Sex Stories: Mr. LarsBar's Nut Factory

Summary: Ichigo Kurosaki entered the domain of Senjumaru, the Fourth Officer of the Zero Division, to forge the highest level of Shinigami garbs. To create such godly garbs, Senjumaru required accurate measurements. She needed him naked. After seeing how well-hung he was, let's just say things didn't end with just measurements... 

Themes: Big Dick, Porn Logic, Mating Press, Size Comparisons

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"So, what do you want me to do next?"

Ichigo Kurosaki.

From the moment she saw Ichigo Kurosaki, the Fourth Officer of the Zero Division found herself drawn towards him. She had heard the whispers, the low tones describing his heroics and strength. How he defeated Sosuke Aizen, the villain who challenged the Soul King and the world, the rogue who surpassed the boundaries of Soul Reaper and Hollow, yet fell to the Substitute Soul Reaper's blade nevertheless. He accomplished that which the Gotei Thirteen could not. Meeting him for the first time, she was puzzled. His Bankai was broken and there seemed to be a deep conflict within him. The power she heard so much about was there but in pieces. His Spiritual Pressure was immense but unrefined.

Of course, that didn't stop her eyes from devouring his tall, well-built body and his handsome face. Especially given that he was shirtless. Senjumaru Shutara thought she was the kind of woman that enjoyed elegance, yet seeing Ichigo Kurosaki's messy orange hair and rugged black shihakusho gave her a feeling she couldn't quite resist. He was hot.

Her tongue lapped at her rouge lips as she watched him head to Tenjirō Kirinji's City. She couldn't wait for when he visited her city.

His time at Kirinden was quick. She wished she could have seen him–his naked body in the warm springs and his manhood out for her to leer at. Her six golden skeletal arms jittered. Artificial as they were, they were still a part of her and her body was telling her she wanted him.

'Patience,' Senjumaru told herself. 'We will get our time. We can settle for him being shirtless.'

In the meantime, she managed to make Oken clothing for Renji Abarai and the others. She wasn't particularly interested in them. As attractive as a few of them were, they simply weren't to her tastes. She wanted Kurosaki. So she waited.

Finally, finally, after reforging his Zanpakuto and finishing his training with Ichibe, Ichigo came to her.

Senjumaru waited at her personal quarters, sitting on her makeshift throne of wooden bars and a cushioned seat. Her six golden arms were nowhere to be seen. It was unusual being without them but she knew she couldn't catch Ichigo Kurosaki in her trap with them. Given his human disposition, he preferred normality.

Her hands folded on her lap, legs crossed, Ichigo Kurosaki entered the room wearing the classic black robes befitting a Soul Reaper, albeit without the upper region. His eyes were deeply warm and resolved, ignited by his journey in the living world.

"Welcome, Ichigo Kurosaki. You have done well to come this far."

"Thanks," Ichigo replied, looking around. Stripes of cloth and fabric hung down from the ceiling, coloured and patterned in all manners of designs. There was grace, there were systematic motifs, there was luxury. To many, it was messy and eccentric, and Senjumaru would utterly disagree with those remarks. This was a place of art, a reflection of reality, nothing more, nothing less.

"Renji and Rukia told me this place would be weird."

Senjumaru narrowed her eyes. "Weird?"

He looked up at her, oblivious. "To be honest, it's kinda cool. I'm sure my younger sister Yuzu would love it."

Senjumaru softened. As expected, Ichigo appreciated her style, unlike those boffons before him. They were making a fuss for no reason and irritation sparked in her mind before succumbing to the wondrous view that was Ichigo Kurosaki.

"Come." Senjumaru stood up and beckoned him towards her seat. Although reserved solely for her, the Divine General of the North, she could allow an exception. For him, for Ichigo Kurosaki, it was necessary. "I will take your measurements."

Ichigo walked up the stairs, head turning, eyes curious and amazed. Every glittering moment made her core burn. He was a boy nearly a thousand years younger than her, and he was bright and naive but she could not resist her attraction towards him.

The second he sat down, she pressed herself to him. It wasn't outright seductive and although Ichigo stiffened he didn't resist. Having dealt with the quirkiness of the previous Squad Zero members, Ichigo assumed this was how she did things.

