|Part 1 Horny teen Jackson encounters a guy who seems like he’s the god of sweet, muscular, carnal masculine hotness, and that means big changes for Jackson and his friends.||2002-10-01|
His name was William. I remember the day I first saw him, and my reaction to his sudden appearance from around the corner of the lockers.
My name is Jackson. It was my father's little idea of a joke. Because, see, his name was Jack, making me Jack's son. A pretty silly joke, when you think about it. But it's all I have left of him. He and my mom died in a car wreck two years ago—or I should say two years before the beginning of my story, and two years before I met William. I was fifteen when they died and, since I'm not dumb and there was no one else to do it, I was declared an adult and allowed to raise myself, so to speak. The life insurance money is taking care of little annoyances like rent and car payments and food, and I would have gotten out of high school too if I could have, but I guess you can only be an adult so far before they decide to pull your leash.
Anyway, if I'd left school when I wanted to, I would never have met William, and I'm sure my life would be a lot different.
I'm writing this down, knowing that no one will ever read it. But I feel like I need to get this story out of me now before moving on to whatever comes next. It'll get a little freaky—no, it'll get a lot freaky before the tale's done, but I swear it's all true.
As I was saying, my parents were dead, I was living on my own in my own apartment, having sold the house to rid myself of its burden of debt and certain memories that were not going anywhere, and it was my senior year in high school.
I guess I should also add that I was—I am—gay, although few people knew it at the time. Where I grew up, it wouldn't have been very prudent of me to come out to anyone, even some of my closest friends. And I wasn't all that self-confident enough to do it, either, even though I was fairly popular and considered pretty cool by everyone else since I had my own place and basically no rules to follow. Except those I made for myself. And one of my rules was not to fuck my luck up any more than what I already thought I had.
Call me a coward if you want, I suppose it's true. But whatever, that's not the story I'm telling here. Boo hoo poor me and all that shit. No, my life wasn't bad at all, and if I wasn't having the best luck lifewise, I had been blessed in other areas pretty heavily.
First, I'm a big guy. In every sense. And fucking cute, too. Yeah, I was the guy in the locker room who hung out (literally) naked a lot. Frankly, I enjoyed the attention, and probably it was my way of scoping out the possibilities. You know, like who's looking a little closer than normal, paying a little too much attention to my dick, trying to hide their returned desires with a hard-on here and there. And I'm not boasting when I say that I had plenty to show off.
Not only did I already have a more than ample length of horse dick, I was working out a lot and managed to pack on a decent amount of muscle by the time I was 18. I think you could say I was a stud muffin, no doubt about it. And I was getting action from both courts, even though I knew I was gay. The girls were paying more attention to me than the guys—well, some guys paid me a lot of attention which I returned. I mean, come on, my hormones were pumping overtime and great sex is great sex.
Besides, I had an image to uphold.
Okay, so I've set the scene enough. I know what you're waiting for. I can hear you out there between strokes, baby. You want the goods, the point of this little tale. You need the money s hot.
William was a transfer my last year at Central. I had been hearing that whoever this guy was, he was going to give me a run for my money in the looks department. I hadn't seen him by the time I was getting ready to put my clothes back on after gym. I was leaning against my locker, toweling my hair dry while proudly displaying my impressive collection of wet and just-pumped muscles, joking with, I think, Larry who was a good friend and occasional fuck buddy (we used to see how far we could get away with the occasional ass caress or prick stroke around the locker room, you know, vicarious thrill, etc.) when around the corner comes this guy who, I swear, made me hard right there. Have you ever encountered some guy on the street or on the beach or in a club and your heart flipped and your mouth went dry and you could feel a tingling down below with such a sudden shock to your system that you felt like someone just tossed hot water on you?
If not, I urge you to get out more. If so, you get an idea of what I felt when William came into view.
Oh my God, boys, this here was a guy I wanted to take then and there and fuck what anyone thought. Larry saw my reaction and must have sensed that I was losing control since he stepped closer and took the towel out of my hand and did his best to hide my woody which was threatening to reach record-breaking hardness as this man walked closer.
How do I explain that first look?
Maybe I'll just tell you what I saw. I don't think I can adequately describe him to you with words, but I'll give it a shot.
First of all, this guy was huge. A mammoth wall of male pulchritude ambling across the cold concrete floor, blocking my view of everything but him. And probably “amble” isn't an exact representation of what his body was doing. More like stalk, or maybe pursue. There was something of an animal about how he approached, and I can't say for sure if it was the way his muscles moved, so sleek and powerful and utterly under control, or the sway of his hips or the look in his eyes. But there was something definitely feral and raw about him, even if it was honed to such a perfected edge that it only added to the attraction.
His upper body was bare and the shock of seeing so much beautiful muscle and so much masculine power all at once was nearly overwhelming, and certainly dick hardening. His broad chest had a soft forest of dark curls. Not a thick carpet of darkness, but a soft forest, a curling collection of black curls spreading across its expanse in a way that made you want to reach into it and just sniff him all in. All that luscious hair was distributed in a wide triangle across two immense collections of muscular meat that I don't think I'd ever seen anywhere but in some comic. It was almost as if he'd been carved from stone, or some living metal. The two hemispheres were equally overwhelmed with the striated power built up under the skin.
Across the top of that chest were his shoulders, which somehow managed to match its size muscle for muscle. Broad and fat and rounded with power, stretching and flexing as he approached. The arms that hung from those shoulders were a sculpted collection of bulging strength, each muscle thickly defined and so large and well-formed that they seemed almost unreal. They could pull you inside them and crush you. They defined 'huge.' His flat belly was rippled with a cobblestone street and a treasure trail of more of that shining silk lead under the waistband of his cotton gym trunks toward what appeared to be maybe the biggest bulge I'd ever seen in my life—including mine. He wore the shorts very low on his slim hips, so that a wealth of pubes erupted over the waistband like an invitation.
Then, there was William's face. Again, oh my God, boys. Just… beautiful. Stunning. Gorgeous. Get out a thesaurus and run down the list. He was smiling, slightly, his full lips turned up just so. His eyes, when at last I managed to look up his dimensions to find them, were focused on me in a way that made me feel both amazingly happy and sort of embarrassed at the same time, as if he was sizing me up, liked what he saw, told me so and added how hard he was going to fuck me all at once. I'd heard the term “speaking with his eyes” before, but here was a guy who was doing exactly that, and what he was saying made me want to bend over and let him at me.
'His eyes are green.'
I noted that somewhere as I continued to stare at his approach. Larry, by now, had turned around and I think no one had a towel on at that point, and everyone was hard. William's beauty and obvious strength had sapped me of power. I couldn't move or speak. He was coming closer with each step. All that, just… man. So much manly man. I could see his muscles moving with a fluid, sensual grace. I swear, they were. This wasn't me painting in things that weren't there. Literally, the guy moved like he was fucking someone.
At this point, and I only realized this later, I could feel him approach. You might not believe it, but the guy put out something like heat that surrounded him. It was like heat and scent and power, like some weird sphere of powerful cologne that you could feel and smell and sense. It was raw male sensuality, is what it was. And I could feel it coming off his body. I thought it was just me at first, feeling all hot and bothered, but even Larry was sweating and the room wasn't even warm.
My eyes were tracing along the lines of his brawn, drinking his dimensions in as if he were some dream that would evaporate. I didn't want to forget a single amazing inch of his form, particularly the amazing inches that were currently hidden behind a thin covering of gray cotton that I would have paid to rip open with my teeth. Those shorts were made of the same plain cotton as mine, but on him they clung like silk. Had he bought a pair two sizes too small just to show himself off—as if he needed to augment anything, because even though I knew he was wearing the school's prerequisite jockstrap down there, I swear I could see his cockhead outlined on his hip bone. The length of his snake lay asleep in his shorts, and it, too, was huge.
God, he was beautiful. So fucking beautiful. And then he was next to me, and he stopped, and I looked up at his face, and the close- cropped jet black hair on his head, stubbled on the back and sides with a longer blue-black lick of hair hanging off his brow, and the faint shadow of his beard on that squared jaw and long neck, and into those green, green eyes.
And he said, William said, “Hi, handsome.”
Oh Jesus fucking Christ. Oh good God almighty. Oh, I felt those words down to my toes. Then he arched one thick brow, cast his eyes down to where my prick was tapping a steady rhythm on my belly, reached his hand over, touched the tip of his middle finger to the slime trail of precum spilling from my cock's single eye, raised the digit to his mouth—trailing a string of me like a spider's web—spread a gleaming gloss on his lovely lips and licked my salty essence off.
“Thanks,” he said, smiling. His teeth were white and straight, naturally. “I hope I can repay the compliment later.” He reached down again, grabbing me and rubbing his rough thumb over my glossy helmet. “You're Jackson, right?”
I nodded, watching his lips moving with my luster still on them.
He licked his lips slowly. “My name's William.” His voice was thunder, a low rumble from across vast mountains, the sound of the sea at storm.
“I know.” My voice, to my ears, following after the deep baritone of his window-shaking voice, sounded thin and fragile.
He looked at Larry, whose own cock was also an angry red and hard as steel, though nowhere near as long as mine. William's hand was still holding my dick. I could feel the calluses he no doubt acquired from hours and weeks at the gym, and the rough surface on the palm of his hand against my lusty cock. His thumb was performing some sort of gentle miracle as he squeezed me. If anyone was watching this, he didn't seem to care at all, and I knew I certainly didn't mind his attentions. At that moment, I'd have done whatever he wanted. And you better believe I wanted him to ask.
His eyes met mine again. He continued to pleasure me as he said, “I hear you've got your own place, Jackson.” He glanced down, taking his hand off me for a moment to spit a gob of saliva on his palm before reapplying it to me, adjusting his grip on my cock in that very public place. He was slowly stroking, now, not merely rubbing, but running his large hand the length of my very happy prick.
Was I still breathing? I must have been, but it felt like I was sinking into some thick pool of bliss. This beautiful man was hand- jobbing me in front of my locker where everyone could see. Wasn't that what was happening? Should I be trying to stop him, trying to protect my lie, trying to… man, did this guy ever know his way around a dick! Oh, Jesus!
I managed another nod as my eyes closed, but I pried them back open to see the face before me, to watch his lips move as that powerful sound escaped and licked my eardrums.
His stroking increased. He leaned down toward me, bringing his gorgeous face toward mine. His lips were moist and thick, and the smile he had on them promised almost too much to bear. The heat of him grew against me as his muscled flesh neared my body and his mouth was so close to my ear that I could feel his breath when he said, “I'd love to see it, Jackson.”
I swallowed. Hard. “Yes?”
His face came into view. He kissed me on the lips. I felt it to my toes. “Tonight.”
He straightened and his eyes fell toward where his hand was giving me so much pleasure and I could feel myself close, painfully close to spurting my hot cream all over it. He seemed to sense that, because he stopped stroking and just squeezed me, hard. I don't doubt his imprint is still on my flesh down there.
I ground my teeth together, feeling the pleasure transfer into pain, a silver pain of ecstasy. “Then we'll finish this up later.”
He took his touch from me, smiling broadly, and continued walking across the floor toward the door leading out to the blacktop. I managed to watch the tight globes of his ass as he left, and the ringing in my ears wasn't just from delirium, but from the school bell telling me I was now late for my next class.
And that was how I met William.
I looked for him later, but for whatever reason never saw him around. I skipped my next session so I could get off. He may have managed to temporarily dampen my spirit, but when I watched his butt walking away I got hot and bothered all over again and just had to do something about it. Sure, I saw plenty of looks aimed my way. When it came right down to it, I had to reconcile that I probably wasn't fooling anyone anyway, and this admittedly weird little erotic run-in with an almost impossible-to-ignore behemoth in the middle of the locker room cemented my new position as the school faggot. And how was I supposed to deny it—and really, what was the point anymore? My reputation was the least of what was running through my head that day.
So I went home, thinking maybe the guy was just fucking with me or something. Maybe that's how he got off. Pinning the most likely target and shoving him out of the closet. I had no doubt that William, whomever he was, was in the family, too. No matter how muscular and masculine he appeared, there was no fucking way a guy who'd do that wasn't at least bi.
At around six, there's a knock on the door. I'm hoping it's him, but I'm also keeping that hope in the back of my head in case it wasn't. But I am wearing the jeans that make my ass look great and a black, ribbed T shirt that makes my nipples hard when I look at myself in it. So, you know, I'm looking hot—not like he hasn't already seen everything, but it never hurts to look your best.
I scan the peep hole and what do you think I see?
All right, yes, of course it was him. I suppose it's no surprise that if he can find out my name and recognize me on sight, getting my address wouldn't be all that difficult. Hell, he was probably attracting the attention of every guy I'd ever fucked here, so why shouldn't he know where I lived? All he had to do was ask. And how did I know it was him? He was still shirtless, believe it or not boys, and what I saw through that fisheye gaze was that furry chest and its amazing and tongueable cleavage.
William leaned down as if he knew I was there and smiled his perfect grin at me. “Open up, Jackson. I think I've got some jacking off to finish.”
Damn, that man's voice was loud.
I opened the door and he leaned his huge frame against its frame. He was shirtless, for sure, but he had on a leather jacket that just barely managed to contain his muscular bulk. One elbow rested on the doorframe and his hand was at the nape of his neck. His underarm was dark and deep and hairy, and his jacket was doing all it could to keep from bursting under the power of his bicep. It swelled like a grapefruit. I could smell his scent again, and feel that odd heat against my skin. He rubbed his scalp with one hand, his other had a six-pack in it. He was wearing blue jeans over motorcycle boots, a look I'd never found particularly attractive but I got the feeling that for this guy, it wasn't just a look. His rippled belly slowly moved in and out as he breathed, the tight muscles of his abdomen swelling and contracting. “How they hanging?” he rumbled.
“Great,” I answered, trying to sound as cool as he looked. “Come on in.”
I opened the door wide and he sauntered into my lair, such as it was. I watched his ass move again as he passed. How could I not, with his two bulbous cheeks fitted so snugly into that worn denim. A pair of mirrored aviator glasses dangled from one pocket (can you say cliché?) and there was a ragged tear under one of those cheeks, exposing a slim taste of tanned skin as he walked. Of course the guy would go commando. I doubt he even owned a pair of underwear.
The funny thing was, his get-up was a complete turn-on for me. It was a fantasy made real. It would have looked completely ridiculous on anyone else, but he made it work. All that was missing was the leather chaps.
I still had some of my parents' old furniture and the place looked about as far from a bachelor pad as a place could get. His eyes, however, seemed glued to my form so I doubt he even noticed. He said, “Nice place,” and set the pack down, cracking a brew open and handing it over. I figure that the guy had to be my age, but his hormones were working overtime or something because that shade of a beard from the afternoon had burgeoned into a regular 5 o'clock shadow and his was looking damn sexy. Not that he was looking like a hobo earlier, of course. The beard accentuated the cleft in his chin (how had I missed that, I love that!) and the dimples of his cheeks.
“Thanks,” I said, accepting the suds. I took a long draught on the bottle and wiped my mouth on my sleeve, my eyes just as locked on his display of brawn as his were on mine.
“No problem.” He was still standing pretty close to me. I suddenly felt awkward and exposed. He could do that to a person. “I would have thanked you for what you did earlier, but I couldn't find you again.”
He grinned but said nothing.
“I guess you know you outed me pretty good to everyone.”
His eyebrows arched. “I suppose I should apologize.” His answer came of soft and low. It seemed like he was standing even closer, though I didn't see him move at all. Maybe it was just his size and height. He was one big motherfucker.
I shrugged. I could feel his presence like a heat in the room.
Then he did step toward me, closing the gap entirely. He reached up and put his hand behind my neck. The roughness of his skin was matched with the tenderness of his touch. He bent his head down to mine and I met his lips halfway, my arms attempting to wrap his leather-clad enormity in an embrace. The black leather was a second skin on his bulging contours. He was so hard, amazingly hard under his jacket.
I expected his kiss to be rough and sudden, urgent and demanding. Instead, the tenderness of his hand's caress on my neck was mirrored by his kiss. It seemed like the passion and gentleness was a test of some sort. Like maybe he wanted to take his cues from me. I kissed him back, pulling him to me and thrusting my tongue in his warm mouth. God, he smelled so good. And the man could kiss as good as he looked. Warm, wet, and it went directly to my crotch.
Of course, the fact that he was digging down my Wranglers was helping elevate matters. And he was doing that part one-handed. So, a man of many talents.
I had a hard time remembering that the guy was my age. He seemed so much older, so much more experienced, and probably he was. He was sure comfortable with the whole gay thing. I mean, not like I wasn't good at it, but I was still sort of tentative about things until the relationship was farther along than this.
He pulled away then, and seemed to have read my mind. “So, shall we get acquainted first?”
It was my turn to laugh. “I thought that's what you were doing.” I arched my brow and gazed south, shifting my hips to allow his hand easier access to my package.
His lips quirked in a playful grin. His fingers were working some kind of miracle. I was on my toes all the sudden, feeling his thumb rubbing me the right way. “We already got the preliminaries out of the way, lover. I just thought you needed a reminder.”
Good, god, he was talented. He was getting me off and I hadn't unzipped anything. “You have… quite a way with… your hands.”
“Hand.” His grip tightened. “It comes in handy when I'm out at the movies.”
“I bet.” I was really close to cumming in my jeans. He wasn't stroking me so much as rubbing, caressing, squeezing and releasing in just the right way. His hand had a rough, mechanic's feel to it. He leaned forward and planted another of his deep kisses on my mouth, shoving his tongue into me like I wanted the rest of him shoved into me. I felt like his tool, or his puppet, and I was willingly allowing my strings to be pulled.
Then I was cumming, streaming half a dozen thick shots of jizz inside my pants, all over his hand. The cum slickened my cock and he did stroke me, then, pumping the last of my load from me. My body was jerking from the intensity of my orgasm, and I almost came all over again as he pulled his hand from my crotch and licked himself clean, coating his long tongue in my salty seed. “I love your taste,” he said, before rubbing my sauce on his huge nipples until they got hard and pointed, then he pinched them and I watched his tool jump in response.
Man, was this guy hot.
I had a huge wet stain on my groin and I could feel my spunk dripping down my leg. He asked, “Did you want to change?” as he pressed his body to me so I could feel his huge hard muscles when he kissed my mouth again. He moved his hand up my body, over my shirt, curling his fingers down the front of my collar. I had an idea of what he was planning, but I couldn't believe he'd be so dramatic.
Still, it did send a thrill through me when he roughly, and rather easily, tore my shirt from my body.
The fabric ripped like paper under his powerful handling, and the next thing I knew he was caressing my chest and shoving my undone jeans downward. Being a not-dumb guy, I sort of planned on events proceeding in this manner, sooner or later, and wasn't wearing underwear so he could dig inside and find my goodies with very little effort.
His fingers, like his mouth, had an expert's touch and putting that together with the fact that I was just one horny lad to begin with and made all the more so by his manipulations earlier, I was getting very hard all over again and my tool was starting to drool some serious precum in expectation of more fun to come. I wasn't even thinking about how this was possible, how I could be hard again and prepped after having just delivered one hell of a load. But I could feel the hot slickness down there as it cooled. Maybe because my cock is so big it happens to produce a lot of that lubing juice.
He had to weight 225, 230 at least. So much man there next to me, it was almost frightening. I felt like he could do anything he wanted to me, and would I have done anything to stop him?
My hands pushed his jacket off those huge shoulders and I was struck by a wave of his scent, the glorious perfume of sweat and leather, his musk was a sexual aroma that filled my head. He pulled his touch from deep in my pants and stepped slightly away, but his eyes never lost mine. He moved his hand to his mouth, again licking my salty concentrate from his fingertips. Man, that was so hot. He removed his jacket, rolling his meaty torso around to shrug the garment from his fantastic body.
He knew exactly how his movements made me feel. He was grinning with a sly wisdom, his smooth, youthful features putting themselves to excellent use as the maturity I sensed in his touch all but disappeared and he looked exactly as old as his 17-year-old face exhibited.
The jacket dropped to the floor and his hands reached down to undo a black leather belt before finding the button fly of his tight 501's, those rough fingers popping the first and then the second. That goody trail of dark hair erupted into a thick, wide jungle down there. Something else thick and wide snaked its way downward from where his jeans were popping open, too. All the way along his right thigh.
I heard him huff out a soft laugh and looked up, realizing my mouth was hanging open. He had me in his pocket. I was making another dark stain on my jeans and my prick ached inside the denim confines. It felt like I'd be bursting the zipper any second.
I said, for some stupid reason, “how'd you know my name?”
His grin widened into an honest smile. “I asked some girls who was the biggest stud on campus. Your name came up—repeatedly.” He popped another button. “You do seem to get around, Jackson.” He was feeling himself up, running his hand through that soft black forest stretching across his chest.
“And how did you know I'd respond to your rude advances, William?”
“I have a rather uniquely developed gaydar.” That right there, friends, is what's called foreshadowing, but I heard it as what's called foreplay. His other hand was now digging down his own pants. “Among other uniquely developed talents.”
I saw that line coming from a mile off, but what the fuck did I care? I was unzipping myself out of my jeans, letting some fresh air in to the downstairs sauna. “And when do I get to see the goods?”
He removed his hands from his body and folded them behind his back. I watched his biceps and triceps grow. He tucked in his chin and went all puppy for a second, then glanced down at his bulging basket and did something magical that seemed to make that grow as well. “Be my guest.”
I stepped out of my pants and walked over, my dick bouncing high and hard. I probably would have laughed at myself, walking across my floor with my dick at full mast. William, he didn't laugh, he didn't budge. It looked to me like he could manage to open his own pants without using any hands at all, and there was nothing that could have turned me on more than watching him try that.
I grabbed his pants and pulled wide. The last three buttons popped and I could see the thick, pink root of his cock. There was a tangle of black hair, sweaty and glistening, and a vein ran down his flat belly toward what had to be a mighty monster.
He was grinning that grin again, determined not to help me uncage this beast. I was pulling the painted-on jeans off his slim hips. My hand slipped behind and landed on one of the smoothest, roundest ass cheeks I'd ever felt. He tensed for me, and I felt his muscle butt harden under my hand. Oh, man, did I want this guy.
I had to peel him free of those jeans, which made me wonder how he'd managed to get them on, but when at last the pants were to his knees, my eyes beheld one of the biggest, fattest pricks I'd seen in print or video—and never had I seen anything like that in real life.
William was gifted with what I can only describe as a monster prick. It was almost scary how big he was. I mean, how much do you want me to go into this?
Probably a lot.
Well, number one, it seemed to swell as I watched it. Maybe being held captive inside his pants had caused some shrinkage, if not in length than in girth. It was turning out that this all-man man was really a more-than-a-man man, granted by nature with a tool of amazing proportions that appeared to be getting more amazing as I watched. The shaft was long and overwhelmed with veins. They were everywhere, almost as if his prick were made of nothing but veins. It was a little weird, I gotta admit. But sexy and powerful looking, in a way. His cock was slightly darker than the rest of him, and he was uncut, which again sort of creeps me out in general, especially when its extremely long, like a turtleneck pulled over someone's head, like he had. I'm talking a vast wealth of foreskin, which amazed me. What was God thinking, making a dick with this much extra skin?
My hand was still on his ass, and I leaned forward against him and licked his cock, dragging my tongue along its inches. His scent was strong here, and it mingled with his taste. Jesus, he was big. His balls began to reveal themselves as well, dropping out of nowhere and swelling into eggs that hung behind that tool like enormous fruit. His legs were hairy like the rest of him, just enough dark fur in all the right places to be entirely sexy. I had another fuck buddy, Al, who was pretty hairy for a guy our age, but William made Al look positively bare. I had very little body hair, but the overwhelmingly masculine nature of the body in front of me was making me extremely hot.
I love being a guy. I love having a dick, I love having muscles, being big, all the guy stuff. And that's why I love other guys. The manlier, the better in my book. Muscles, hair, sweat… give me a man's body working out, working up a thick stink of glistening perspiration running in dirty trails through his the hair on his rippled stomach and I am there with a spoon.
And while I'd seen guys in magazines and pornos that had something of that thick, hard manliness to them, most guys my age were smooth and not quite there yet, know what I mean? I had friends that had the muscle, the skin, the ass—but William had all that and more.
He was looking down at me, stripped, thick and beautiful. I've tried to give you an idea of his appearance, his beautiful body, the dark shadowing of hair, the chest and arms and shoulders and his lean, masculine features. Imagine, if you aren't already, the epitome of human masculinity. Picture your leather fantasy—and everyone's got one, even if they won't admit it. But he was all that and more.
And this is where stuff starts getting weird. And when I say start, I mean that it'll get weirder than this, but weird step one was about to begin.
His dick, as I think I mentioned, was slowly swelling. And I, which I think I mentioned, thought that it was just some sort of development of his tool because it was unleashed from its confines, now allowed to bloom to its full glory.
But it wasn't stopping.
No, my friend, that beast, now uncaged, was very insistent that it was definitely not done coming out of its shell, so to speak. The shaft continued to thicken and lengthen. As it did, it was filling in and I suddenly realized that the reason it looked like it had all those veins on it was because its core, or whatever, wasn't fully there. And now it was exercising its option and the veins were visibly pulsing, pumping that monster bigger and bigger. And when I say pump, I mean pump.
The reason for his wealth of foreskin was also becoming apparent, because as I watched, my eyes probably bugging out of my head, his little head was dropping lower and lower, swelling larger and larger until its little eye was poking out of the skin, and that dark skin was thinning against the massiveness of him.
“Something wrong, Jackson?” I could even hear the smile in his voice.
I was kneeling there, watching his tool blossom, and I swallowed. Hard. “I've never… I just… You're… It's…” See? I'm quite loquacious when it counts.
He was laughing this gentle, deep rumble. His dick waggled. Which meant, my god, it was still limp. He said, “Yeah, I'm something, ain't I?”
I looked up to his face. His eyes were sparkling. “How big are you?”
He shrugged. “I stopped measuring.”
I looked at his still swelling tool. It had to be nine inches by now. It was about four inches longer than when I'd freed it, and a lot thicker. I could see it visibly growing. It looked like it was swelling even faster now. “Jesus fucking…”
He sighed, I think. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”
“Get what?” I gripped him in my hand, feeling him getting bigger and firmer by the second in my grip, actually feeling him swell. His cock was also growing more, well, beautiful as well. So huge and perfect. So much man. Maybe too much?
He continued growing as he spoke. It might have been my imagination, but his voice seemed to be deepening as well. “I'm too big.”
“Too big?” I knew exactly what he meant, but I didn't want to admit anything. I wanted this thing, I wanted to swallow him whole, I wanted… Jesus, now it looked like his balls were growing, too. But that was ridiculous.
“Too big. Usually I don't reveal myself so soon, but there was something about you. I really wanted to be with you.” He sounded so different from the self-confident guy who'd jerked me off in the locker room all the sudden. He sounded like some young kid, almost shy. I suppose when a guy's got a horse hose between his legs, he's automatically granted a certain amount of that. Lord knows I was one cocky bastard with my own low hangers and thick dick. But this attitude was really weird, I thought.
“Be with me?”
His huge hand reached down and he raised my chin to meet his gaze. God, he was gorgeous. Looking so big and muscled, but with this sort of puppy look on his face, too. “Be with you.” He said it so simply that nothing more had to be said.
I gulped. My hand was still holding his growing prick, and I realized that my fingers no longer touched my thumb. And he wasn't done yet. “We can be together,” I said. “I want to be with you, too.”
Friends, if you want to experience something close to heaven, find a man with a great big dick who knows what to do with it. And I'm not talking about watching him take a piss. No, I'm talking opening your ass as wide as you can, squeezing on a tube of KY, gritting your teeth and feeling him slide on home, filling you up so completely, so fully, that you wonder why you thought buttfucking was a pleasure before he turned up.
And a big, fat Ryker-sized dildo ain't going to do it for you, either. Plug yourself with all the pink silicone you want, there is nothing like the hot, hard flesh of a real man ramming himself up your ass to know what fucking is all about. The smell of him, the power, the, well, presence of him is what counts far more than any fuck fantasy you may be holding onto.
I'm not going to lie to you, it hurt. Oh, it hurt. It hurt like hell. I swear, young William was ripping me open there at first. He tried to be tender, bless him. What he saw as caution, I felt as teasing.
“Put it in.”
