Nature’s bloom

by Noam de Pluma

 Although the hibiscus was in full flower, Vance was not. Fortunately for him, a faery-enchanted clocktower in the Botanical Gardens was about to remedy that problem for him. And his dick. And his muscles. And his…

Added: Nov 2021 4,621 words 5,993 views 4.5 stars (13 votes)


Although the hibiscus was in full flower, Vance was not. The slender, gawky teen was one of those rarities who somehow made it through secondary school without having filled into manhood, even a little. Graduation was just a month away and he routinely passed for a 14-year-old.

“Hey, Vance-baby, heads up!” He wasn’t sure which of his classmates had yelled (it was probably Alonzo), but it didn’t really matter insofar as dodging the handful of seed packets that sailed through the air towards his head was concerned.

“Most amusing, class, now settle down,” called Mr. Barton, leading his group of would-be graduates through the Royal Botanical Gardens on their last field trip of the year. He was on high alert for practical jokes and misbehaviour. They were just passing the first exhibit, a lovely patch of hibiscus in bloom, and the teacher felt determined to nip unruliness in the bud. “Now, as an interesting aside, note the ornate clock-tower built into the border of the Gardens. Some say it’s charmed by faerie folk such that once a year it grants a worthy hero, or victim—or both—either a tremendous boon or misfortune, respectively. Now…”

He droned on while Vance disappeared into his own thoughts. Vance-baby. Baby-face Vance. Tom Thumb. Over the years, the taunts had changed in tone from consciously derisive to blandly routine—just a name people called him without meaning anything by it—but Vance was sick of them all the same. What he wouldn’t give to be big already, dammit. Like Alonzo. Gorgeous, swarthy Alonzo…

He bent down to examine the nearest bud, a brilliant specimen with broad white petals that melted into fuchsia towards the centre, and that sported an almost comically large stamen. Even the sodding flower is better hung than I am, he mused bitterly to himself. If anything could be big about me, at least make it that. He brought his nose closer and took a whiff. As the heady aroma swirled through his nostrils, he heard a loud, sonorous GONG

…and just like that, time seemed to stop.

He jumped and stood up only to realize that time had stopped. Unless everyone, Mr. Barton included, had decided to attempt a freeze-frame challenge without telling him. They, and all the other patrons. And the flora. And the drips of water from hanging plants suspended in the air, glinting serenely in the light. All was as silent as the proverbial mouse, save for a dull, slow tick——tock——tick——tock that reverberated in his ears.

He reached towards one droplet experimentally. It flowed and moved through the air wherever he pushed it but halted the instant he broke contact. Interesting. Growing bolder, he reached up to nudge Alonzo, the dark-hued football captain, on the shoulder. Alonzo was about the only person to make fun of Vance for real these days, including for his dick, which was as small as the rest of him.

Or used to be. In fact, the instant time had frozen, a number of changes had taken place that Vance was too shocked and awed to notice. First, his little nub of a cock had grown, quite significantly, occupying far more space between his legs than it used to. Second, his nuts had swelled from unimpressive grapes to a more-than-respectable handful of virile bull balls.

Third, his boxer-briefs were now a jockstrap, the only kind of undergarment that could reasonably accommodate his mammoth endowment.


Alonzo felt pliable and manipulable enough to Vance, but the hunky athlete showed no sign of awareness.


An idea implanted itself in Vance’s mind. Now’s your chance. Payback. Do it. Do it now. He shook his head, but couldn’t rid himself of the increasingly powerful impulse.


Vance instinctively knew he didn’t have much time. With shaking hands, he unbuttoned Alonzo’s trousers and yanked them down, pants and all, exposing his hairy bubble-butt and gorgeously pert equipment.


“What the fuck?”

Vance pulled his nose away from the overlarge stamen as the rest of his class burst into laughter. What was all the fuss about? He looked up and spotted Alonzo, the footie stud, struggling to pull his trousers up, his butt, cock and balls bouncing around as he nearly lost his balance. Vance joined in the laughter.

“Mr. Cabrera, what is going on there?” Mr. Barton demanded, unable to see clearly through the crowd.

“Nothing, nothing, I swear!” Alonzo panicked while the rest of the class pointed and laughed. By the time Mr. Barton worked his way through the group Alonzo had made himself decent and stood at attention like he was awaiting instructions at football practice, blushing furiously.

Mr. Barton whirled around to wag a finger at everyone. “You are about to become graduates of one of the finest colleges in England! Young men and women entering the world at large! I expect you to act as such.” He strode through the group of giggling students and continued the tour.