Senjumaru held her measuring tapes across his shoulders, looking down on him and lowering herself when she needed the number. It was very quick, very alluring, and very hard to ignore.

"Uh, what happened to those arms of yours?" Ichigo asked as her breath tickled his ear.

"Nothing," she replied. He must have sensed something was wrong with this personal method of measuring him but he didn't press the issue. She could see his ears turning slightly red. Her lips twisted in a gleeful smirk.

"I heard you caused quite a commotion," Senjumaru said, making conversation. Nimaiya Ouetsu's Phoenix Palace was placed on a cliff overlooking a special sea of spirit energy. To turn the ocean of soul energy to steam was not only unprecedented but impossible. Yet Ichigo Kurosaki seemed to make the impossible possible.

"Ah, my bad. I was…well, a lot happened."

"I see." She went further down, knee in the space between his legs, tape measuring the distance from his shoulder to pelvis.

"Shouldn't I be standing?" Ichigo asked, jittery.

"You talk too much," she snapped. Senjumaru rose to look him in the eye, her dull violet gaze staring into the deep hazel of his iris. She made a point to do her make-up with extra vigour, her purple winged eyeliner refined and her lipstick a scarlet red, forcing Ichigo to face the full brunt of its charms. "I need your seating measurements, then your standing measurements. Both are needed for the Oken."

He swallowed thickly. "I see."

The palm of her hand held onto his chest as she focused on his thighs. She was practically sitting on his lap now, her nose drowning in his scent. It was musky and masculine, somewhat sweaty, but had a tinge of a strawberry to it.

She felt his skin. She could feel his heat. His arms flexed subtly with every minor movement. 'He is quite muscular, isn't he? Not ridiculously so like those other men. No, this is pure elegance and grace in human form. For one so young…'

Her hand brushed his crotch as she measured his thigh. She could hear Ichigo's heart race and his hands ball into fists. Senjamaru could feel the heat pooling between her legs. 'Mmmm. He is delicious. Very, very delicious.'

She measured his arms, legs, calves, knees, everything. Once she was finished, she announced, "Stand up."

Senjumaru was delaying this. There was no need to measure twice, that was ridiculous. But the human boy was attentive and did as he was told anyway. He must have reasoned she had a special reason for it. She was making clothing made from Oken–her Oken. The key that allowed passage to the Soul King Palace, the thing that he stopped Sosuke Aizen for. He was curious, no doubt, and lax as a result.

Ichigo stood at a cool five-foot-eleven, the same as Senjumaru. It wasn't her natural size, however, as her absurdly thick sandals gave many of the precious inches in height. Without them, she was about five-foot-two. Still, Ichigo was hardly surprised by her faux height and the equality in dynamics. Almost like he was used to women in authority.

Her stomach flipped. 'He's simply perfect, isn't he?'

Her shihakusho was long and covered her feet. He couldn't possibly know she was a short woman, it was one of her greatest secrets.

The anticipation was too much for her, so Senjumaru blatantly ordered, "Off."

"T-this too?" Ichigo asked and seeing her stern expression he gulped. He was slow and hesitant, self-conscious like men his age were supposed to be.

The bridge of her mouth watered. Her narrow eyes widened.

His fundoshi was ordinary. Colourless like the shitagi around his feet.

But unlike the traditional wearers of the fundoshi, his bulge was fucking massive. She could see the heavy curves of his balls and the girthy shape of his cock. The fabric was struggling, nearly transparent from how thinly stretched it was. At any given moment, at any improper movement, it would tear.

'How does this man walk?' Then it hit her. 'His Bankai. If I recall, it creates a special shihakusho. A special fundoshi to hold that monster.'

Her lips trembled. Ichigo didn't seem to realize just how well-endowed he was, mildly embarrassed in the cheeks rather than supremely proud or meek. Strictly speaking by his bulge alone, Senjumaru could say he had the biggest cock she had ever seen. Amongst the hundreds of thousands of men whom she weaved clothes for, from Captains to the Soul Palace Guards, none came close to what Ichigo was displaying.

'No wonder Renji Abarai was so combative. Against a man of his calibre, any male would feel self-conscious of their manhood.'

