Pourquoi souffrir d'amour toute la vie

My name is Cole Griffin. After five years of marriage, my body suddenly went through a second round of development.

The growth down there was nothing short of astonishing, and with it came an insatiable appetite. I found myself wanting it seven or eight times a day.

At first, my wife was thrilled with the change. Every night brought her to the brink of exhaustion—in the best way possible.

But gradually, I kept growing, and she couldn't handle me anymore.

"Stop, please—I can't take any more. You're going to break me."

She'd beg me through tears, but I was desperate with need. The urge was unbearable.

I'd end up pressing her against the wall, taking what I had to have.

Then came the day she finally snapped. Crying, she demanded a divorce.

When I refused, she packed up and moved in with her best friend. Days passed. No sign of her coming home.

I was going out of my mind. Every night, I'd be so hard I thought I'd explode. The ache was torture.

Her best friend caught wind of what was happening. Curiosity got the better of her.

Claiming she wanted to help patch things up between us, she showed up at my place—ready, it seemed, to offer a different kind of relief.

The night she arrived, I was pacing the living room, restless and on edge.

The doorbell rang. My heart leaped—finally, my wife had come home. After days of pent-up frustration, I'd finally get some release.

But when I opened the door, it wasn't my wife standing there.

It was Ramona Lincoln, my wife's best friend.

She wore a tight black bodycon dress that hugged every curve. Her breasts strained against the fabric, full and round, impossible to ignore. The hem barely grazed her thighs, leaving her long, slender legs on full display—sheer black stockings giving way to a teasing glimpse of bare skin at the top.

I stood there, stunned. My body reacted instantly.

I'd been expecting my wife, so I'd answered the door in nothing but loose shorts. The tent I was pitching was unmistakably obvious.

Ramona's eyes went wide.

"You really did grow again. That's bigger than a beer bottle!"

Truth was, Ramona was a woman with unmet needs herself.

She was beautiful—anyone could see that. But she'd married a rich old man. According to my wife, he'd burned through his prime too hard and too fast. Now his body had given out, and he couldn't satisfy her at all.

These days, she apparently spent good money on male escorts to fill the void.

I motioned her inside. She settled onto the couch, crossing her legs slowly, showing off those red-bottom heels, making damn sure I noticed.

"So what brings you here, Ramona?" I asked, grabbing a glass of water and handing it to her. "Where's Rachel?"

She took a sip, then fixed me with a look.

"You. You're the reason. You're like a bull on steroids. Rachel's too scared to come home. I'm here to talk some sense into you. You can't keep going at her like that. She's delicate, for God's sake. No woman could handle a brute like you going full force."

As she spoke, her chest rose and fell with each word. Those two magnificent breasts moved hypnotically beneath the thin fabric—bigger than my wife's, fuller, and I couldn't tear my eyes away.

My pulse hammered in my ears. God, I wanted to touch them.

I sighed, settling into the chair across from her.

"It's not that I'm trying to be rough. It's this second development—I can't control it. The urge hits me like a freight train. If I don't... you know... at least once a day, the ache is unbearable."

Ramona's eyes sparkled with curiosity. She leaned forward.

"Men can have second growth spurts? So you're bigger now than before? Can I see?"

She looked at me earnestly, like it was the most natural request in the world.

My heart skipped. Was she serious? You don't just... show something like that to your wife's best friend.

"I... I don't think that's appropriate," I stammered, even as my mind raced with possibilities.

Ramona waved off my hesitation like it was nothing.

"What's the big deal? This is practically a miracle. I just want to witness it for myself."

She insisted. And insisted.

Finally, I stopped pretending.

Right there in front of her, I slowly pulled down my shorts.

I'd never exposed myself to another woman before. The thrill of it was electric.

Her hot gaze locked onto me, and that strange, illicit excitement only grew.

Ramona had clearly spent time with plenty of male escorts, because she didn't blush. Didn't flinch either. If anything, hunger flickered in her eyes.

She gulped.

"You're even bigger than any escort I've ever hired. Is it... real? Can I touch it?"

I never expected her to actually ask.

My heart pounded. I nodded.