I could feel him pressing against my asshole. It was like he was testing the waters, putting in a toe before taking the plunge. He felt so hot against me, like he was going to burst any second. I mean, Hello? Where was the hairy stiff licking my cum off his fingers in the locker room? I was beginning to think he was all talk and maybe I'd be the one steering this pleasure cruise into port for a few minutes, there.
He entered me with excruciating slowness. He'd get in there, and I felt like he was filling me with his hugeness only to feel him pull back out and say, “that was two inches.”
Two fucking inches! It felt like two fucking feet! Shee-it! “It's okay,” I said. “Really.”
There he was again, knocking ever so gently on my cellar door. Then there was a sudden thrust and sudden burning pain as my ass opened wider than it ever needed to before. “More,” I begged.
“Okay,” he said. He sounded doubtful. Just how much was in there… ouch! F uck!
“Me. Fuck me! Come on, you son of a bitch, fuck me. Give it to me. I can… yeeee owww!”
There was not a lot of time to measure him before we did it the first time, of course. I was rather anxious, even if he seemed sort of tentative. Nobody and nothing had ever turned me on full blast like William, before or since. On reflection, it was all weird. First he's Mr. Stud licking my cum off his fingers, smiling that smile of his, being this take charge top with a Harley and a leather fetish, then he's suddenly like some virgin piece of ass scared to commit, wondering how to do it or something. So he was both rough and gentle, both commanding and subservient. I mean, literally, he was everything I ever wanted—but not all at once like that.
So I said I didn't measure him before entry, but I needed to know afterwards, just for my own education, what I'd just managed to take in.
Friends, you've heard of the 11-inch wonders, the foot-long hotdogs, hell I even heard of a 14-inch porn star but I never believed it. William, tip to balls, stem to stern, owned a 12-inch prick. Twelve fucking (literally) inches. I didn't think my ass was that big. He, however, assured me that he got all the way in. It sure as hell felt like it. And when we were doing it, that first time, I just wanted it to go on and on and on. It wasn't just his huge dick, it was him, it was everything about him, he was amazing.
William, once he was plugged in, it was like he could read my mind. He'd speed up when I wanted him to, slow down when I wanted him to, I never had to say a word, his hands found the places I needed to be touched, his mouth seemed like it was everywhere at once, his body, his smell, his whole being seemed like it was there just for me, only for me, to be with me and pleasure me and give me everything I wanted, fulfill every desire, be everything I dreamed or fantasized.
It was, to put it mildly, fucking weird.
Can you imagine what I'm talking about? You're being fucked and you need your nipples sucked, and he's sucking them! How he got his mouth there and managed to keep plugging away you have no idea. Your mind is being blown, so filled with pleasure you're in heaven and hell at the same time. You want to kiss his lips, they're kissing yours. You need to feel his tight, round ass, his hand guides you there. It's perfect, it's all fucking perfection.
And after? After I never felt better in my life. I felt so fucking strong, so powerful and beautiful and amazing. I felt like he looked, if that makes sense. I'd never felt so good in my life.
Again, while it was happening, I certainly wasn't interested in pausing the action and asking what the fuck was going on. And how long did it last? An hour? Two? I know it was light when we started and it was dark when I found myself lying on the carpet in the living room next to him. We were hot with passion and wet with sweat. My ass burned and tingled as if he were still in me. I could feel him there, feel his hugeness filling me up, bringing me to the edge again and again, feeling as if I were cumming gallons, buckets, I was a sex hose. I was breathing slowly, staring at the ceiling, I had no words to speak. I'd been treated to a sexual experience beyond words, but I managed to find one anyway.
I'm like t hat.
William, as I was coming to understand, seemed to anticipate the question, know instinctively what I was asking. His low rumble of a voice vibrated next to me. It ran through my body. I felt him shrug, “I told you I had some uniquely developed talents.”
I found another word. “But…”
His body rolled onto its side, he propped his head on his hand. I turned to look into his green eyes. Was it possible that he looked even more beautiful now? “Does it matter?”
I swallowed, looking at him. He felt almost beyond human, like something I couldn't actually touch, like someone from a place different from my reality. His beauty and power seemed fragile or overwhelming, maybe both. I felt almost dizzy, looking at him, being next to him then. The lines of his muscle, the look on his face. He seemed bemused, faraway. “What do you want to hear me say? I'll say anything you want me to.”
I shook my head. “Tell me about you, William. Don't tell me what I want to hear, tell me something true, tell me something you don't want to tell me.”
He smiled. His eyes narrowed slightly, showing how thick and long his lashes were. “You're a very interesting guy, Jackson.”
My brow wrinkled. “That's true, but that's not about you.”
His finger was tracing circles around my left nipple. My dick tingled as if it were being played with instead. “I've been with lots of guys, but I n ever….”
“I never felt what I feel with you. I've never been so… comfortable. Comfortable enough to be myself.”
“And, who might that be?”
His smile increased. “When we met in the locker room, I knew who you wanted me to be. You wanted that guy who walked in, the guy in the jeans and the boots and the leather jacket.”
“I wanted you.”
“I know.” He laughed softly. “I mean I know that now.” He kissed me, gently. “But you have to admit that you were really turned on by the guy who walked in the door.”
“That's not hard to admit. You looked great. You look even better now.” I wasn't lying. As we lay there, he seemed to be growing better and better looking.
He sucked in a deep breath and lay back, folding his arms behind his head. “What would you say if…”
I leaned over, mimicking his earlier pose. “If what?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head. I scanned down his perfect body, my gaze lingering on the length of cock hanging limp but firm across his hip. The head looked like it was glistening. “No, never mind.”
“Move in here,” I said. I had no idea where the thought came from, but I immediately felt it was the right thing to say. I'd just met this guy, I knew next to nothing about him (well, I didn't really know anything except that he was the greatest fuck on the planet and at the moment, that was good enough for me) but I wanted him around. I wanted to be with him as much as possible. I wanted him near me, like he was near me now. “Move in with me.”
“What made you ask that?”
“I don't really know,” I answered, but I crawled atop him, my chest against his, to look into his sea green eyes. “I just feel like it's right.”
“You don't know anything about me, Jackson.”
“I don't care. I just want you here with me. Or I'll move in with you.”
“No, you wouldn't want to do that.”
I shrugged. “So? What's your answer?”
He smiled broadly. “Yes, Jackson. I would like nothing better in the w orld.”
That first weekend was amazing. We made love again before hitting the sack. This time I was in charge, and again William's performance was flawless. He allowed me to do whatever I wanted to do with him, and his body's strength—and flexibility I must add—seemed unlimited. It was another marathon fuck session and I must admit that my own performance under such pressure was pretty fucking amazing in itself. I'd already cum twice in fairly quick succession and I came two more times and swallowed William's copious load (the man had balls made of some space warping material, there was no other way so much sweet cream could come out of them) and kept right on going until falling asleep with his muscular arms wrapped around me. I woke up on Saturday with morning wood and William was right there, going down on me with a hunger and drive that was amazing, and I managed somehow to hold off spilling my cargo into him for something that felt like an hour, though it was probably more like 20 minutes. When I came, I was a rocket. I pumped harder and thicker than I ever had before. Where all that sperm was coming from I had no idea, I was a veritable cum factory and my gun was shooting non-stop.
William had the bad taste to look great in the morning, his amazing body looking as if he'd done nothing but worked out all night. Honestly, his muscles looked toned and pumped and his skin was ruddy, literally glowing with health. His beard was now pretty thick and very dark, matching the tousled locks of midnight that somehow managed to look both messy and sexy at the same time. His eyes were clear and bright and even his breath didn't stink. And whatever that cologne or musk was, it still scented his soft, silky skin and filled my head with need.
He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, smiled up to me and said, “Hey.”
I smiled back. “How was breakfast?”
“I love the taste of you,” he echoed again. “How are you feeling, beautiful?” He stretched himself up next to me, his weight pulling me toward him on the mattress.
“Incredible,” I answered, and I did. I felt fucking incredible. This was just getting better and better. I felt so comfortable with him, so right and so, well, incredible. “How do you manage to look so good in the morning?”
“Clean living,” he said. Then he kissed me, and I could taste myself in his mouth. He was right, I did taste good. “Let's hit the showers, Jackson.”
I used to think my place had a nice big shower, and it was—when it was just me. But with just him in there, it would have been cramped, and with us both in there, it was fucking tight.
The weird thing was that, from what I could tell, he wasn't as tall as I thought he was. Maybe his boots or something.
Anyway, that tight space worked to our advantage, since we didn't shower so much as wet fuck. I soaped him up, he soaped me down, then we took our sudsy selves and commingled the lather and let our slick skin do as it wanted.
I then had the opportunity to explore him again, and my hands were going gaga over what they were feeling. I could feel his muscle under that smooth, wet skin, and it was amazing. Ribbons of power stretched and flexed and bulged. He had huge nipples which, I easily discovered, were as sensitive as they were big. I sucked and nibbled on him as my hands cupped his perfect ass and squeezed against his hard muscled butt. Even in the shower, his scent came through to my senses. Even after all that soap, all that hot water, I could smell that smell on him, the very essence of him it seemed to me, the overpowering sense of the huge muscular beast in the stall with me. It swam through my head and sunk in deeply.
It felt so tight in there. Even I seemed bigger in the small space, but I knew that wasn't true. All I had to do was look at him and compare our bodies and it was clear that I was the same as I was, I just felt better. And you always look better when you wake up, before gravity has its way with you.
He had me up against the shower wall, my arms over my head, his mouth clamped to mine, and I could feel him getting harder. His dick was expanding between us, heating up, even, filled up with his hungry hot blood. It was a white hot rod pressing into my belly, and I reached down and caressed his hugeness. He felt bigger than ever, but I knew that was a deception. I couldn't see his mammoth dick, all I could do was feel it. I knew how big it was, but it felt bigger than even the twelve inches I knew it was.
The water splashed off his wide, muscular back and drizzled between us. I hand-jobbed him as he kissed me. He pressed himself to me, chest to chest. His hard nipples felt like pebbles. How could they be so hard, so huge? Just like the rest of William. Hard and huge.
He came very quickly, splattering his warmth between us. It clung to his dark fur and my smooth skin and we soaped up again before exiting the bathroom.
I was still on fire. How this was possible I had no clue. Maybe it was just him, he was so amazing, so beautiful. The air cooled the water on our skin and he kissed me still.
But I was hungry—more than hungry, I was suddenly starving, as if I hadn't eaten in days. I said so, and he said something like, “that's expected,” which I simply dismissed as an offhand comment, which it was, but it meant a lot more than that.
I wrapped a towel around my waist, I didn't even bother to get dressed, and raided the fridge. I drank the milk from the carton and emptied it. I devoured two apples, some cheese, some salami, anything I could find. I couldn't eat fast enough.
He stood at the edge of the kitchen scrubbing a towel through his hair, otherwise naked. I watched him as I drank a Diet Coke, watched him watching me, saw the amazing collection of power that he was, remembered the first time I saw him walking toward me in the locker room.
Dammit, he did look bigger. His chest was amazing, but it looked more amazing. What, was he downing supplements in his sleep? Pumping iron at some all night gym and climbing back into bed with me just in time to suck me off? What was this?
So I asked him. “William, you look bigger.” His brow wrinkled and he looked down at the hanging glory between his muscled thighs. “No, not that.” Although, now that I really looked at it… but no. “I mean your body. You l ook…”
He shrugged. His shoulders looked like mountains. “Trick of the light or something.” He smiled and tossed the towel aside, walking that predatory walk toward me and grabbing my hips, pulling me toward him.
I was eye to eye with him.
It never even occurred to me that I was looking up into his eyes only the day before.
“You look good enough to eat,” he growled. My towel was on the floor and before I knew it, we were going at it again, right there on the kitchen floor. My stamina was amazing! I'd never been so fully juiced before. He'd sucked me off in bed, I'd cum three times only last night, I'd come so, so close to spilling my load in the shower and now I was hard yet again?
He licked my ass, rimming me deep and true. His tongue felt like a hot, wet dick. Was it twelve inches, too? I was so hard it hurt. My dick was beet red and pulsing with need. I was practically gushing precum, I'd never felt anything like this. What was happening to my body? Was something happening to it, or was it just responding to William's almost constant attention? Was this what I could expect from him living with me? Constant fucking? Constant, amazing, incredible, all-out fucking with the muscle stud of my dreams?
Somehow, I couldn't see a downside to this situation.
We spent the whole weekend naked. I have no idea where the reserve of cum—his and mine both—was coming from but come it did. Over and over and over again. It was like there was no downtime, no rest periods. I was a fucking machine, and so was he. His voice could make me hard. His touch sent shivers down my spine, made me hard as a rock. It was almost like a two-day orgasm, with a few hours of rest before Sunday came and it started all over again. I was wishing I could record everything because I started to think I'd be dead from sexual fatigue by Monday.
This time he didn't even wait for me to awaken. Instead, my wet dream turned into reality and I wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't. If I was still dreaming, this was the best and most realistic fucking dream I'd ever had.
But it was no dream, he was sucking my hard prick. I looked down my body, and I was even more unsure about the reality of this. My body looked fucking amazing. I could see ripples of muscle on my belly. I squirmed with pleasure as he swallowed my rod, and my chest looked bigger and better than I remembered. His eyes met mine and that brought me screaming back to reality, there was simply no denying the direct lustful passion in his gaze.
He was an animal, one with an insatiable hunger for this. His hands moved up my body and he caressed my skin, feeling every inch of my body. I was gripping the sheets, grasping on for dear life as he sucked harder and harder. Something like a moan escaped me, a sound so deep and feral that I thought it came from someone else, but it was all me. “Oh, god, William, oh fucking, fucking…” I was mumbling, moaning, practically drooling from pleasure.
Then I was cumming, and he was swallowing every drop.
And the rest of that day went pretty much like that.
Monday morning dawned a bit different, in all sorts of ways. For one thing, William wasn't sucking my dick. William wasn't anywhere at all, actually. Not even a note to let me know where he'd gone. So I was, as you may imagine, a little disappointed.
But that turned into shock when it was time to get dressed for the first time in three days.
I was always oversexed. Or maybe not, maybe all guys my age have so much testosterone and hormones and fuck-all simmering in their blood that they'd be fucking every minute of the day if they could. For those three days with William, I was allowed to let my body have everything it wanted and William was more than amply equipped to feed my hunger. Nothing hurt, amazingly, even after swallowing that man's girth and length down my throat and up my ass several times a day. A little test on my favorite (though temporarily ignored) rubber playmate showed that I was as tight as ever, in fact if anything it felt like I could have squeezed the dildo in two pieces if I tensed enough.
Nope, everything was shipshape and in working order, and my morning mirror gazing made me think that missing a couple of workouts actually did my muscles more good than shoving a few hundreds pounds of iron around. If I didn't know better, I'd have wagered I was bigger in some areas than before, but I knew that was just wishful thinking. Still, the peak of my bicep felt a little tighter, looked a little higher, and my belly rippled a little deeper than I remembered.
To my eyes, anyway. William wasn't around to tease me about my posing routine in the foggy mirror after my shower. I missed him in there with me, even though we barely fit. I missed everything about that guy. He seemed like everything I ever wanted put all together. He was master and slave, forceful and loving, strong and tender, and he seemed to know when I wanted to be touched—which, admittedly, was always—and where and how to touch me, suck me, fuck me. I missed his smell, I missed his eyes, his hands, his mouth on mine.
But he wasn't there. And I assumed he was just going to get his clothes and CDs and shit and get his tight, round ass back in bed with me where he belonged.
So, sighing, I opened my drawers and picked out a pair of shorts and stepped into them and pulled them up my legs—and the legs felt a little tight getting over my thighs, but whatever—and tucked myself into them and I looked, well, pretty fucking weird in them because my dick was just, sort of, too big.
Okay, these things were really tiny. Little sexy black things but I was feeling sexy and wanted to think about them in class under my jeans hugging my ass. Like William would cup my ass and caress me in his rough and silky grip. And, being small, they really made me feel big. I mean, bigger. I was already big. So I'd tuck myself in and feel sexy as fuck.
But they must have shrunk in the laundry or something. My dick was bulging almost clean out of the pouch. The head was almost pushed over to my hip, and the shaft was so fat I was popping over the waist. I tightened my ass to force a little extra growth in me and I actually found myself popping over the edge and falling completely out of them. My big dick was just too big for them. Shee-it! I was pissed. I really liked that pair.
So I stripped them back off and decided to go Commando, leaving the underwear behind and living free and easy inside my pants. Then came my next surprise. My pants wouldn't fit either.
Just like my shorts, my pants got up to my thighs and just… stopped. Had everything shrunk? What the hell was this?
So I thought, fuck it, I'll wear my sweatpants to school and leave the tight jeans home. The too-tight jeans, I mean. I figured I'd just advertise my wares from the waist up, show off the guns that looked a little bigger and my muscle-fat chest. My fingers traced down the separation, feeling the deep cut between the globes of my chest. My thumb circled my nipple and my cock jerked with a sudden, deep thrill. I wished for William, but maybe a quick hand-job wouldn't make me too late.
I felt horny just thinking about him. I could almost feel his tongue at my asshole. I could feel him squeezing me, feel his eyes gazing on my body with lust and desire. I started to slowly stroke myself, closing my eyes. The morning sun was pouring through the window on my skin, a slice of heat warming me as I started to jerk off. Maybe someone was watching me through my window. I sort of hoped so, I looked fucking hot. My nipples seemed to be super sensitized, and my dick, too. It felt so fucking good, and my hand was suddenly coated with a thick gob of precum, lending its slickness to my strokes.
I felt huge in my hand. Fucking huge! And so warm and hard and right. So good, that morning, to just fuck off. My dick was hungry for William, but it seemed to be okay with just me. I smiled, wondering how I was going to make it through an entire day at school with my hungry dick constantly begging for attention. I rubbed my thumb on my tip, then worked down my length slowly and grabbed my balls and pulled as my other hand dropped to continue the slow stroking. I wanted to keep from cumming. I was so excited, so overheated I felt like I was going to blow my load so I tugged hard on my balls but let the pleasure build in the inches of my prick, stroking and stroking myself, faster and harder.
I looked down and almost laughed. My dick was huge! So big and red. I pulled on my balls and made my prick stick straight out. It looked nine inched long. I cupped the shaft in my hand, it almost filled my palm. I said, “Shit,” and gathered the clear honey at the glistening tip and started stroking again, slowly now. My balls churned in my other hand. I felt them moving, retracting and expanding, like pumps inside my nutsack.
My whole body was now trying to keep the dam from bursting. My belly tightened up, the muscles defining themselves. Were the veins on my pelvis throbbing? It almost looked that way. I was feeling so fucking hot, and so fucking huge.
I tugged at my balls again and felt my need subside slightly, but the stroking brought it back stronger than ever and I couldn't hold it anymore. I was turned on by myself, by the size of my hard prick, by my chest and belly all rippled with muscle, and I let loose of my balls and felt the electric rush release itself.
It was like the feeling started in my cock and exploded out. So much sex in that ejaculation, friends, power like I never felt before. I pumped out a thick, hot fountain that shot a good six feet high and then another, and another. The cum soaked my hand and I stroked myself to another strong shot, and another, another again. My shots were thick and full and kept coming. My balls never managed to do this before.
I must have pumped off over a dozen strong shots and another half a dozen ones that would've matched anything I'd ever managed before and realized that William hadn't let me cum like this all the while he was here. I came in his ass or his mouth, he never jerked me off. And I was shooting with more power than ever. And it felt twice as good as before. Strong orgasms along with every pump. I came and came and then felt great! It was fucking unbelievable!
I just hoped that would sustain me until he got back, or until I hooked up at school or some damn place. I still felt fucking horny after that, believe it or not. It was insane.
My sweatpants had shrunk, too, but I could pull them on. They just rode higher on my legs than usual and clung to my ass. I must have washed all the cotton in hot water or something, that's what I was thinking.
After all, what else could it be?
I pulled a sky blue tank top over my head and smiled. My shoulders stuck out a yard and the fibers of muscle looked powerful and sexy. Damn! I looked so fucking hot I just wanted to fuck my own ass. I almost started trying to figure out how when I noticed it was time to hit the road and get to class. So I stuck my feet in some flip-flops, grabbed my bike and planted my fuckable ass on its seat and pedaled off.
Everything felt great. Fucking everything! The wind on my skin and in my hair, the feeling of my muscles on that bike stretching and flexing. I know I smiled all the way to school and when I got there, late as usual, and walked into homeroom every pair of eyes turned my way and more than half of them scanned down and got stuck looking at the thick tube of manflesh hanging fat and hungry under my sweats. The pants were loose enough up front after the bike ride that it lay there like a coiled snake. I mean it was way too obvious that I wasn't wearing underwear and that if anyone doubted I owned the biggest cock in school I managed to erase all doubt that morning.
So me, my shit-eating grin and my monster dick ambled over to my desk and lounged there. I shoved my ass forward on the seat so my crotch was presented in all its abundant glory. I folded my meaty arms over my muscled chest and started thinking about the weekend.
I had a wet spot on my crotch before the bell rang.
I beat off twice in between classes sitting on the toilet in the stalls. This was getting fucking ridiculous. I couldn't stop, and I didn't want to. Each time I came another gallon of cum, shooting so hard that I was splattering the stall door each time. My clothes felt so tight on me that I was super-aware of my body. It was like I was being caressed by William's capable hands all morning. The material of the tank rubbed against my nips and my sweats were riding up my ass crack. If I didn't know better, I would've sworn that everything was shrinking on me as the day progressed. By the time P.E. class rolled around just before lunch, I was randy all over again, but this time I thought I could have someone else helping me with my urgent problem. Larry was already down to his jock when I got to the lockers. He wasn't paying attention and when I ass- grabbed him, he nearly jumped as high as my cum shots. “What the fuck are you… holy shit, Jackson!”
I was grinning, of course. “Hey, Lar. How they hanging?” I looked down. “Mmm, hanging mighty fine.”
“What did you do, work out all fucking weekend?”
“You could say that.” I opened my locker and stripped off the tank top. He practically gasped. So I was like, “What the fuck is up with you?” His mouth was hanging open. “Earth to Larry.” His eyes moved up and down my skin. “Come in Larry.” I waved my hand in front of his eyes. “Dude? You in there?”
“Man, what did you do this weekend?” He was sort of whispering. Looking at his crotch, he was also showing exactly what he was feeling.
“William came over,” I said, tossing my shirt in my locker and I started untying my pants. “We spent the whole weekend together.” I put my thumbs under the waistband. “He's moving in with me.” I moved them off my hips. “He left this morning to get his shit.” I gotta admit that his undivided attention was turning me on harder than ever. I also gotta admit that my simple undressing to get ready for P.E. was becoming more of a strip show for one of my favorite fuck buddies. I moved my pants lower on my hips. I sort of pulled them open and let some cool air down in the heat of my basement, flashing him a touch of the dick he should already be so familiar w ith.
“Yeah,” I said. Or maybe I growled. I reached down into my pants and grabbed myself, rubbing the head against the warm, moist material. A strong scent of myself rose from my sweats, the musk of sweat and cum. I knew he must have smelled it too. “All weekend.” I was teasing the shit out of the poor guy. He was practically drooling on me. My hands were winding back and forth around my waistband, pushing it lower then raising it back up. Showing the dark shadow of my pubes, maybe even the root of my dick. Just playing with the dude.
“Jesus, Jackson, you look…”
“Yeah?” I took a step toward him, my hands inside my pants again, shoving the front down to expose my crotch but managing to keep myself covered. “How do I look?” I made my muscles bulge, flexing my strength. His lips twisted into a smile.
“Good enough to eat.” Same thing William said. Weird.
I looked around before I kissed his lips. I couldn't help myself. It was pretty stupid, there were more than a few other guys in there getting changed and I knew of at least a dozen who would've kicked our asses just for standing that close. But I wanted him really bad. I wanted his lips on mine, I was feeling super horny all over again.
By that time the day before, William and I probably managed to fuck each other half a dozen times over. All I'd been managing were my hand-jobs, and although that seemed to tame the beast for an hour or so, Larry's closeness and his near nudity was driving me crazy. His tight little bod was looking primed and ready. My dick bulged under my grip, feeling thick and hard and hot. Man, I wanted him. “Where can we go?”
He was looking down into my pants. I flashed him a look at the monster. He swallowed hard. I could smell myself, my stink. I was rank with the scent of mansex. Jesus I was horny. I wanted to fuck him right there. He looked around then, too. “Why don't we hit the showers early, miss calisthenics, catch up to the guys on the track?”
“You don't want to do a few push ups?” I licked my lips. I bent to kiss his again. My blood was on fire. I was hot and bothered everywhere. My dick was starting to stretch and throb.
“Stop,” he whispered. “Someone will see.”
“I'll fuck them, too.” My voice was a husky whisper. “I'll fuck them so good they'll never go back.” I lifted my hands away and my hard-on stretched over my pants. The head was red and shiny. My cock pulsed against my skin, growing higher and harder with every heartbeat. “I'll fuck them deep and hard and true.” I plucked my nipple with my fingernail. A thrill of erotic bliss coursed through my body. “But first I'm going to fuck you into heaven, Larry. I'm going to fuck you into paradise.” I kissed him again, and we heard the gym door slam shut and everything was quiet. “I'm going to fuck you like you've never been fucked.”
Suddenly we were alone in the locker room. Just us, the smell of sweat and testosterone, and the sound of his anxious breathing. All bets were off.
I shoved my pants off and he gasped. Literally, he gasped. Was my body that great? It wasn't like he'd never seen me naked before, but the look on his face made me feel like this was the first time he'd ever seen a naked guy and he was just discovering how much he loved that. I felt a rush of heat go through me, like my blood had caught fire. “Fuck the showers,” he said, and he dropped to his knees and started sucking.
The boy was going to town, let me tell you. I started moving my hips and face fucking him, driving myself in deeper and deeper and he started to choke on me. Shit, what was this? The guy could deep throat like a pro, and suddenly he's so anxious that he's choking on it?
He pulled his mouth off me and looked up and had this weird look on his face and he goes, “You're too big.”
“What? Shit, dude, I'm the same as I ever…”
He was shaking his head, but his smile was wide and beautiful. “I remember your dick, dude. And you're bigger.” He looked down, grabbed my hard on and squeezed. “You're a lot bigger.”
“No. What? No way, dude. Larry? Me? How can I…? Bigger?” I was looking down into his eyes. He was looking up into mine. “I can't be bigger.” We'd done this not a week earlier, though the circumstances were less rushed. Maybe that was it. He was overexcited. The situation, us in the boy's locker room, late for class, the coach or some dude could be walking in any minute and catch us like this, my sweats around my ankles, his mouth on my dick head, both of us on our way to heaven.
His hands reached up to my chest. He was caressing my flesh, his thumbs rubbed my erect nipples. His boner pressed at the elastic cage of his jock, stretching the waistband. He licked my throbbing cock, his eyes never leaving mine. I was going to explode and then we would have to hit the showers to get the cream rinse out of his hair. “Larry, oh fuck, oh man.”
He smiled again and put his lips against the hard heat of my shaft, sucking a kiss on my skin. I felt it keenly, like a shock. I wanted him to suck me off so bad. I felt like I was getting bigger and harder just standing there.
As luck would have it, guess who showed up at that particular moment?
“Looks like someone's having a party,” I heard William's deep growl say behind me, “and someone forgot to invite me.”
How he'd managed to sneak up so silently was beyond me. The dude was so big I would've thought I could feel him coming. And it wasn't until he spoke that his familiar scent filled my head, almost as if he had appeared magically from nowhere all at once.
Larry sat back on his heels and looked decidedly deflated. His eyes goggled and his mouth hung open as he looked past me, and I think he mouthed the word “fuck” looking at my roommate. I felt William's body press against mine from behind. By this point I was pretty intimate with the feeling, and it was like slipping my hand into a glove. It just felt perfect. His broad, hairy chest pressed against my back and I felt his bulging meat between my ass cheeks. He was wearing those shorts again, it felt like, the same ones he was wearing the first time I laid eyes on him.
His hands wrapped me up and pulled me against him. He was caressing my flesh in his strong, capable grip. I almost came again, just having him touch me. I must have moaned, because he chuckled and said, “I'm happy to see you again too, Jackson.” His chin rested on my shoulder and his deep baritone passed through my whole body as he spoke. He was looking down at Larry, who was looking up at him. I wonder what we looked like, William's impossibly beautiful and thickly muscled body behind mine, parts of him flaring wide like a cape behind me. “Hello, Larry. Were you just giving head to my boyfriend?”
