His Wife's Best Friend

"Girl, you have to help me satisfy my husband. I honestly can't take it anymore."

Recently, my wife couldn't handle my intensity anymore and went crying to her best friend for help. Wanting to ease the tension between us, her bestie decided to come to our house alone.

She showed up in a sexy short dress that barely contained her curves.

"So I hear you're pretty wild, huh? Let me see what all the fuss is about."

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