Egregious Fantasy

by BRK   

Seth lives a normal life in a humdrum world, until he happens to run into a guy who in every way surpasses anything he’s ever dreamt of.

It was a normal day. A day like any other.

My alarm went off at 7:30, like usual. I found my phone, focused on it blearily long enough to thumb-kill the tinny rendition of Open Mind by WonHo, checked the time, and set it back on the nightstand. I looked down the bed, impassively noting the slow-bouncing ridge halfway to my feet, like a lizard doing push-ups under the duvet. Morning wood, also like usual.

I reminded myself for the nth time of my plan to start getting up earlier so I could deal with it, though so far I hadn’t gotten around to it. To me morning wanks while you’re still half asleep were like coffee gone cold. A blow job would be another story—something to get the heart pumping. Even a rut along a nice firmly walled buttcrack. Or sliding my cock between a pair of smooth, supremely thick pecs, the crevice deep enough to feel like penetration, muscles squeezing my long, hard dick, taut balls smacking gently against the cliff-like undersides…

Damn it, turning myself on more was not helping me get my day started.

Tossing the covers aside, I climbed out of bed and stalked to the bathroom, resolutely ignoring the erection jutting out before me like a flagpole on a bank building. As I went about my ablutions I started planning the day ahead, and by the time I’d showered, dried, shaved, and brushed my teeth, the mundanity of my waking life had settled onto me enough my tumescence had receded, my latent horniness not doused but banked, for now.

Wiping my mouth, I gave my reflection a crooked smile. Reality, what a buzzkill, I thought, amused.

I went to pull on clothes and get going. My workplace, a moderate-to-high-end web design firm situated in a huge ex-industrial loft space full of hardwood floors, high ceilings, and picturesque brickwork, was mostly in-person but didn’t require business dress. Still, I did prefer to look presentable. I found my favorite dark jeans—the ones that made me look like I had a rounder butt than I did—and rifled the drawers in my bureau until I found the dark blue fitted henley I liked. As a trim, lean, well-proportioned thirtysomething I could get away with it. I wasn’t built or buff by any stretch, but I looked okay in a tailored shirt. I figured I was the second-best-looking guy in the office, which tells you more about the office than it does me. No dream dudes in my world dancing next to waterfalls or saving the world in strategically ripped costumes, just everyday guys and dolls paying bills and getting through the day.

Socks, boots, pocket stuff. A minute to check my hair (I kept it short enough it didn’t need product, or combing even, really), grab my rucksack from the kitchen table, and I was out the door by 7:59. Like usual.

Work was work. The morning was spent engaged in long stretches of script coding, mostly utilitarian and repetitive but tricky enough to require focus, punctuated by the occasional mini-crisis. Danielle couldn’t keep the charting software from crapping out on her station for the business analytics site she was working on, and asked if I could help sort it out. (Turned out she had an app conflict.) Ashok was getting client instructions that made no sense and had to be thrashed out in the group team-chat. My own test runs kept erroring out, and I was becoming increasingly frustrated until I found the blank row in the dataset that was sending everything out of range. With a feeling of mixed exasperation and satisfaction I killed the blank row, mounted the site on the testing servers, and heaved a sigh of relief as the proto version of our department store client’s refurbished cutting-edge shopping platform unfolded on my 38-inch ultrasharp curved monitor in all its taupe-and-dusky-rose-tinted splendor.

By then it was past time for a well-deserved lunch break, so I locked my screen and skipped down the two flights of stairs to the street, headed toward the luncheonette a block down. The streets were teeming and the restaurant was packed—usually I went earlier than this when it was less busy, I guess—so I elected to get my lunch to go and eat it on the “terrace,” otherwise known as the roof of the second floor of our loft building (the lower floors being about 20% longer than the third, fourth, and fifth, which were added later). The firm had set out tables and chairs and had occasional luaus, potlucks, and other social events there, though we mostly used it to get away from our desks for a bit.