Larry gulped, but he also nodded. William chuckled again. He looked down my body, I turned to see his face, the squared jaw, the shadow of a beard, the bright green eyes. God, how could I have forgotten how beautiful he was? He was looking at my red and angry dick, at the shiny helmet gleaming with precum. He let out an amused sigh and said, “Looks like you know what you're doing, too.” He licked his lips, his gaze shifting sideways to meet mine. “You're not going to toss me over for the first beautiful boy to suck your big, fat cock, are you?” He tensed his mighty muscles, and they bulged against me. I could even feel that magical growing prick of his swell against my ass crack. “I might get jealous.”
Larry started to stammer an apology or something, but William laughed softly and squatted down to be at his height, stretched his muscled arm forward and held Larry's chin in his fingertips. Then he leaned forward and placed his lips to my best friend's lips and they kissed for a pretty long time. But rather than feel my own jealous nature, which was pretty strong normally, all I felt was lust. Watching the two guys kissing under the shadow of my cock was totally hot for some reason, and the fact that it was Larry and William made me even hotter, because I knew what it was like to be in a lip lock with both of them, so it was almost like we were all kissing. William's broad back was rippling as his neck twisted, his lips and Larry's locked in one hot kiss that it was apparent was pretty fucking hot for Larry, too.
Then William pulled away and straightened, standing next to me. He put his hand on my dick, rubbing his palm across the slick tip and then pulled that hand to his face, inhaling deeply before licking me off his skin. “Damn,” he growled, “how come you taste so good?” Then he was kissing me, and I tasted myself in his mouth. He placed one hand on my chest as the other slowly stroked my hardness. I needed to explode.
After that, he lay his heavy arm across my shoulder and said, “So, you guys wanna go run some laps, or would you rather we went over to Jackson's and got our physical fitness with a three-way?”
Larry had a car. On the way to my place, William went down on me in the back seat and I came in his mouth. Then I returned the favor, while Larry kept yelling how unfair the whole thing was until William promised that he would fuck Larry the minute we got inside and closed the door.
“You're going to wait until we close the door?” Larry complained.
William's hand was digging down Larry's pants as we walked up the stairs to my place. Larry was bent over and William started pumping him almost before I got the key in the lock.
Larry wasn't quite prepared for William's ample surprise even though I tried to warn him in the car. Of course it was probably hard to understand me when I kept saying “Fuck, oh fuck,” after every other word and kept sucking in deep breaths because of William's attentions.
And William, the fucker, smoothed over everything I told Larry with his usual blunt charm, saying, “Don't believe what this fucker tells you Larry. I'm just an average guy like you.” I nearly choked, but as I had his cock down my throat at the time that's probably not all that surprising. But if William was 'just an average guy' than I wanted to visit whatever town he came from. You could describe William in a lot of ways, but 'average' was not one of them.
But Larry was so ready to be fucked that the size of that monster only made him want it more. If the look on his face when I unveiled myself in the locker room was surprise, then what he displayed as William's true magnitude became apparent was nothing short of shock.
And truthfully? I think William is bigger than he looks because he's built like a brick shithouse, so that monster cock looks smaller in comparison.
Larry's ass was plowed good and full that afternoon. Me? I sat on the couch with a hard-on watching William's sweet ass as the guy fucked my best bud. William's ass is a sight to behold just as it is, but watching him in action—a view not previously available to me—was something else altogether. The way his cheeks flexed and moved, the deep dimples of his muscular butt pumping in and out, the way his thighs stretched and bulged, and just the overwhelming taper of his back and all its thick masses of muscle was making me crazy. I was stroking my stiffy with glee as I watched, splattering myself in more hot spunk, cumming for the third time that day with another heavy load of cream.
And I gotta say that William is right. I do taste good.
My body was performing well past peak performance levels. Sure, Larry's reaction to me was over the top, but I gotta say that the more I noticed my own physique, the more I was beginning to wonder just what the hell was going on.
I mean, I looked bigger, I felt bigger, but I couldn't actually be bigger, could I? In three days, could I have changed so much that it was noticeable? Was my chest really showing a nicer set of plates? Was my belly rippled a little deeper? And my cock sure looked bigger now that I really studied it, and it sure felt bigger in my grip. Maybe I was just high on something, some sex-drive chemicals my body was making, which would also explain how I could be continually hard and cum not a couple of times a day, but several! Sometimes three or four times an hour!
This wasn't anything they taught us in sex ed, but maybe I was just some special case, some abnormal sex freak with a body that had finally matured enough to start really showing what it could do, and William just happened to be around to help out, as it were.
I was thinking about going to weigh myself (and clean up the jizz on my chest and stomach) and see if what appeared to be happening actually was—don't ask me why, I still didn't believe it for a second but I mean if you saw a before and after of yours truly you'd start wondering, too—but as I started to get up, William was suddenly all over me.
Larry was on the rug collapsed on his back with a smile on his face that pretty clearly indicated what he was feeling. His prick was slowly subsiding and lay across his hip. His belly rose and fell with each of his contented breaths, and I saw some definition there that I never noticed before. The guy was looking pretty fucking sexy there in the afterglow, but William was making me very aware that he was the one who wanted me, kissing me hard and shoving his tongue into a wrestling match with mine. I was sticky but he didn't apparently mind that one bit. In fact, he started licking my chest like a man who hadn't eaten in days and it wasn't long before I was at full attention again and he was attentively Hoovering my boner and playing with my fuzzy nuts.
Then I felt Larry at my back door, or more accurately I felt Larry's tongue shoving between my cheeks to get at my rosy butthole and my undercarriage started feeling as close to heaven as a guy could get.
I wanted to be doing something with my hands and mouth, too. I mean, I sure didn't mind being the center of attention but I needed to get fully engaged fucking quick. My body still felt all revved up from watching William and Larry go at it. I needed to be a participant, not just the target.
Then William was on his feet and kissing my mouth, and my hunger hit hard. I wanted to suck the guy inside, practically, I wanted to fuck his brains out.
So, as Larry ate me from behind, I fucked William's muscled ass, my body bent over his, shoving inside his tight hole like a man possessed. I came again, and again it was another full load. I pulled out as I was still cumming and Larry sucked down my seed, not choking on me this time, drinking every drop with a hand on my cock so I couldn't pull out if I wanted to.
Then Larry fucked William's ass as I fucked his. The guy was going batshit. Hell, so was I, and William was a sweaty grunting fuckpig, his huge body bucking as his tight hole held me inside like a vice. When we finally took a breather and headed into the kitchen for some beers, I was behind the other two and the sight of those prime pieces of ass and their heavy swinging dicks was keeping my libido in overdrive. I started wishing for a bigger shower.
Larry was swigging his Coors and he asked William the questions I never got around to. Larry was always a relaxed little dude. Real friendly like that. Me, I just wanted to grab some ass and split.
“Where you from William?”
He shrugged. I watched the thick cables of power on his shoulders swell and relax. “Here and there. I move around quite a lot.”
“Because of your dad's job or something?”
“Or something,” he answered, smiling.
“What brings you to our neck of the woods?”
“Just the next stop on a long road, I guess.”
“I hope it's a long stop,” I said, and Larry toasted the sentiment. Apparently he'd never been fucked so good, either. Even by me. “Where'd you disappear to this morning? I thought I'd come home to find your stuff here, but I don't see anything new.”
He took a deep swallow before answering. I watched his Adam's Apple bob among the cords of muscle on his neck. Everything about this guy was sexy. “Had to take care of a few things. Don't really have anything worth bringing over, Jackson.” He tilted his head, narrowing those sea green eyes. “Why, were you hoping I'd have more clothes to wear?”
“Fuck no!” I said it so fast that we all laughed. “I mean, if it's up to me I don't give a shit if you never wear a stitch of clothes, ever.”
“The feeling is mutual,” he purred, and the way his gaze painted my naked form made me feel a flash of heat all over my skin.
Larry was looking over at me too when I looked at him, and his gaze had the same hungry quality to it. “So, what did you guys do, really?”
“Do?” I asked. William set his beer down and folded his arms over his chest. He was looking at me, not at Larry.
Who was nodding as he drank from his bottle. Then he repeated, “What did you guys do, to get you looking like that, Jackson? What, did William feed you some super supplements or something, then you went all out at the gym to get so pumped?” I looked at William with a furrowed brow wondering what the hell Larry was on about. He was just standing there, smiling at me. “And your dick, Jackson. Judging from William's massive beast, I assume he told you some secret to penis enlargement or something. Some Oriental massage method or secret Inca exercises or an ointment made from the sperm of dead Greek gods or something?”
“What the fuck are you drinking, Larry, because whatever's causing these hallucinations, I want some.” I shook my head and looked down at myself. “I'm exactly the same as…”
“No,” said William, “you're not.”
You saw this coming, didn't you? Yeah, I dropped enough hints before we got here, but I have to tell you that I was still blind to what Larry was on about. I mean, to me, I was just the same. More horny, definitely, and I never felt better in my life, but I had convinced myself that I was the same dude as I was on Friday. Like I told you up front, I was a big guy. Nowhere as big as William, of course, but I was big. I stood 6-feet 2 inches high, I weighed about 195, I had a decent set of muscles on me and I looked pretty fucking cute, and I wasn't the only one who thought so.
I was a big, handsome dude. So what the fuck was William talking about? Which is, more or less, what I asked him.
It was hard to concentrate on his words looking at him, though. He was just… so incredibly amazingly great looking. Like, everything about him. And so huge. Standing there naked talking to me, to Larry and me, with his darkly shadowed jaw and sculpted face, that forest of curls stretching across his wide bulging chest, the six tightly packed muscled on his belly separated by more of his soft, black body hair. The thick, glistening triangle of pubes above what I can only describe as the biggest fucking prick in the world accompanied by two low hangers that seemed, even now, to be plump with that sweet cream he delivered in abundance. His long, powerful legs and the overwhelming sexual potency and power that seemed to come off him in waves. William was sex in the flesh. And he was leaning against my kitchen counter across the floor from me, looking at me with his bright green eyes as his mouth was saying things that were unbelievable.
His explanation was typically blunt, but also free of his usual innuendo and banter. “You're not the same as you were when we met, Jackson. Larry, you're a little different now, too. You can probably feel it. You feel… better. Stronger. More satisfied but still… I guess, hungry is the word.”
“I'm fucking horny as hell,” Larry explained.
William smiled a little secretive smile. It made him look damned sexy. “That's another way of putting it,” he rumbled. “And that's a major part of what's happening to you. It's happening to you right now. And it will keep happening to you.”
“And what is it?”
“Jackson. Larry. I'm not exactly… like you.”
Okay guys, this whole next part? This is where we learn (meaning you learn, since I already know this story, remember? I'm living it, as you'll recall) who William is and a little more about what's going on. So if you just want to get to the hot sex parts, skip on down a ways. But, you know, I gotta cover this part because then what comes after will make more sense.
And it gets better, friends. Believe me.
So I said, “Well, that was pretty fucking apparent when you walked up to me in the locker room.”
And William went, “No, I mean… You guys are like 17? 18?”
“Seventeen,” I said, indicating Larry and me both.
“Guess how old I am,” he asked.
My eyebrow went up. “Eighteen? Nineteen? So you were held back a grade or two. So what?”
“No, that's not quite it. What if I told you I look good for my age?” I looked at Larry, and I think the look on his face was the same as the one on mine. “Okay, what if I told you I look very good for my age. Very, very good.”
“What, you're some old lecher with an excellent plastic surgeon? There's no plastic surgeon who's that good.”
“No shit, Sherlock. Besides, you've felt just about every inch of me inside and out, I think you'd know if something on me was plastic, wouldn't you?” I snickered. “Okay, so…”
“Well, give me a fucking hint here.”
“Uh, w ine.”
He nodded, smiling. “Wine. What does that tell you?”
“You're not a lech, you're a drunk.”
“Jesus, don't they teach you kids anything anymore?”
“You're getting pissed off because you give me one word and I'm supposed to fucking guess who you are? Give me a break here, William. How about a little m ore?”
“Grease and wine? You're a short order cook with excellent taste?”
“Not oil, the country. Greece. Grecian.” His face was displaying more than a tad of annoyance with me. I looked at Larry, and he was as confused as I was. “Fuck it. I'm sort of a god, does that help?”
“God? You're God?”
“Oh, fuck no. I said I'm sort of a god, I didn't say I was a god. Or the god. Or whatever. But I've been around for about 2500 years old. So you have to admit I look pretty fucking dazzling.” He did a little twirl on the tile like he was Michael Jackson or something. And, yes, I did have to admit he was pretty fucking dazzling. I just wasn't going to say it out loud.
Larry goes, “You're Bacchus?”
William shook his head. “Wrong civilization. That's Roman. I'm Greek, remember?”
Larry was snapping his fingers. “You're… fuck, what's his name? Di… something. Starts with a D, right?” I just looked at them like they were crazy. Which they probably were. But so was I, so who was I to be judging anybody?
“The name you're checking the memory banks for is Dionysus. But, no, I'm not him. Like I keep saying, I'm sort of like a god, but I'm not an actual god. I can't do all that miracle shit like he could. And if you think I look good, you should get a load of his ass someday. Fuck, that dude'll make you cum just to look at him.”
“So you're not a god, but you're like a god.”
He nodded as he sucked the last of his beer back and set the bottle on the counter. “I was a disciple. Guess I still am, only I haven't seen him for, what, I guess it's been… 20 years? 30? I lost count.” He scratched his chin, looking for all the world like some 19-year- old dude telling us about his first fuck. He was so cool, you could serve drinks off him. “But it goes like this. I was called Lyaios. Now, if run your fine little asses over to the library and look that up—or I guess everyone uses the Internet for these sorts of things now, don't they? Whatever. Anyway, depending on what source you choose to read, I was either a giant or an undefeated gladiator or any number of amazing and heroic tales. Look, back then? We were all too drunk or too fucked up to write anything down. It's all full of lies or at the very least extreme exaggeration. I mean, you know, who was going to give a fuck what we were doing in this sylvan glade or that orgy?
“So, Dionysus, he's got all these followers, right? He's got the satyrs, which were these sort of, uh, goatmen I guess, and the maenads, who were these raving bitches who really knew how to get a party started if you know what I'm sayin', and they were always all hot and bothered when he was around because, I think I mentioned, he's a fucking god, right? He may be a god, but he still needs a change of scene now and again. I'm sure you've been there.
“So he was in the habit of going into town as a human, which is to say in the guise of someone you or I could actually look at without going into ecstatic bliss and blowing a nut, and picking up whoever caught his eye. And he was a total size queen, I mean the dude would not look at you unless you could part your toga without using your hands, right? And even before I met him I was not too shabby. In fact, Jackson, I have to say that I looked almost exactly like you do, right down to those damn fine little dimples on your ass. And I was pretty fair hung, as they say now.
“So I'm minding my own business on my father's farm and this dude comes along the road and what do you know, before you can say ludus sanae mentis, I'm getting the ass fuck of my young life in the stables and it turns out that I'm giving head to a god damn god! I mean, you could have knocked me over with a feather.
“Now, I don't know if you've ever met a god, but they have a rather sizable impact on you. Having been fucked by a god, I became a minor deity of sorts. That don't mean I can wave my hand and make apples dance. What it means is that, in my case, I became super-sexed. I mean, I was amazing. I was perpetually hard, I was cumming an embarrassing amount, my body was growing more and more attractive, stronger, more beautiful, it was great. And the more I hung around with D, the better I got, until I guess he sort of got sick of me strutting around all cocky and full of shit and he goes off and leaves me.
“Well, technically he banished me, and I couldn't blame him. Oh, sure, at the time I was fucking pissed off! I mean, one day I'm in his graces, receiving his blessings, guest at all his orgies, having sex every which way. That went on for a long time, I later figured out. Time is sort of meaningless when you live with a god, bet you didn't know that. And I had stopped aging, which was another nice benefit. And when he left I was a lot bigger and even better looking than I am now. The longer you're separated from a god—here's another bit of trivia for your next party—the longer you're away from him or her, the less you experience their affects. For a good many years after he left, I could fuck a guy and he'd receive a good deal of the god's power through me and he'd just explode with muscle and power and beauty.
“Because see, D? He's the god of pleasure. Not just wine, which is kind of paltry. And someone else got love, some chick, never met her. But D was the god of pleasure, and what's the greatest p leasure?”
“Fucking,” I answered. It was automatic, and my own voice kind of surprised me.
“Exactly! So when he fucked you, you became the ultimate fuck machine. Everyone wanted to fuck you, and you wanted to fuck everyone. I mean, it was non-stop. You think we've been busy this weekend, Jackson? Back then, you'd be dead by now. I was amazing. I could fuck you until you died. I could fuck you for days, weeks, years! And I'd know exactly what you wanted, and I'd deliver it in spades. I can still do that, sorta.” He sighed, smiling. “But that was along time ago. And I don't have the same affect anymore.”
He looked at us. “But once you've been touched by a god, it never leaves you completely. So, yes, Jackson, you're better than you were three days ago. Because you've been with me. You're bigger, stronger, more beautiful, all that. And now you have some of that power, too. You weren't touched by the god, but you've been blessed, as it were, by his disciple.
“And I wasn't lying about anything I've said. I want to be with you, now. I've been wandering a long time. I've been with lots of men. Thousands, probably. And I never told one of them what I just told you. Because I really like you, Jackson. Maybe it's love, maybe it's something else.” He shrugged.
“You? Larry, you're just too cute for words. How could I not fuck your ass?” His smile grew wider. “So, that's it. Jackson, you look like a trout. Close your mouth or fucking say something.”
“You said… you said your time with Di-what's-his-name lasted a long time, but time was relative. So how long, in Earth time, were you with him and how long have you been out, so to speak?”
“Out in the gay sense or outside?”
“Both,” said Larry.
William grinned at Larry. “You have to remember that in my day, it didn't matter who you fucked. Your whole civilization is so screwed up, so hung up on gender and superstition. Not that we didn't have our own, but in this area I think we were way ahead of you. So there was no closet to be in. I was always out. I loved who I loved, I fucked who I fucked. No one gave a shit. And I still don't. If someone's got a bug up thier butt about who I choose to allow up mine, that's their problem. Frankly, I think it's their loss, as well. Why limit yourself?
“As far as how long I was with D, I think it was about 1500 years off and on. I took some breaks, stepped out to see what was going on but always went back. I found out pretty quick that I could be gone for months and not an hour had passed back with D. When he finally cast me out, Europe was a bloody mess. It was not pretty. So I roamed around spreading good cheer, as it were. Remember that I still was pretty juiced up on D's power, so I was unstoppable. I needed to fuck almost constantly, and I was very, very good at it.”
“You still are,” I volunteered.
His eyebrows wiggled. “And I've been taking it easy on you so far, so don't get all smug on me just yet. You and I have a lot of new places to go.” Larry whimpered. “Yes, you can come, too.”
“So you've been wandering around since 1000 AD?”
“No, I met up with D once or twice since. He just shows up, we renew our acquaintance. I think he likes me better now that I've got a little seasoning under my belt. So there were a few centuries I missed out on. From what I hear, I didn't miss much.”
“He just pops up out of nowhere?”
He nodded. “He's a god, he does what he wants.”
“What's he look like?”
“To you? I would guess he'd be the handsomest fucking man you ever dreamed of. I mean, I recognize the looks you gave me and I know I'm hot shit, but I'm like a shadow of what D is. Even in his human form, there's no mistaking him. He'll look in your eyes and you are his, body and soul. You'll do anything, and I mean anything, to be with him. Plus, he's funny as hell.” He smiled and rubbed a knuckle against his soft, full lips. “Damn, I miss him.”
Larry asked, “And why are you pretending to be a high school student? You're old enough to be everyone's great great et cetera grandpa!”
“Guys your age are at the sexual peak. My appetite hasn't subsided, and even before my special talents affect you, you guys are Energizer bunnies. And I'm the battery charger. I still look—and feel—about eighteen years old. I'm sort of stuck here perpetually. In that sense, I'm the same age as you, regardless of how long I've been around.”
There was a long silence. I was letting all this sink in. I didn't quite believe it, still. William seemed to believe what he was saying, so he was either insane or I was, because I was starting to believe him, too. “How big?” It was Larry's voice that broke the silence.
“Um, not sure. Twelve inches, at least. Maybe more for Jackson, he's already got an ample…”
“No, I mean, overall. How big will I get? As big as you?” Larry looked William up and down, all six and a half feet of him. I was staring at my dick trying to picture twelve inches of meat between my legs.
William shrugged. “Truthfully? I never stuck around long enough to see the finished product. I know I never got as big as D, but then he was a god.”
“How big were you?”
“Well, the giant story was well earned. I stood close to eight feet high at one point. Had a fucking third leg under my breaches. Chest out to here, arms that could crush rocks. When D comes knocking, I almost immediately get that big again. Then I get a good deal of control over my body back. Another nice little side effect. It takes about a dozen years or so for me to get to here.”
“So you saw him…?”
“About 20 years ago. Yeah, something like that. Disco? When was that?”
“How often does he make an appearance?”
“You sure ask a lot of questions Larry. Wouldn't you rather fuck?” His hand was brushing his chest, enflaming those large nipples of his. I was trying to imagine this guy bigger than he was, more beautiful, more everything. I was trying to imagine what I would look like if all this turned out to be true.
I looked at Larry and he looked at me. I checked him out as he checked me out. Now that I had heard William's story, whether it was true or not, there did seem to be something different about my best friend. He looked fucking hot. He always did, but there was something even sexier about him, something I couldn't put my finger on. But it was there. And it was getting stronger.
“Yes,” I answered for everyone. “Let's fuck.” I walked across the kitchen to William and kissed his mouth. “Let's go to one of those new places you mentioned. Larry? You up for a little trip to heaven?”
I didn't have to ask twice.
Now that William let his cat out of the bag, he went from amazing lover to unbelievable. Literally. I couldn't believe what he was doing. To me. Almost constantly. For a week.
Oh, Larry was there, too.
Larry, by the way? Now, whatever William's godlike powers did, Larry's body took to them like a… like a… well, like something that starts growing muscle amazingly fast. When I finally snuck away from the unbelievable sex long enough to find a tape measure, I found out that I'd grown about three inches taller, which was okay, but my dick was showing fairly incredible size improvement. Three inches to my height may not have made a hell of a lot of difference, but those three inches added to Mr. Happy made me grin ear to fucking ear.
I weighed myself, too. How does an extra thirty pounds grab you? Yeah, I went from 190 to 224 in a week. One week. Not working out, other than with William. I couldn't help but notice the improvements now that I knew for sure there were improvements. My arms had new definition, my abs looked like a washboard, and my chest was developing a serious valley. I had three lobes of muscle on my shoulders, and the muscle on my legs was turning into wedges. Fat, hard wedges.
When I looked in the mirror and stopped looking at my body for two seconds, I noticed my face was changing, too. Not dramatically, and not in a way that was probably noticeable to others if they weren't paying close attention, and maybe it was because I was getting bigger overall that there would naturally be changes to my face as well. But whatever the reasons, whether because my body was changing anyway or William's presence had some rather deeper implications than I expected after his explanation, my face was looking more hot as the days progressed as well.
The changes weren't something dramatic I can even point to. It wasn't like my nose was different or my eyes changed color or anything like that. I just looked better, you know? Imagine you wake up one day and look in the mirror and that's clearly you standing there, but it's a better you. More… beautiful, I guess. And that was what I saw.
So that was me.
But Larry? Now Larry was taking off like a fucking weed.
Did I already mention what Larry looked like? It's probably worth repeating even if I did. Larry was a lot scrawnier than me, but that isn't to say he was anemic. Far from it, as a matter of fact. He had what is usually referred to as a swimmer's body. Smooth, flat, looks good in clothes. He has wide shoulders and a long neck and long, long fucking legs. Maybe it was his arms and legs that made him look thin, because they just looked so long! They probably weren't but in relation to the rest of him… because he has this compact trunk, sort of. He's not misshapen, he just has long limbs. And his muscles seemed not to want to grow very big.
The guy is fucking strong, though. Like all his strength was compacted into those long, lean muscles. His belly was flat-flat. Real tight? But no bumps. Even after sit-ups or whatever, the guy had no definition. He was still great to look at, had these really pretty eyes and a great, great smile. I really liked him.
The thing about Larry was always that he had stamina. Maybe because he was so strong but not so big, he had less to carry around, you know? So he could run and run and swim and swim and fuck and fuck and fuck. Seriously, the guy could go and go, and after a couple of days with William his body started showing the same sort of changes to his libido as mine was.
Remember I said that I was almost always horny? And I started being able to cum buckets every time? And I was hard and ready for action at the drop of a hat? Well, Larry was there in a day. He became this fuck machine. He was in overdrive. And with William and me both around, and William now showing Larry and me some stuff that would blow your mind, he was almost constantly engaged!
Me, I was still sleeping regular, but I got this feeling that Larry and William were going at it even when I was in dreamland. Because I'd go to bed, exhausted, and they'd be going at it like bunnies. And I'd wake up, sun on my bed through the open window, and they'd still be fucking each other as if they never stopped!
Half the time I was joining in before I was fully awake anyway, so I wasn't complaining. But still.
So maybe that was why Larry's body started to grow new muscle and just grow so much so fast. I swear that when I woke up the next day after William spilled the beans? Larry looked like he'd put on 20 pounds of bulging mass. And that belly that had no definition? Well, it fucking did now!
His smooth body was growing fat with little hard bellies of muscle, and those bulging balls of strength were vascular and shredded. The guy had almost no fat on him anyway, because of that metabolism of his. And now that things were starting to grow, you could practically witness the muscle develop as you watched. It was like he was being inflated or something! Seriously!
“Larry,” I said one afternoon, “have you looked at yourself lately?”
He blinked, because his mouth was full of my prick at the time. From my angle, I could see the folds and segments of the muscle on his wide shoulders and they looked like wedges under the skin. The distinct lobes of the muscle groups were clearly defined, and as he chowed down on my meat, his neck was stretching and his shoulders were flexing and bulging. I could see the two rounded globes of his chest and the peaks of his nipples from up there. He had a chest, suddenly! More than that, he had a big fucking chest.
His ass was round and firm, too. I could tell because he had it stuck out slightly so William's tongue could more easily dig into him.
William wasn't getting bigger, not that I expected him too. We were clearly not gods, so there was no reason why his affect on us would go the other way.
I put my hands down on Larry's rounded shoulders and whistled a compliment. He was hard as a rock, and I could feel those muscles under his silky skin like animals crawling around. I could almost feel him growing under my hands, if you can believe that. Maybe it was just him tightening his newfound muscle onto my grip, but whatever it felt so fucking amazing.
Larry's face was experiencing the same sort of enhancement that I realized my own was. And, again, it wasn't anything I could pinpoint, he just looked damn sexy. Sexier.
So after a week of this, I manage to pull Larry away from William's attention long enough to have us take a good look at what we'd become after seven days of naked sexual abandon with a god of pleasure's disciple.
“Whoa,” Larry said. I just nodded. We were standing next to each other, nude as usual, looking at our reflection in the mirror.
We were fucking huge! I mean, I'd watched Larry's growth and he'd watched mine, and we'd spent enough time around each other that by this time one would think we wouldn't be surprised by what was staring back at us. But it was pretty amazing.
When I say huge, I mean in relation to what we used to look like. Neither one of us was going to win any bodybuilding titles, but we'd both do better than average in a cock size tournament if such a thing exists.
What we had was muscle, and it was everywhere. Thick slabs of power that were arranged almost ridiculously flawless. I mean if you took a Tom of Finland illustration and teamed that up with a Greek stature and a science textbook of the human anatomy, that was us. We had bulging masses of defined strength lining every inch. Long, fat biceps that bunched up into high-peaked balls with split double heads. Heavy wedges of power along each thigh that bulged when flexed like living things under the skin. Bellies made up of perfect six- packs of amazing abdominals like eggs in a basket. Pecs that were meaty and heavy and thick and broad, with highly sensitized nipples constantly erect and ready for nibbling and sucking.
