On any given day, Lynn centered her thoughts on obligations and responsibilities. Maintaining a schedule for the kids. Nap time. Feeding time. Freelance interior decorating. Responsibilities kept her thoughts focused. Responsibilities kept her mind elsewhere. Responsibilities kept her attention off the one thing her brain wanted to concentrate on. The one thing that at this very moment occupied every possible ounce of her mental capacity: cock. Big fat cock. Big fat cock stuffed in her pussy. Big fat thick cock filling her up. Big fat monster cock stretching her quivering insides.

Her eyes rolled into her head.

She couldn’t feel her face, spit and saliva dripping down her chin, a fucked stupid smile on her lips. She couldn’t feel her body, light brown nipples thick and hard and swaying, love handles and hips gripped by a pair of strong hands. She couldn’t feel the heavy smacks against her meaty thighs and big butt, the inside of her legs drenched with arousal. The only thing she could feel was that big cock, drilling her deep, plunging all the way to what felt like her stomach, shoving her lower lips and inner walls wide open.

She wished she could experience this fullness, this sensation of being stretched beyond her limits, at all times. Every waking hour. Every second of her life. Split in two by dick.

From the moment Lynn discovered the pleasures that were derived from between her legs, sex occupied her mind. Idle hands were the devil’s playthings, and anytime she drifted off or wasn’t preoccupied by other thoughts, the devil guided those hands toward her needy pussy. No matter where she was. The joy of rubbing her clit or inserting fingers into her eager hole was like a siren’s call. A call she never resisted, getting off more and more often every day. Secretly cumming under the bleachers, the grass against her back; in the bathroom, bent over the sink with her forehead pressed into her arm; in the garage, lying on the hood of the family car.

It wasn’t until their mother found a vibrator in Kelly’s room that Lynn experienced her addict’s moment of clarity. Witnessing the fierce woman tear into Kelly’s integrity and call her a whore, yell about how she should be more like her sister, changed Lynn’s attitude toward her sexual deviancy. She committed herself to a life of control and morality, pushing her desires deep down and burying them under responsibility and focus. By keeping her mind elsewhere, consumed by school or social activities, she curbed her appetites.

The plan paid off. Lynn seemed like a saint of obligation to everyone around her. Someone that cared about others and shouldered responsibility more than surrendering to her own desires. Just like she hoped. Up until sophomore year of college

“I’m crashing here tonight,” her friend Jane had texted. She’d gone out earlier on a date and Lynn had expected her to return to their dorm to either bitch about his inadequacies or gush about his prowess. A sleepover was surprising. As was her reason for it. “This guy wore me out. He was almost too big.

Lynn snickered. The concept of a guy too endowed for someone like Jane seemed laughable. Unlike her purposefully chaste self, Lynn’s roommate tended to answer desire’s call whenever the phone rang — and it rang pretty often. Her friend had partaken in cocks of all shapes and sizes, and willingly, no, enthusiastically told her about all of them. Lynn knew the smallest had been four inches and the biggest was nine. That already seemed big to her. Something “too big” seemed like an exaggeration.

“Is that a thing?” she messaged back with a crying face emoji.

Jane’s response popped up and she gasped out loud.

Like the first time her fingers ever found her slit, Lynn’s world irrevocably changed at the sight of the massive dick on her screen. It stood tall and hard, a slab of fine marble that extended out from its owner like a work of art. The head bulged, a thick vein ran down its length, and she dreamt of reaching through the screen and wrapping her fingers around it. Or rather trying to and likely failing.

That was the thing. The shaft probably measured eight or nine inches. Impressive but not anything that would shock her like this. Its thickness, however, stole her voice like a sea-witch, filled her mouth with saliva, instantly soaked her panties. The sheer girth of that battering ram stunned her... and smashed down and obliterated the locked door imprisoning all those unquenchable desires that she had hidden away. It precisely fit the cock-sized keyhole required to open her personal Pandora’s box.

Lynn blacked out. Not truly but it felt like time had jumped forward and she had no recollection of it. Because something else had overtaken her mind, dominated her thoughts, and possessed her body. Which when she came to was naked on her bed with three fingers savagely pumping in and out of her excessively wet hole. Her momentum didn’t cease one fraction of a second. In her hand, she still held her phone, the fat cock’s image enlarged to fill the whole screen. From the small puddle of juices under her butt, she had cum once already. And she would three more times before passing out from sexual exhaustion with her fingers buried in her snatch.

The head and body aches she experienced the next morning resembled a hangover. But instead of drinking water or eating a greasy breakfast of bacon, sausage, and eggs, she turned to hair of the dog for a cure, getting herself off another two times. Lying there in the afterglow, an hour after waking up and having orgasmed twice to the picture of a cock whose head would barely fit inside her, Lynn knew falling off the wagon couldn’t begin to describe what had happened to her. No. She had burned the wagon to the ground.