White bag of greasy goodness in hand, I was back in the lobby and pulling open the heavy fire door to the stairs—the building had an elevator, but it was small and slow and no one used it—when I felt another hand grip the door from behind and above, like someone was wanting to keep the door open and follow me into the stairs. I turned idly to check who was behind me, and what I saw made me freeze in place, gaping—literally gaping, for possibly the first time in my life.

I love guys. Big guys, muscular guys, beautiful guys. But I have a particular thing for muscular, beautiful East Asian guys. Call it a predilection, call it a fetish, but hot, ripped guys from that part of the world have always turned me on like nobody’s business. I got into Power Rangers late, in high school, entirely because of Yoshi Sudarso. I read a lot of manga and manhwa, always the ones with ripped, shirtless heroes. I watched kdramas for the shower scenes. (You know, when the story gets to that point where the rich chaebol CEO has encountered the female lead and is annoyed by her existence for some reason and he has to work through his feelings in a shower with strategically frosted glass doors as water runs lovingly over his firm chest and rippling abs, his head tilted back in handsome, vexed rumination.) In The Fast and the Furious I was the one cheering on Johnny Tran, waiting patiently for the scenes with Rick Yune sporting that sweet black tank top.

All those guys, all those fantasy dream men, had nothing on the man standing close behind me, entering my life like a sudden manifestation of a long-forgotten prophecy.

He was tall, taller than me by a head and a half, so my first impression was his chest. And what a chest. I’ve seen muscular men, but this guy had gotten all the swole I thought was possible and then pushed it even further. His pecs erupted from his chest like he was trying to see how thick they could go, stacking inch on inch, the muscle-piles straining at a long-sleeved tee shirt so tight it looked almost painted on and so blinding white it made his skin stand out as pure sunlit gold. The chest mesas in question (how much I wanted to touch them!) stood out so far and so thick they cast actual shadows from the lobby’s stark overhead fluorescents over the chiseled ten-pack clearly visible through his clingy top. Of course his pecs made those wrinkle folds across the center of his shirt that said These Are Pectorals—those were so hot to me, I enjoyed seeing big-chested men in clothes as much as I wanted to enjoy what lay beneath the clothes.

His arms and shoulders were as impressive as his pecs, every steel-hard curve I could have desired present and exaggerated to create an even more perfect aesthetic than I had known existed. The slope of his traps alone, emerging from the wide neck of his tee to full, delicious exposure, was, by itself, enough to get my cock swelling to full and painful hardness in my jeans.

I kept looking up, drinking in his boyishly cute, ridiculously attractive face. He had the sharp jawline and high cheekbones and ultrasmooth skin and those dark eyebrows I loved, the overall effect being not forbidding or aloof but infinitely calming and welcoming. His shoulder-length hair was bleached a natural-looking buttery blond—funnily enough he was blonder than me, my own dirty-blond coloring being dark enough I might as well cave and call it brown. I lit on those beautiful brown eyes, and I was gone. Just gone.

Then he smiled, a huge, megawatt smile that hit me like the jolt of a defibrillator. I smiled back, entirely on automatic. “Going up?” he asked in a voice that went straight to my balls. He said it as though I were holding an elevator door for him, instead of a stairwell fire door.

The joke didn’t even register for a second. My brain was too preoccupied by how much the sound of his voice turned me all the way on. It was more baritone than bass, resonant rather than super-low, and the fullness of it saturated my nether regions with pure sex. I swear, I almost came in my pants just from hearing him speak.

As my cock twitched and the moment stretched, I sensed motion below and looked down. I had to hold onto the door, suppressing a gasp. He had—his bulge—fuck, I can’t even describe it. Instead of jeans or trousers he was wearing loose gray nylon jogging bottoms, which though not as snug as his top still showed off his impressive thighs and calves, and probably, I had no doubt, a magnificent ass. The thing was, the bottoms weren’t loose everywhere. Snaking down his left pants leg was the biggest bulge I had ever seen. It looked impossibly thick—even if that thing was soft, and I didn’t think it was, entirely, I could tell by looking at it I wouldn’t be able to get a hand around it—and long enough the print of his wide head through the cloth was not just down to his knee, it was an inch past it.