“Good thing it wasn’t Baby Donkeydick over there, or Barton never would have missed what went down,” smirked one classmate.

Everyone laughed except for Vance and Alonzo, who both blushed for different reasons. Alonzo for his recent trip to Debagged City, population: Alonzo, and Vance for the fact that he never felt quite at home with the fact that everything about him was small except for his dick. It was almost comically large (he had yet to change in a locker room where anyone else even came close to his size), especially on his slight frame. For better or for worse it had become central to his reputation, so naturally a few nicknames had become inevitable.

The group moved on with Mr. Barton waxing poetic about the calla lilies they were about to encounter. Vance stepped to the back of the group and Alonzo slowed down to match until they strode side by side.

“I bet you had something to do with that, Donkey,” he rasped.

“Oh, sod off,” Vance returned, looking up at his tormentor and secret crush. “I was literally smelling a flower when you decided to risk getting arrested for indecent exposure. Don’t blame me for—hey!”

Vance stumbled and nearly fell as Alonzo twitched a powerful elbow into his shoulder and sent him careening into a table of petunias.

“Oi, settle down back there!” Mr. Barton called, stopping at the callas.

Vance dusted himself off as Alonzo chuckled. He moved away from the bully and towards the front of the group for a better look at the lilies, and was struck by their… their masculinity. Strong, tall, thick stems, a single broad, sturdy and tapered petal, large stamen that was more proportionate than that of the frankly lewd-looking hibiscus. God, he wished he was bigger all over, not just below the belt.

Vance reached out to touch the largest calla and as the solid, woody texture of the stem sent thrills of pleasure through his fingertips, he heard a loud, sonorous GONG

…and just like that, time seemed to stop.

He jumped back and looked around, only to realize that time had stopped. Unless everyone, Mr. Barton included, had decided to perform an impromptu tableau. They, and all the other patrons. And the flora. And the decorative waterfall next to the callas, frozen in its fluid beauty. All was as silent as a snowfall, save for a dull, slow tick——tock——tick——tock that reverberated in his ears.

He touched the petal leaf of his calla lily experimentally and was struck by a feeling of déjà vu as the flower proved pliant and responsive to his touch. He knew in his hindbrain what was happening even as an insistent, implacable idea planted itself there. One that made him blush with its audacity. One he couldn’t shake.

Quite against his will, his inhibitions and morality simply melted away.

He wove through the crowd to reach up and nudge Alonzo, and took a moment to gape at his newly muscular forearm. And bicep. He felt himself up, in shock at his cobblestone abs and thick, powerful thighs, before remembering his mission. Alonzo.


Vance knew he didn’t have much time. He knelt down, unzipped Alonzo’s pants, and fished out his dick. Looking up for any final hints of awareness and finding none, he took the soft prick into his mouth and began to suck. Slowly, inexorably, it began to harden, filling his cheeks and just poking at the back of his throat.


With the last few seconds he had, Vance reached down and fiddled with something at his knees as he drove himself past his gag reflex to make sure Alonzo’s now-dripping hardon would be impossible to miss…


“Jesus fuck, arrrgh!”

There was a crash and a clatter, followed by more laughter. Alonzo was lying on the floor, his expression aghast, as he struggled to decide which problem to address first: his shoelaces that were tied together, or the wet erection that poked out of his fly.

He wisely chose to address the latter, and none too soon, as he had just tucked himself away when Mr. Barton bore down on him.

“Mr. Cabrera, I expect better of you, truly, I do,” his voice dripped with anger.

“Someone tied my shoes together, Mr. Barton!”

“All right, who did it?” Mr. Barton scanned the crowd of giggling would-be graduates. “Mr. Podinski—you’ve already been at it with Mr. Cabrera today. Did you have anything to do with this?”

Vance looked up from the back of the group, a muscular arm still reaching for the stem of the calla. “I’ve been over here the whole time, Mr. Barton,” he said, smacking his lips absentmindedly. What was that salty taste on his tongue? It was familiar and yet so unexpected…

Mr. Barton seemed to have given him a pass and was once again sternly lecturing the class on appropriate etiquette before resuming the tour. The group moved on, leaving Alonzo to fall behind to where Vance was while he fixed his laces.

“As if Babyface Pocket Stud needs to tie ‘Zo’s shoes together,” one student within earshot muttered. “One punch and, bam, he’d be out like a light.”

“If teeny tiny Tom Thumb Donkey Dick could even reach my face without a stepstool,” Alonzo sneered back under his breath.