Sex once again consumed her thoughts. Except where previously just the act of touching herself constituted her desires, something else now dominated that space in her brain. Cock. Big fat cock. Big fat monster cock. The idea that a dick that thick existed, that even thicker ones were out there, ignited the pleasure palace between her thighs and preoccupied the fantasies of her mind. In class, she regularly glanced at the crotches of her male classmates — even her professors — to observe the size of their bulge. At the gym, she focused more on the bouncing dicks inside the sweats of strangers than her routine. And at home, in the privacy of her bedroom, she searched and saved and revisited images and videos of guys with big cocks... and pleasured herself endlessly to them.

For months and almost a year, she fantasized and dreamed of the kind of dicks that she used to find hard to comprehend. Ones in excess of eight inches but more importantly with the kind of thickness that she couldn’t imagine her fingers encircling. But still did anyway. And not just her fingers. As much as she visualized both hands holding and stroking those heavy beasts — thumbs struggling to close the gap to her index tips — she panted and pictured them invading her mouth. They’d push her jaw to its breaking point, stuff her mouth so full she’d gag and have trouble swallowing.

The thing she thought about most though — that would ultimately get her into trouble, she knew — was the sensation of a cock the size of a hairspray can painfully stretching her pussy as it fucked up her insides. Three times a day, morning, afternoon, and night, she masturbated and came to the thought of her lower lips clutching at a thick rod, her snug walls failing to stop its advance, parting like the red sea in dramatic sheet-clutching ecstasy. The more she imagined it, the more she wanted to know how it’d feel. And she feared what she might do in pursuit of that orgasmic sensation.

Thankfully, a fateful trip to the farmer’s market provided an unexpected answer to her growing concerns.

Her eyes went wide when she saw it, her breath catching, her hand almost darting out to touch it. She scanned the area in embarrassment, worried someone would see her reaction and read her perverted thoughts. But no one glanced her way. No one paid attention to her or intuited how her thighs shifted in response to her discovery. A massive organic carrot, its thinner end thicker than the tips of her fingers pressed together and the fattest side nearly twice that width. The fine hairs on her arm stood on end.

Lynn gingerly wrapped her fingers around the orange baton and swallowed back the moan attempting to work its way past her lips. She placed it in her basket and hastily grabbed an assortment of other random items. A few lemons, some mushrooms, a leek, she’d later discover. She paid and casually walked back home, conscious of decreasing the accelerating pace of her steps so as to not take off running. The second she crossed the threshold into her apartment, she dumped the bag onto the foyer and picked out her prize. She marveled as she held it, both hands encircling its thicker base, and raised it up to her watering mouth.

Her eyes fluttered shut, more and more of it venturing past her parted lips. Two inches. Three inches. Four inches. She closed her mouth around its rigid circumference and moaned. An earthy taste filled her palate, and she reminded herself to clean the root before she stuck it anywhere else. But in the meantime, Lynn reveled in the novel sensation of a thick, stiff object filling her oral cavity.

Falling back onto the couch, she tilted her head back and slowly pumped the fat carrot in and out, moaning around its invasive length. From the outside, it was a truly depraved sight: Lynn fellating a massive vegetable in her living room while her groceries lay scattered on the floor. With every plunge toward her throat, her mouth stretched to accommodate its widening girth and her lips bumped against the vegetable’s many ridges.

Excitement built between her legs, her breath growing heavier with each passing moment. In a sudden shift, she flipped the carrot around and shoved the thickest part toward the back of her gullet. Hlk! It was so big and awkwardly shaped that she had trouble closing her lips around it as the huge nob slammed into her tonsils, making her gag.

She withdrew with an audible gasp, chest heaving, pussy moments away from gushing. Staring at the spit-covered carrot, she knew what she desired next.

Half an hour later, a naked Lynn positioned the washed and peeled carrot at the entrance of her wet slit. An inch had been trimmed off the end, making for an even thicker entry point. Back on the couch, she slouched into the cushions so her hips sat on the edge. Just like where anticipation sat within her. Right on the edge. The edge of an experience she had dreamed and fantasied about, came to over and over again. Something big and thick stretching her apart, filling her tunnel in a way that left her breathless... and desperately wanting more.

She placed one hand on her mound, palm on her lower abs and fingers in a “v” pressing down onto the course hair of her pubes. It gave her the perfect view for when the thick stick pushed past her exposed inner lips.

With a cry of pure pleasure, she sank the carrot into her hole.

“Oh, fuck!” A gasp of breath. A moment to relish the sight of the tip disappearing past her lips. And then Lynn pushed it deeper... and deeper... and deeper. “Nnnggghh!” The swelling shape forced her hole to widen more and more the further the root went in, and as much as the thought of continuing nonstop caused her pussy to quiver, she knew she needed to get used to the size. So, she paused again, caught her breath... and then pulled back and forcefully shoved her organic fucktoy in again. “Fuck! God...” Harder. Deeper. Wider. “Ungh!” Harder. Deeper. Wider. “Ungh!”