Then the massive thing twitched, flexing against the fabric of his pants leg, and I stopped breathing for a second. It was like it was greeting me. Hello, it was saying. Do you want to play?

As I caught my breath, a tiny spot of wetness appeared just below that epic dickprint. Oh… my… god.

My heart pounded very loudly, once, then twice. Finally my brain kicked in and I very belatedly realized I was staring at another guy, at his dick, in public. At my work. I snapped my head up to meet his gaze, expecting to see anger or impatience. To my amazement he was still smiling that heart-tripping smile, though something in his eyes matched the interest and blatant invitation his cock had just extended to me. His gaze was just that bit more intense, his brown eyes that bit darker.

“Shall we?” he intoned, and I nearly lost it. Shall we… what? Fuck? Right here, right now? Can we? Please?

Then the big guy let his smile go lopsided and tilted his chin toward the stairs. “Oh,” I said. “Uh, yeah, sorry.” He took control of the door and I let go as he pulled it open all the way. We entered the stairwell, and the door eased back into place behind us, snicking shut and leaving us alone in the brick-lined vertical space.

The concrete stairs were wide enough for us to ascend together, even with my new acquaintance being as big as he was. I forced myself to be a human being and stop being a creeper. Sociable, that was the ticket. I knew I had not seen him before around here—to coin a phrase, I would have remembered anyone who looked like him—so I asked, “Are you here to meet someone?”

Please don’t be a new designer, I begged in my head. If he was a new hire at my firm that would be a disaster. I would love seeing him every day, but I wouldn’t get a lick of work done and I’d have to jack off in the toilets at least five times a day. It didn’t help that as we walked up the steps together—slowly, neither of us wanting to rush the encounter, apparently—I was smelling spunk, and I wasn’t sure if it was coming from me (as a sort of harbinger of a near-future orgasm?) or if it was part of the warm, spicy redolence I could almost literally feel coming off the dream man beside me.

“Yeah, kinda,” he said as we rounded the mid-flight landing and continued upward. Every word he spoke was still resonating in my balls and also, I’d just noticed, my anus. “My buddy is doing a fitness shoot in the photo studio on the second floor,” he explained. “I came to pick him up and take him to his next gig.”

I nodded. Second floor—shit. That’s too soon. “Are you a fitness model, too?” I asked, using the question as an excuse to scope his abnormally muscular form head to toe. Fuck, his abs were tight. He probably didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. Suddenly I regretted the onion rings currently jostling my roast beef sub in the bag from the luncheonette I was carrying, and vowed to pick up some fruit on the way home.

He chuckled, casting me a knowing look. “Naw,” he said. “I haven’t got the, uh, proportions they’re looking for.”

“I’m sure someone’s looking for them,” I said.

We stopped, and I realized we were already at the door to the second-floor loft space. I swallowed, looking up at him. He was gazing intently at me, friendly but serious.

“Are you looking?” he asked.

I want to do more than look, I thought, my cock straining in my jeans, then realized I’d said it aloud. I flushed—it’s embarrassing when your innermost desires leak out of your face. Something moved again below my field of vision, but this time I didn’t dare look down.

“When do you get off?” he asked, eyes twinkling.

My heart stuttered. In about five minutes, if the toilet’s free. “Five o’clock,” I said.

“I’ll see you then.” He winked. “Meet me… where we first met,” he added, as if that were already Our Place.

He stuck out a hand. It was a good two sizes larger than mine, but it wasn’t blocky or meaty. The fingers seemed long and clever. “Andrew,” he said.

I huffed a laugh, embarrassed at having gone all this way and not introduced myself. I shook his hand, basking in the measured strength of his firm grip. “Seth,” I said.

“Nice to meet you, Seth,” he said in that resonant, cock-hardening purr. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“In a few hours,” I repeated.