Vance rolled his eyes. Lord, he was sick of the nicknames. Why couldn’t his body just be proportionate? He was about to graduate with the face of a 14-year old, the dick of a porn star, and the body of a fitness magazine cover model, and the vertical prowess of an Oompa-Loompa. Sure, most of his classmates used his nicknames with unconscious automation if not affection these days, but it still rankled, and ‘Zo always found a way to add a bit of genuine malice to them.

The one person Vance wanted camaraderie and affection from more than anyone, and, well, nada. Zilch. Hell, even joining the football team and playing together hadn’t done much to mend their fences, though Alonzo had shown a grudging respect for him on one level or another.

By now Mr. Barton had stopped in front of the sunflowers and was droning on about how many species could become aggressive towards their garden-mates. Vance looked at a particularly tall specimen and sighed. What he wouldn’t give to be tall already, and really give ‘Zo a run for his money. He stood on his tiptoes to smell the towering black-and-yellow bloom and just brushed tickled his nose against the rough, stubbly disk when he heard a loud, sonorous GONG

…and just like that, time seemed to stop.

He looked around with a minimal amount of surprise, his instincts kicking in faster the third time around. Silence. Stillness. Safety. The dull, slow tick——tock——tick——tock that reverberated in his ears.

He skipped experimenting with the scenery and made a beeline for Alonzo, stumbling and nearly falling as he adapted to the centre of gravity of a body that was now fully two feet taller than before. He found his quarry in the midst of bending down to pick up a fallen sweet wrapper. Perfect.

A new idea fluttered into his mind. His morality, stifled and dampened, barely made a peep.

Vance unzipped his trousers and fished out what was universally accepted to be the biggest dick at the college, a thick, menacing pipe that, even soft, came in at eight hefty inches. He reached down to Alonzo’s jaw, forced it open, and laid his thickening helmet on the longtime bully’s tongue.


Vance knew he didn’t have much time. He began to thrust, careful when drawing back to keep his floppy dick from falling out of Alonzo’s mouth but gradually hardening enough that he could facefuck his rival with more freedom. ‘Zo’s warm, wet tongue felt wonderful on Vance’s shaft, like the world’s most realistic Fleshlight. As he reached his full eleven inches he experimentally poked the back of Alonzo’s throat and found that it offered no resistance, accepting his cock as easily as did his overstretched lips.


With the last few seconds he had, Vance grabbed Alonzo’s ears and began long, deep thrusts, burying himself to the root and visualizing just how far down ‘Zo’s throat his cock reached. He smashed his pelvis into ‘Zo’s lips over and over, getting close, closer, so close, so very close…


Mr. Barton’s lecture was interrupted by Alonzo suddenly, violently retching from where he knelt. This distraction worked very much to Vance’s advantage, as nobody noticed his own change in demeanour and body language. One moment he was standing tall, eye-to-eye with the sunflower, and the next he was hunched over and huffing, eyes crossed, as he struggled to hold back the most powerful (and frankly random) orgasm he’d ever experienced.

His enormous cock, which he could have sworn was soft and well off his mind just a moment ago, was now rock hard, inexplicably wet and painfully bent in his jockstrap. He gasped as it throbbed and twitched before finally sliding back from the brink of cumming in public.

By the time he gathered his wits Mr. Barton had already made his way over to Alonzo and was whacking him on the back. “Really, Mr. Cabrera, you are behaving most unusually today. What are you choking on?”

“I dunno,” Alonzo gasped. “I just had a sweet, but I thought I swallowed it properly.” He slowly got his breath back and resisted the urge to spit out whatever salty taste lingered inexplicably on his tongue.

Mr. Barton sighed. “Please try to minimize disruptions, Mr. Cabrera. I’ve had quite enough of you today.” He strode back to the head of the class to lead them over to the holly garden.

Alonzo glared at Vance, but couldn’t really figure out if there was a way to blame the football star for his latest gaffe. “What’re you looking at, Babyface?” he grunted.

Vance rolled his eyes, ignoring his still rock-hard dick. For fuck’s sake, would ‘Zo give him a rest over that already? The beefy striker didn’t make fun of Vance for anything else these days—he’d long since outgrown his gawky, boyish body and most of the attendant nicknames—but everybody seemed to keep up with the Babyface moniker. As if it wasn’t embarrassing enough being the tallest, strongest, best-hung lad in school while still sporting the face of a cherub.

At least ‘Zo was the only one who said it with derision anymore, especially since Vance had wrested the team captaincy from his grasp. For everyone else it was a definite term of affection, if not admiration, which was a welcome change from years past. If only he could find a way to get Alonzo on his side, maybe they could… no, that was a pipe dream. So far as he knew the dusky striker wasn’t even gay.