Like her loosening hole, any semblance of pain gave way to the twisted pleasure of feeling herself stretch, of witnessing that thickening shaft fuck its way into her. Thighs trembling. Hair plastered to her forehead. She pressed on... and pumped harder and faster. Her hand cupped the fat end, and she pistoned the carrot with a frantic and desperate energy. Fucking herself like a mad woman, her juices lubricating her slippery tunnel. Her cries filled the apartment, and the vegetable filled her insides.

She was doing it. She was finally fucking do it. She had a fat fuckstick inside of her. But she desired more. She jolted on the couch. Another inch deeper, another partial inch wider. All of it. She needed all of it. But she knew that she wouldn’t be able to. Not yet. Not something so long. But she was determined to cum with that near wrist sized end buried inside of her.

“Ah... ah... ah...” Leg bouncing, face twisting, Lynn hammered her pussy and rode herself higher and higher onto the wave of pleasure. As her orgasm began to crest, to rear up, she yanked the carrot out, bit off a large chunk of it, and before she could reconsider, rammed the remaining end so deep that only the very base of it was visible, like a cork stopper plugging her hole. “Ahhhhh!” She’d successfully taken the thickest end of the carrot. Her pussy was stuffed beyond its limits with rock-hard stiffness. Lynn screamed as she came, her climax crashing into her. “Fuck! Ahhhhh god FUUUCCKKK!”

Her world went white... and turned a drastic corner.

The carrots satiated Lynn’s size-centric desires for a while. Every trip to the farmer’s market, she searched for the biggest option available, brought it home, and used it to fuck herself senseless. It wasn’t even a waste of food because it still fed certain appetites.

She fell into a rhythm. Walked the very fine line between indulgence and obsession. Focus on school. Fuck herself open. She went as long as she possibly could with the former before having to succumb to the latter. But when she did, every orgasm was like an explosion.

However, it didn’t take long for her to grow so accustomed to the size — for her pussy to perpetually crave the thickest part — that she solely fucked herself with the fat end of the carrots. And when that happened, she again started to lose concentration on everything else. She had to get off more often. Go through more and more carrots. Fail at stopping herself from returning to messaging strange men and wanting their freakish dicks.

Which was when she graduated to the cucumbers. The same woman that sold her the carrots started stocking cucumbers that dwarfed the size of her old orange playthings. Ones nearly as long as her forearm and as thick as a small fist. Ones that other women might run screaming from but that soaked Lynn’s panties the second she laid eyes on them.

The green monsters became her new go-to masturbation aid. The sheer knowledge of how they’d fill and stretch her scratched that deep, disturbing itch down below. And the dream of the day that her pussy would welcome all their length and thickness was her new Everest to climb. She went slow. She had to. Just two inches stuffed her beyond belief and caused her brain to short-circuit with mind-melting ecstasy. But like with the carrots, it was only a matter of time. Her obsession, her desire, her perverted cravings pushed her — and it — deeper and deeper and deeper.  She worked them inch by inch over a period of months. On her back, pillow under her hips, a sheen of sweat on her stomach, legs wide and pipe-like vegetable plowing her depths. Four inches deep. Five inches deep. Six inches. Seven.

When the night came that she looked down and saw only an inch of fat green cucumber sticking out of her — her mound curving slightly, her pink folds expanded obscenely to accommodate its three-inch diameter — she climaxed fiercely and instantly.

Fucking herself fully with all that body morphing girth, achieving the impossible by effortlessly taking all of it and out, she assumed that she had at last reached her limits. Quelled her desires. Found her balance. And for a long time, she had. Lynn managed to occupy her mind with school most days and hammer her pussy at a jaw-dropping pace with the biggest and fattest cucumber stuffing her snatch most nights. And that was enough.

Then she saw the butternut squashes... and couldn’t halt the intrusive thoughts that inserted itself into her brain. She pictured it like an erotic performance: the squash upright underneath her; her pussy quivering and quaking and stretched ungodly wide in an attempt to take it; and her on her knees, head tossed back and screaming in orgasm.

In the middle of the market, Lynn’s knees had grown weak. She had to catch herself on the edge of a table full of avocados to keep from collapsing. Bystanders crowded around her, asking if she was alright, but she brushed them off, said she was feeling lightheaded, and returned home with her shopping bag empty... never to venture to the farmer’s market again.

That disturbing desire to know what a butternut squash felt like forcing its way into her eager hole, and to almost cum in public from that desire, forced her to stop. To go cold turkey. To re-erect the barriers that once held back every sexual thought she harbored. To focus on responsibilities and obligations. Ones that did not involve stretching her pussy with massive phallic objects.

Things fell back into place. Like before, Lynn became a shining example of control, burying her desires and leaving no marker of where she laid them to rest. Her grades improved. Her social interactions went up in frequency. And by senior year she was on track to graduate magma...