Suddenly self-conscious, I disengaged and turned away. Wordlessly I started up the next flight of stairs at a fast walk, glad I’d worn my butt jeans that day. The whole way up the flight I basked in the warmth of his stare on my back until I turned out of sight. The sound of the second floor door opening and closing followed a moment later, and I was left alone in the stairwell with my lunch, a pounding, fuckstruck heart, and a dick I already knew would never be able to get enough of the man I’d just met.

That afternoon, the more insidious parts of my brain tried to undercut the floaty euphoria I’d contracted from meeting the guy who’d looked like he’d stepped straight out of Rooftop Sword Master, only with a fat, knee-kissing club instead of a juggernaut warsword.

Getting him to meet up was weird, the doubting thoughts told me. He agreed too easily, they said. We’d just met, and already he was going to be there when I got off, to go and… what? Play canasta? Take a harbor tour? He was as all about sex as I was, and… I mean, yeah, I was fit, decent looking. A catch, for someone who looked like me. Not for someone who looked like him.

Maybe I’m his five o’clock, and that’s all there is to it, the dark corner of my brain tried to tell me.

Thing was, I just couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t swallow the doubts. Because I’d felt it. He’d locked onto me. He hadn’t been looking at me like some kind of dissolute rake who passed through men like they were disposable paperbacks, or a callous douche-bro with a thousand asses at his command. I’d known guys like that. Dated one, even. Andrew, though…

Andrew had looked at me. Seen me. The heat in his stare wasn’t about looking for a tumble-and-squirt to wile away a gap in his drinking and clubbing schedule. It was discovery and quiet joy and “wild surmise,” like Keats first looking in Chapman’s Homer. In other words, he was feeling exactly what I was feeling.

I was too chicken to actually jerk off in the bathroom in the middle of a busy loft-sized web-design office at a quarter to 2 in the afternoon, which left me permanently turned on, hard and unslaked, for three agonizing hours. I sat nervously at my desk, inched in as far as my chair would go to hide my shame, and mostly failed to concentrate on my work. Every time I managed to stop focusing on my dick for a minute or three, I’d start replaying the encounter with Andrew—the way he loomed over me, the way he smelled, the way I could feel his heat, the swell of his enormous pecs and the twitch of that monster dick—and my cock started squeezing and writhing in my jeans like a newbie wrestler stuck in an unbreakable hold.

Finally it was time. I’d managed to get myself caught up in a debate on the team chat over the kind of green another client wanted as the keynote in their base palette, and had lost track of the time until it was nearly five to. Quickly, I logged out, shut down, and leapt up from my desk, escaping for the stairs with my rucksack strategically positioned in front of me. Andrew doesn’t even bother to hide his, I thought giddily as I waved at colleagues surprised by my unwonted haste. I was out the door and scurrying down the steps before anyone could buttonhole me.

He was there. Andrew was there, leaning against the unfinished slate they had lining the perimeter walls of the main lobby, his broad back to the stonework, one foot down, the other back. You know how sometimes people say some dude casually leaning against something is “holding up the wall”? Andrew looked like he actually could be. Just looking at him, even without any references—like, say, a doorframe he’d have to duck under—you could tell he was an expansion of the ideal male form. Everything about him was enhanced, from his size to his muscles to his cock to his uncanny mesmeric beauty. Starting with—fuck, he saw me and smiled, and my heart just about stopped.

I’d sort of clocked his big white sneakers before when I was gaping at his dick, the way you sort of notice the stuff in the background of a famous painting like the Mona Lisa, but now I deliberately slowed as I exited the stairwell so I could admire everything. His sneaks were high-end and sporty, very cool, and clearly conveyed that he had large, sexy feet that he liked to house in comfy-premium footwear. Maybe he’d leave them on during sex? Or just the socks? Bare would be hot, too. Fuck, I wanted his all three ways.

His legs were long, with thighs and calves that were powerful but not enormous. I wanted to see him walking, running, sprinting flat out as tirelessly as a—Fuck, I haven’t seen his ass. How awesome must his ass be?