Then there were our cocks. Which were, to be blunt, unbelievable. We had pipes of pleasure between our legs that were so big, they almost looked fake. Like that sad thing Marky Mark wore in that movie, but our foot-long treasures were far from sad and limp. No, we owned long, broad, beautiful cocks that hung in abundant beauty between our muscled legs. They were fat and firm and heavy and perfect. Mine was uncut and Larry's had a bulbous head like a flowerbud.
“Mmm,” I heard a voice growl behind me, and I looked up from staring at my own prick to see William's reflection joining Larry and me in the mirror. His hand reached between my ass cheeks and his fingers found my hole. He was doing the same to Larry, and we were both on our toes under his careful and expert ministrations. “Admiring my handiwork, are we?”
Larry's face took on a look of serious pleasure and he moaned softly. I was probably feeling what he was feeling, and moaned in unison, biting my lower lip. “Jesus,” I said, “is that just your hand doing that?”
William's reflection smiled and he nodded. “Good, huh?”
Whatever the fuck he was doing back there felt better than good. I nodded and almost drooled. “Not that I'm… oh, shit… I'm not unthankful for the attention, but could you pause a sec so I can think straight?”
“Speak for yourself,” said Larry the Fuck Engine. He was stroking himself to hardness and positioning his body for better access for William's insistent touch.
But William did as I asked—which he always did. Whether you asked him to lick you, spank you, fuck you or stop, he always did exactly what you wanted, sometimes before you even had to ask. “Thanks,” I said, and I turned around to look him in the eye. I also looked down to see what the hell his hand was doing that felt so good, but he had it so far up Larry's ass by this time that he could have been juggling up there for all I knew. I looked at William. His green gaze was locked on me. He was grinning broadly. I could hear Larry beating off, his prick lubed up with gobs of precum.
“I look different,” I said. His head tilted slightly. “Besides being bigger here,” I touched my chest, indicating my muscles, “and down here,” then I grabbed my shaft and hefted the new heaviness of my cock. “I look different.”
His deep growl spoke softly. “You think you look better?” I nodded. His grin became a smile. “You look exactly the same to me.”
“No, I look…”
He was shaking his head. “To me, you look exactly the same.” He emphasized the first two words. He nodded toward my best friend and said, “Larry looks the same, too. Bigger, yeah, but not different.”
“But I do! He does! We look…”
He was shaking his head again. “You do look better when you look in the mirror, that's true.” His eyes narrowed. “Has Larry ever described me to you?”
I thought about that a minute. “No. Why should he? We both saw you that day in the locker room. He knew what you looked like.”
“But do you know what he thinks I look like?”
This was making almost no sense to me. “I don't follow.”
He leaned his mouth next to Larry's ear, his fist not missing a beat down below. “Larry. What do I look like? Tell Jackson what I look like.”
“Huh? What? Oh, shit, William, what the fuck are you talking about?” Larry was having a very hard time concentrating.
“What color are my eyes?”
“Blue. Light… like, like turquoise.”
“And my hair?”
“Golden. B londe.”
“Everywhere?” William's eyes met mine. His green eyes. Under his blue- black hair.
Larry nodded. “Your have golden hair all over your body. Even your pubes. It shines like gold on your skin.”
“My skin? What's my skin look like?”
I looked at William's pink flesh, at the dark curling hair on his chest, at the patch of midnight above his monster. Then Larry said, “You're so fucking tanned you look almost black, dude. You're like this surfer who hung out in the gym too long. Your ass is even tanned a dark brown. You're so fucking gorgeous, William. You're fucking… fucking perfect.”
William was smiling at me. “Remember when I said I knew who you wanted to walk through your door? Remember I said I knew what you wanted?”
“I still don't get it.” The guy Larry just described, the guy I assume Larry thought he was fucking this past week and who was now playing inside his ass was not the guy I was looking at.
“Pleasure, Jackson. I've been touched by the god, by Dionysus. The god of pleasure. The ultimate source. Everything I do, everything I am, is for and about pleasure. Sexual pleasure, sensual pleasure, erotic pleasure, aesthetic pleasure, physical pleasure. So when you look at me, you see what makes you feel the most pleasure. When Larry looks at me, he sees what gives him the most pleasure.”
“You're an illusion?”
“No. I'm the man you see before you. I'm just a man. I'm also the man Larry sees. I am the source of his pleasure, I deliver pleasure, I can't help it. I was changed. You're changing, now. You're seeing in the mirror what gives you more pleasure. Others will begin to see you like that. Larry is beginning to see you like that—to see himself like that. But I see you as you were, because that gives me the most pleasure.”
“So I'm not really different?”
“You're very different.”
“But you just said…”
“It just is, Jackson. Trying to understand it won't make it more true. You're changing every second you're with me. You're becoming a being built for and geared toward physical pleasure. To give and to receive it. More and more and more.” Larry was cumming on the mirror, spraying another load of white jizz on his reflection. “You think there's a boundary?” William bent his knees and replaced his fist with his dick. I watched him grow to huge hardness almost as an afterthought. It was because he knew this was what Larry wanted, what would bring him pleasure. A fat dick in his ass. He seemed to tighten around William's cock, he bent over and his ass welcomed William inside. “It will get better and better, Jackson. You will get better and better and better.” He started to slowly fuck Larry, his hips moving back and forth to some rhythm Larry wanted. “If you went out and fucked one of your other friends now, you'd make them cum just looking at them, just speaking to them. They'd see a fantasy in you, Jackson. They'd see you and you'd be the perfect you, whatever they wanted or needed from you, you'd deliver that. You wouldn't need to try, you wouldn't need to ask, you'd just do it. Because it's what you're becoming. It's what we are.”
I was mesmerized by his words. I felt hot and overcome watching his powerful body fucking my friend. His gaze held mine, his words moving through me, feeding me. “But I'm…”
“You're Jackson. To them, you'd be Jackson. But they'd be as overcome by you as you were by me. You could hand-job them in front of their lockers, bringing them close to ecstasy as you realized your own ecstasy through their pleasure. Giving and receiving it effortlessly, naturally, perfectly. It is what you're becoming,” he repeated, “through m e.”
“Exactly.” His eyebrow arched. “Or very nearly.” He leaned down, wrapping Larry's new body in his powerful arms. Larry was shaking from sheer joy, laughing and weeping as his body approached perfect bliss, filled to overflowing with William's power, his strength, his beauty.
And now, more than anything, I wanted to test his words. I wanted to be back in school, walking down the aisle between lockers, wearing next to nothing, allowing my powerful new form to show itself but not expose itself. Letting some guy… letting my friend Brian get a taste of what I was, what I could do, letting him experience the pleasure of anticipation, of the tease and promise of my naked perfection. Walk up to him and…
“Then do it,” whispered William. His head rested on Larry's broad back and his full lips smiled at me. “Go fuck with Brian's desires. Spread pleasure before you and after you, Jackson. Be the promise of it and the fulfillment.”
The thing about Brian is that he's got a great body, but that's all. It's like he spent all his time and energy perfecting the part between his ankles and neck and forgot the other stuff, like reading and acne medication and conversation. I mean, I like the guy and all, but he's the sort of guy who it's easy to diss around mutual friends and they'll all get it. He's a walking collection of perfectly honed muscle, all brawn—no brain. I mean, he wasn't dumb, really. He just had no interest in non-physical pursuits.
Which, let's face it; meant he was the ideal candidate for me to test out the bullshit William was shoveling. If there was ever a guy who'd test the boundaries of the pleasure principle, Brian was it.
I'd like to tell you that I decided to wear the exact pair of cotton shorts that William was wearing the first time I saw him because of some deep, hidden meaning. But the bare fact of it was that after a week of having my brains fucked out by William's super-powered body, none of my clothes fit very well. I pulled a T-shirt over my head and ripped the sleeves straight out when I tried to push my fat muscled arms through them. Then I thought, eh, so what, sleeveless works, too. But when I got the skin-tight shirt across my chest, I ripped the side seams out as well. I didn't realize just how much bigger I'd gotten until then. I was literally tearing through my clothes.
It was hot!
But it was also annoying. I couldn't walk around naked no matter how great I looked. You can't get picked up for indecent exposure and try to plead innocence by explaining that a disciple of the ancient Greek god of pleasure had transformed you into a muscular fuck machine so none of your clothes fit anymore. I mean, I guess you could try that argument and then demonstrate what you meant by 'fuck machine' by plugging the bailiff's ass with your monster cock while simultaneously sucking the judge's dick so completely that he blows a nut on your mammoth, hairy chest, but I didn't feel like going to all that trouble.
Besides, I looked fucking great in William's shorts. They rode up my ass crack and showed off my bubblebutt, my length of sexmeat lay along a crease in the crotch that seemed built just for that purpose (which, come to think of it, maybe it was!) they rode low on my hips so that the dark trail of hair that ran along the rippled masses of my abs spread across the waistband, hinting at the forest beneath and my new muscular thighs exploded from below all fat and hard and sexy.
I asked William whether there was anything I had to do to prepare. Did he pray to Dionysus before he ventured out? Did he get pumped, like before a big game, get all psyched about making guys happy? Did he use some special cologne that gave him that great smell he always had, and where did he buy it, and could he loan some to me? He rolled his eyes and said, “No, Jackson, there's nothing you'll need to do. Believe me, it'll come naturally. The scent is something you'll develop on your own. You smell that on me because…?” His eyebrows lifted.
“It gives me pleasure?”
He smiled. He looked gorgeous and for a second I didn't want to leave. “You're learning. And the more you… well, I'll save that answer until afterwards. I think you'll discover things on your own that'll surprise you once you're out of the shell, so to speak.” Then he took me by the shoulders, kissed me full on the lips, spun me around and patted me on the ass.
And then I went to school.
Something weird started happening almost as soon as I got out of Larry's car in the parking lot. There were some dudes out there smoking like usual, and I get out of the car wearing those tight shorts and nothing else and I could feel the guys watching me. And I mean that literally, I could feel their eyes on my body like they were shining heat lamps on my skin. And I could tell that two of the guys were more than a little interested in what I had to offer. Understand that I'd never seen these guys before. Different crowd, you know? These were the kind of guys who paraded around with enough macho testosterone to drown a construction worker. They had swagger down to a science and if they were caught dead looking at another guy with anything close to interest it was likely they'd beat the guy up for making them feel interested.
But I was a fucking hunk of sweet muscular sex. I stunk from it. I reeked of it. It was all over me, and they could smell it. So I made eye contact with two of them, I smiled, I acted cool as shit.
I had the both of them three minutes later behind the gym. And just like William said, I knew exactly what they wanted, exactly how they wanted it, exactly when they wanted it.
One guy was tall and lean and hard. He looked like his body was made of molded plastic, with his limbs lined with long, firm power. Maybe he never worked out, he wasn't bulging, but he was tight as hell. The other guy was dark, sort of dirty looking, with hair everywhere. His face was rough, he had a beard and mustache and I was sure that whatever could grow hair on him was doing so as he stood there.
They approached me together, eyes hard as iron, like they were hungry. I smiled, because I knew they wanted to see me smile—or was it that I wanted to smile and I wanted them to like it? Not sure, really. “Hey, guys,” I purred. I exchanged looks with them. “What's up?” My hand was absently brushing my chest. My fingers were playing with my nipple. It felt huge and hard.
“Hey,” said the tall one. His voice was smooth, kinda high. I bet the dude could sing like George Michael if he wanted to. He could croon in my ear and tell me he loved me and I'd fucking believe him. His eyes finally left mine and headed due south. So I moved my gaze to the other guy, and I remembered what William said and wondered if he was seeing the same guy standing in front of him as his friend, or as I saw when I looked in the mirror. I nodded to him. He nodded back, a slim grin sliding across his lips.
I realized that this wasn't about seduction. I already had them. I could do whatever I wanted to with them, and whatever I did would be what they wanted, too. The feeling of power was amazing. So I said, “Who's first?” and the tall one took a step forward.
I shoved his pants off his hips and applied my mouth to his boner. He had a long thin one, cut and lean, and his balls hung low. I breathed him in like a perfume and sucked him harder still. I pushed his shirt up his thin torso and rubbed my grip against his pale, tight skin. He had a patch of hair on his flat chest and tiny nipples I caught between my tongue and teeth as my mouth moved up his hard torso, torturing him just enough to make his eyes roll up in his head.
I kissed him hard, forcing my tongue into his mouth and he welcomed me eagerly. His hand fumbled for my monster but I held him back, allowing him only to feel my firm, fat meat through the thin cotton of those shorts. I pressed my big, muscular hulk against his frail frame and pinned him to the wall, my hands planted on either side of his head as my mouth worked on his. Then I sunk down his body and swallowed him again, licking and stroking his hot cock until he came and I swallowed every drop.
The other dude already had his dick in his hand when I turned my attentions to him. That dude had a big fucking joint, let me tell you. Big and veined and red and juicy. He was a hairy little fucker and he smelled like cigarettes and cheap beer. He wore a wife beater and his nipples poked through the ribbed cotton signaling his body's readiness. “You want this,” I asked, growling the question like a tiger, my hand digging under my shorts as my thumb rubbed the helmet and gathered a slick of precum. I painted my lips with my juices then kissed his, tasting my salty essence mingling with the taste of him in my mouth.
But he didn't get to see all of me, either. I mimicked William's first manipulations of me, spitting into my palm and jerking the guy off as I continued to kiss his mouth and neck. My tongue pushed into his ear and his deeply satisfied moans told me all my instincts were honed to his needs. It was just like William said. It all came naturally. I knew what he wanted, and I gave it to him. I pressed my hardness against him so he knew what he wouldn't be getting, that I was even bigger than him, but it fed his fantasy and when he finally came I licked his seed off my hand and sucked his cock clean.
I said all the right things, pushed all the right buttons and wore them out before settling my big daddy into the crotch of my shorts and resuming my Brian hunt, walking away from them and displaying my fine, fine ass. They were so juiced up by me that I left them going at each other. I was pretty sure their moaning and groaning was going to draw somebody's attention, and if their friends weren't aware of their homo lust they were sure going to be. Them boys was hungry!
All I knew was that Brian would be in social studies during third period, because I was supposed to be in there, too. So I folded my arms over my thick chest, amusing myself by making the cleavage deepen as I flexed (fucking amazing, man) until the bell rang and the hallway filled with my classmates. Shit, I got so much eye contact that I felt like lava was pouring over my body. I could feel who wanted me, I could tell what they wanted to do, I could practically hear them moaning because they needed to be with me so fucking bad. Curiously, I only got this from other guys. Girls were certainly paying close attention to me, but I wasn't tuned to them or something. Which was fucking fine by me.
The coolest and most surprising thing was when I felt something like a laser hit my prick, and when I looked for the source of that attention it was none other than fucking Brett Summers, our own big man on campus (which rumor had it was more than a nickname and well- earned, if you know what I mean) and football captain.
I know, can you believe that name? Brett Summers. Pure soap opera, but this guy defined beautiful. I mean, he was the whole package—tall, dark, handsome, thick as a brick and wide as the tide. And the fact that I was getting something that strong from him meant… something. What, was he “extra gay” whatever the hell that meant? I mean, if he was gay he was so far back in the closet he was the polyester shiny shirt your dad wore to the disco. I wasn't sure what it meant, but man I wanted to find out.
As I looked at him and felt his attention drift over every inch of my prime meat, I was waiting for our eyes to meet because if the heat of his attention on my bod was that intense, would our heads explode when his blue-eyed gaze met mine? Everyone else faded out in those seconds, my whole world became him. In my head, I was stripping him clean, breathing in his pit stink, running my hand over the hump of his ass, pulling his body to mine, pushing my mouth over his, sucking on his tongue. And our eyes met.
Something went off in my whole body. I felt an explosion of something, a thunder that shook me so hard and deep it was like everything went white. I saw his mouth drop open and he licked his lips, and he smiled at me, and I smiled back. I was feeling drawn to him, felt my heart speed up, felt my ass tingle, my cock swell, my balls drop. Jesus, what was this guy? Everything I was made of, everything I'd become seemed to climb a notch, to grow even more powerful, more sexual, stronger and bigger. Something was happening to me.
He looked at me like he was in shock, then he moved away. I watched him leave, and he turned to look at me again and I felt a sort of echo of that shock again. Fuck, it was great and weird and I wanted more of whatever it was. He went around a corner and I sort of came to and Brian was standing next to me. I looked over and he was staring at my crotch. Like I said, he was a physical kind of guy. But then I felt a draft and looked down to note that my prick had, at some point, grown fully erect and nine of my thick, fat inches were pulsing above my shorts. A thick trail of precum was drizzled along my shaft like a warm honey drip, making the beauty glisten. Luckily, at some point the hallway had emptied out. Still, it was annoying to find out that I wasn't as in control as I thought I was.
I sort of laughed, though, and looked back at Brian as his eyes rose and met my gaze. “What?” He looked lost for words. So I kissed him and wrapped my muscles around his and pressed my hot dick to his tight belly, leaving a slime trail on his shirt. After a second of shock, he started kissing me back, his arms wound around me tightly and he was really feeling the sex pouring through his blood. His kissing became anxious and greedy, his hand found my still-stiff dick and he stroked my hardness.
I pulled my mouth from his, and his lips practically reached out from his face to try to recapture mine. “Slow down, Brian. We've got time.”
His eyes opened and then went wide. “Jackson?”
So I hadn't changed as much as William. Not yet anyway. I was bigger, definitely, but still recognizable. “In the flesh.”
“Fuckin' A, you look like… you look… fuckin' a…”
Like I said, he was quite the conversationalist. “Yeah, I do.” I let my hand crawl under his shirt to feel his bulging muscularity. My body was taking over and any thoughts I had about pursuing Brett disappeared almost as quickly as he had. “You're going to be late for class,” I said.
“Fuck me,” I said, pinching his nipple hard. He grinned a sudden hungry grin, which made his face look a lot more appealing to me, and kissed me hard again.
I was pulling his shirt off his amazing body. He was built like a motherfucking shithouse. Muscle everywhere on his tight, young body. It was all primed and pumped and hard as a rock. His skin was buffed and bronzed and smooth and silky. He shaved his chest, pretending to be a bodybuilder but lacking the definition and paper-thin skin for competition. No, he was built for pleasure, a faggot onto worship who was going to learn what worship was all about. I sucked his tit into my mouth, he sucked back a breath. “Teacher's lounge,” I said, wagging my eyebrows.
“Fuck, Jackson, what if someone…?” He seemed to have already forgotten that I was about 30 pounds heavier, three inches taller and three inches longer than a week ago. He wasn't dazzled by my beauty and size, he was simply dazzled that this was happening at all.
I kissed the words from his lips. “What if they do?” He started to think about it. I knew it would excite him. The danger, the possibility of exposure, the thought that the hunky new gym teacher might open the door and find my huge cock fucking his muscular ass. It was all coming to him slowly but surely, just like I knew it would, and he was getting hotter by the second.
If you ever have the opportunity to do someone in the teacher's lounge, let me recommend that you take advantage of it.
We started on the couch. They had this leatherette thing, it was entirely cheap and Calvin Klein ad material. Tears had been repaired with electrical tape. The thing smelled of coffee and cigarettes. I could smell someone on it, some teacher had left behind his unique sex smell and even without him there, I could smell him. Brian had his own smell, it was sort of woodsy, mossy. Made me think of him as a tree, actually. It was weird what my body was doing, becoming attuned to guys that weren't even there one moment, turning all its attention to the hunk of fuck stud under me the next.
He was on his knees on that couch and I was coming in from behind, filling up his beautiful butt with my fat prick. I was going in quick and hard, like he liked it. I split his ass wide open, slamming him harder than I ever slammed anyone. I had reserves of power for this, I had muscles primed to deliver, built to thrust and thrust solid and full and fast. I fucked the hell out of that boy's ass and he cried from pain and pleasure and satisfaction. I folded my arms behind my head, my biceps bulging, and called him a fucking pansy ass, called him a faggot, called him a pussy little baby and then fucked him even harder. I climbed down over him and whispered in his ear, plugging my foot-long monster all the way inside and promised him he'd feel me there forever, feel my big prick buried up his ass when he was sitting in algebra, feel my strength and power and the pain of my huge cock when he was walking to his car, when he was watching a movie, even if someone else was fucking his asshole he'd only feel me, only me, wherever he was he'd feel me, and remember me. And he nodded, and said yes, yes he would. Forever.
Then I made him suck my big dick and clean me off. I made him lick me and kiss me and take me in his mouth to taste his ass on my prick. Because that was what he wanted most of all, what he wanted more than anything from me. And I knew that, and I gave it to him.
And how was this conquest? Was it as good as William? Of course it couldn't be. Fucking William or being fucked by William was like experiencing your fantasies. The guy was a sex dream on two well- muscled and incredibly flexible legs. Who could compare with that? And since Larry had been upgraded, the boy knew his way around a dick like no one you ever met.
I'll bet that if you asked Brian, he'd say it was the best sex he ever had. I was spectacular—for him. Because when I was with him, I was 100% with him. He became my focal point, my reason for being, my all and everything. No one else existed and I could feel what he wanted, know what he wanted, when I was with him. The rhythm, the power, the pressure, the release were all perfect for him. And while I was with him, he was perfect for me. The fuck was all. The fuck was everything.
And then bell rang, and as I stood there over him with his mouth on my dick, my gorgeous and perfect body slick with sweat and rank with the smell of our sex all over us, the hunky new gym teacher opened the door and stopped dead in his tracks.
I came in Brian's mouth and nearly choked him with my load. I pumped so hard and full it nearly came out his nose. “Hello,” I said to Coach Landers without turning. I could feel the heat of the man's eyes on my smooth, round ass, crawling up my muscled back, across my shoulders. I could feel arousal coming off him like his own stink, and then I could smell him.
I could smell him. It was the smell off the couch. Not woodsy at all, but spicy and dark and masculine. The scent of experience and self- confidence. It came off him in waves, off his sweat-drenched gray T- shirt and his cotton shorts and the rank and straining jockstrap I knew instinctively he was wearing underneath. “Hello,” he answered. “Am I interrupting something?” His voice was low and deep and smooth.
“As a matter of fact,” I replied calmly, “you're just in time.” I looked him up and down, and could feel his gaze warming my skin. “Shut the door.”
Mr. Landers, or Coach Landers (let me make sure you understand that I played some baseball and football but I never thought of Mr. Landers as “Coach,” because mostly what I wanted to do was fuck his sweet, firm ass and I didn't need any coaching where that was concerned) looked like some clean Marine, but you could see fag painted all over his macho exterior. He had this flat-top buzzcut and small, intense eyes and a mouth that almost always looked a second away from shouting. He wore a thick but trimmed mustache and his neck was almost as big as his head. When he smiled, which he rarely did, it looked like he was thinking of something extremely dirty. I mean, the man was one sexy motherfucker.
His body was tight and big. He didn't have a beer gut, but it would have fit right in on him. I had the feeling he wouldn't let himself have one, if that makes sense. The melons of his man tits hung full and firm behind his sweaty T, and the nipples poked against the material and pointed almost straight down. He wasn't as tall as I was, but he was big. Meaty arms hung out of his sleeves, and he had a thick coat of dark hair on them. His skin was dark and looked oily, almost shiny, under that fur. His legs were like tree trunks, fat with brawn, and more of that heavy fur all the way down.
He granted me one of his pornographic smiles as he scratched his chin. I watched his bicep twist and bulge. There was one thick vein winding over the head. The muscle balled up and showed off its fibers, thinning his dark skin so the vein sat there against the muscle in stark relief. He closed the door without turning, and it began to look like he was looking forward to a little private time in the room because his cock was straining the capabilities of his supporter to hold it inside. I thought about the heavy scent on the couch and realized that maybe this was a daily routine for him.
He got off on something about the room, just like I was. Maybe it was its cheap, porno furnishings. Maybe that he could be caught beating off in here, and that turned him on, too. But he and that couch were definitely bosom buddies. I thought about his naked butt sliding against the fake leather as he spat into his hand to juice up his warm prick, rubbing his thumb on the helmet, leaning back and closing his eyes as his jerked off, cumming all over his heavy, round tits with several deep, hard spurts.
“You're Jackson, right?” He glanced down at the guy with his mouth on my pump. “And Brian?” The smile was still on his lips. “You about done sucking his boner there, Brian?”
Brian pulled his lips off my piece and sat back on his haunches, suddenly scared and embarrassed. Me, I was getting hot and bothered by both the situation and the sight of the man, and the smell of him, the rank stink filling the room, the smell of his sweat and his sex. This was definitely not a fan of deoderant. Nope, he let the body do as it needed to, probably glorying in his own masculine perfume. I was staying hard, and my long dong was pulsing with my heartbeat and glistening with spit and cum. “He's done,” I said.
“I think you boys better get your clothes on and get back to class.” Those were the words that came out, but that smile was still on his lips, and he was staring at my rod. I had over twelve inches of hard, hot meat between my legs. My balls hung low and full. I had a body to die for and stood not three feet away from the guy, naked and perfect and hungry for him.
“Yes, sir,” I said. I turned toward him, took two steps to him. “Whatever you say, sir.” I stood next to him, taller than him but not wider, and reached around him to the back of the couch where my shorts hung. He was watching me like a predator, his small dark eyes glued to my body. I was afraid his eyes would dry out if he didn't blink soon. I was allowing my hard on to diminish, because I knew what he wanted, and this wasn't it.
Not yet, anyway.
“Get dressed, Brian,” I instructed my slave. He dutifully rose to his feet (I missed watching his leg muscles bulge and flare—Mr. Landry didn't miss a thing) and bent to retrieve his things. If he bent over to display his ass for Landry or me I wasn't sure. He seemed to be getting over his fear and was starting to enjoy the situation on his own. Pleasure was like electricity to me, I fed off it and could feel it grow.
I stepped into my shorts and pulled them up my body. They stuck to the sweat on my legs, growing dark and clinging to my skin as I pulled them up. I paused and looked into Landry's eyes as I folded my inches into the crotch and adjusted myself, then pulled the shorts up so they sat so low on my hips that most of my pubes showed and my huge prick, now limp but full and long, cradled into a fold. The cotton was soaked with my sweat and the material suctioned itself to me like a second skin. I could feel Landry's desire like a flood. Man, that dude wanted me so bad.
But he was getting more pleasure from the anticipation, from the holding back, from standing there so rigid and unmoving and watching me tease him mercilessly with all the weapons at my disposal. Brian was having less success looking sultry and sexy, pulling his clothes on sort of awkwardly and dashing from the room with nothing more than a short nod of thanks to me and a mumbled apology to the coach.
So then it was just me and him in the teacher's lounge. “I haven't seen you in class for a week, Jackson,” he said.
“No, sir.” My reply was soft and quiet. I almost whispered it.
“It doesn't appear that you've been sick.”
I looked down at my improved body, something he surely could not avoid seeing either. I looked so much better than I had a week ago, so much bigger and stronger and healthier, I was almost a different man. I bent my arm and watched my own bicep swell. A thick ball of muscle flared under my gleaming skin. A lock of hair hung in front of my eyes when I looked into his again. “No sir.”
He swallowed thickly. “Can I expect to be seeing you soon, then?”
I smiled. It held the same pornographic quality as his had done, because now I was on his wavelength and had become everything he dreamed of having, standing right there an inch away. “Yes sir.” Then I took the initiative and leaned down and kissed him. I brushed my soft lips against his unyielding ones, wetting his lips with my spit, tasting his salty sweat, pushing my mouth against his and forcing his mouth open with my tongue. He didn't want this as much as he did. It was an exquisite torture for him, denying and accepting at the same time. His supporter sagged a little deeper as blood flooded into his prick. “Thank you sir,” I said softly.
“You're welcome, Jackson,” he rumbled. Then he grinned. Shit, that man had a filthy mind and it all came through in his smile.
I wondered how long it would be before he looked up my record and came knocking at my door.
I'd managed to fuck three guys and prick tease a teacher and it wasn't even noon. My body, which was built for pleasure, wasn't satisfied and I went looking for someone new to play with. This was so much fucking fun, I can't even tell you. I felt free. I wanted to just strip naked and walk around and fuck dudes, have them fuck me, push their primed teenage bodies against the wall and shove my tongue in their mouth, suck their dicks dry, feel their tight, firm muscle and drive myself into their waiting buttholes.
As I walked down the halls, I realized that my senses were starting to grow more and more acute to the desires of the guys in each room I passed. They say men think about sex once every six minutes or something, but I guess when you're young and the hormones are flowing and you're stuck in school surrounded by physical beauty almost everywhere you look, that goes up to about six times a minute. I felt energized and fucking horny as hell.