“You ever gonna let me live that down?” he asked, falling into stride beside his rival. “We’re about to be in university, mate. We’ll be past all this teenage nonsense.”

“You may be captain on the pitch, but we both know who the real man around here is,” Alonzo shot back, stroking his goatee. He elbowed Vance painfully in the ribs. “Besides, if you think I’m bad, just wait ‘til you get heckled on the big stage at uni. I’ve gotta toughen you up or you’ll be eaten alive.”

Vance shook his head, tired of the disrespect, even if there was a kernel of truth to what Alonzo said.

They turned their attention to Mr. Barton, who was expounding on the dioecious nature of holly, with male and female plantings needed for reproduction. Alonzo nudged him in the ribs again. “You see that there, mate? That male one’s a proper fucker of a plant, innit?” He gestured to the male planting closer to Vance. “That one’s me, see? And that bitch plant next to it? That’s you.”

Vance tried to ignore his cock, which was still stubbornly erect, and examined the plantings. Something about holly appealed to him. Beautiful, but rough. So many sharp edges on its leaves. Something that spoke of adulthood, maturity, a departure from his own boyish features. Ugh, was ‘Zo seriously making him jealous of a plant?

“Well, if you want to fuck girl-holly so much, why don’t feel her up already, mate?” He took Alonzo’s wrist in a powerful grip and shoved it towards the female specimen even as the striker protested. Their hands brushed the leaves—Vance’s against the male’s, Alonzo’s against the female’s—at the same time, when they heard a loud, sonorous GONG

…and just like that, time seemed to stop.

They looked about with vastly differing reactions: Alonzo gaped with more than enough surprise for the both of them while Vance looked down at the adorably wrong-footed object of his affections with unabashed hunger and lust. His eyes shone behind his rugged, angular face and tastefully cropped beard, his hindbrain knowing exactly what to do with this opportunity.

A dull, slow tick——tock——tick——tock reverberated in their ears.

Alonzo looked around wildly. “What the fuck is going on, mate?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda wild, isn’t it?” Vance said as his dick twitched, harder than ever. He advanced on ‘Zo with a predatory smirk that gradually turned into a seductive smile as the idea he’d had to escalate his activities from before suddenly, magically faded, replaced by one of his more natural (if heretofore repressed) instincts. The tinkling laughter in his head took on a more curious tone, eager to see where he would take things of his own volition.

Alonzo backed up into one of his frozen classmates. “Wha—”

Vance cut him off by bending down and pulling him into an assertive, passionate kiss, grinding his bulged crotch into the striker’s midsection and enclosing his nicely bubbled ass in a sensual massage. Alonzo struggled at first before some inexplicable primal instinct planted itself in his mind, making him relax and moan into Vance’s mouth.

They pulled apart. “Wha… what’s happening to me?” Alonzo stammered, dazed.

Vance unzipped his trousers and fished out what he was proud to claim as the biggest dick on campus, a monstrous eleven inches that even his massive hands couldn’t encircle individually. “Not sure, but I think you like it as much as I do,” he grinned. He placed Alonzo’s hand on it and together they ran up and down its length, stoking its insistent turgidity.

Alonzo whimpered as the sheer heat and power of Vance’s massive endowment sent tingles of delight through his fingertips straight to the pleasure centres of his brain. His cock rose to attention in his slacks and his knees trembled, threating to collapse at any moment.


Dimly, Vance was aware that he had more time than usual. It was undoubtedly speeding up, but more slowly than he expected. That awareness never percolated up to his conscious mind, however, laser-focused as it was on staying in the moment and gripping Alonzo’s ass even tighter.

Alonzo’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he sagged to the ground. “Ohhh, Vance… I need… I need…” He clamped his free hand on top of the one Vance was using to massage his ass, making sure it stayed there. He stared at the bulbous head of Vance’s cock and drooled. “I need… you…” he leaned forward and began to suck, just barely managing to stretch his lips over the width of Vance’s rock-hard rim.

Vance placed both hands on Alonzo’s ass and massaged his cheeks, enjoying the feel of the muscular globes beneath his trousers. He snuck one hand, then the other, under his waistband and squeezed, teasing a finger over the striker’s hole.

Alonzo, curiously, was already wet, and enticingly pliant. As if his tunnel was just waiting for something to enter it.

Vance shoved his index finger in as far as it would go.

Alonzo once again rolled his eyes in the back of his head at the unexpectedly welcome intrusion, moaning in bliss. Vance’s cock popped into his throat and sank down to the root.