And then there was the cock. I walked as slowly as I could, trying to look at his bulge objectively rather than gape and drool. Before I’d seen it sort of from above, but on approach like this it was clearly a colossal piece of meat. Not only was it bigger around than the thickest part of my forearm and considerably longer than any cock had any right to be, from this angle I could see it was bowed out toward me and twitching subtly against the fabric of his sports bottoms, like it was bent on getting hard and only the pants leg, and maybe a bit of iron will, was holding it back. I had a strong suspicion that that beast never got soft, not truly, not even in sleep. Corollary: I bet it was always ready to ooze, too. It wanted to leak, to spray, to erupt with ridiculous quantities of spunk. It was a set of hypotheses I was desperate to test.

As I got close to him my self-awareness snapped back into place—I was staring, damn it—and I sent my eyes skidding up his incredible body, lingering over the disproportionately huge pecs only a second before meeting his gaze with an appropriate dollop of chagrin. He was giving me a knowing smile, like he’d known just what I was looking at and what I was thinking and didn’t mind a whit. “Hey,” I said. As I got close enough to look up at him I realized his eyes were aflame with lust. Seriously, his stare was so intense I would have boned up in ten seconds of that look if I wasn’t already painfully stiff.

We locked gazes for a long, long minute, the air between us hot and charged. Then he lifted a hand and slipped it behind my skull.

My pulse went into overdrive as he leaned down toward me, the warm yellow locks of his shoulder-length hair falling forward as he brought our lips together. I tried to help, going up on tiptoes in my scuffed leather work-casual boots and grabbing his steel-hard shoulders to help pull myself a little, but he had to do most of the work of bringing our mouths into glorious, blissful union.

It was over too soon. We separated, and he straightened a little, though not all the way, eyes boring into mine. He was so beautiful, his eyes full of craving and his buttery bleached hair loose and his sharp jaw smooth as silk. I wanted to cry. I was still grasping his shoulders, and his traps gave as I squeezed. It was a relief to feel it, because it meant he was human. Flesh and blood. So much perfect flesh.

Somewhere in the distant reaches of my peripheral senses I was aware of groups of random people leaving the building. My rational brain wanted to remind me I was in reality and my new man, flesh and blood though he may be, was not as drab and prosaic and as practical as the rest of my existence, but I wasn’t listening. We were fixed on each other, and that was fine.

He smiled, and it was his turn to be a little chagrinned at how needy he was being. Maybe he was thinking about practicalities and mundanities, too.

“You hungry, Seth?” he growled, and I swear in my current state his voice was like full-on quadrophonic with fucking subwoofers the way it was filling my entire body.

I stared hard at him, feeling more that seeing the straining of his giant dick and the unconscious flex of his inches-thick pec-mesas. “So hungry,” I said, more emphatically than I’d meant to. He’d been talking about food. Not me.

Andrew chuckled, caressing the back of my head with his fingers. “Let’s find someplace more private to get to know each other, then,” he said.

I wasn’t aware of what symbology might have been attached to going to his place as opposed to mine for our rather urgent first tryst, but his apartment was closer. I also strongly suspected he had the bigger bed, a theory confirmed when we bustled in, barely getting the door shut before he was backwards-walking me to the bedroom, kissing me all the way, ending with him tossing me on the king-sized mattress that dominated the neat-as-a-pin, simply furnished bedchamber. He stood back, already pulling at his body-hugging white tee and toeing off his big sneaks at the same time. I wanted to watch, and I wanted to strip, and it only took me a second to remember I could do two things at once. My boots thunked on the ground in succession as I kept my eyes on the show, enjoying every inch of his golden-skinned body reveal.

Once he was topless we both took a moment to admire his herculean proportions and the chiseled sculpt of his abs and delts. We grinned at each other, loving that we were both hot for his body. I wanted to laugh. I was on the verge of saying sonething silly, like “No more shirts for you,” except he had looked damn good in the shirt.

I realized he was looking at me now, still shirted, his tongue literally sliding along his lips in anticipation. I didn’t know people actually did that. He went for the snap of his waistband, and I shucked my blue henley as quickly as possible, not wanting to miss a second of act two.