Indeed, she had seen Renji's member and it didn't hold a candle to what Ichigo was showing in that tight, semi-transparent undergarment of his. She estimated Renji's meagre pecker to be worth less than half of Ichigo's.

"Oh my." She covered her face with her long, loose sleeve. "Very impressive, Ichigo Kurosaki." Her words were thick with saliva and lust. The young Substitute Soul Reaper picked up on it but was kind enough to let it go.

"Er, thanks," he replied.

She smiled and glided to his near-naked body with thinly disguised enthusiasm. Senjumaru was all over him, feeling his muscles and his anxious demeanour, the obliques pointing to his unearthly dong.

Senjumaru had to fight back every instinct in her body when she came close to his fundoshi and his spectacular bulge. It was hard to believe a boy like him could be packing something so dangerous. The poor, poor things were wound tightly in the undersized fabric.

Soon, she was measuring the width of his calves. A spectacular set of muscles greater than the Royal Guards' very own Lightning-Fast Tenjiro, who up to this point Senjumaru believed to be the fastest Soul Reaper in existence. A careful analysis of Ichigo told her he was far, far above the Shunpo Master, and in more ways than one.

As Senjumaru returned to her full height, she saw the needy, girthy, fat outline of his cock and balls, and her instincts burned her rational side to the ground.

Her left hand slapped his hefty balls, forcing an undignified gasp from the man, then tried holding it. "These are quite the things, are they not? The fabric can barely hold them. With my skills, I can create something that will be suitable for…" Her voice went low. The fundoshi was keeping his ballsack close and compact, painfully so, yet Senjumaru couldn't fully grasp the better half of either of them. "...these loaded sperm factories. Yes, I will make something perfect for them."

"W-w-what!?" Ichigo stammered. He clamped up but stopped himself pushing her off due to her hold on his family jewels. "What the hell are you saying!?"

Her nails dug into his sack while her thumb brushed the thick mushroom of his dong. She felt a large, viscous twitch. She was getting to him. She was breaking his walls of morality.

Smirking almost insanely, she stepped back. Ichigo breathed in relief but panicked when she said: "Strip."

He shuddered. He must have heard his friends' experience because although his gaze flickered nervously he did not resist. Slowly, hands shaking, he took off his fundoshi. The final article of clothing that had been preventing her from seeing his complete manliness.

There was a loud clap.

Senjumaru's smirk opened into a look of sheer awe and astonishment. Thousands of questions popped into her mind, her lungs tightening at the mouth-watering, staggering sight.

Ichigo was hung. His limp cock was nearly the size of her forearm, thick enough to stretch any woman into submission. He was long enough for her mind to have to recalculate its size three times over, finding it to grow bigger and bigger every time. It was a gargantuan hulk of a thing, unquestionably larger than any she had seen before.

The echo of his massive schlong slapping onto his thigh lingered. It had practically exploded from its airtight confines, flopping out like it was some kind of activated Bankai.

"I…" Senjumaru exhaled slowly. Lord, she was wet. Senjumaru thanked the Soul King himself that she was wearing black, or else Ichigo would have seen the stains of a waterfall running down her thighs. "...I can see why the Soul King showed such an interest in you, Ichigo Kurosaki."

He was blushing, opening his mouth to say something, only to shut it. Rubbing the back of his neck, he nodded and muttered a short, "Thanks."

She licked her lips, gaze eating up the sight of his gigantic meat without mercy or shame.

Senjumaru forced people to strip for one reason and one reason alone; to keep a record of their measurements. All their measurements, including penis size. Yet despite being flaccid, Ichigo was far and above everyone on the recorded list. Now that she could see the full view of his glorious, soft member, Senjumaru needed to correct herself on a few things. Renji Abarai, who sported a nervous erection during their session, was about half in terms of length and more so in girth. Tenjiro Kirinji, the Hot Spring Demon, the man who flaunted his manhood like a conceited child, was dwarfed by Ichigo like a child.

'No wonder I saw such dejection in his expression. For a man of his calibre to be utterly humiliated by this boy must be indeed crushing.'