I wanted to walk into Mrs. Jenkin's social studies class and pull Tom Maples out. What a fucking little hottie! Golden brown hair, deep brown eyes, the shadow of a beard on his cute little face. He was lean and mean and hard as iron. I looked through the little glass window at him seated inside there and it was like he could hear me calling his name. His eyes met mine and I wiggled my eyebrows—he couldn't see anything but the upper half of my face, he had no fucking clue I was standing out there mostly naked with a body to die for, a wet dream body, a body lifted straight from a porn mag with sexual powers he could only imagine—but he was out of that seat and telling that bitch he had to take a piss and out there in my arms in nothing flat. He sucked my nipples and kissed my chest and belly and pulled out my colossal cock and started to slurp me down his warm throat like a man possessed. And maybe he was.
He sucked me hard and licked my inches and I twisted him around and threw him against the wall. He was unbuckling his belt as I kissed the nape of his neck, shoving his Calvins and his Levi's off his hips as I licked his ear, and I shoved him over and plugged myself in and fucked his beautiful ass until he begged for mercy. I plunged in deeper and deeper, my full and hard prick ripping him wide until he came all over the lockers and his Nikes.
I sucked him clean, we kissed each other goodbye, I buckled him up, he arranged his hair and he went back to class.
I went to the boy's room because someone in there wanted me and found Mike Wong in the middle of taking a sad little piss. He was so fucking smart, that dude was scary smart. Knew fucking everything. He had a smooth, thin body with very small nipples. I used to watch him getting dressed, wondering whether a guy that smart made him a better lover.
I stood next to him at the urinals and took out the monster and let loose a torrent of hot yellow piss, because this was what he wanted to see. He wanted to see a big dude with a big dick pissing a hot stream so full and hard and hot that he could smell it, feel it, and hear it. My foot-long was thick and fat and I held it in both hands and stood back and pissed. He was in heaven. His own fantasy had just walked through the doors, whipped out his cock and started pissing a river. I said, “Strip,” in my deepest tone. I kept pissing as he practically ripped his shirt off and dropped to his knees and I turned my hose on him, raining hot acid gold on his smooth, white skin, splattering against his chest until he was soaking in my piss. It dripped off him to the tile, down his belly, his pants were sopping. Then I stuck my dick in his mouth and he sucked me to orgasm and I creamed in his mouth and he drank every drop.
I was tucking myself back in as I left the bathroom when I literally bumped into Gary Newhart. Gary was in my science class, he sat two rows over nearer the front than me. Gary had long dirty blonde hair that hung to his shoulders. Gary had style, that's what stood out about him. The guy fucking wore leather pants to school. When he was born somebody splashed his body with cool. It dripped off him like my piss was dripping off Mike. He had clear blue eyes and a nose that had been broken in a fight he'd had when someone called him faggot. He beat the shit out of the guy and then said, “Now you can tell all your pussy boyfriends you got your ass whooped by a faggot!” Then he pushed his wealth of gold off his bloodied face, spit on the guy and walked away.
“I've been looking for you,” he said. Gary and I weren't close friends, he was in the art crowd and I was a jock. He smoked not because it looked cool but because he was cool. I looked in his eyes and he looked down my body. My snake was lying inside my shorts, coiled and ready to strike. Gary had another smell entirely to him. He used some cologne, something sort of citrus, but I was now made to sort of smell past that and breathe in the essence of whoever I was with. I was cataloging these guys in my head. I was forming some fucking database of who they were, what they smelled like, what they wanted from me, what I could give them.
It was getting easier and easier. He came through in waves. “Damn,” he said, putting his hand on my chest. His skin was soft and warm on mine. “How'd you get so fucking big?”
“Clean living,” I growled, and sucked his tongue into my mouth. I cold feel his hand move down my body, feeling my muscles, glorying in the feel of me, my power and strength and beauty. I could feel his pleasure through his touch. He moved down my body, feeling the rippled contours of my abdominals, dug his fingers into the dark depth of my pubic hair, the curling softness erupting across my groin and then he was pushing his hand under those tight shorts (they had been feeling tighter and tighter all morning, riding up the crack of my ass, gripping onto my huge prick, making me extremely aware of my body as it moved, as I grew) and his hand was fondling me, his fingers curling under the thick shaft, burrowing into the moist heat of my groin in those shorts, in William's shorts.
He was a beauty whore. He wanted to drink in the male beauty of me, feel my size and strength and power. Feel how big I was, how my muscles bulged and flexed. I was the pictures he downloaded off the Web, but in the flesh. I was a dream to look at and feel, to worship and caress. I was those beautiful perfect air-brushed boys with the bulging chest and the bulging crotch, but I was here in his arms, here with him, living and breathing and wanted nothing but to please him.
For Gary it wasn't the fuck, it was the fantasy. It wasn't who I was, but how I looked. And I was beautiful. Perfect. Silky skin and bulging muscle. Piercing eyes and sculptured face. Not something to possess or love, but something to worship. His hands drank me in, his eyes memorized me.
But I knew that wouldn't be enough, that he'd want more. So my hands found his zipper and I undid his pants and reached inside and grabbed his cock. I pulled it out of his pants. His palm was coated with my precum, he had a slickness of my spicy scent on his hand and he put his hand on his throbbing cock and spread it on his helmet. He started to slowly stroke himself and I joined him, helped him, slid my grip on his hot cock along with his own hand, both of us part of his dream. I kissed his lips, kissed his mouth over and over, pumping him until he came a hot load over both our hands.
I wiped his cream on my broad, hard chest and he licked himself off. His tongue tickled my nipple to hardness, made them grow and swell with sexual energy. I didn't cum, but a lacquer of precum was soaking my shorts. I wanted to cum, but he didn't want me too. He wanted me like this. The picture of male perfection, a man of such awesome beauty and obvious strength and overwhelming sexuality that I am always erect, but never show it.
Look, it's not like I understood everyone's ultimate fantasy, I could just fulfill it.
He licked his load off my chest and hand and then watched my fine ass as I walked away. My shorts were now so small on me that the crack of my round and beautiful ass rose above the waistband. I owned two round moons that moved against each other as I walked. I think he came again before I turned the corner.
For the first time in a long time I was all alone. I looked down to see if what I felt was happening was physically happening, and it certainly looked like I had in fact grown even bigger in the few hours I'd been at school. The shorts were straining to hold my fat prick inside. My legs were bursting with power. My belly was so tightly muscled I could have grated cheese on it. My chest was like two globes of brawn, bulging with power. How big was I now? Why had I grown so much bigger so fast? Was this going to keep happening, or would I reach some ultimate size? Was this because all the guys I'd been with wanted me like this, and if I met some guy who wanted me smaller, would I become smaller?
The lunch bell rang. I was sure hungry, but not exactly for food. Still, I could feel the school population moving toward the cafeteria, and I could feel all the guys that wanted me moving there, too… including that strong pulse of Brett Summers that was pulling at me like a magnet to the steel of my dick. Even among all the other mingled feelings of desire and lust and need, entering my enhanced awareness like some spectrum of colors or musical blend of tones and melodies, I could feel him. That's what he was, a feeling. Something that went deeper and more profound than a sense.
I was wondering what would happen if I sauntered my super sexual self over that way when I heard my name being called and turned to see Larry running toward me down the hallway. The only way I knew it was Larry was by that voice, because the guy I saw coming in my direction looked like Larry Plus. Larry Version Two. Super Larry.
Like me, he was shirtless. His upper torso was fat with muscle. His chest muscles bounced, they had grown so large. I could see the heavy fibers of strength shift and settle as he jogged to me. The heavy tool between his leg was similarly shifting, swinging in the pouch of his shorts like eggs in a pocket. I imagine the head was rubbing itself against the… it looked like nylon… material giving him a little extra oomph with every stride. He had a broad, clean smile on his face and his pace and speed suggested that his muscles weren't just for looks.
He slowed to a stop and stood in front of me breathing a little hard. His smile stayed on his kissable lips and his eyes twinkled with some joy he held inside. His body glistened with sweat, which made me consider for a second that maybe that was why I thought he looked even bigger and better than he had about four hours ago. The sheen made the definition of his muscular size stand out even more starkly, but no, he was definitely bigger. His chest expanded with each breath, his abs swelling and contracting. He almost laughed at my astonishment and obvious lust. “Hey,” he said. Then he kissed me hello, pressing his hot, slick skin against mine. Our prominent cocks met in another sort of kiss from behind their concealments. His felt hot and firm.
“Shit, Larry, look at you!”
“Look at me? Look at you! You're fucking bigger! What have you been… never mind.”
I did laugh then. I asked, “Where's William?”
He shrugged. His shoulders were like mountains. “Said he had somewhere to go. Suggested I meet up with you and see… what's up.” My eyebrow arched. It occurred to me it was exactly a week ago today that William had disappeared the first time, after our marathon fuck weekend. I started to say just that but Larry said, “So, what's it been like?”
I hung my arm across his shoulder. Damn, the boy was hot. And I mean to the touch. “Damn, why are you so hot?”
“Clean living,” he said. Now, where had I heard that before?
“No, I mean hot hot. You're all sweaty.”
“Oh. I ran here.”
“From my place?” He nodded proudly. “That's like ten miles!”
“Something like that.”
“You ran all the way?”
“Full out, baby. Made it here in 35 minutes.”
“God damn! That's better than a four-minute mile!”
“William said I'd be amazed at what my body will do now.” He put his hand to his chest. “My heartbeat's already back to normal.”
“And you're breathing regular already.” I felt giddy thinking about that power and speed, and that I had it, too.
“But enough about how amazing I am, tell me about your morning.”
“Let's see…. I fucked two guys from the parking lot when I got here. I fucked Brian in the teacher's lounge…”
“Shut the fuck up!”
I nodded proudly. “Then Mr. Landry walks in…”
“You fucked Landry? What was he like?”
“Stop interrupting for a fucking second and I'll tell you.” He grinned and kept his mouth shut. Damn, he was cute. “Landry and I have a date for later. Keep your mouth shut, dude. He was hot for my bod, true enough, but he was into something else. He likes the anticipation or something, likes to deny himself. What the fuck do I know, I just do what I'm told. Sort of. Whatever. Oh! Brian's into domination.”
“Big fucking surprise, the guy's a big, brawny top if ever I saw one.”
“No, bro. I dominated him. Liked to be called names and fucked hard. Fucked him up the ass and made him lick me clean. Uh, then I called Tom Maples out of class and we had a quickie up against the wall. He came all over the lockers. Pretty impressive load. Then I felt like going to the men's room and found out it was because Mike Wong—that smart Asian dude? Lean little body? Tiny ass? He needed a golden shower from a muscular fucker with a big cock and I was happy to oblige. He gave me a blow job and as I was tucking myself in on the way out of the john up comes Gary Newhart in his fucking leather pants for a little muscle worship and mutual hand jobbing. He came on my hand, I wipe in on my chest, he licks it off. Dude knows his way around a nipple, you might want to remember that. I just finished up with him and was going off to the cafeteria when your fine ass came running out of nowhere.” I looked him up and down. “And damn if I don't want to fuck you raw.”
He smiled. “My, what a full schedule.”
“Oh, there was this weird thing with Brett Summers.”
“The fucking football captain gorgeous face beautiful body let me just kiss that perfect ass Brett Summers?” I nodded, and winked. “You're shitting me.”
“I shit you not.”
“You fucked Brett Summers?”
“Shit, getting me all excited over nothing.”
“Shut up and listen! I was standing in the hallway and getting this great feeling l ike…”
“Gentlemen!” And I didn't even smell him coming. But now that he was standing behind us, I realized that the feeling I was feeling wasn't just a memory of earlier in the hall, it was Landry's eyes scanning my body with that feeling of need in every glance. “May I ask what you two are doing?”
Larry looked over to me and smiled. He could feel it, too. I wiggled my brow and said, “Waiting for you, sir.” Larry's eyebrows simply rose, to accompany the smile on his lips. We both turned around. I knew why I was standing at attention, chest out, shoulders back, feet wide, arms at my side. It wasn't a surprise that Larry was, too. We were both instantly there for Coach Landry's pleasure. That was what we were. We glowed under his scrutiny. He was looking at two of the most beautiful, most powerful, most sexual young men walking the planet. We were growing bigger and better while he looked at us. We were becoming his fantasy. I could feel my dick swelling.
The hallways were empty, now. Everyone else was at lunch.
I stood there with my friend Larry in my high school outside the very classrooms where I was learning calc and Shakespeare and the history of Latin America in a pair of my lover William's small, gray, cotton shorts. My torso, which had slowly changed over the past week or so into a display of so much beautiful muscle arranged so nearly perfectly that you'd swear I wasn't built so much as sculpted, was overwhelmingly powerful and could cause almost anyone under the right conditions, i.e. with a heartbeat and still breathing, to spring an instant boner so hard and thick and tall that they'd wonder what their erections had been before I appeared.
Inside my shorts, I owned a dick so huge, so fat, so long and so amazingly talented that anyone I favored with a touch of it would have trouble remembering any other dick they ever saw, or even fantasized about. It was a tool of such incredible proportions that even I, the owner, could hardly believe it to be real.
I could feel that prick right then, feel its weight and magnitude and mass as it sat limp but firm along a fold in the sweat-soaked fabric. It hung fat and hungry from between my legs and, as I stood there rigidly, my arms to the sides, my hands clasped behind my ass, resting on the firm, solid, round meat of my perfectly shaped butt, I could feel myself growing even larger.
I could feel it. I could feel the pulse of my blood as it fed that growth, feel my shaft enlarging like a ripening fruit or a loaf of bread rising in the heat of an oven. I could feel the helmeted head inching forward, digging against my hip, pushing its way to larger and larger dimensions. My face remained calm, assertive, attentive to the man standing in front of me, the man whose mere presence was causing this physical change to manifest, causing my dick to lengthen and swell, causing me to feel myself becoming more, again, still more than I was.
The growth was focused down there, but it was not all down there. Though my eyes would not look down to see my body, I could feel that slowly developing too. I could feel the size of my biceps swell as they pressed toward my torso. I could feel them growing as if I was flexing them, tensing them, making their powerful cables of strength bulge against each other. My chest was expanding. The weight of it, the very existence of it growing more prominent in the space between breaths. My butt was firming against the back of my hands as they rested against it, my fingers folded together.
My dick was like a snake emerging from old skin, shiny and new and larger than ever. It felt like it was growing inches bigger, wanting release from its confines, but my muscular growth was more sedate, more finessed, more subtle, as if the lines of power were being improved but not overly enlarged. He liked me the way I was—he simply wanted more.
And I was now able to give him that. Without thought. Without direction. Without strain or effort. I grew better, stronger, before him as he gazed on my body. It felt as if I was inhaling the longest breath ever, my body expanding not with the air in my lungs but with brawn, with raw muscle.
“Come with me,” Landry instructed. He turned on his heel, not waiting for a response. I managed to look at Larry at the same moment his eyes met mine and the look of pleasure and surprise on his face probably matched mine. He was bigger, too. Bigger everywhere, but especially in the same place where my growth was unusually conspicuous.
His dick pressed against his shorts and gave ample evidence of its new girth and length. The swollen head and its flaring ridge was caught at his hip, and the inches of plump meat that lead to it hung deep and fat in his loins. His muscles, already larger than mine, had grown even more distinct and huge. Every fiber of his strength, every fine line of muscle and every deep separation between the bellies of power were etched in stone. As he moved, his muscles flexed and bulged. What did he feel like, now, owning all that muscle?
If his smile was any indication, he was feeling fucking amazing.
I looked down, and the extent of my own sudden development became apparent. It wasn't just that my chest was bigger, its hemispheres of strength grown round and bulging, but the fine, silken coat of body hair that forested those mountains had also increased. I now owned a dark carpet across the thick contours of muscle, spread high and wide across the expanse of brawn. Farther down, my abdominals bulged like a carton of eggs, and the goody trail of curls that erupted from my navel in the midst of all that rippled power now lead down to a wealth of pubic fur so thick that it was pouring out over the waistband of those tiny shorts.
And on my new body, those shorts were having a very difficult time holding me all in.
“Eyes front!” he called, and I fell back into the military stride and stiff attitude Landry wanted of me. I could feel my ponderous dick wag and swing inside its cloth cage as I walked, though, and my horniness level, if such a thing existed, was in overdrive.
I was primed, pumped and ready for action.
I watched the well-trained ass of Mr. Landry as he strode before us. It was a thing of beauty, my friends, truly a work of art. I could have followed that tight butt anywhere, and where it lead Larry and me that afternoon was nowhere else but the football field on the far side of the yard, away from the school and any male distractions that might interrupt our little workout.
He stopped in the center of the field, the 50 yard line, and turned. He was still wearing the sweat-stained T-shirt and the standard issue shorts that looked a lot like mine, if I could just fit into them still. His fit perfectly, of course, as if he'd had them tailored to his beautiful ass and slim hips and hanging basket. His tree trunk legs burst from the shorts so radically wide with his muscular power, and his fat, hard arms bulged so thick from his sleeves that I wondered if his damn clothes weren't made with Velcro in the seams.
All the way out here, I could smell him. His scent was a musk, a strong earthy tang with that certain spicy perfume you smell in locker rooms and men's gyms. He had so much testosterone pumping through him that it was leaking out his pores. He defined male.
He stood before us, feet planted firmly, shoulder width apart, and folded his arms across his own mammoth chest. What I had now outstripped his own mounds of muscle, and the fat pigs of brawn sitting on Larry's upper torso put us both to shame. We were both mimicking his stance—arms at our sides, eyes front, chins up, shoulders back, chests way the fuck out. The wind brushed through my new, thicker coat of hair and made me keenly aware of the extents of my now larger frame. I was a huge motherfucker.
He strode slowly toward us and circled around us. I was almost a head taller than him, now, a fact he could not easily deny since, only last week, we could stand eye-to-eye. His gaze warmed my flesh, even out here under the bright, hot sun.
He set his hand on my ass, cupping my prime butt in his strong grip. I felt myself smiling as he kneaded the flesh, his fingers digging deeply toward my waiting asshole. He set the hand against my back, caressing my broad, flaring muscles. His hand was rough. I could feel his touch even after his hand left my skin. Then it was Larry's turn for some attention, as he continued his exploration of our teenaged bodies.
Then he stood in from of Larry, I saw him in my peripheral vision, staring at the dude as if daring him to meet his gaze. He stood there a long time, I'm not sure what else he was doing but if his hands were conducting some sort of business, Larry never budged, not even a whimper.
Then it was my turn again. He moved before me and stood inches away. His stink was like perfume. It filled my head with him, made me want to be very, very hard but he wouldn't allow that, not yet. He placed his hand against my stomach, palm flat on my cobblestone beauty. He moved his touch down my body until his grip rested against my enormity. His fingers moved along all my inches, I had no idea how big I was by then. But his stroking felt like I had two feet of fuckflesh down there! He was slowly petting the snake, then he was rubbing the head.
I couldn't blink. I couldn't moan. Jesus it felt fine! He was doing things I thought only William knew about. And his hand was still over my shorts, he wasn't even directly handling my tool and I felt it down to my toes, inside my bones, all the way through me.
“Good,” he said softly. “Very good, gentlemen.” And I felt a rush of elation. We had passed this test, whatever it was. I could feel his pride like a shower of cool water.
He walked away again, standing about a yard from us, and said, “At ease.” We both assumed the stance automatically and he smiled for us, one of his patented pornographic grins that promised much more that I felt ready for.
But I wasn't who I had been, I was someone else. Something else. I was proving that now, performing exactly as he wished, becoming exactly who he wanted, looking exactly as he desired to give him all the pleasure I could.
Then he said, “Perhaps you imagine yourselves to be some sort of gift.” He looked from Larry to me. We stared straight ahead. “Perhaps those bodies have allowed you to do as you wished up to now.” That pornographic grin stayed on his lips as he spoke. “But I have news for you gentlemen.” He started to remove his shirt, pulling it up his body, peeling himself free of it. “You have much to learn.” His upper body was etched with muscle. He was amazing. How had that flimsy shirt managed to hide that body? How had that lucky strip of cloth only hinted at what lay beneath, at the sheer beauty and power that the man possessed.
Every inch of him screamed discipline. No one could mold that body without staying true to some ultimate and ungodly set of rules and methods in order to build what I saw before me. He was more than I ever imagined, better than I thought humanly possible.
“And I am going to start teaching you.” He plugged his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts. “Now.”
Then, slowly, achingly slowly, he stripped naked before us. Before Larry and me. Before maybe the two most beautiful and sexually talented young men walking the planet. And what he revealed was a body of such primal strength and erotic power that I was left nearly breathless.
I never even suspected what was hiding under that man's daily get-up. No wonder the fucker spent every lunch hour jerking off! Hell, if I had his body (and I wasn't turning into some ultimate pleasure-god- enhanced fuck machine) I'd be fucking myself every chance I got! And then I was thinking, well, maybe he ain't alone in there. Maybe some lucky little boys are getting the same education me and Larry were about to receive. Frankly, I wondered whether we couldn't give him a lesson or two after being with William, but there was something about him, something coming from him, that told me in plain language that we didn't know jack shit about the pleasures of the flesh, and this was the one man who could teach everything to us.
Because this, here, was a goddamn miracle on two well-muscled legs.
Holy shit, guys, Coach Landry almost made William look like Peewee Herman. Unleashed, he had a cock to make a grown man cry. His hairy balls were fat and round, hanging low and plump behind his huge tool. His body defined masculinity. He was neither huge with brawn like Larry nor smoothly sculpted like me. He was, simply put, absolute male perfection. What a man should be. He'd been dipped in the river of masculine beauty and power and come out looking like he was fucking you just standing there.
Jesus, my blood was boiling.
“All right gentlemen,” he said with an obscene growl of passion, “let's get started.”
Shit, look at you two. Looks like you found yourselves a size queen.” William set his beer down as I closed the door behind me. He was sitting on the couch nude, stroking his hard prick leisurely. A thick coat of clear honey glistened his whole hugeness and he had a grin on him from ear to ear. His cock looked at least as thick as the beer can, but it had a definite length advantage. His feet were propped up on the coffee table and if I didn't know better, I'd say he'd been sucking himself in our absence.
He was right, though. The two hours we'd spent with Landry on the football field had left Larry and I with tools so large we couldn't wear anything home. I didn't know about him, but mine felt like I had a lead weight strapped between my legs. The fucking thing was enormous, but more than that it was impractical. It was now well over a foot in length soft! “What the hell am I supposed to do with this,” I asked him, hefting my prick at his face.
He stuck out his tongue and licked the tip. “You have the memory of a fruit fly,” he said testily. “You don't even remember the first time you saw mine?”
“It was huge.”
He shook his head and played with his asshole. “But at first?”
I tried to remember, then it all came back. “Oh, yeah! It sort of… grew. It looked ample, then it just kept growing. And g rowing.”
“Because it was turning me on.”
“And yours is huge because?”
Larry said it first. “Because it's so fucking hot and we're constantly horny and we jerked off twice in the car in the way home because we had these fucking huge cocks.”
William nodded. “So now that your pleasure is satisfied?”
I looked down. My absurdly mammoth appendage was now just… extremely big. But manageable. “Oh.”
“Uh huh. So tell me about your first day on the job as dream lovers. Was it everything you hoped it would be?”
I told him about my several adventures and how I seemed to become more and more adept at pleasing whoever I encountered as if by magic. William nodded and smiled. “There are no coincidences,” he said. “When someone needs you, you'll be available. It just works out that way.” He rubbed his thumb across his helmet, pinching his eyes with the pleasure of the sensation. “Anything weird happen?”
“Apart from growing bigger all day?”
“I had noticed that,” he said. “But you look fucking awesome. Both of you.”
And we did. Both of us had calmed down a bit after the workout with Landry, but we retained enough that the difference was obvious.
I had no idea how much bigger I was, but I certainly was bigger. Bigger everywhere, not just my dick. And Larry looked incredible. His chest seemed to have grown inches. He now owned a mammoth muscular beauty with two huge globes of brawn capped with fat, juicy nipples. He practically should have been wearing a bra. It was fucking amazing. He wasn't quite as tall as me, nor as well proportioned. His body seemed to welcome muscle growth over anything else. His bulges were fatter and harder and more impressive than mine. He was really starting to look like a serious bodybuilder. My body seemed to grow proportionally all over, getting equally tall and thick and wide. At least, that was how I saw myself. “Tell him about Brett.”
“Oh yeah! I almost forgot.” So I sat down on the couch and jerked William off as I told him about what happened when I saw Brett, and how it felt, and the whole explosion in my body thing. And he got this weird look on his face and goes, “Sounds like you found yourself a Cipher.”
Larry's head popped from under William's balls where he'd been rimming the magical dude and he goes, “Huh?”
William pushed his head back down. “A Cipher. It's a very special sort of person, sort of rare. I suppose this Brett is quite attractive?”
“Fucking knockout. The dude is perfect, swear to god. Or swear to D. Or whatever. Fucking gorgeous and big and strong and talented. Star athlete, the whole ball of fuckability.”
“Yeah, sounds like a Cipher.” Larry started to poke his head up again but William motioned him back to work on his ass and explained. “A Cipher is a human clean slate, an empty vessel, a non-entity—at least as far as we're concerned. Normally you encounter the people you pleasure and you know what they want, and you give it to them, and their pleasure becomes yours. It's sort of the reward for doing D's work. He knows it can be sort of annoying to be constantly doing what everyone else wants you to do instead of what you want, so he makes it so what they like becomes what you like to do. You may not be turned on by rubber, for example. I mean, name your fetish, there's someone for everything. But you won't feel that way about everything, naturally. So while you're at it, you feel the pleasure of the act just like your partners do. With me so far?”
I nodded. That all made sense, and it jibed with what I had experienced that day.
“Every once in a while you'll meet a Cipher. What a Cipher does is allow you to have your own pleasure, but more than that, because we normally gain pleasure from giving others pleasure, right? But in this case, we are having our own pleasure that becomes their pleasure—which in turn becomes our pleasure magnified. So what ends up happening is that being with a Cipher means you experience pleasure at about four times normal. A 400% increase in satisfaction and ecstasy. When that happens, you project it back on them, and they feel it, and mirror it back again. Now you're at four times pleasure times four. 1600%! And you felt a touch of that.”
“A touch? That felt more like a fucking blow job.”
He snorted a laugh. “And therein lies the danger. When you get involved with a Cipher, the pleasure can keep building like that. If you're not careful, if you give into it, you can become addicted to it, want only that all the time. But there's a built-in safety valve, sort of.”
“Which is?” I felt him tense his balls. He was close to cumming.
“Sustainability. Normally, we're built to last. You already feel that. You can cum with some dude and five minutes later you can cum again. And it'll be just as full, just as powerful, just as satisfying. Five minutes later, boom! Five more minutes, you're right back again, boom! But with a Cipher, once you reach fulfillment you're usually done for the day. The bigger the pleasure build-up, the longer the wait until you're ready again. What also happens is that you start building up an immunity. So the wait time starts going down with the same Cipher.” His words started getting choppy, He was damn close. “When that guy.. when… when that guy looked at you, what you felt was your own pleasure at being looked at by him, and your own pleasure at seeing his beauty, reflect… reflected… reflected back on him, then fun… funneled to you. Oh, shit! Shit! Oh, man!” He fountained a thick load across his hairy chest. Larry must have jammed his long tongue up William's ass at just the right moment. Of course he would.
“So it felt…”
“Fucking great.” He rubbed Larry's head warmly. “Man, that was fucking great.”
I smiled over at him. “Shower?” I looked at the wealth of his warm cream on his broad chest. “Or tongue bath?”
I guess the two-hour session with Landry wasn't enough for him, because later that evening there was a knock at the door. I had to give him this, the guy had stamina. I'd never seen anyone keep his dick hard that long. And for an older guy, his body was fucking fantastic. For two hours he'd managed to outlast Larry and I. The only reason we stopped was because he said he had some other boys to train and he left us spent and sweaty out on the grass under the bright, hot sun.
When we got up, our bodies looked better yet, and a lot bigger. I could almost watch Larry's muscle growing under Landry's attentions. We were both engaged for the whole two hours, there was never a moment that I wasn't feeling someone somewhere on my body, giving me hot sexual ecstasy while I was delivering the same. I could feel myself growing stronger, growing bigger, and literally swelling. My cock was growing as I fucked Landry. He was doing it, his need, his direction. I was becoming more than ever under his command, and I could see Larry changing, too.