He wasn’t wearing underwear, because of course he wasn’t. Why would he?

He started the pants sliding down slowly, looking up to watch my reaction with obvious relish. I unbuttoned my jeans blindly, not taking my eyes off him. He freed his orange-sized balls and then began revealing his forearm-thick, veiny, utterly beautiful shaft, inch by fucking inch, hampered only by the impatience of the organ in question to be free of all constraint. I pushed my jeans down and then my boxer briefs, my dick springing free with such force that it spattered my chest with a bit of precum.

Finally Andrew got as impatient as his dick and dropped his trousers to the ground, letting his cock jump upward to an almost vertical position directly in front of him. I was panting as I stared at it. Now it was as thick as his forearm and curving back gently toward him, the nearly fist-sized head in easy reach of his delectable mouth—all he’d have to do was pull it forward. Fuck, I thought, not only is he huge—he’s a grower. His balls looked bigger, too, more like navel oranges than juice oranges in size, though I could almost sense how packed with man-huice they were. Already his cockhead and upper shaft were slimy with precum. How much cum does he make when he nuts?

Shucking my pants and briefs off me and tossing them aside, he made to move onto the bed. I stopped him with sudden “Wait!” He looked at me, surprised. I smiled wickedly. “Turn around.”

He beamed at me, making my heart trip again, then did a slow turn, showing off the goods. Fuck, he was magnificent. His ass was perfect—high, round, and thick. How does he walk around in regular clothes, even when he’s flaccid, or as flaccid as he ever gets? I wondered as he smugly finished his three-sixty. What does he look like in shorts? Fuck, what does he look like in Speedos?

Another for the list of things I wanted to see. It was going to be a long list.

Before I could say “C’mere” he’d crawled up onto the bed, his heavy, massive cock trailing slime all the way up my skin. I was so hot I almost thought it should boil right off me, but it stayed, his goo marking me. He was fully on top of me now, his massive chest brushing against mine, and I grasped his pecs in appreciation, feeling the smooth, perfect skin and reveling in their firmness and give, letting a few fingers slide into the deep cleavage between them. He was as hot as I was, a few of sweat already collecting between the heavy muscles.

I looked up at him, expecting him to kiss me, but that fire in his eyes told me he desperately needed to do more than make out. “I think you should fuck me,” he said. He licked his lips, letting them curve a little, and added, “This time.”

I panted. “Fuck, Andrew,” I said.

“Yes,” he said, smiling a little more. His cock was seeping generous quantities of pre, or maybe it was premature cum, too, since had so much of it. We wouldn’t need lube, at least.

I smiled back. “Should I fuck your pecs, or your ass?” I asked.

I was mostly joking, but he just said “Yes” again, his gaze intensifying as his need grew.

He slid down, and then I was pushing my cock between his heavy pecs, feeling his powerful muscle squeeze me as I rutted. I held onto his much larger tool, tilting it to the side a bit so it was out of the way. I didn’t dare to stroke, though, it lest he blast his clearly imminent orgasm all over me before we were ready.

The feeling of me pushing between his pecs was too good. My dick fit in there like a piston, and with the heat and tightness of the narrow passage it was already the best fuck I’d had. “Get me in you,” I gasped. “I’m not going to last!”

With powerful grace Andrew slid forward, reaching behind him to position my slime-covered cockhead directly at his entrance, and then I was pushing my long, hard tool into the most amazing ass I’d ever had. Seriously, I had no idea how many guys Andrew had been with, but it felt like I was breeding him for the first time. I groaned, and Andrew groaned louder, tossing his head back. Knowing I wasn’t going to last I started stroking his cum-messy cock with both hands, driving him to the edge even as I was bottoming out in his furnace-hot, exquisitely tight ass.

“Seth—I—” he blurted, his beautiful face flushed and faintly blotchy, like his massive golden chest.

“Do it!” I commanded. “Blast all over me!”