Oetsu Nimaiya, the dark-skinned maker of the Zanpakuto, was an individual she could confidently say compensated his equipment with his accomplishments. While at the very least Tenjiro and Renji were in the range of average and above, the grandiose God of the Sword was a cut below that. She could confidently proclaim the harem of Zanpakuto he kept to himself was undeserved. There was Ichibe Hyosube, the Leader of the Zero Division and a considerably broad man, but he too paled in comparison to Ichigo in the one attribute he unsurprisingly exceeded in. Ichigo was girthy, having veins running down his shaft thick enough to rival chopsticks. And to make matters worse (or better from Senjumaru's perspective), his balls dangled between his legs freely and with an immense weight. She guessed her fists wouldn't be enough to match them. It was absurd just how much bigger and better Ichigo was than the males she was acquainted with–than every man she had ever met.

The room was getting hot. She had been staring at his hung schlong for nearly a minute. Ichigo was squirming under her intense gaze and sputtered, "H-hey, can we get a move on?"

She pursed her lips into a pleasant smile. "Patience."

She slipped off her white haori as well as her the white robe fastened around it, reducing her to the uniform of an ordinary Soul Reaper. Her skin was fair and she still wore her golden crescent moon crown, encapsulating the beauty of a goddess. Ichigo blinked upon seeing her lithe figure. She was neither top-heavy or bottom-heavy and though many women would feel anguished over their limited figure she did not. Senjumaru took pride in her lithe frame. She knew she held an advantage few could boast.

Her face.

It was a peerless allure, elegant and narrow, exemplified by her silky, black hair. She was youthful enough to make any question her age. That included Ichigo Kurosaki, who against his better judgement, looked her up and down. It was for an instant, barely noticeable to the most astute Soul Reaper, yet Senjumaru caught it.

There was an unnecessary amount of excitement brimming off her. She went on her knees and noticed his cock was darker than the rest of him. It wasn't ebony like Oetsu but close to being swarthy. Moreover, the smell exuding from it was delicious, manly and virile yet aphrodisiac and heavy. For a moment, she could do nothing except slowly breath and become intoxicated, the tangy scent overwriting her mind and her pussy.

"I am going to measure this," she said, exhaling through her nose. Ichigo's eyes went round and he felt the cool touch of the measuring tape on the point between pelvis and cock. His pubic hair was well-trimmed, a contrast from the men she was used to.

The measuring tape was thin enough that her fingers could feel his flesh. The band of white travelled down, down, down, over the curve of his cock, and Senjumaru counted every passing inch till it reached his round tip.

Ten and a quarter inches. Her mouth dried.

Ichigo made a strangled sound. From his point of view, the heavenly member of the Royal Guard was on her knees, fingers politely touching his big fat cock, eyes staring at it with a snarky smirk. Then there was the cool air and his balls which were bursting for the past three weeks–from Orihime's massive knockers, his boss Ikumi's voluptuous skin tight body, Kirio's big-titty form, Oetsu's harem of Zanpakuto. Mix it with his naturally high libido and it was a wonder he hadn't gotten hard sooner.

"My, oh my…"

Senjumaru watched as his heavy python rose from between his legs. It was like the advent of a new creation as it gently pulsed and grew. Her eyes had never been so captured by something. In all her years of weaving clothes, nothing came close to the sight of Ichigo's cock swelling to full mast.

It bobbed up and down, before settling on her gracious awe-stricken face. The smell, the colour, everything about it was forever imprinted in her mind. There wasn't a thing in the past thousand years she could remember better than this gigantic cock on top of her. She counted thirteen–no, fourteen inches of raw meat. The heat weighing down on her took her breath away.

"Fuck," Ichigo muttered. Yet his words didn't contain the mortification she expected. He was done, borderline annoyed, as though it didn't matter his girthy schlong was on the most important female authority in the world. His eyes narrowed as he peered down on her, inflamed by a new kind of confidence. "Goddammit. Just suck my dick already."

"Mm. Not yet."

Her tongue glided around the shape of his bulbous head, hitting those rare sensitive zones he likely had never felt. His hands were at his side and tightened into a painful fist. Senjumaru was the best at what she did. Her small soft pale hands gripped his cock at two different sections, one at the base and one at the mid-section. She immediately sensed her fingers couldn't touch from the sheer scale of it. Regardless, she started pumping and Ichigo started moaning. God, his voice was like music to her ears. Husky and sexy, encouraging her to go faster and faster.