And the coach could give it and take it, and although a week with William taught me a hell of a lot about sexual pleasure and techniques, two hours with Landry taught me even more. The art of anticipation. Keeping yourself on the edge of pleasure so that when it finally came—or you did—it was more powerful, deeper, more satisfying than ever. His hands were marvels, his mouth seemed built for sex. The things he could do with tongue, lips and teeth was nothing short of fucking amazing.
And the guy was huge! Motherfucking huge! A genetic freak in the best way. And that pornographic smile wasn't just an empty promise. The guy could deliver, over and over. Larry and I could cum buckets a day, but Landry taught me that cumming wasn't always the point. It was everything leading up to that, and then holding back, not cumming, taking sex another step further, another level higher. He was slow and patient, but also hungry and demanding and masterful.
So when he came knocking that evening and I looked through the peephole and saw him, I felt something come over me. I felt myself alter, grow, expand. When I opened the door, I was prepared. I stood in the doorway as beautiful and huge and naked as he left me. Again I owned the firm, long, impossibly perfect cock hanging between my legs. Again my balls swelled and churned with need and desire, full with a load of my delicious hot cream. Again my body was tall and broad and fat with brawn. I was male perfection because he demanded nothing less. And when I said, “Good evening, sir,” my voice was deep and clear and powerful.
“Good evening, Jackson.” His eyes scanned my body. I could feel his pleasure wash over me. It fed me, made me better, made me more. He was wearing a thin white T-shirt tucked so tightly into his blue jeans that it appeared painted on. His arms were folded over his broad chest, and a wealth of his curly body hair was peaking over the edge of his neckline. He looked, for some reason, taller now than he had before. “May I come in?”
I stepped aside and bowed my head slightly, holding out my arm to welcome him. My arm bulged with power, lined with a huge bicep and tricep, the flesh was bronzed and gleaming. “Is Larry here?”
I smiled as I nodded. “Yes, sir. He's in the kitchen with my roommate.”
Landry's eyebrow arched. “You have a roommate?” Pornography slid across his lips.
“Yes, sir. His name is William. He will join us if you permit.”
“We'll see.” He wrapped a hand behind my neck and pulled my lips to his. It was a slow, deep kiss. My whole body tingled and throbbed. “Do you have any beer, Jackson?”
“Yes, sir.” I walked into the kitchen. I could feel the heat of his attention on my ass.
William was leaning against the counter with an odd look on his face. Larry was sitting on the countertop. They were both, as usual, naked. “It's him, isn't it?” Larry slid off the counter and was standing at attention. As I looked at him, his body changed in front of my eyes. I hadn't realized that in the few hours since we got home, he'd returned to the form I was used to. Now that Landry was here, his body suddenly morphed back to the thickly-muscled, over- sexed, big-dicked Larry I walked in with. It was like watching one of those morphing Quicktimes online. He stood there and changed, simple as that. His chest expanded out, his dick lengthened and thickened, his arms bulged, his legs grew fatter and fatter with long cables of power. His lats flared, his waist tightened, his abs bulged. And as this occurred, the smile on his face grew deeper and deeper. I couldn't fucking believe it.
William watched with interest, his eyebrows rising on his forehead. He said, “Who's this guy?”
“Coach Landry,” answered Larry almost reverentially. “Started at school only a few weeks ago. Coaches the football team. Teaches some P.E. classes. One hell of a lover.”
“Sums him up pretty well,” I agreed, reaching into the fridge to get a cold bottle.
“Ask him to come in here,” William said. He had another sort of smile on his face as he crossed his arms over his hairy chest.
I walked back up the hallway and poked my head into the living room. “Mr. Landry? Sir, would you mind coming in here?”
“Certainly, Jackson,” he answered. The man had cast his shirt off and his belt was unbuckled and dangling. The top three buttons of his jeans were undone. He walked past me into the kitchen, me watching the globes of his well-trained ass jogging up and down, and then stopped in the entryway. The next words to leave his lips made chills go up my spine. “I thought that was your voice I heard. How are you, Lyaios?”
William just laughed slightly, then grabbed Landry in a bear hug and kissed his mouth hard. “Fuck me! Bromios! What the hell are you doing with these two sorry excuses for men?”
Well, don't act all surprised. Jesus, I gave you so many hints you knew there had to be something up with the coach. Nobody fucking goes for two hours straight out and keeps it up the whole time! Nobody.
Unless they've got the powers of a god streaming through their libido, of course. And Landry… Bromios… had that. Turns out that Coach Scott Landry was another of Dionysus's little cabal of disciples—men-turned-sex machines who, having spent time in the company of the god of pleasure, had become tools of pleasure in the flesh. Scott was even older than William, by about 200 years by their estimate. But, again, that whole weird contracted time thing came into play, so that was just based on what the world was like when they each joined with D, as they referred to him.
Scott, like William, was a pleasure tool but in a slightly different sense. William was an adaptor, a sort of sexual changeling who adapted himself to his partner, or partners', desires. He was entirely tuned into what others wanted and capable of fulfilling their fantasies utterly. He anticipated your needs and became your ultimate lover.
Scott was another type of sexual tool, an instructor. His talent was to recognize what it is you wanted, but also be able to introduce you to things you'd like as well or even more so but just never considered. William said, “Bromios, here, has introduced more men to the pleasures of anal sex than anyone you're ever likely to meet. He can spot 'em a mile away.”
Scott added, “It isn't that they're gay or whatever. All those sexual roles are so limiting and…”
William stopped him before he went down that path. “They've heard the gospel according to D, you can skip that part.” He winked at me.
“Yeah, well, almost everyone has bisexual tendencies. You probably already know that. You've probably fucked plenty of red-blooded hetero guys, right?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. Probably did some today. I didn't take the time to ask.”
“Well, sex is great. All of it. It's just a question of… finesse.” He smiled pornographically. “I happen to have a few special advantages, that's all.”
“He can be fucking irresistible when he wants to be,” William said, laughing.
Larry looked like he finally understood a hard math problem. “So that's why!”
“Why what?” It was my question, but it looked like Scott and William already knew the answer.
“Why I couldn't track you, Scott. All afternoon I was trying to anticipate, to feel you out, understand what you wanted. But all I felt was instruction and discipline. I just thought you were into the whole master and servant routine, but I never got that clearly, either.”
“Hey, that's right! I couldn't put my finger on it but you hit it square on the head.” I turned to Scott. “You were always in control, but you were never dominant. And by the time you finished with us…”
“You never looked or felt better in your life,” finished William. “Scott's special powers don't just train your brain, they train your body, too. Not like I've been doing, not by subtly and slowly altering your sexual appeal, how you look and move, but what your body can do, its power and strength and size.” He glanced at my improved dick, still hanging long and fat and firm between my legs. “Hmm, yes. Size.”
“I knew you two boys had been touched, so to speak. I mean, no one grows half a foot taller and, um, half a foot longer like you did without some special help.”
“It's not half a foot longer!”
Scott smiled at me. “I know. I was the coach, remember? You made a rather strong impression on me even before… William, is it? Even before William's intervention. Your beauty has been enhanced, but you were beautiful to begin with.”
I think my whole body blushed. “Thanks.”
Scott looked at Larry and rubbed his chin. “You, however, are a special case all your own.” He looked at William. “How long have you been hanging around?”
He wiggled his brows. “A week, just about.”
“Larry, you are fucking amazing. No offense, Jackson, but as I said you were pretty great before William started having an effect on you. But Larry…”
“Careful, Mr. Landry.”
“No, no, you weren't bad, but you weren't… I mean, have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You look like you've gained fifty pounds of prime meat, and half of that's in your dick!” He moved his hand across Larry's left muscle tit. “Big and brawny and powerful.” He rubbed the fat nipple between his fingers. “Fucking suckable to boot.” Which he then did. Larry rose up on his toes and closed his eyes and gasped. Scott kissed Larry's mouth deeply and then, his arm across Larry's wide, muscled shoulders he turned and looked at me. “The two of you together, when I saw your asses standing there in the hall… man, I nearly creamed my jeans before I even touched you.”
“With your staying power? I can't believe that.”
We all laughed.
Then we all fucked.
We spent five days together, the four of us. It was amazing. And Larry and me? We just kept growing. Our bodies were becoming better and better, and bigger and bigger, and stronger than shit. We had to just to keep up with what we were learning from Scott and William. It was just the exposure to the two dudes, I guess. It wasn't something either one of them “made happen,” in other words. There wasn't any laying on of hands or magic words, we just kept growing.
By Wednesday, I really had grown half a foot longer. My 8-incher was now 14 solid, heavy, thick, amazing inches. Larry's 6-inch cock did even better, catching up to me and even getting a little edge on my tool, when it came down to it. My uncut beauty was amazingly long, with a fat helmet and thick veins all over it. But Larry's circumcised monster was every bit as long, and then bested mine by growing thick as a fucking beer can! Seriously!
By Friday, I had another inch.
And I haven't even mentioned what our muscles were doing. Which was growing, but more than that. Remember I said Larry's chest was a motherfucking bulging mass of power? Fat and thick and wide and huge? And he had these big fucking nipples? Well, two days later he was beyond huge, he was massive. Watching him flex you'd swear you could get lost in his cleavage. He had round beauties that would suddenly swell and thicken and striate when he squeezed them. He'd get this shit-eating grin on his face and swing his big arm up and inflate his guns, and they'd swell like balloons filled with power. Then he'd pump his chest up bigger and bigger until you'd swear they'd explode! He was massive.
Coupling the fat globes of muscle with his tight, firm waist he looked like he was going to fall over, but there was no way he would because his fucking legs were equally as massive. Fat, fibrous deeply defined beauties of copious strength and power. He was reveling in it all, let me tell you.
Me? I just kept stretching out in every direction. Taller in stature, wider shoulders, broader chest, thicker everything. Where Larry was turning into a serious bodybuilder, I was becoming some sort of steroid-abusing male model. I was sculpted and primed and carved with perfect smooth power. My muscles were smooth and beautiful, my body an amazing array of brawn in perfect definition. Plates of muscle on my chest, balls of muscle on my arms. And fucking strong? I was feeling like I could bench press a Buick. Larry? He probably could.
I asked, during a pause in our continual fuckfest, why this was so. Why was Larry getting so huge? Why was I getting so tall? I was clearly taller now than either William or Scott. Larry was a fucking monster. What was going on? Why were we gaining so much meat while our two instructors stayed the same? Larry and me, we were two horse- hung studs getting more powerful every day.
If they knew anything, they were keeping it to themselves. Knowing smiles, subtle nods, that sort of thing. Now, don't get me wrong, as far as I was concerned I could keep growing like this until my head busted through the fucking roof. But it would have been nice to know if they knew what was going on.
Scott taught us how to control our bodies to such a degree that we were soon besting him in the staying power department. And can I just tell you it fucking rocks to be able to control your own stiffy. I can get hard on command—either my own or anyone else's command of course. I can just stand there and my dick will start to pump and pulse, getting harder and longer, inflating with hot, eager blood that fills its veins and makes it hard-steel solid. It gets red and angry and hungry for touch. It stands straight up, practically touching my chest, leaking precum like it's salivating and then, get this, I can cum on command! I can just start pumping hot cream like a son of a bitch, shooting load after load after load without even stopping. No shit, I'm amazing.
We were also learning to manage that weird morphing thing I mentioned that happened to us when Scott appeared at our door. It got to be pretty funny to us, Larry and me. I'd be standing across the kitchen and he be getting a beer. He'd straighten up and I'd nod a hello and he'd suddenly swell up all over like someone was fucking inflating him. Boom goes his chest! Pow go his arms! Bang and bang go his legs! And he smiles at me and nods back.
Or we're sitting around shooting the shit, whatever, and Larry gets that smile on his face and leans up, his abs popping and swelling, his shoulders stretching wide and fat, his chest swelling out and then down, growing fat with thick cables of muscle that split and swell and shove his nips toward his feet and he's getting bigger and bigger, his dick getting longer and harder and he crawls over to me, kissing me, stroking my body, caressing my own amazing inches…
Or I'd be standing at the john draining the weasel and get this grin on my perfect lips and extend my dick inch by inch by inch, feeling it swelling in my grip, watching the skin tighten and stretch, feeling its weight increase as the head ripened like a fucking plum and slipped out of my foreskin, all the while my stream of hot piss kept coming on stronger and stronger until I was practically blasting like a rocket out of the hose I was given.
Larry seemed to be better at it, but maybe it was just because he had so much more to work with. The muscle seemed to respond better than the height, but Scott said I'd learn to control that, too, with practice. I loved watching Larry get big. When he woke up in the morning, his body at rest, he was only merely muscular. I mean, he had definition, sure, and a tight set of abs and some killer guns but he wasn't anywhere near what I came to think of as Super Larry, his most muscular, most beautiful, best physical self. He'd wake up, all stretched out across the sheets, one leg over and one under, each lined with long cables of power. One arm would be behind his head, its muscular power bulging at the bend like a ball of brawn, his chest wide and broad with thick plates of might, those amazing dark nipples still tight and peaked.
I'd watch his eyes open and a smile wind across his face, making him more handsome, dick hardeningly so. He'd rub his shadow of a beard on his sculpted cheeks, show his white teeth behind his soft lips, I'd smile back, lying next to him, content to watch him breathe and sleep. He'd wiggle his brow because he knew what I wanted to see, and then his whole body would start to develop.
His chest would swell out like balloons of strength, deepening the cleavage between his meaty mountains. His nipples would stretch across that landscape of muscle and grow fat and lickable. His belly would tighten and grow, the ripples of his powerful abs swelling outward like rising bread. His shoulders would grow round and fat with brawn, each muscle growing distinct and separate as it expanded. And he'd just be smiling at me as he grew larger and larger with more muscle—seemingly more muscle every day. Then he'd kiss me and we'd take a roll in the hay before getting our sweet, fine asses out of that warm bed and taking a shower where we'd suck each other, worship each other, let our hands discover the growing strength and size of each other's body.
Larry liked to watch my huge tool swell. He'd drop to his knees—I'd watch the muscles on his thighs bulge and flex—and he'd caress my dick, tonguing the top, petting the shaft like a snake, coaxing me to grow longer and fatter until my 15-inches was hard and pulsing, standing at attention as his wet, skillful tongue licked me and pulled me into his warm, welcoming mouth. He'd suck my head and stroke my shaft as I released a flood of sweet precum that drenched my amazing cock. His throat swallowed me deeply, massaged me, brought me to the edge of losing it and then he'd back off, stroking me gently until that fire died down a bit, and then he was right back on me and bringing me to a higher level of ecstasy.
Sometimes, during those days, Scott and William were off on their own and I got the idea that while Larry and I honed our fuckabilities, those guys were talking about something besides sex. Larry and I would be going at it in the living room and I could hear voices in the kitchen, and they weren't moaning or groaning or grunting or sighing. Sure, we talked sometimes, but it usually included plenty of the word “fuck” as in “fuck me harder,” or “fuck me you son of a bitch,” or “that feels so fucking great you cocksucker!”
You know, the usual.
It was hard to believe that William had only been around for two weeks. So much had changed about me and for me that it was like I was a different guy entirely. Inside, I still felt like Jackson. But when I looked in a mirror or when I was around another guy and my new abilities and awareness of what men wanted and needed and what I could do with and for them kicked in, I felt more fulfilled, more powerful, more beautiful and stronger than any man alive. While the four of us had been having nothing but a good time, all the sudden I started thinking about Brett Summers again. I guess it's natural that with so much fine prime fuck flesh around my brain wouldn't be thinking about much else. But just like remembering a hunger that can't be avoided when you're in the middle of something important, the memory of what my whole being felt just looking at that guy started tapping on my mind like a dripping faucet.
On Friday, I got up, fucked Larry, got fucked by William, had a three- way with William and Scott (and remind me to tell you what you can do when you get three dudes together whose bodies are super-strong and super flexible, although I bet your little brain is working on that right now, huh?) took a shower, gave Larry a blow job, reamed Scott and told the guys I was headed back to school in search of my Cipher.
William was lounging on the couch in Scott's muscled embrace. “Maybe I should come with you. Your first time with a Cipher could be quite… shocking.” Scott's hands were caressing William's broad hairy chest. His dick was buried up William's ass. William was looking quite comfortable right where he was.
“Wouldn't you be in the same danger as me?”
“Danger is too strong a word, but the answer is no. Ciphers are attuned to individuals. Brett is your Cipher. He might be mine as well, but there's a better chance he isn't. You and he have a unique bond.”
“Why didn't I feel it before?”
He rolled his eyes and sighed. Scott laughed gently as William said, impatiently, “You're not the same person you were, Jackson.” He reached up and ran his touch along Scott's strong, masculine face. It was gentle and friendly and passionate all at once. “You have new capabilities, new powers, a new awareness. It was probably there all along, but simmering under the surface. A passing glance that sent a shiver through you. A feeling of a change in a room and you turned around and there he was. And he was feeling it, too. A strong physical pull toward fulfillment, sexual compatibility, whatever you want to call it. In our day,” he said, including Scott in his statement, “we acted on those impulses no matter who the compatible partner was. Nowadays, with so much weird prejudice and fear about gender roles or whatever, people don't explore those feelings which are completely natural and extremely s atisfying.”
“Extremely,” growled Scott, shifting his hips. William did gasp then, and released a deeply satisfied groan from his broad chest.
“So I should just…?”
“Do what comes naturally, but don't lose yourself in it.”
“What about Brett?”
William shrugged. “You won't know that until after, will you? Nothing's written in stone, nothing's certain. This may be your one and only moment with him, like a storm that happens once in a century. You could get lost in its power, tossed in its winds and shocked by its lightning. Or this may be the beginning of something else.”
“Fucking poet,” mumbled Scott. But he was smiling.
It was time to face getting dressed again for the first time in a week. And, again, I was shocked by how big I had become. Holding a pair of jeans up to my legs was like finding a pair of pants from when I was a kid and comparing how small I used to be with how big I was now. My waist was still the same slim 29 inches, but if I tried to fold my prick down a leg it would split the seam open. The term “high water” didn't even begin to describe how much longer my legs were.
I never intended to wear a shirt, but I had to see what I looked like trying to fit my muscled bulk into one. I have to admit that it's a deeply satisfying feeling to actually rip your way out of a shirt, watching your reflection as your muscles split the seams wide open and make the material shred itself to strips and threads.
In the end, the only thing I could even fit into was this pair of bright blue Lycra biking shorts and I decided to wear a stretchy ribbed tank. The shorts stretched enough that I could fit my thicker legs into them, but they were so tight that my ample tool was starkly outlined, and I mean every luscious inch, every thick vein, every fat and glorious bulge of its massive length was right there. I managed to shrink myself down from 15 to about eight inches, but still. It was ample, but manageable. Still pretty thick, especially the head. There was no mistaking that I was sporting something other than a rolled sock that was for sure. My lats flared out of the arm holes and my shoulders shoved the straps toward my neck. I looked pretty fucking hot.
I'd been wanting to stretch my legs and put Larry's boast to the test, so I ran all the way to school as fast as I could and, sure enough, I covered the ten miles in under thirty minutes. By the time my streamlined and hot little bod sauntered onto campus, I wasn't even breathing hard. But my skin was glistening with sweat and my muscles were stretched and warm and primed for anything and everything.
My high school campus, after just a few days more of William's and Scott's continued affects on my body and sense, was like a cauldron of sexual desire. I knew what William meant when he said guys my age were at their sexual peak. The place was practically on fire to me. What before had been only faint feelings or subtle intuition on my part had grown to a firestorm. It was like the whole place was throbbing. Was every fucking guy in there thinking about sex? All at once? How was I supposed to tame these feelings in me and concentrate my attentions on Brett?
The answer was, I didn't have to. I had grown a lot more powerful not only in muscular size and strength, but in recognizing and delivering what guys wanted. It was fucking amazing! I was fucking amazing!
In all that time at home, I'd forgotten some of the stuff William said. But it was all coming back to me now; “If you went out and fucked one of your other friends now, you'd make them cum just looking at them, just speaking to them. They'd see a fantasy in you, Jackson. They'd see you and you'd be the perfect you, whatever they wanted or needed from you, you'd deliver that. You wouldn't need to try, you wouldn't need to ask, you'd just do it. Because it's what you're becoming. It's what we are.”
And it was true. Two guys saw me as I walked toward the building and I smiled at them and they creamed their pants. Literally, I saw them squirt their loads in their jeans, big wet spots spreading across their groin. Their faces showed ecstasy, their bodies jerked with spasms of pleasure, they panted and sweated and leaned against the wall.
Because I smiled at them.
What did I look like to them? How fucking beautiful had I become? What was their experience, to see their deepest sexual fantasy walking toward them and then smile at them, what flashed through their heads?
I walked through the front doors, pushing them open, and walked down the empty halls. Boys, young men, male teachers, they were tugging at me, pulling me to them, needing me and what I could deliver unendingly, immediately, completely and perfectly. Whatever they desired, whatever their fantasy, I was it. I'd become it for them. The place would be awash in cum and smell of sex and sweat and men. All I had to do was open a door, smile, speak a name, touch a man, kiss his lips, show him my dick, lick his balls, fuck his ass. I could have it all, do it all, be it all.
But I had a goal. I could feel him like a beacon. He was my magnet and I was his steel.
I did not know Brett Summers. I had no idea what his deal was, if he liked boys or girls, if he liked it rough or smooth, if he was a total prick or the sweetest person on Earth. I didn't fucking give a damn, either. I wanted to feel what I'd felt before, that feeling of pure pleasure building inside me like lava, rising and growing hotter, the pressure increasing, my whole amazing body so focused on him that there was no one and nothing else I could see or feel, just him, just Brett.
I was a man on a mission. I passed some guy at the drinking fountain, I brushed his ass with my fingertips and when he looked at me, I said, “Hi,” and he started breathing like he'd run a marathon and he bust a nut, filling his Calvins with hot cream. I could feel Brett's presence growing stronger, that same feeling accompanying his nearness like a bell going off in my head. My powers seemed to be growing, too. Focusing, growing stronger, swelling with ability.
I walked by the boy's room and could feel the guy inside the stall behind that door whacking off with his eyes closed, imagining me. I went inside and pulled open the stall and leaned in and kissed his mouth. He opened his eyes and his dream became real. He nearly fainted. His dick swelled up and I dropped down and drank him inside, swallowing his potency, his manhood, his passion. “Thanks,” I said, and left.
I didn't know if this instant satisfaction was normal or not. When I met William, I could have had as dramatic a reaction to him, I guess, but I just didn't. Maybe he did something to mediate the effect. He had to be stronger than I was as an adaptive. Maybe it was the combination of having William and Scott around at the same time, maybe I was receiving a double dose of whatever Dionysus bestowed on mortals, maybe having a Cipher so close was having an amplifying affect on me, what do I know?
I wasn't thinking about it at the time, I was just doing it. My pleasuring talents were razor sharp. I didn't have to adjust or consider, whatever I did to whomever I met was absolutely perfect to get them off.
It happened three more times with three more guys before I came to the locker rooms and realized that Brett was inside. To me, it was like the whole gym was one big dick. I was so turned on I was sweating. I wouldn't doubt that as I walked along, I was leaving a trail of dudes with hard-ons spouting like fountains at some French palace. I could feel myself growing into something or someone so fueled up on sex and beauty that guys would start fucking each other 100 yards away. Chicks too, probably. I was a heating up supernova of sexuality. My eight incher was primed fuck meat, thick and juicy in my shorts. It felt hot and heavy down there, tingling with need and desire. I was testing exactly how stretchy that Lycra could get. Man, I was ready.
I opened the doors and stepped inside. He was in there, for sure. A heat washed over my body like I was bathing in sex. It was all over me. My hand found the thickness of my cock and I was firm and fat and feisty. Was there anyone else in there? I couldn't tell. It was like I had tunnel vision, like the only thing in the world was that guy. And he was mere yards away.
I moved with a predatory grace, sleek and powerful and moving with purpose and determination. My muscles stretched and flexed. I could feel them all, feel their size and power, balls of tingling energy pulsing and throbbing. The air in there was warm and wet, steamy from the showers and the heat of young men. I could smell him, smell his scent mingling with the sweat and sweet stink of men's bodies. He was on the other side of the lockers from me. I could practically see a glow, and I could see the top of his head. I stood over six and a half feet high, now. And I walked to the end of the aisle and stopped dead, breathing in deeply.
It was his voice. I heard it. It licked my ear. It flew through my blood and heated it up and sank into my flesh. It was a caress, an embrace, a tongue on my dick.
I stepped around the lockers, and instantly my skin heated up to the boiling point under his direct inspection. He stood next to his locker naked, dripping, rubbing a yellow gym towel through his hair. His body was perfect. His skin was smooth and shiny under the harsh lights. He had a dark forest of curls at his crotch, matching the wet curls of dark hair on his head. His eyes, caramel colored, were looking me up and down. He seemed as frozen as I was, paused in time, looking at me.
I wasn't hiding anything. I couldn't. The feeling I'd felt before when he looked at me in the hallway was back, a thousand times stronger this time.
I looked him over. I'd seen him in uniform plenty, and wearing jeans and a polo shirt and once even in a suit and tie, his wavy crown of midnight combed into a part that made him look slightly silly. No, his hair needed to be like it was now, loose and curly. He had dark, dark eyebrows that were almost sharp, and thick dark lashes surrounding his bedroom eyes. A slim drip ran along his cheek and across the line of his jaw. I wanted to kiss it from his skin.
His skin was ruddy. He had Latin blood in him. If he felt like me, it was boiling right now. His dick was darker even than his skin, as if it had grown from the black pubes and drawn its coloring from his hair. His balls hung low, and they were round and luscious. Long, sleek muscles lined his limbs. He had very small nipples, as dark as his prick. A patch of hair was growing in the exact center of his chest, and strands of more dark fur ran along his forearms and legs.
“Hey, Jackson” he said. Jock speak. I didn't even realize he knew my name.
He was gorgeous. So amazingly beautiful to me. And I walked over to him and felt the power of him burning into my flesh. How could I stand this? How could I keep from pushing him against the wall and fucking his tight ass? How was I managing to keep breathing before him?
I sat on the bench near him. He said, “I saw you in the hall yesterday.” His voice was sweet music. So, so beautiful. I nodded. I was staring into his eyes. I was mesmerized by him. Hypnotized. He sucked in his bottom lip and bit it. When it reappeared his pink tongue darted out to wet it. “You look great.” His voice was soft. Low. Sexy. “Working out?”
How did I look to him? What did he see? Who was I? “Thanks,” I said. “Actually I have been. Quite a lot, recently.” My head was spinning. What the hell was going on? Weren't we supposed to be fucking our brains out by now? Shouldn't I be on ecstasy overload? What was with the polite conversation? I'm fucking amazing looking! Boys are creaming their jeans when I smile! “You look good, too.”
He sort of came unfrozen then, and looked down at himself. The hand with his soggy towel in it dropped to his side and he tossed the towel at me. “Shut up,” he said. He was smiling.
I smiled back before the towel slapped me in the face and dropped on my shoulder. His smell was all over it. It was soaked with his essence. My dick twitched and bulged, stretching another inch longer. My balls were churning and swelling. “No, really.” I dragged the towel across my skin, leaving a dripping trail of him across my broad chest, soaking the cotton of my tank top. The towel was slightly rough. I leaned back against the lockers, stretching my long legs forward, tensing the muscles so they stood out starkly. “You're probably the best looking guy here.” Jesus, I sounded like some boy scout or fan boy.
“I wouldn't say that,” he said moving his eyes toward my prominent bulge, then back up. A laser pinpoint of heat accompanied his gaze. “There're some other guys around who are pretty hot.”
This was torture. “You think?” I was being so cool, and I had no idea why. I wasn't playing with myself, my hand was nowhere near my crotch, I'd folded them across my chest. I wasn't even trying to be sexy. He just used the word 'hot' to describe 'some guys' while checking me out. I should've been on top of him already.
“Oh, yeah.” He was standing in front of me entirely naked. His body glistened. “I haven't seen you around lately—except for the other day.” My eyebrow rose. I doubted he even knew I existed before the other day. He continued. “In the hallway.” I nodded slowly. “That was pretty weird.”