He shouted, laughing as he came literal fountains of cum, spraying spunk all over me, enough for ten men. I was cumming too, busting all my cum into him, and when I was done he was still going.

So much cum. I loved it. I never wanted to not be covered in cum, holding his big, insatiable, never-soft dick as I gazed into those beautiful, lusty, eyes, the eyes that said he was all mine.

We were snuggling. There had been pizza, showers, more fucking. More pizza. “You like how I look, right?”

I nodded, knowing there was no way words could convey how much of a “no kidding” this was.

He nodded, grinning. “Me, too,” he said.

“Yeah?” I teased, idly stroking his prodigious pecs as I cuddled closer. His cheeks pinked adorably. If I hadn’t known he was genuinely into me and who I was and what I looked like, I would have felt a touch of insecurity I didn’t measure up to this particular rubric of masculinity. As it was, I was mainly curious where he was going with this. “You get off to yourself in the mirror?” I asked, letting my hand slide slowly downwards, stealthily seeking his never-completely-soft anaconda cock.

“I got a lot of horny,” he said, drawing in a breath as my inadequate hand found its quarry. The half-chubbed monster awoke from its doze, straightening and stiffening as it fell back toward Andrew’s incomparable chest.

“Don’t I know it,” I said wonderingly, coasting my palm along the hardening underside of his tool, the gigantic wang already messing gouts of warm, clear precum into his pectoral crevasse.

Andrew licked his lips, and I felt his warmth mounting as his arousal spiked. “Supposedly…” he said, his voice deepening just that little bit that let me know he was really turned on. He cleared his throat as I stroked along his cock, the full length, balls to tip. “S-supposedly there’s this place that’s all about, um, big Asian muscle hunks. The Muscle Café, I think it’s called. Some of the things I’ve heard are a little wild. Maybe a little impossible.”

I climbed up onto him, letting him buck his enormous, now rock-hard and increasingly messy erection into the weight of my body. It felt like he was fucking all the way through me, like I was the sheath for his beautiful, irresistible titanically oversized manhood. I leaned up and kissed him. “I thought this was impossible,” I said, nuzzling his smooth jaw with my lips. “And?”

“I want to go there,” he murmured in my ear. “With you. As a couple.”

My heart soared. As a couple. He’d said as a couple. “And get off on huge hot pretty-boy muscle dudes together?” I asked, pushing up to meet his sweet brown eyes. They were dark with lust and fully focused on my existence alone.

His cock bucked into me, hard, and it felt as amazing as actually being fucked. “I want to see you surrounded by big, smooth, beautiful muscle,” he confessed.

I nodded. “I like this kink,” I said with a grin, my pulse pounding as my orgasm surged up on me. I was close, and he was, too. We’d cum so many times, and here it was again, like cumming was as easy as breathing.

“So what do you say/” he asked, moving his broad hands over my butt and slipping a long, hefty digit into my ready ass.

“Mmf,” I grunted. I let the digit settle in me, then smiled down at him, staring right into his eyes. “Sounds like… a date.”

He pushed in more, and all at once we were both losing it. I bend down and kissed him hard as our cocks burst between us, bucking and jumping against our bodies as he finger fucked me, and suddenly geysers of his hot cum were blasting against our chins, covering us with spunk. We laughed and gasped against each other’s mouths as we came, the scene so hot I was already incredibly turned on even as I emptied my nuts all over my big, beautiful man.

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Simon says by BRK My goofy, fun-loving shop owner loves staging these ridiculous competitions with us, but this latest one is definitely the craziest. 2 parts 7,732 words Added May 2013 Updated 30 Jun 2017 26k views 5.0 stars (10 votes) No comments yet •Cock Growth•Huge Cock•Hyper Cock•Extra digits•Multi-abs•Multicock•Multiarm•Multilimb•Muscle/Strength•Getting Taller•Size Increase•Suggestion

