Chapter 137: 137. Why Every Women Even Tries To Show Me A Condom? It Won’t Work!**

He leans forward, his massive shadow looming over her again. "Tell me, Marielle... do you really think a piece of latex is going to hold a man like me?!"

"Do you really think there’s a ’perfect size’ out there that can actually contain this?" He gestures down at his pulsing, unyielding shaft with a grin of pure arrogance. "Go on then!"

"Try to find one, and challenge me!" Mike raised both his arms. "Let’s see if you can find something that won’t snap the second I start hammering you!"

Stung by his mockery but driven by a desperate need for a sense of control, Marielle wipes her eyes and stands up, her legs still feeling like jelly. She moves toward the mahogany desk next to the bed, her movements stiff and dignified despite her disheveled state.

She reaches into a small, velvet-lined drawer, her fingers trembling as she pulls out a sleek, premium box. She walks back to the bed, holding the box as if it were a shield.

"These," she says, her voice regaining a tiny, fragile sliver of her former poise, though her eyes remain submissive. "These are the most expensive, most flexible, most high-end condoms I own."

"I bought them months ago... when my husband and I were... when we were planning to be intimate."

She looks down at the box, a bitter, fleeting thought crossing her mind. ’Even though his cock is so small, he always insisted on the best... as if the quality of the rubber could make up for the lack of the man.’

She holds the box out to him, her gaze meeting his with a mixture of defiance and surrender. "They are designed for extreme stretching and durability, Mike."

"They are the best money can buy..."

"So... please. Try them and try to prove to me that you are too much for even the best of them."

Mike takes the box from her, his fingers brushing hers, and he chuckles, a low, predatory sound. He doesn’t look impressed by the price; he looks hungry for the challenge. He tosses the box onto the nightstand and turns his attention back to her, his eyes dark with a renewed, even more violent intent.

"Expensive, huh?" he muses, his voice a low growl as he reaches for her waist to pull her back toward him. "We’ll see if they’re worth the money, Marielle."

"And let’s see if they can survive a real man."

Mike takes the expensive box back, but instead of opening it himself, he tosses it back onto her lap with a dismissive grunt. A cruel, challenging glint dances in his eyes.

"You bought them, you put them on," he commands, his voice leaving no room for debate. "Let’s see if your ’high-end’ luxury can actually handle the reality of what’s about to happen to you."

Marielle’s face flushes a deep crimson. The humiliation is staggering; she, a woman of high social standing, is now fumbling with a piece of latex, trying to dress a man’s cock like a common servant.

She takes a deep breath, trying to steady her trembling hands, and begins the delicate task. She carefully tears the foil, her eyes focused intensely on the task, trying to ignore the heat radiating from him.

She begins to roll the condom down the base of his shaft, her fingers working as fast as they can. But as she pushes it upward, the reality of his anatomy begins to defy the very engineering of the product.

The latex, designed for "extreme stretching," reaches its limit far sooner than she ever imagined. It stretches thin, becoming almost translucent, but it refuses to move past the midsection of his massive, throbbing girth.

’W-what...? I-Impossible...’

’Extreme stretching...? But where...?’

The condom is stuck, clinging desperately to the head and the first few inches of his shaft, looking strained to the point of bursting. It looks tight, constricting, and incredibly uncomfortable, as if the latex is screaming under the pressure of his sheer volume.

"God fucking dammit!" Mike snarls, the sound a guttural explosion of frustration.

He stares down at the pathetic, stretched-out scrap of rubber. "Are you FUCKING kidding me, Marielle!?"

"This is the ’best money can buy’? It looks like a fucking thimble on a giant!" Mike growled. "It’s pinching me! It feels like a goddamn tourniquet!"

He lets out a string of colorful, vulgar curses, his frustration mounting as the sensation of the tight latex begins to actually irritate his hypersensitive skin.

"Wait...! I haven’t tried with force yet...!"

Marielle tries to focus, to pull it further, but her concentration is shattering. Every time she reaches forward, she helplessly draws her eyes to his sheer, overwhelming presence.

His cock is swinging slightly as he shifts his weight, a heavy, dark, veiny beast that seems to have a life of its own. The sight of the thick veins pulsing against the strained, translucent latex is so distracting, so viscerally erotic, that her breath hitches and her hands falter.

’How can a piece of rubber even try to contain his cock?’ she thinks, her mind spinning. ’It looks like it’s going to explode at any second... and yet, seeing it so tight on him... it makes me want to rip it off and just let him sink into me raw.’

"Mike... please..." she whimpers, her voice small and desperate.

She looks up at him, her eyes wide and pleading, the realization of the impending "roughness" hitting her all over again. "Maybe... maybe there’s another way?"

"Maybe we don’t need them? Maybe we can just... go without?"

"Please, it’s so tight, it looks like it’s going to hurt you..."

She is begging for a reprieve, for a way to soften the blow of what she knows is coming. She’s hoping he’ll choose the "gentle" route, the "safe" route, the route that doesn’t involve her being completely demolished.

But Mike doesn’t soften. He doesn’t offer a compromise.

Instead, he reaches out and grabs her by the shoulders, his grip firm and unyielding. He shakes her once, a sharp, intense movement that forces her to look him dead in the eye.

His expression is fierce, his eyes burning with a dark, uncompromising intensity. He shakes his head slowly, a silent, heavy "no" that feels like a sentence.

"No other way," he growls, his voice dropping to a predatory rumble that vibrates in her very bones. "You wanted the best, Marielle."

"You wanted to protect yourself. Welp, you failed."

"Now, you’re going to take me exactly as I am..."

"No barriers... No protection... Just you, me, and the truth of what a real man does to a woman."

He lets go of her, leaving her trembling and breathless, his gaze dropping back down to the failed condom and then back to her face, waiting for her to accept her fate.

The realization hits Marielle like a cold wave of dread: the latex has failed, and the barrier between her and his raw, primal power is about to vanish. The thought of him filling her up unfiltered, hot, and massive sends a jolt of pure terror through her, but it’s immediately followed by a traitorous, liquid heat in her lower belly.

"Wait... Mike, please!" she gasps, her hands fluttering near her chest in a frantic gesture of supplication. "If we’re going to go... if we’re going to do it bare... please, just one thing."

"Promise me you’ll pull out... please... you have to promise me that you won’t... won’t leave it all inside me again!" Marielle placed both her hands together as a sign of her pledge. "I’m begging you... just pull out before you cum!"

She pleads for a shred of control, a way to prevent him from completely colonizing her body. She wants to feel the pleasure, but she’s terrified of the sheer, overwhelming volume of him that she knows will follow.

Mike looks down at her, and a slow, wicked, and utterly evil smile spreads across his face. It’s the smile of a wolf who has just seen the sheep offer a compromise, only to realize the wolf has no intention of following the rules.

"Trust me, Marielle," he purrs, his voice smooth and deceptively comforting, though his eyes remain dark and predatory. "I know you’re worried."

"But I promise... this time, I’ll pull out." Mike raises his thumbs up. "I’ll finish outside."

"You can trust me on that... so all you need to now is just to let go and enjoy it."

It is a lie. A beautiful, devastating, masterful lie.