"Damn it," she heard him curse. His cock was fucking throbbing. It was already so, so big and now it was thumping in her hands like a wild animal. His cock wasn't grotesque. It was long and hard and fucking massive, but it wasn't ugly like some would expect it to be. It was beautiful. A true cock worthy of her needy cunt. There was no point in being a Royal Guard if she didn't get some royally good cock, no?

Wet sensations swirled his proud crown, quick and diligent. Yet she hadn't put it in her mouth. She was lathering his cock with her saliva while pumping the lower half of his shaft with her hands. The countless inches made it possible. An effective way to pleasure Ichigo with everything she had.

"Aah~!" Senjumaru's smirk returned to her pristine face as she witnessed the making of pre-cum. She drank it through a prolonged kiss, making sure her lipstick would leave a mark on his tip. The taste was certainly not ordinary. Slightly sweet and masculine like she anticipated yet quite tasty. Another nice drop of pre-cum appeared and she found herself enjoying it more and more. Her hands pumped his cock faster and she finally decided to give it her all.

Ichigo let out a loud groan as she pulled her head back and allowed her hands to do all the work.

"Swift work is my biggest selling point, you understand. Do not underestimate the name of Senjumaru." Her name literally meant a thousand hands and not just in sewing. Her handjobs were godly. Unrivalled. Senjumaru wasn't like Kirio, who relied on those uncheckered balloons to satisfy male attention. No, she possessed skill, sharpened through centuries of work and talent. She didn't have a voluptuous body, so she needed something that put her above the rest.

And what better way to test her skills than on the biggest cock she had ever seen?

"W-wait! Gah!" Ichigo couldn't resist. Her hands were going up and down his shaft in blurs. There were afterimages–two, three, ten, a hundred…

A thousand.

Indeed, it felt like a thousand hands were pleasuring his cock. Holding it, teasing it, stroking it. Every vein, every surface inch was touched and appreciated. His virile phallus was utterly at her mercy. Although Ichigo was starting to lose his balance, feeling like he could fall back any second, he didn't. Senjumaru was so fast she could hold him while bestowing upon the greatest handjob in history. Her cheeks nuzzled his bulb, smearing it with his pre-cum, as his balls grew heavier and heavier–as the euphoric sensations dulled his senses.

Most men would bust a nut in about ten seconds.

For Ichigo, it was about four minutes.

His member was a reddish-brown, enraged and spurred on by the warm, gentle hands of Senjumaru. There was a brief instant where he started uncontrollably throbbing, a substantial pressure travelling up to the engorged tip. Then, it released into a tremendous climax, masking her glamorous face full of his white creamy spunk.

Senjumaru lunged her mouth forward and tried swallowing it. A futile course of action as she very quickly overwhelmed. She was small and though capable in her own right could not handle his rich, viscous spunk. It was simply too thick and virile and intense in volume for her. His cock plopped out of her and hosed her with long, heavy gushes of cum. Her hair, her features, her specially crafted shihakusho, her golden crown, everything. Ichigo's tiny little gasps matched each bull-ish shot of cum, each spurt that splattered her.

The gradual descent to the end of his orgasm was a lengthy one. Senjumaru was at a loss as his orgasm died down. Ichigo was panting yet his cock was harder than it was before. She had seen many things in her life, from the Soul King to life-changing inventions, but somehow this managed to stump her more than anything.

'Amazing.' A shock of excitement and arousal went up her spine. 'Terrifyingly amazing. There's so much…'

"M-my bad," Ichigo said, that classic human mannerism of his returning. She smiled and attempted to wipe a sticky trail of cum off her eyebrow.

"I do not mind." Her tongue pecked at the sliver of seed on her thumb. Fuck, it was electrifying. "Is this because of your unique heritage?"

Quincy, Soul Reaper, Hollow, Ichigo was an entity that closely resembled the Soul King–no, perhaps he was the thing closest to the Soul King itself. And Senjumaru's ultimate task was to protect and serve the Soul King. If this boy was to somehow become the next Soul King, well…she certainly wouldn't mind. Getting the jump on him like this would have been the smart thing to do.