The right blend by BRK In this sequel to “One Hot Summer,” Thad returns to Colorado, still in Zac’s upgraded, hyper-hung body. When he finds he’s no longer able to morph himself back into what he’s supposed to look like, his only hope is his sexy and capable second-in-command, Aleksei. 31 parts 92k words (#33) Added Mar 2023 Updated 28 Sep 2024 40k views 5.0 stars (10 votes) No comments yet •Always Hard•Cock Growth•Huge Balls•Huge Cock•Hyper Cock•Self-suck•Hyper Cum•Multi-balls•Multicock•Multihead•Boytaur•Four Legs•Multiarm•Multileg•Multilimb•Multipec•Multitongue•Multitorso•Replication•Stacking•Muscle Growth•Muscle/Strength•Always Shirtless•Pointy Ears•Increased Libido•Getting Handsomer•Transformation•Getting Taller•Plausible Size Difference•Size Decrease•Size Increase•Race/Ethnicity Change•Hair Growth/Getting Hairy•Retcon•Incest•Brothers•Nonconsensual change•Body Swap•Cannabis •M/M•M/M/M•M/M/M/...

MultiGeoff by BRK New recruit Geoff reports for duty on a gigantic space station and learns that his first task is to reshape himself—and not in a figurative sense. 2,556 words Added Aug 2023 6,805 views 5.0 stars (3 votes) No comments yet •Cock Growth•Huge Balls•Huge Cock•Public Orgasm•Multi-balls•Multicock•Boytaur•Four Legs•Lots of Legs•Multileg•Multilimb•Multitongue•Public Nudity•Merging•Space Travel•Complete•Stories with Images•Set in the Future •M•M/M

Unboxing Viktor by BRK In a not-so-distant future, Christian receives a gift that reminds him of the hot neighbor he has a crush on. 4 parts 13k words Added Feb 2024 Updated 17 Aug 2024 6,746 views 5.0 stars (18 votes) No comments yet •Huge Cock•Multicock•Multiarm•Multilimb•Multipec•Replication•Stacking•Detachable•Transformation•Getting Taller•Mouthcock•Nanotech•Androids/Cyborgs•Space Travel•Set in the Future •M/M•M/M/M

Prompts and peens by BRK Calvin finds a strange A.I. app on his tablet that generates interesting responses to his story prompts. 2,409 words Added Aug 2024 5,651 views 5.0 stars (8 votes) No comments yet •Cock Growth•Huge Cock•Self-suck•Muscle Growth•Foot Growth•A.I.-Controlled Change•Retcon•Complete •M/M

The blue pumpkin by BRK Dominic is sure his blue pumpkin jack-o’-lantern will be a hit. What he doesn’t know is what will be brought forth when he lights the candle within… 6 parts 8,774 words Added Oct 2020 17k views 5.0 stars (22 votes) No comments yet •Always Hard•Cock Growth•Huge Cock•Hyper Cock•Hyper Cum•Multiarm•Multilimb•Multitongue•Replication•Muscle Growth•Muscle/Strength•Stretchy•Getting Taller•Mouthcock•Incest•Twins•Selfcest•Merging•Supernatural•Halloween•Complete •M/M•M/M/M•M/M/M/...

Invitation by BRK A hot couple invites over a beefcake third for a sex-magic session that lets each experience something they’ve always craved. 3,336 words Added Sep 2024 4,011 views 4.9 stars (19 votes) No comments yet •Cock Growth•Huge Cock•Muscle Growth•Getting Taller•Plausible Size Difference•Size Increase•Merging•Complete •M/M/M

From the files of the Magic Misuse Office by BRK High-ranking magilegal investigator Liam O'Brien reports on a YouTube video in which twin college students have an illicitly magical effect on anyone watching. 6 parts 20k words Added Sep 2017 Updated 4 Sep 2021 23k views 4.9 stars (36 votes) No comments yet •Cock Growth•Huge Cock•Multicock•Multihead•Multiarm•Multilimb•Multitorso•Replication•Straight to Gay•Muscle Growth•Increased Libido•Transformation•Social Media•Incest•Twins•Selfcest•Merging•Witch/Warlock/Wizard •M/M•M/M/M