do?” she asked, voice amused but steady.

“Just look,” the lad said. “That’s all. Unless…”

He winked.

“Unless you fancy giving them a little encouragement if they get shy.”

The bouncer barked a laugh.

Milly bit her lip.

Dangerous. Stupid.

…Delicious.

“Alright,” she said finally. “But quick. I’ve got friends waiting.”

The lad whooped and turned to his mate.

“You get your boy. I’ll get mine. Meet back here in five.”

Milly watched as they darted off towards their separate groups outside. She saw heads turning, some laughter, a few incredulous stares.

This was going to be something.

***

A few minutes later, the lads returned, each dragging along a chosen champion.

The first was a lean, bronzed guy with floppy blonde hair. He had an athletic build and a bashful smile — though Milly caught the glint of arrogance beneath it.

The second was taller — much taller — easily six-five, with smooth brown skin and arms like carved stone.

Milly couldn’t help but notice. Fuck, he’s gorgeous, she thought.

“This is Chris,” said the first captain proudly, nodding to the blonde haired guy. “Absolute monster. A thing of beauty.”

“And this,” said the second captain, thumbing towards the taller, darker man, “is Max. If anyone’s bigger than him, fair fucks to ’em.”

The bearded bouncer — Dave, Milly caught his name from the muttered conversation — just grinned.

“Alright,” he said. “Showtime.”

Dave led the way, shouldering through a side door behind the cash desk.

Milly followed, heels clicking across the worn floor.

They entered a small, dimly lit office. Black-painted walls. Low, warm filament bulbs casting a heavy golden glow. A freestanding desk in one corner, a couple of leather armchairs, and a low red sofa that had seen better days.

Stylised photos of beautiful young dancers lined the walls, the glamour of the images clashing with the seediness of the room itself.

Dave closed the door behind them with a solid thud.

Milly felt a flicker of nerves.

What the fuck was she doing?

And yet… the thrill pulsed under her skin.

The kind of reckless, lust-fuelled excitement she hadn’t felt for a while.

“Right,” Dave said, turning to face them. “Simple rules. You lot get your cocks out, and Milly here –“

he gave her a sideways grin —

“decides who’s biggest. Straight judgment.”

The three men nodded, smirking.

Milly stepped forward, lifting her chin. “Hang on,” she said. “What counts as biggest? Longest? Thickest? Or both?”

Max — the tall, gorgeous one — flashed her a slow smile.

“I don’t reckon it’ll matter,” he said, voice low.

Dave shrugged. “Your call, sweetheart. Judge however you like. You’re the expert tonight.”

Milly fought a laugh. She loved the way the control shifted — subtly — into her hands.

And god, she was going to enjoy it.

“Fine,” she said. “Length and girth both matter. No good being long if you’re skinny like a pencil. No good being thick if you’re the size of my pinky. Agreed?”

No one disagreed.

“Good,” Milly purred, stepping toward them. “Jeans undone. I’ll take it from there.”

The three men stood shoulder to shoulder. Milly circled them slowly, the soft clack of her booted heels the only sound in the room. Her short leather skirt rode high on her thighs. She could feel their eyes on her as she moved.

She started with Chris — the athletic, cocky one.

He’d already popped his top button, and Milly leaned in, smiling up at him, fingers working the rest of his fly open. She slid his jeans down to his knees, revealing white boxers stretched tight across a promising bulge.

She exhaled softly.

Reaching out, she brushed her fingers lightly over the outline beneath the fabric. Chris shifted slightly, his cock already thickening under her touch.

Teasingly, Milly hooked her thumbs under the waistband and peeled the shorts down.

Chris’s cock flopped free — thick even while still soft, with a heavy, meaty weight to it. Circumcised, the broad head was pierced by a gleaming silver ring just beneath the frenulum.

Milly licked her lips involuntarily.

Fuck. That’s fat, she thought.

She bayan escort mecidiyeköy couldn’t help running a finger lightly along the shaft, feeling the heft of it even before he was fully hard.

“Very nice,” she murmured, letting her fingers trail away before moving to Max.

Max had already parted his jeans wide, and Milly saw the tenting in his grey boxers. He was clearly halfway there already.

She crouched in front of him, tugging his boxers down in one slow movement.