He moved closer to me. His dick was inches from my mouth. He had a decent sized member, about six inches long with a fat shaft. He was uncut, like I like them, and the foreskin was thin and stretched over his helmet like a turtleneck. I could see every vein on that dark skin. My dick was still stretching, trying to get to its ultimate size, responding to this guy's closeness even if the rest of me seemed frozen in place. I was keeping control as best I could. My eight inches was getting closer to ten. The scent of him, the heat of him was drenching my body, my exposed flesh. He put one foot on the bench next to me, and he scratched himself, sending his dick wagging.
His torso was tightly packed with power, the muscular beauty of the jock he was, the controlled and trained brawn he'd built through hours of running football fields and baseball diamonds, weight training with the other young gods, his body growing strong and fine and limber. He leaned closer. “You didn't feel it?” His voice went soft, secretive. He had half a smile on his lips. His golden brown eyes were sparkling.
I made no indication whether I agreed or not. I was staring into his eyes, falling into him. Shit, I could feel it right now! Couldn't he? “When our eyes met, something… something happened,” he said. His eyebrows arched and fell cunningly.
My tone matched his. Whispered, cautious. “Like what?” I barely made a sound.
Then he sat down next to me on the bench. His nearness was like a fire next to me. I think the Lycra started to tear. His arm touched mine, his body mimicked my leisurely sprawl. He crossed his legs at the ankle, squeezing his balls and dick higher. He leaned toward me, looking up through his lashes at my eyes. “I'm… I can't….” His voice betrayed him. He wasn't relaxed at all.
I knew what he wanted to say. 'I'm gay, Jackson. I can't even say it.' I couldn't believe it still mattered to anyone. Being with the guys back at my place, this seemed really stupid, but I knew it was important to him. The gorgeous young man naked on the bench next to me. And I could remember the lies I had to keep, the looks I had to avoid casting at the wrong guy's ass, the thoughts I had to keep suppressed so my dick wouldn't start displaying what my body felt. “I know,” I said softly.
“I never felt anything like that before. Not like that!” He looked down at his feet. I imagine he was sorting through what he'd felt in the shower once or twice or a hundred times, how he felt looking at guys he couldn't touch, how he managed to keep all that desire and tension banked inside him. “I mean, never…”
“It's not what you think.” He looked scared suddenly, but my smile calmed him. “Or, it's not just what you think. It's something more than that.”
“I thought, maybe, that you…?” I nodded. Just once. Then his smile returned. The skin of his arm touched mine, again, and an electric shock like a lightning bolt went through me. “I've been hearing things about you, but they sounded impossible. I mean, I couldn't believe…”
“Be careful,” I said. I cast my eyes down to his dick. It was getting hard, starting to pulse, to fill with blood, to harden.
He nearly laughed. “You're warning me?” He had a point. He looked at my crotch and his smile increased. My cock was so engorged it was trying to break its way out of my pants. And looking down at myself, at my huge dick, watching it stretching and swelling because I was sitting here next to this dream of a man, I realized what the hell was going on.
I was supposed to seduce him. He didn't want a quick fuck, he wanted more. He felt something of what I was feeling, he admitted as much. When I looked down at my body, I realized that what I was feeling was in direct contrast to what I was doing, and this was the sort of sexual tension I used to fucking love! This playing, this walking around the question, this tease and innuendo and what if? I fucking loved this shit.
And he knew it!
The tension rose. He was naked, exposed in every way, revealing something to me perhaps he'd never even said out loud before. He was excited by it, clearly. His chest rose and fell as his breaths started becoming more sharp, more anxious. I sat there next to him, cool as fuck, wanting nothing in the world except to put my mouth on his, to climb atop him, to pull his hard, hot dick up my welcoming ass, to give him everything, absolutely everything he ever wanted. It was what I wanted, too. To fuck his brains out, to cum buckets and keep cumming, to show him everything I was capable of, now, to share myself with him, all my talents, all my strength and size and beauty. I wanted to explode.
We sat there, calmly. He was still staring at my amazing prick, swollen and obvious in my bike shorts, the head pressing farther along my thigh, my muscled thigh, the ridge of my helmet flaring and blooming. I could feel his eyes on me, feel it like the sun on my skin. His gaze traveled up my rippled contours, across the tight ribbed cotton stretched over my belly and chest. He was looking at my arms, the swelling biceps, the swollen balls of muscle, then at the deep cleavage between the globes of my chest, folded inward with my arms folded across the power, diving down underneath my shirt. “Is it t rue?”
“The stories, what guys are saying.”
I shrugged. His eyes flashed slightly at the size of my shoulders. “Depends.” My voice was a deep well of sexual promise. The lockers practically rattled from my tone. “What are they saying?”
He looked down at his feet, perhaps picturing the acts in his mind as he said, “You did two guys against the gym. You… pissed on some other guy in the bathroom, he sucked your dick. You and Brian, in the teacher's lounge, buttfucking. Then you and some other guy and… and Coach Landers?” He met my eyes finally. He had an incredulous smile on his face. He didn't look turned off at all. “You fucked Landers? On the football field?”
I was smiling pretty wide, I couldn't help it. I nodded slowly. “All true.” I leaned toward him, putting my mouth to his ear. “And that's just the beginning.”
“Shit,” he whispered. I dropped my hands to my sides, so I could touch his leg with my fingers. I brushed against his warm, wet flesh. His hand went down to mine, I thought to push it away. Instead, his gently touched my fingers with his own, then folded his touch through mine.
“You should get dressed,” I said. My dick was ready to explode.
“Should I?” His grin matched my own.
He had a car, which was good. Not that I needed one anymore, but for his sake it was probably “safer” or something. His fear was a kind of aphrodisiac, I have to admit. Sure, the whole school knew what was up with me, how could they not be? I was being far from discrete and I couldn't give a fuck about that. But being all secret put something back into the experience that had been missing. The threat of exposure was intoxicating. He wanted what I had, namely liberation. Freedom.
We sat side by side in the front seats of that fucking Lexus all the way to his house. Never said a word.
We went to his house, as I used the excuse that we couldn't be alone at mine. Predictably, the guy was loaded, or his family was at least. He turned the car through the gates to some enclosed collection of monstrosities and then to a cul-de-sac at the end of which stood his fucking mansion, I shit you not.
“Don't say it,” he joked. “I know it's ugly.”
“Big,” I grunted.
He sort of laughed. “Look who's talking.”
I wanted to kiss him when we got out of the car, but he didn't want me to so I couldn't. This was weird for me, feeling like I wanted to do something and not being able to. With every other guy, what they wanted was automatically what I wanted. With this guy, I wanted him so, so badly and I could feel he wanted me, too, but he was scared. Scared of what I wasn't sure. I wasn't going to hurt him, I wanted to please him, more than anything in the world I wanted that.
Unfortunately for me, the way to please him was to keep my hands off him.
I walked past him into the marble foyer and paused, looking at his beautiful face. His skin was dark and creamy, like hot, black coffee with rich cream. He had thick wavy hair, and the longest eyelashes I'd ever seen. “May I kiss you?” I kept my hands off him, but my body was drinking him in. “I want to kiss you, Brett.”
“You haven't said my name,” he said. “That's the first time you've said it.” Then he kissed me.
I was taller than he was in my new body. Bigger, too, more muscled. But he was in control. He put his hand on my jawline and pulled my mouth to his and he kissed me. Softly, gently, tentatively. He closed his eyes and allowed our mouths to linger there. He was feeling the kiss, really feeling it, allowing himself to explore what it felt like, what I felt like. Nothing else between us touched. Just his hand on my face and our lips together.
I was in heaven. The feedback from the softness or it, the genuine feeling of it, of him, built upon itself and swelled inside me. It was sex and excitement and fear and passion. It was need and curiosity and gentleness and… love? Was that love?
He broke the kiss just as softly, just as gently. “Was that all right?” I was lost for words. I could nod. I nodded. Yes, I thought, that was perfect. “I've never kissed another guy before,” he admitted.
“For a first time,” I whispered, “you did fucking great.”
He closed the door behind me. My eyes were glued to his features, his face, his eyes. I wanted to kiss him again and again, but I couldn't. I wouldn't. Not yet. I was drowning in need, in the desire of him, torturing my body that had been fed sex constantly and was now not even allowed to touch him. He smiled at me and brushed the hair from his eyes. He had dark hair, almost black. It was soft and wavy and full. I wanted to grab it in my hand, feel its softness, and shove my mouth against his.
“Hungry?” he asked. I parted my lips, started to say, 'Only for you,' but instead the words I spoke were, “I could eat.”
I followed him into the kitchen. Those pants were made for an ass as fine as his. The two round balls of his butt rose and fell as he walked. His hips swayed with promise, with a suppressed sensuality that was finding itself with me here to appreciate it, with another man who knew his secret, who shared it, who had fucked Coach Landers on the football field and everyone knew it.
He untucked his shirt and it fell down loosely over his butt. I started to object until I noticed that he was unbuttoning it. I wished I could watch him expose his smoothly muscled chest again, but I stayed behind and watched his easy gestures. He probably did this everyday once he got home. He would walk inside, close the door behind him and start stripping his beautiful body from the clothes that concealed it.
He rolled his shoulders and the shirt fell from his dark skin. His back was as fine as his front, a network of power trained for years to do whatever he wanted of it. Bulges of muscle fought each other for space under his silken flesh. The shirt was tossed aside to the floor. Did he even have the first clue how sexy he was?
He paused to shove his shoes off next, bouncing slightly for balance as his toe caught the heel and he pulled one foot free and then the other. He wasn't wearing socks. Now he walked away from me in his Levi's. I could see the gathered waistband of his shorts. They were bright white against the dark tan of his tight waist. He didn't turn as he said, “Feel free to take your shirt off. It's always hot in here until the A/C kicks in.”
Shit, maybe he didn't know how sexy he was. Which just made him sexier in my book.
I decided to give him a show, though. So when he turned to me in the kitchen, I pulled the tank over my head and tossed it aside. I revealed the amazing strength of my new body, allowing my muscles to swell as I removed the shirt so that it must have looked like the slim thing had somehow managed to compress my body inside it until I could emerge from that cocoon all new and powerful. My chest expanded, my lats flared, my belly tightened and swelled with rippled brawn. I stood there and looked back at him. My chest was rising and falling with each breath.
He liked what he saw, evidently. I couldn't help but smile as his jeans bulged. “Oh my fucking god,” he said softly. His gaze heated my skin. He was taking me all in, burning the sight of me into his brain. “You're…” Whatever I was, he couldn't say it. He froze in place, his mouth slightly open, just staring at me.
I cleared my throat and folded my thickly muscled arms across my bulging chest. “What did you want to eat?” He knew exactly what I meant. His eyes locked onto the fat inches of man meat coiled in my shorts. I had a salami I couldn't hide.
But he wasn't quite ready. He swallowed hard and turned, opening the fridge and bending over to see what was inside. I could almost hear his tight, cherry asshole calling my dick. “There's some pizza from last night,” he said, “or I could make a sandwich.” He ducked his head under his arm and asked, “You eat meat?”
I had to laugh. “Every chance I get,” I said. He just kept walking into it, didn't he?
He laughed then, too, and straightened. He mimicked my stance, folding his arms across his chest, and scratched his chin. “I have a better idea,” he said. He nodded toward a set of glass doors and grinned. “Wanna go swimming?” He scanned my bod again. “You look pretty hot, Jackson. The pool will cool you off.”
“I didn't bring a suit.”
He was already undoing his 501's, pulling the button fly open. “Not a problem.” He shoved his jeans off his hips and stepped out of the denim, and then he walked toward me in his underwear. He was wearing boxer briefs, and they had buttons too. His cock was pressing against the material wanting release. He stood close, almost touching my body with his. His thumbs hooked under his waistband and he slowly pulled the cotton shorts off his skin. His eyes never left mine as his body dipped down, and then he kicked his shorts from his naked body and stood before me. His dick, released from its confinement, pulsed and throbbed with each beat of his heart, climbing higher and growing harder by the second.
I smiled, lowering my hands to my own shorts. “You excited about something?”
“Why do you ask?” His hands rested at his sides. The tip of his cock glistened.
I shrugged. “Just a hunch.” I moved my gaze down to his hardness, eyeing his shaft and the bubble of clearness swelling in its piss slit. “You seem anxious.”
He shrugged. He started to move his hand onto his erection but I stopped him, caught his hand in mine. “No,” I said softly, “that'll be my pleasure.” God, he wanted it bad. I could feel his need like hot water over my s kin.
“F irst,” I answered, tossing my arm across his shoulder, “we swim.”
Outside, it really was hot. The surface of the pool glittered. It was surrounded by lush gardens and tall trees overhung the blue water. It was like a little paradise in his backyard. He seemed to calm down a little now that the moment had passed, at least his dick was now wagging between his legs instead of beating a rhythm against his tight little belly.
His body was amazing, whether it was in clothes or out of them. He moved with such a sense of knowledge of its abilities. He was more completely comfortable in his nudity than anyone I ever saw, with the exception of my new friends. He moved with a sensual grace and ease that promised that sex with him would be incredible—not that I didn't know that already. But I couldn't keep my eyes off him. I wondered what he looked like dancing.
“Nice,” I said as I looked around.
“Thanks,” he said.
“The pool ain't bad either.”
He laughed, even though it wasn't funny. So he wasn't entirely relaxed yet. “So.”
He gave a pointed glance at my shorts. “You gonna…?”
“I'm gonna… what?” I loved torturing him. “Nothing.”
“Br ett,” I said, “just ask me. I'll do whatever you want.”
His eyes narrowed. “Anything?” I nodded, a smile winding across my lips. “Well, I'll keep that in mind. For later.” He suddenly dove into the water, slicing the surface with smooth ease, almost making no splash at all. He came back to the surface and blew out his breath, bobbing in the water easily. “It feels fucking great!” he announced, then he launched a splash toward me.
“I guess I'll join you then.” And I finally gave him what he'd been waiting for so long.
I peeled myself naked very slowly. I wanted him to enjoy this. I turned down the waistband once, then again, then again. It was now low enough on my hips that one more turn would expose my massive prick. So instead, I turned around and pushed the shorts slowly off my round and perfect ass. Then I turned back, and with my eyes on his face, I began to reveal my wonder inch by motherfucking inch.
As the air hit my flesh, I let myself grow. His eyes grew almost as large as my dick. I stretched and swelled as I stripped until, when I finally tossed my shorts aside, I stood in ultimate naked glory before him. Could he tell how tall I was, how broad, how powerful? Did he see what I owned? I was showing him nearly a foot long cock, thick and full and proud. Almost 12 fucking inches of fat, firm meat hanging so plump and long between my powerful legs, arching proudly over my round and firm nuts. My pubes glistened like spun metal, shiny and soft and inviting. My ass was high and firm, round with hard power.
I wanted to show him my all, reveal my ultimate self to him—all sixteen inches—but I didn't know what he'd think, what he'd feel. I wasn't getting the signals off him. He was a Cipher, he didn't feed my radar anything.
Whatever he said, I didn't hear it. Because I dove into the water as easily as he had done, and I broke the surface in front of his face, and I grabbed it and kissed him full and deep.
“Amazing,” is what he finally said. “You bet your ass,” I answered, and then I reached under him and found his hardness had returned. I stroked him once, and felt it through my whole body, and then dove underneath the surface and swam away from him to the other end of the pool, dragging my wet and well-muscled body from the water to sit on the edge, my dick dangling between my muscled thighs nearly all the way into the water.
He came up to me slowly across the pool, stopping in front of me, his eyes at the same level as my fat dick. “You're amazing.”
I had to agree. “You ain't seen nothing, yet,” I growled. I tickled my monster and the end dipped deeper toward the water.
He came closer. “Can I…?”
“You can do anything you want, Brett.” I leaned back, shoving my crotch toward him. “Anything.”
He reached his fingers toward me and brushed my dick, stroking the shaft almost reverently. He cupped his hand and lifted the head toward him. I nearly shivered with anticipation. He looked into my eyes and brought me to his lips and pressed them to my dick, his warmth to mine. His opened his mouth and stretched out his pink tongue and tasted me, licking under the helmet and darting his tip into the piss slit.
He was exploring, feeling my dick, testing his desires. He wanted to have me inside, I knew it, but he was afraid, even now. I stayed soft for him, even though he was capable of making me very hard. My full strength cock might shock him, swollen to beer can thickness and shiny and red. It truly was a monster cock, but I allowed myself to be tamed by his touch. He kissed it, his soft lips pressed against me. I could feel him so keenly, I wanted to push myself into his mouth, make him swallow me whole. His hands were on my thighs, now, and he pushed my legs wider to give his mouth better access.
He kissed the length of me and then pressed his nose to my soft, curling pubes. He mouth sucked against me, his fingers were digging into my muscle. He was losing himself, I could see. His hunger was overwhelming him, the hunger for me. Now that he allowed himself to be with me, he was starting to really get into it.
He licked my inches and I started to harden for him. This excited him more and his mouth clamped onto me and he started sucking, so I released a drop of myself into his mouth, allowing him to taste another man. I wondered if he'd ever tasted himself, dipped his fingers into his own spilled seed and licked them clean, his mouth coated with his salty cum. I wondered what he tasted like. I wondered if he found me as delicious as William did.
He sucked against me like a child on a tit, wanting more and more of my dick. If this was his first time, he was truly talented. I became harder still, my cock angling out of the water and growing thicker. He didn't stop, if anything he doubled his efforts.
What did he want, this beautiful man? Did he want me to cum? Did he want to swallow my load? Did he want me to spray across his chest, my pearlescent cream hanging in thick drops among his chest hair? Did he want to feel me cum, or watch me cum? Would he swallow his first load of another man's seed? I was boiling with desire and curiosity.
His mouth felt so wonderful, His tongue wrapped around me. It was rough, stiff, almost like another dick. I could feel the back of his throat and he was practically climbing atop me. I realized pretty quickly that this position wasn't allowing him full access, so I moved back and he, like a puppy on a leash, lifted himself from the water still attached to my cock!
This boy was hungry! He was finally getting what he wanted, and he wasn't about to let go! Was this a dream for him? Was he afraid I was going to disappear? I moved onto the lawn, the soft green grass, and he stayed with me, grinning up at me, his wet body slightly colder than mine, his skin slick and cool against mine. Now my cock was hard, but I still didn't want to scare him off by allowing my final inches to reveal themselves. Still, the boy was going to town on a 12- incher like he was born to it.
And, damn, did he feel good. So fucking great. But not like what I was expecting. William made it sound like our love-making would blow the top off my head, sink me into some deep well of sexual pleasure so intense that I'd felt like I'd died and gone to heaven. Don't get me wrong, the blow job was amazing, but no more amazing than what I'd been experiencing ever since my slow change from average great lover to supersex god had started.
I said, “I'm going to cum,” to warn him. He never let up, he was pratically sucking it out of me. Then he did something surprising, something I never expected a first-timer to do. He grabbed my balls, and these are some ample fruit, and tugged. Hard. He didn't want me to cum, wouldn't let me! He wanted to drive me wild, make me beg for it. What was he gonna do next, stick his fist up my ass?
He'd obviously done some reading, or maybe the time he spent alone in the shower wasn't all about getting clean—maybe it was about getting dirty.
God, I was really riding the crest, now. I reached up and twisted my titties, I was arching my back and feeling it everywhere. I groaned, a deep dark sound. I needed to cum, Jesus but I did! His grip was still on my balls. He must be feeling them churn, feel my load building and building, getting hotter and hotter. Was my dick growing again, because it sure felt like it. It was so hot and hard, it wanted to bust open, to fucking explode!
Then he surprised me again, and even if it wasn't his fist, those three fingers he eased into my hole drove me over the top. I shot my load into his mouth so hard and fast it probably came out his nose. If he had performed amazingly so far, the strength of my orgasm shocked the hell out of him and he almost choked. I released a flood and he started swallowing as fast as he could. I have to hand it to the guy, he was a trooper. I couldn't think of too many of my partners who could handle my new, thicker fountains.
I gave him everything I had and he swallowed almost all of it! It was fucking great. He was fucking great. My body felt energized, I was so fucking turned on I could have made a statue shoot its wad of marble.
He was grinning as he wiped his mouth. He looked at the string of my cream on his finger and licked it off, swallowing hungrily. I shook my head slowly, disbelieving this guy had really never sucked dick before. Maybe it was genetic or something. If so, I wanted to meet this guy's whole fucking family.
Instead, I leaned forward over my still throbbing dick and kissed his lips, tasting myself inside his mouth. “Now,” I said, “it's your turn.” I moved toward him so he had to lean back. His dick was already engorged and red, pulsing with every beat of his athletic heart. He leaned back on his elbows, bent his knees and planted his feet on either side of my pliant and powerful body. I kissed his neck, kissed his chest, licked his nipples. I kissed his belly and he shuddered. I thought he was ready to cum and decided to try out my powers on him, to keep him on the edge, make him feel what he'd made me feel, but 100 times stronger.
I wouldn't let him cum until I was ready for him. I was a prowling cat, a super strong beast with lava in my veins and the power to make him feel better than any man had ever felt.
I was an animal, all right. His heat infused me, his scent aroused me, his gaze heated my flesh and made me feel like fucking the whole U.S. Navy. I was looking up at him as I tilted my head and stretched out the wet length of my augmented tongue. In my new body, it had been improved as well. I could wrap it around his dick three times if I wanted to—if he wanted me to. It was coated with a slickness that acted like a lubricant, my spit now aiding any manipulations I put it to.
I started slowly. I touched my tongue to the base and licked the shaft. He was hot, indeed. And hard as a rock. I slurped up his cock and paused at the head, pressing my lips to him, planting gentle kisses against the stretched skin of his hot prick before pulling the engorged helmet inside my mouth.
He gasped audibly. I was good, baby. But you knew that already. But you don't know how good it can be until I've been with you. And I was going to give him my all. Because as soon as my lips touched his cock, I could feel the sexual pleasure in myself amplified.
It was finally happening just as William said. Brett was my Cipher. Whatever I did for him, he did for me. I would give him pleasure, and he delivered it back. Then my body, built for pleasure, would take it and pump it up another notch and shove it back. Then he'd give it back again. So that every inch of his hard prick felt like a foot of swollen cock. He had a six-foot high super-sensitive prick. My mouth enveloped it, my tongue lathered and stroked it, I swallowed his monster and he and I started to share something no one had ever felt before.
I was the key, not him. He could fuck me dead and it would feel fabulous, but it would never measure up to what I felt when I was doing him.
It grew and grew, that feeling, that power. It was swelling inside me like a sun. Maybe he knew this would happen, maybe he was scared of it, but now that it had finally started there was no way it could stop. It was better than sex, something vastly more intimate, more overwhelming, more powerfully erotic. It made me feel even stronger, wildly sexual, capable of anything and everything and all at once.
I could feel something building. It was the tingle that you feel in your dick just before you cum, but it kept getting stronger and stronger and it was everywhere. I was feeding it as I started sucking his dick, wrapping my tongue around it. He arched his back and my hands found his ass and my fingers spread his cheeks and explored him, massaging, nuzzling, caressing and finally pushing into his tight-as-a-drum hole. My body was a throbbing, growing cock. His was too. The more I gave the more I got. I don't know how long I was pleasuring him but after a while something else occurred to me through the lightning storm of sexual pleasure I was experiencing.
He and I were one. He had my powers while we were joined. He should have been cumming minutes ago but he wasn't. He was still hard, his balls churning with his load, but he wasn't cumming because… because he didn't want to. He could keep himself from cumming. He could keep himself hard, make himself hard. My hands were suddenly feeling a harder, rounder, more muscular ass. I opened my eyes and looked up his body and the thrill of erotic bliss increased again. Because of how he looked.
Brett was being transformed. His body was changing. He was growing muscle as I watched. I could see it happening. No one had ever had this happen before while I was with them. But William's words came back into my fevered brain again. He told me that just as I'd grown better and bigger and more beautiful when I was with him, and then twice as fast when Scott joined us, I would give some of that to whoever I was with, only they'd only realize it in small doses, and over time. So Brian, for instance, would be feeling better, and looking better, and getting bigger—but it might take days or weeks, and the growth would be small compared to mine unless I was with him again and again and again.
But here was Brett, and I could see him literally inflating before me. He chest was expanding outward, growing fatter and wider. His belly was tightening, swelling with a six pack of fat brawn. The arms that hung at his sides were thickening with new muscle, thick fat cables of it. His thighs bulged against my chest, and I could feel his cock growing, too.
Everything about him was changing. Brett was becoming something else, something better. He could feel it. I could feel it through him.
He started to moan and to twist. I continued to blow his joint as it grew longer and thicker. I could handle anything, the guy could develop a third arm between his legs and I'd swallow it whole. His nipples swelled outward like an ink stain, their round perfection spreading wider on the fat cables of power swelling under his glowing skin.
The feeling of pleasure was as deep as an ocean, it was swallowing me, drowning me. God, I never believed anything could ever feel this fucking great! It was sex on top of sex multiplied by sex to the power of sex, sex, sex. Everything, everywhere, nothing but perfect and beautiful pleasure. I swear we were glowing with it, overheated with it. Was the grass burning under us? Was paint peeling off the house? I swear the pool water started to boil and shift, the earth was moving, the sky was cracking open.
He grew larger and larger, his muscles expanding and developing, splitting and swelling, filled with power and strength and size. His arms had melons of muscle, his chest was two huge globes of hard power, his legs were overwhelmed with cables and wedges of strength. Bigger and fatter by the second, huge, immense, colossal.
Then he came, and it was a tide, a positive flood of cum coming out of his body, out of his improving balls, his monster prick. He howled a deep, feral noise. Something preternatural and basic. The sound of the ultimate orgasmic release. He shot straight down my throat, and I was feeling it, too, like my whole body was cumming, like I was blasting my own thick, hot, creamy load outward from everywhere, like light was exploding from my muscles, like my blood was shooting out, like my very soul had been inflated with sex and was now shattering and blasting and screaming with complete and utter joy.
No lie, it felt fanfuckingtastic.
How long it went on, I couldn't say. It felt like hours, like I was stuck inside a perfect moment of sexual release. It probably lasted less than a minute, or maybe it was five or ten minutes. Maybe I blacked out and came to and he was still unloading down my gullet. His juice was sweet and powerful, it fed me, strengthened me, intensified me and completed me. Nothing I ever felt before was like that moment.
When it was finally over, when I pulled my mouth from his fat cock and rolled over, breathing deep and hard staring up into the blue sky, feeling the wind on my skin cooling me, I couldn't move. Literally, I was drained completely. The only sound I heard was some birds in the trees around us, and the gentle lapping of the pool water (had the earth really moved?) and Brett's breathing that accompanied my own.
I lay motionless like that, staring at the slow-moving clouds, reeling from an aftershock of the intense pleasure, a sort of fuck hangover, when I heard his voice, and it sent a chill through me.
“Oh, fuck,” he said, “what the hell was that?”
His voice had a ring of power to it. It was deep, strong, almost melodic. It sounded like it was coming from inside a deep cave, echoing through treasure vaults, a man's voice so clearly masculine that it could make you hard just hearing it. “Brett?” My voice sounded the same to me.
A shadow fell across my gaze and all I could see was a silhouette for a few seconds until my eyes adjusted. Then I was looking at the most beautiful man I had ever… no, he looked even better than that, better than any man I could ever imagine a man looking like. I mean, a wet dream was poised over me, his intense and beautiful eyes looking back at mine. “You okay?”
His voice passed through me into the ground and the rocks reverberated. My body shook. My soul caught flame. “I think…”
He smiled. The heavens opened. I saw God playing checkers. “You look like I f eel.”
The dream tilted its head. The dream leaned closer and laid its lips against mine. I felt myself cum. I felt my whole body cum. I fell into a deep well of orgasmic bliss. Then his lips lifted away. “Welcome back, Jackson.”
I leaned up and he moved back to allow it. As the sun fell across his features, I came again. I looked down, and I wasn't cumming, my body… my body was my real body again. All 6-foot 8-inches of me, and all 16 inches down there. And I wasn't cumming, but I felt like I was. I could feel it, looking at him, at what he had become. “Whoa,” was all I could think of to say.
“That sums it up pretty well,” he said. That voice was going to drive me batshit. He was looking at me and smiling. I reached up and touched his face. I was cumming again, lost in the feeling of pleasure. His skin was electric, magical, amazing. He put his hand over mine. He said, “Now you're going to tell me this happens to all your lovers, right?”