Vance added a second digit, enjoying the feel of Alonzo’s hole stretching and spasming around him, and reached around with his free hand to undo the sexy striker’s trousers. He flexed his cock in ‘Zo’s warm, accommodating throat and luxuriated in the vibrations as his teammate hummed around his thickness.

Alonzo wiggled his hips to help Vance shimmy him out of his trousers while ravenously swallowing his captain’s sword to the hilt, unable to explain or resist the bizarre urge to submit to the larger stud. He pushed out to invite even more of Vance into his rear end, savouring the stretch from his ring and thrills of pleasure from his prostate.


Not much time left. They made eye contact and, with an unspoken agreement, hastily made to change position. Alonzo pulled off Vance’s cock, the head making an audible pop as it left his strained lips, and turned around to present his furred bubble butt to his captain. He closed his eyes in anticipation and wasn’t disappointed when he felt something threateningly hot, large and blunt press against his rear end. He pushed out in response and moaned in anticipation.

Vance hooked his thumbs into Alonzo’s inviting tunnel and, bracing against his muscular globes, sighed in pleasure the greedy hole slowly opened to swallow his helmet, and groaned with the striker as he slid first one, then two, then three inches of shaft, relishing the delicious ring of tightness that squeezed its way down his length.

He slowed down his journey, concerned for Alonzo’s safety, but the desperate footballer would have none of it. He thrust himself down Vance’s fat pole until he fully bottomed out, crying in ecstasy all the way.


Vance wasted no time and began a hard, vigorous rut into his rival’s backside. The slap of his thighs against ‘Zo’s ass cheeks reverberated through the echoing silence, speeding up in time with the constant ticking of the clock.

“Ungh, ‘Zo, you’re so tight and wet and hot, my god…” he groaned.

“Harder, Vance, harder, fuck me, harder, harder!” Alonzo cried, whining each time Vance’s broad cockhead pummeled his prostate.

The two boys rocked into each other with frantic abandon, desperate to beat the clock. Alonzo jerked himself off furiously and squeezed his hole as tight as he could.

Vance grunted. Alonzo whimpered. They slammed together one final time and spasmed. Vance’s monster cock twitched and jerked, delivering a load of cum deep into Alonzo’s bowels while the striker unloaded on the flagstone below. For the briefest moment they collapsed onto each other in a sweaty, moaning mess.

“Vance,” Alonzo began, “I…”


As they touched their respective plantings, Vance and Alonzo struggled to contain a burst of youthful mirth.

“As if you’d be the boy plant anyway,” Vance teased.

“Not with your load squelching its way out of my ass right now,” Alonzo tittered. “So fucking hot, babe.”

“No, you pre-lubing your ass so we could nip into the bathroom for a snog and a quickie before the tour, that’s what’s hot,” Vance cooed back, leaning in for a kiss, which Alonzo avidly returned.

“Boys. Boys. Ahem, boys!” called Mr. Barton. They looked up and blushed, but only slightly. “That’s it. If you can’t behave yourselves on this tour, then consider it concluded. For you, anyway. Go wait for the group in the lobby and try not to cause any more trouble.”

Vance and Alonzo looked at each other and shrugged, then made their way through the crowd of classmates while holding hands. They ignored the gentle digs of “Way to go, lovebirds,” and “Footsie footies, that’s what you are,” and similar, having grown used to the teasing over the years. Besides, it was all in good fun.

They unknowingly stepped over a small puddle of sticky white splatter that lay on a paving stone by their feet.

On their way to the lobby, Vance spotted a rose bush and, glancing around to make sure the coast was clear, took out his pocket knife and cut away the fullest bloom he could find. “For you, ‘Zo,” he said.

Alonzo took it into his hand and admired its beauty before looking into his boyfriend’s eyes, which he found even more intoxicating. They leaned in for a kiss, their beards rustling together. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as they maintained a picture-perfect moment of romantic bliss.


They broke the kiss, distracted by the clock-tower bells. Alonzo stuck the rose behind his ear, being mindful of the thorns, and brushed a hand against Vance’s crotch. “You know, o captain my captain, my ass is still dripping. It’d be a right shame to waste all that lube…”

Vance looked down at his favourite striker and grinned wolfishly. “Oh, a dirty great shame, that. Think we have long enough before the tour’s over?”

Alonzo grabbed his hand and made towards the bathrooms. “Let’s find out. No time like the present.”

They walked, giggling, past the hibiscus, which was in full flower. Just like Vance.


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