"These are in the way." Senjumaru snapped her fingers and her shihakusho disappeared into wisps of golden energy. Even the golden ornament on her head, which she wore with immense pride and comfort, dissipated in gleaming sparkles. Ichigo stopped breathing, the sudden sight of her nudity burning into his mind. Senjumaru was slender and youthful. She wasn't thick and curvy like many of the women in her life, instead projecting grace and poise in her figure. Her chest was flat, tipped off by small pink nipples. But damn did she look good for her age. Ichigo couldn't believe she was over a thousand years old. The number barely registered in his head.

She was sitting on her knees but slowly rose to peck him on the cheek. She was very short but like any powerful Soul Reaper could create a platform of spirit energy under her feet to grant her levitation. Ichigo instantly locked onto her bald, untouched pussy, which seemed too small and meek for his oversized prick. But he knew he was going to fuck it. He had to. He couldn't call himself a straight man if he didn't.

"Not yet," Senjumaru whispered in his ear, stroking his shaft callously. The orange-haired teen shuddered. She was too good at what she did. She was riling him up despite having just experienced the most sensational orgasm of his life. Her pretty smirk, her eyes, she was in control right now.

"How about another, hm?"

She went down, down, hand still on his wide shaft, till she was back on her knees. Her hands politely embraced his girthy member, which seemed to get larger with every touch. Ichigo was sensitive but ready.

At least he thought he was. Nothing could prepare him for Senjumaru's ultimate thousand-hand handjob. He thought he could adapt. Nope, not when Senjumaru still had something up her sleeves.

Her fingers trailed up the largest vein criss-crossing with several others. Then there was the fiddling with his cum hole and the licks on the underside of his glans. That enough should have made him squirm and break his resolve but she was able to take it a step further and fondle his balls. Digits sliding up and down his dangling and full sack, scooping them, flinging them, with her tongue occasionally polishing the sensitive orbs.

This time, Ichigo lasted a minute.

His load was just as tremendous as before and again too much for Senjumaru to handle. She was forced to stand on her feet and jerk his shaft off to drain his balls onto the floor. His cock was like an automatic shotgun, repeatedly and steadily sending powerful heavy doses of cum easily worth several spoonfuls. Put simply, Ichigo could release an ordinary man's strongest ejaculation in a single monstrously pulsating shot. The floor of fabric was quickly splattered and tainted in the gooey white substance. His cum shots were far but slowly lost their strength. Once they died down, dribbles of jizz falling down his tip with Ichigo finally calming down, Senjumaru lifted off the floor, pulled him down by the shoulder and whispered into his ear, "Good boy."

"Gah!"

His cock spasmed. Ichigo thought he was done but his balls had a mind of their own. Weak strings of cum spilled from his tip, not making the same shotgun effect from before but instead the dying whimpers of a volcano. Ichigo groaned and threw his head back as Senjumaru's tiny hands stroked on his cock for more, gently encouraging the beast to milk itself dry.

"So much…" Senjumaru muttered, her fingers drenched in his sticky seed. Due to its exquisite taste, she didn't mind licking it off. Her tongue traced the remnants seductively, flicking and tasting each ravishing bit.

Ichigo exhaled and straightened himself. Looking down at this small woman, it was unbelievable she was capable of so much. He knew not to underestimate people by their looks but this was on another level.

The fabrics began to move and change. Senjumaru with her supreme authority flicked her gaze left and right, forming layers upon layers of textile behind Ichigo. Soon, it took the shape of a mattress coloured in an orange background with black rosette dots. The teen was breathing laboriously as Senjumaru used one hand to grip the heavy tip of his cock and the other to slowly push him back. He fell back onto the back with Senjumaru immediately straddling him and keeping his hard erection pressed to his abdomen. Her lips were an inch away from contact with his. Keeping close but never allowing him the touch he desperately desired.

"What's next then," Ichigo asked cooly. Their breaths mingled. He could smell her make-up and her small boobs against his chest. She traced the ridge of his glans, smirking.

"Decisions, decisions. I take it you're a virgin, Ichigo Kurosaki?"

Ichigo smirked. "Maybe. Care to test it?"

"I have serviced you," Senjumaru began, leaning back. "Let us see you servicing me."