His cock sprang up — thick at the base, long enough that it curved toward his hip. The skin was darker than the rest of him, veined and already angry-looking with blood.

Milly bit her bottom lip as it bobbed gently in front of her face.

Not quite as thick as Chris, but long — very long.

And judging by the way he stiffened as she brushed a finger along his length, he was going to get even harder.

“Impressive,” she said softly, looking up at him.

Then she turned to Dave.

The bouncer hadn’t even bothered with boxers. His jeans sagged around his hips, and the heavy, swinging weight of his cock was already visible against his thigh.

Milly reached for his fly, sliding the zip down slowly.

As she peeled his jeans lower, his cock fell free — thick, veined, and startlingly big even while still soft.

A monster.

The dark purple head hung heavily forward, framed by the smooth plane of his muscular thighs.

Milly swallowed.

Jesus.

He was still only half-erect, but already, he was longer and thicker than either of the younger men.

And he wasn’t even trying yet.

She stepped back, heels clicking, and looked at the line-up.

Three impressive specimens — but one clearly outclassing the others even at a glance.

“All big boys,” she said lightly, though her throat felt dry.

Time to get a proper look.

Milly motioned Chris forward first.

He stepped closer, cock thickening visibly as she reached out. She wrapped her hand around the base — or tried to. Her fingers barely met around the shaft.

God, the girth.

She began to stroke him slowly, feeling him grow and harden against her palm. His Prince Albert ring shifted slightly as he stiffened.

Chris’s breathing quickened.

By the time he was fully hard, Milly estimated about eight inches of fat, heavy cock — with a girth that made her mouth water.

“Very, very nice,” she said, giving him a little extra squeeze before letting him go.

Next was Max.

He needed no encouragement.

His cock was already stiff, standing proud and arching slightly upwards. Milly slid her hand along his shaft, feeling the veins pulse under her palm. His foreskin rolled back with her touch, revealing the glossy pink head.

Longer than Chris, definitely — nine inches at least — but not quite as thick.

Still, he was beautiful. Big, firm, dripping with testosterone.

Milly looked up at him through her lashes.

“You’re definitely a contender,” she said, voice low.

Finally, she turned to Dave.

She could feel the air change — a charge between them.

Dave didn’t move.

He just watched her, jaw set, cock already thickening without her even touching him.

Milly reached out.

Her hand closed around his shaft — or rather, tried to. He was so wide her fingers couldn’t get close.

As she stroked him, he grew harder, heavier. The skin darkened, the massive head flaring into something obscenely large.

Milly exhaled sharply.

By the time he was fully hard, Dave was a monster — easily ten inches long, thicker than any cock she had ever seen before.

Thick purple veins ran the length of him, and his glistening tip oozed a bead of pre-cum.

Milly stood back, heart hammering.

Her pussy throbbed with need.

There was no doubt: Dave had won. Hands down.

It wasn’t even close.

The two young lads were impressive — seriously impressive — but Dave was something else altogether.

Still… Milly thought wickedly… maybe it wasn’t just about size. Maybe it was about what you could do with it.

And suddenly, she had an idea.

***

Milly stepped back, surveying the three enormous, rock-hard cocks in front of her.

God, it was intoxicating — the raw, primal hunger in the room.

Three men, all massive, all desperate to impress her.

She could feel her pussy throbbing, her panties soaked through.

Touching them hadn’t been enough.

Looking hadn’t been enough.

She wanted more.

She smiled slowly, feeling reckless and giddy with power.

“Look,” she said, her voice low and teasing, “it’s obvious who’s the biggest.”

She let her eyes roam shamelessly over Dave’s monstrous cock. The two younger men followed her gaze — both looking dejected.

“But…” Milly continued, “size isn’t everything, is it?”

Dave smirked. The younger lads perked up, hope flashing across their faces.

“I think we need a bonus round,” she said. “Let’s call it a… performance test.”

Three pairs of eyes fixed on her.

“Each of you,” Milly purred, “gets two minutes to fuck me. If you cum before your time’s up, you’re out. No exceptions. Clear?”

Silence. Then nods.

“And we’ll go in reverse order,” she said. “Smallest first.”

She winked wickedly at Max.

His cock gave an eager twitch.

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