He started to stand, and what he had become came into sharp focus all the sudden.
He was a god, there was no other word adequate to describe him. To my eyes, he was everything a man should be… could ever be. The ultimate expression of male power and beauty. Strength on top of strength. Masses of bulging muscle arrayed in such perfection of form and development that he looked almost unnatural. No, supernatural.
He reached down to me and I took his hand, my body thrumming with pleasure again, and he helped me to my feet. “How… who…?”
“One blow job and all your words disappear?” He smiled again, and I was cumming constantly. How was I ever going to survive this, and really, did I even care? I looked up and down Brett's new form, the lines of his power, the bulging masses of pure muscular beauty, the shredded development from an erotic artist's homo wet dream. His Latin good looks had been magnified beyond belief, except I was standing there looking at him. His face alone, even a picture of it, would make a dead man cream. “Feeling better?”
It still hadn't dawned on me that he wasn't freaking out. Not even a little. “I'm okay. Are you… you okay?”
He looked down at that fucking amazing body and nodded. “Yep.” He turned, showing me his perfect ass and brushed off the grass clinging to its smoothly muscled surface. “You sure do know a thing or two about giving head, I'll grant you that, Jackson.” His voice, his beautiful, powerful voice. “I've had my knob blown before, but never like that.” He smiled. My knees nearly gave out.
I remembered that, even after I started developing, I didn't see it either. But he had been radically changed. He was almost a whole new being. I could see Brett in front of me, but this was super Brett, amazing Brett, colossal astounding make-me-cream-looking at him Brett. He couldn't possibly not notice that his dick was huge! At least twice as big as it had been! And his chest, and his abs, his lats, his arms, his legs. Everything on the motherfucker was… was… “You're fucking huge!”
“Huh?” His arms hung at his sides. His waist was tiny, tight, cobbled with power. His chest was almost too big for his flesh. His skin shone like he was polished. “Me?”
I nodded, dumbstruck. My body was feeling his closeness, his heat, his presence. It was reverberating from him, throbbing with pleasure and desire. I caught that scent, the smell of him, and it was amplified as well. It was overwhelmingly powerful, supr masculine, saturated with sexual promise and erotic pleasure.
“You think?” He raised his right arm and flexed his bicep. It bulged with paroxysms of growth, swelling enormously. He grinned. “Thanks!”
He couldn't fucking see this?!? He couldn't fucking tell what had happened to him?!? “I gotta get you home,” I said. This wasn't right, couldn't be. Was I insane? Was this what having a Cipher meant? Was I imagining this?
He looked confused. “Why? We can fuck around some more. Honestly, if you're worried somebody'll…”
“No! No, it isn't that. It's… look, can I use your phone?”
“Whatever,” he said, and he started back toward the house, presumably to show me where his phone was. My body swelled like a dick engorged with pleasure as I surveyed his tight, perfect ass and the swelling enormous power all over his wide, bulging back. He still walked with that innate sense of self and comfort, and his hips swayed like a man who was fucking me hard right now.
Jesus, whatever this was, I knew I was going to enjoy it.
“Pick up! William, stop fucking whoever you're fucking and pick up! Larry? Scott? Anyone? Hello? William! William, pick… William, thank god.”
“What's D got to do with it? Hey, how'd it go with your Cipher? Pretty hot shit, huh? Bet you blew out a nut just…”
“Shut the hell up and listen! Something…” I looked at Brett and covered the mouthpiece. “Can you excuse me for a minute?” He shrugged, I had another orgasm, I heard William laughing. “William, something weird is going on.”
“Something really fucking weird, I mean.”
“Is somebody sucking your cock right now?”
“Could you put him on pause, please? This is sort of important.”
“Larry. Larry. Larry! Go find Scott. Attaboy. Okay, what's your beef, big b oy?”
“Yeah, um…” I turned to look through the plate glass window at the most beautiful man walking the face of the earth. “He's…”
“What? You fucked him, didn't you? I didn't scare you off, did I? Look, I exaggerated a lot of what I was saying. I mean, a Cipher is a fucking amazing thing! You should…”
“No, I sucked his dick.”
“You did? And was it great?”
“Everything you said it would be.”
“It w as?!?”
“You said it was everything I said?”
“It was. More than that. I think I blacked out. We made the pool water boil. The earth cracked. Paint is peeling off the h ouse.”
“Yes, whoa. And the weird thing is…”
“That's not the weird thing?”
“The weird thing is that Brett… changed.”
“What, like into a dog or something?”
“No, not a dog.” I looked out into the yard again. The naked god was looking back at me. I shook with pleasure, I trembled. I came. “He's about the most beautiful… no, he IS the most beautiful man I could ever imagined existing. He's… beyond beautiful. He's… I don't know what he is, but he's it. And the weird thing…”
“You still haven't got to the weird thing?”
“The weird thing is he doesn't seem to realize anything's changed. That he's changed. That I've changed. That we burned a hole into his backyard lawn.”
“No. I mean, I'm me. I'm all me. All sixteen inches of me. But he…”
“Didn't n otice.”
“That your cock is over a foot long and thick as a beer c an.”
“That's w eird.”
“A fucking god.”
He let out a long breath. “Well, um, now that you mention it…”
“What.” I gazed outside. I couldn't see Brett anywhere.
“Now, don't get mad, Jackson.”
“What?” I inched over to the window and looked beyond the pool, over to the lawn where we had scorched the earth. No Brett.
“I probably should have said something before but, well, I wasn't supposed to, so…”
“What are you talking about?” I opened the sliding glass door and stretched myself outside and looked all around the yard. Where the fuck had Brett gone?
“It was a test, Jackson, okay? I mean, sometimes he does this and, you know, all I can do is what he asks me to. 'Can he control himself?' he asks. 'Yes,' I say. 'No matter what?' he asks. 'Well,' I say, 'I suppose that depends on the circumstances.' I mean, you hadn't really been holding anything back, so he was wondering, you know, what would happen if…”
A voice, like Brett's but not, a deep rolling baritone, a sound that made my whole body reverberate and tremble and explode with sexual release, was suddenly speaking in my ear. “Jackson?”
I turned around. My world changed. My whole existence tilted. The floor fell away, the roof came off, I was floating among the stars.
Well, maybe I'm exaggerating. But not by much. Because I wasn't looking at Brett. I was looking at the most beautiful being—not just man, but being—I could ever imagine. Whatever Brett had been before, even that appearance and presence and strength and beauty that overwhelmed me, made me feel like I was cumming, made my whole body and all its new muscle and size and power feel small and insignificant when faced with his ultimate and devastating beauty, paled before the man who was standing in the kitchen with me.
Awesome does not begin to describe this person, this being, this man standing there in naked perfection. Was he glowing? Was he on fire? Was I really feeling him surrounding me, holding me in his powerful arms, kissing every inch of my skin, sucking my huge dick, stroking me, fucking me, tonguing me as he stood there? Was I really falling into his gaze, the depth of his eyes on mine, the sheer magical feeling of desire and lust and need all fulfilled, all satisfied?
His lips parted and he spoke again. “May I speak to William?” He said the words and they pushed through my soul like the purest fuck in the world. Each sound carried with it the promise and the fulfillment of every sensual and sexual desire I could ever hold. He held forth his hand, and his arm was overlaid with a collection of power and brawn so beautiful and amazing that no other arm had ever been created that could measure up to it. Except for the other one hanging off his body. The perfect male body. Literal perfection. Every inch, every millimeter, every follicle, every muscle. Bulging and bronzed and beautiful. Huge and hard and luscious and sensual.
I couldn't move. I was afraid I'd blow up or something, that my body would melt with ecstasy, that I would be so overcome with supreme pleasure that I'd disappear inside it.
He took the receiver, and then he nodded slightly, and he smiled. My body was cumming, it was shooting out of everything, I was an orgasm, a mountain range of joy, an ocean of pleasure, a sea of cum flowing forever and ever. He lifted the phone to his lips, the most perfect and sensual lips ever created, a mouth that would swallow me whole and blow me into heaven or hell or who knew where, and he said, “Lyaios? It's D.” He winked at me. The god of pleasure. He winked at me. “Tell me you weren't about to give my secret away.”
Dionysus stood with me in the kitchen of Brett's house. How can I describe this moment? How can I put it into words, standing there with a man so perfect that he was beyond perfection. A man whose very presence made you feel… everything good. All at once. As deeply as you could possibly ever feel anything. As if you were getting everything done to you by all the most beautiful men you ever fantasized about all at the same time and it all felt fucking great. Beyond great. There aren't sufficient words to describe it. Him. The feeling and appearance and presence and power and beauty of him.
And I felt as if I was literally growing as I stood there. Growing everywhere. A bigger, longer dick was stretching and swelling between my legs. My legs were growing, getting huge, the cables of my muscles expanding and shoving against each other. His eyes, his beautiful eyes, stayed on me as he spoke to William and as he scanned me, as he looked at me, I grew larger and larger with power and muscle and beauty. My chest was swelling outward, blossoming with brawn. My nipples were tiny dicks, pointed and fat and wet. My arms grew heavier and heavier as the muscle increased. And bigger still. And bigger. And bigger.
My ass tightened and rounded. My butthole was moist and sweet and deep and tight. My balls grew fat and heavy and drooped round and full in my nutsack behind my prick. My huge prick. My mammoth cock that still expanded. Longer still. And thicker. And heavier. Meatier. Fatter. Swelling with lushness and potency and power. My manliness growing deeper, broader, stronger, overwhelming.
I felt it happening. More and more of me. Of the man I was, the man I was becoming, more man than possible, so hard and huge and strong that I was growing beyond what was possible, beyond what could exist, beyond any idea or limitation of masculine into something more, something better, something bigger and bigger. Unstoppable. Impossible.
Bigger and bigger still. I felt my growing power, my increasing size and weight and strength, everywhere. The tips of my fingers stretching, my tendons flexing and lengthening. My shoulder blades growing farther apart, my whole upper back expanding, extending, filling in and broadening with muscle. The Christmas tree of muscles on my lower back, their power suddenly manifesting. The wide, thick flare of my latisimus dorsai lifting up my arms. The thick, fat muscle of my biceps and triceps bloating with more and more and more strength. The upper and lower decks of my pectorals pressing against each other, pushing in towards a deepening crevasse, pushing out towards my armpits, pushing up against my collar bone, inflating with hardness, swelling larger still, growing thick and fat and heavy. My nipples, swollen and round and hard and fat, tingled and throbbed with growth, with need, with passion, with fulfillment.
I could feel it all, everywhere, going on and on and on. Growth, strength, power, potency, passion. My dick was a motherfucking tree branch. It throbbed and pulsed with heat and need. It was a heavy, luscious burden between my still developing legs. I could feel it, feel every inch of it, as if the man, the inhumanly beautiful man, was sucking it, fucking it, caressing it.
I couldn't tell if these feelings were real because I could not look away from him. I could not. I don't think I could blink. I felt myself lost in an endless orgasm of growth and strength and potency and masculinity and pleasure and male bliss. Bliss so pure, so true, that nothing else could intrude.
He replaced the phone in the receiver and his gaze was still on my body. Then he seemed to realize something and he said to me, “Oops, sorry about that, Jackson,” and something changed. Something altered. Something collapsed and I was looking at the Brett I had seen before. The Brett who still could make me hard just looking at him. The perfected, larger, more amazing Brett from the backyard. “Toned it down a little.”
I swallowed and started breathing again. “Holy fucking Chri…”
He put his fingertip against my lips and shook his head slowly. “Uh uh, Jackson, let's not bring religion into this.” Then he stood back and asked, “How are you feeling?”
I said, honestly, “I don't know.” I managed, finally, to look down at myself. I seemed, to me, normal. Which I mean to say I looked as normal to me as I was now used to seeing me, a 6-foot 8-inch man with god's endowment and muscles packed on my fine form with tight and mighty beauty.
“I'm okay like this? You're not too overwhelmed by my natural charm?” His voice was amused and his tone was sarcastic. A god who didn't take himself seriously?
“I feel like I'm cumming.”
He smiled. “You want me to turn that down?”
“Only if you're planning on something… oh, uh, man oh fucking man… something more than a one-way conversation.”
“I knew I liked you,” he said. And then the world tilted again, and settled, and I was standing in Brett's kitchen talking to Brett. The Brett I walked in with, plus a little more. At least, he looked like that Brett if Brett had been working out all summer long and downing some serious roids.
He was buff and beautiful, taller as well with broader shoulders and a more ample dick. And there was something much… more about him. You could feel him with you. It was what I'd felt with William when we first met, but even stronger than that. A palpable sense of comfort and power, of pure masculine strength and something even deeper than that.
He was naked, and I was naked, and the sense of continuous licking and kissing and sucking was gone from my flesh, although the memory of it lingered. He held out his hand and said, “Time for proper introductions, since I've blown my cover… among other things.” He arched his slender brow and looked at my ample package. “Glad to meet you Jackson. I'm Dionysus. But my friends—and that includes you—call me D.”
I reached for his hand and he grasped mine, then pulled me easily into an embrace and pressed his warm flesh to mine. His body was tingling like a prick everywhere we joined, and when he pulled my lips to his and I found his tongue wrestling with mine, I felt that tingle everywhere. He felt like everything good. I wanted to stay in that embrace forever.
My mind was twirling like a top. This was a god? Shouldn't he be all… well… godlike? Shouldn't he be commanding me to kneel or making me peel him grapes or something? Wasn't I just a mere mortal and unworthy of his friendship and consideration?
“Who's been filling your mind with that shit?” His question caught me off guard. I said, “What?” and he said, “Why the hell would I be asking you to kneel or peel me a grape—although that's pretty fucking funny now that I think on it.” He folded his arms across his more mammoth chest and tilted his head. His dark eyes, still as deep as a well and filled with something so good you ached to dive into them and live there, twinkled.
“But… you're a god.”
He shrugged. “Eh. So I'm a god. So I can do anything. Have you considered that?”
“I sort of assumed…”
He shook his head. “No, think about this. So if you can do anything, why would you need anyone to do anything for you? If I wanted a peeled grape, I'd create a plate of them. A truckload. A fucking mountain. I look at it this way; You're a person. I'm a person. I just happen to have a few more talents than you, that's all.” He leaned his hip against the counter. I watched his dark skin, it never even wrinkled. “Oh, sure, I used to lord myself around, command people to do this, scrape that, bow down and kiss my tootsies. But that gets boring. People are cool! I mean, do you ever fucking talk to t hem?”
“And isn't that cool?”
“It's cool! You're cool! You know that? You're awesome, Jackson. Smart, funny, one hell of a fuck. Good to look at, nice to talk with. I really liked us on that bench in the locker room. The tease and play, you acting so nice to me, helping me feel comfortable about wanting to suck your dick and all. I mean, you were really sweet.”
“Are you fucking with me?”
He smiled slightly. “Only a little.” He threw his arm over my shoulder and we went outside. “You have to forgive me. I'm sure Lyai…” He snapped his fingers. “I mean William told you about me, right?”
“All I remember is great ass and fucking funny.”
He laughed. It was a golden, pure sound. “And I think that sums me up pretty well.” He looked across the pool and I followed his gaze and saw William, Scott and Larry lounging on the lawn. Larry, bless him, was bigger still. Would he ever stop growing? He was a mountain of beautiful brawn, all tanned and fit and bulging with promise. His face, however, looked as perplexed as I imagine mine did. But William was already walking towards us and Scott was waving his thick and powerful arm in our direction. Me and the god.
William and D embraced. They kissed. They laughed. Then William looked at me and sort of sheepishly grimaced. “Sorry,” he said.
“Why didn't you tell me? What was all that Cipher shit about?”
He looked at D for help and the god said, “It's me who should apologize here, Jackson. I told William to keep his pretty mouth shut.”
“And the Cipher shit wasn't exactly shit, Jackson. There are Ciphers. He just didn't happen to be one.” He looked at Brett, er, D and laughed slightly. “You're sure toned down a lot.”
D nodded over to me and said, “He may look ready but he was having a little bit of trouble dealing. I'm pretty amazing, in case you've forgotten.” I felt a surge of what I had felt before, as if someone had turned on a light in a dark room, and my body was cumming again. Then it was doused and D was looking at me. “See? I tested the waters earlier and he performed magnificently—better than you even!” William pouted and D kissed him. “I'm just yanking your chain, ya big fucker.” He looked at me appraisingly. His gaze was like being bathed in pure joy. “I wouldn't want to wear him out before we've even gotten started.” He leaned over and gave me the kiss of my life. He wasn't the god of pleasure for nothing.
He broke the liplock and I was going to ask what he meant by that when Larry stood up and shouted, “So, um, is anyone going to tell me how the fuck I'm licking Scotty's boner one minute and sitting out here next to this pool watching the school football jock and my best friend make out the next or what?”
D laughed and leaned over to William. “That's gotta be Larry.”
“None other,” he answered.
“Fucking amazing little bod that boy's got.”
“He always did favor the big ones,” the god said, but his lips were twisted into a smile. Then he was striding over to where my friend stood as William and I followed.
“You were right,” I told William.
I let my gaze point the way toward the departing god's beautiful butt. “Nice ass.”
“Thanks,” D said over his shoulder, then we were all gathered on the back lawn. I'm pretty sure a more amazing collection of male brawn in one place would be hard to imagine. I was now at full strength, exhibiting my full height and length, so to speak, and maybe all that growth I had been feeling before wasn't just a feeling. I was bigger, too. But Larry still had me beat.
The guy was a monster. Muscles so amazing and broad and fat that he was almost bursting through his skin. But that looked better, too. Elastic, alive, shining with health. The guy looked fucking amazing. No longer the swimmer build at all, he'd become a full-fledged muscle machine. Thick veins branched along every fat muscle belly. His biceps were like melons. His legs were tree trunks. A furry forest coated all that powerful growth and his skin looked like copper, all darkly tanned.
His face, however, still held on to the beauty of his youth. It was like looking at some glossy magazine model's head stuck on some brute bodybuilder's muscular body. “Hey, Brett,” he said, his voice a husky bass, “you look amazing. I guess Jackson told you what was up, huh? So, when do I get a round with that fine, tight butt of y ours?”
“No way, Jackson, you had your turn! I want to see what this Cipher bullshit is all a bout.”
He bent his arms up and exhibited exactly how huge he could get. It was amazing, and my dick started to stretch and bulge as his bicep swelled and split. “So, Brett, Mr. Football Captain, how'd you like to tackle m e?”
T hen he lowered his hand and started to stroke his mammoth prick. He made himself instantly hard and his balls dropped and started to swell with cream. His dick was as massive as the rest of him, a thickly veined monster that looked untamable. “I got a little something you might find…”
“Larry,” said Brett, with a smile on his lips, “I'm very happy to meet you. My name is Dionysus.”
Larry's hand stopped in mid-stroke. A bubble of clear honey had gathered at the tip and slowly swelled and dripped to the lawn. He looked at me and I nodded. He looked at William who shrugged. Then he looked at Scott, and Coach Landry started laughing his ass off. “Oh, hell,” he said, and he was limp so fast you'd think he'd dipped it in ice water.
“Oh, dear,” said D, “that simply won't do.” And I felt that rush of passion and ecstasy again.
It rushed into my blood and inflated my dick. My balls churned and drooped. I broke out in a sweat and I could smell sex pouring off me like perfume. Larry's boner returned so quickly it was like someone inflated it. It was hard and red and shiny, and D reached down and slowly set his grip around it.
I watched it swell larger and larger under his touch, the head blooming like a ripening fruit. The shaft extended out from Larry's body and swelled in D's grip. If he started out with a foot long fatty, in moments it was half again as long as that. Eighteen inches. Nineteen. The helmet swelled, its ridged lip flaring wider and higher. Twenty-one inches. Twenty-four! Two feet of sweet, hot, hard, potent prick! The piss-slit was stretching, opening, big enough to stick a finger in. It grew wider, still. Twenty-six inches! The head was the size of a grapefruit!
D bent his lips to Larry's and kissed him gently, slowly, passionately. Then Larry was blasting a non-stop load of cum from his mammoth hard-on like he was some cream fountain. He wasn't shooting shots, he was literally streaming his hot jizz out in one long orgasm. I could hear it. I could hear him cumming, hear his load pumping out of that impossible prick. He came and came and came.
I wasn't cumming, but I felt like I was. It was like I was feeling what Larry was doing, like my fat dick was also shooting like a hose. William and Scott looked similarly overcome, and then D released his touch from Larry's huge cock and broke off the kiss and we all settled back down again, panting and sweating. Larry's monster returned to its previous state of ample but not impossible stature and he fell back on his ass, his mouth agape. “Fuck me,” he whispered.
“Oh,” answered D, “I intend to.”
It became immediately apparent that having a god around changed everything. Literally. Reality itself was now flexible, changing to his whims. I started to feel freaked a little bit as my head tried to figure out everything, but D was the perfect gentleman about everything.
“Sure, like I said, I can make a mountain of peeled grapes. But what the fuck for? And although it would be great to be omnipotent like some others I could mention, you have to remember I have a role to fulfill.” He set his palm against Larry'd head and dug his fingers through his hair. “That's great, Larry. Right there. Uh huh. Mmmm, yeah…” Larry was happily chowing down on the god's hard cock. I was lying in the embrace of William with his dick up my hole. He was fucking me without moving, making his dick extend and retract like a telescope inside my sweet, tight, moist asshole. He played with my nipple as D regaled me with an explanation of how things worked in his world.
“I'm the god of pleasure, as you are no doubt aware. Anything pleasurable, that's my providence. Anything not pleasurable, that's my bane.” I looked slightly confused, so he said, “Um, bane. You know? Irritation. Annoyance. Like that. And that extends to all I am with, and all that I do. Even more than our friend William here, I am uniquely attuned to pleasure, and to the pleasure of others. And freaking someone out, well, that's not really in my realm. So I tend to take things slow and delicate.”
“Except when he's fucking me,” Scott put in. The coach was lying on the diving board jerking his knob. He was slowly stroking himself in the sun, his foot-long bone all slick and shiny.
D laughed. Then he closed his eyes and I felt that gentle tug of all- encompassing pleasure surround and immerse me. Larry made gleeful gulping sounds. I watched his back expand with power. “I'm afraid you and Larry here have been changed for good. Being touched by the god—being me in this case—has some certain and unavoidable ramifications. I didn't really think that would be a problem, from everything that William and Scott have been telling me.”
“Yeah, what about that, you fucker?” I squeezed my asshole and tightened around his prick. He winced and laughed gently. “How could you keep a secret like that, anyway?”
William said, “That was where I was going on Mondays, stupid. To see D and let him know what was up with our two r ecruits.”
D's soft and beautiful voice returned. “Do you know how a god derives his power?” I had to admit that I didn't, but I was sort of in the throes of sexual passion what with William's enormous and talented tool digging deep inside my guts, so I just shook my head and tried not to drool. “From his worshipers. A god is nothing—literally, nothing unless he has worshipers. Now, me, I'm sort of lucky because… holy fuck, Larry, who taught you that little maneuver? Uh, what was I… oh, yeah. Since pleasure is my happy duty and forte, and everyone is engaging in pleasure pretty much as often as possible, I derive some of my powers from that. But pleasure is a separate thing from me, you see. You don't worship pleasure.”
D nodded. “Yes, you do now. You've been exposed, so to speak, to the ultimate power of experiencing everything you ever dreamed of. And you can now also provide that for others. But to be blunt, people enjoy pleasure because it's pleasure, plain and simple. They aren't actually paying me any mind at all while they're in Cancun lying on a deserted beach near the warm turquoise water fucking like bunnies. That's where you come in.”
Scott, who was now plugging Larry's muscled ass with slow, leisurely thrusts, moving the length of his amazing prick in and out like a piston, said, “See, William and I are disciples and, as such, everything we do honors D. Directly, as it were. It's like we're connected, and the pleasure we share is pure, undiluted, absolute and utter pleasure. When we share, we honor the god of pleasure, and he grows more powerful through that worship and gives us back our rather unique talents.”
“Well put,” D said, and he smiled.
“And now Larry and I…?”
“You, too, will become disciples and be given all my powers for the sharing of pleasure. And what you are capable of now will grow more powerful still.”
“Like… oh, shit. Oh, William that is so sweet. You have to teach me that… oh, sweet Jesus on a pogo stick! Oh, ohhhhhh, uhhhh, unnnngggg, oh, ah.”
“You were going to ask something, Jackson?”
I held up a finger as my body trembled with sheer delight, realizing some new plateau of erotic bliss I'd never felt before. This had been happening more or less every 20 minutes or so, or maybe every day. Or every week. D called it 'Prep Time,' but prepping for what I had no idea. He handed Larry and I over to William and Scott, but Larry protested that since I'd been able to suck cock, he should at least get that advantage, too. He was putting all he had into his performance, and D seemed quite pleased with the results so far.
We'd been going at it non-stop for hours. I realized after some time that we were now in that weird time zone where D ruled reality. The sun should have at least moved to the horizon, but it still stood overhead bathing us with heat and light. Cool breezes moved across my skin, caressing me like the gentle touch of some tender lover. The trees, lush and green, swayed almost rhythmically to music just beyond hearing. The world around me slowed to a stop—or a pause at least—while my body was being subjected to some of the most intense and erotic pleasuring anyone ever felt, like, forever. I couldn't even begin to describe it for you, guys.
But I'll try.
Think of your whole body as nothing but a tool of pleasure, everything sensitized to touch and scent and sound and taste. Everything primed and able to give and receive pleasure in such abundance that you almost felt like you would die from it, that the peak of that pleasure was too powerful to handle or control, your whole being raised onto some impossible plane of ultimate joy, everything tingling and wet and throbbing and then you take another step higher. Then another.
I felt myself reach the next plateau, as I was coming to think of this process, and my body gained strength and the realization of its capabilities and sort of settled into a new, higher groove of sexual power. Already William had shown us, Larry and me, who he was in this reality. His ultimate self, the man he is when in the presence of his god. He simply stood before us and… improved, I guess is the word. But he improved pretty fucking amazingly.
Bigger everywhere, to begin with. But more than that, he was perfect. And I keep using that word, but it's the one that comes to mind. Imagine the most beautiful man you've ever seen. This guy, I mean, he rocks you from head to foot. Just looking at the guy makes you hard, out of breath, hot and sweating. If you can't imagine that, you need to pump your imagination a little better when you're jerking off in the shower, dude.
Okay, that man? William looks better than him. A lot. His smile, his eyes, his brow, his elbow… his fucking elbow is sexy, get my drift? And huge? He defines the term. Mammoth. Colossal. Stupendous. Everything magnified, perfected, glowing, bulging, throbbing, swelling, flexing. Everyfuckingthing.
And then we made love, and I was taken to a new level. And then we made love again, with me plugged into him, and he was doing things with his ass that made me catch fire. Who knew an ass could even do that? Then his mouth on my cock, and his tongue and lips, and his gaze, his hands, his… okay, I'm ready to cum how about you?
I knew I would be taken higher still, all in preparation for my time with Dionysus alone, in his ultimate and unstrapped godly existence, and whatever ultimate forms of pleasure he delivered to me.
He had explained that what had happened in the kitchen was a taste of that. Just seeing him as he revealed himself to me, as his gaze and very presence began to alter me, force me to grow stronger, bigger, better in moments and then he pulled that power back, because I was about to have my mind blown and that, as I needed no reminder, would be unpleasant.
And he wasn't the god of unpleasant.
Which was the question I started to ask before William's fuck trick made my whole being shudder with satisfaction. I swallowed and tried to regain my breath. William was massaging my shoulders, his dick still buried inside me, and his touch was pure joy. “Sorry,” I said at last.
D laughed gently. The sound made me want to cum. “No problem, Jackson.”
“Like… like when I saw you in the kitchen, you mean. When I felt like I was growing.”
“Oh, you were growing. Quite impressively, I might add.”
“I was? But then…”
“You'll gain control. But I can help you realize your full potential. We just need to ease you into it, that's all. Help you learn to use what you have instead of fall victim to it. Become lost in the ecstasy.” He put his hand to Larry's face and eased the boy off his hugeness. I didn't realize that Larry had been drinking cum for some time, feeding from the god's fount, swallowing his powerful seed. He was larger again. Stronger. His muscles bulged with beauty and brawn, shining beneath his smooth and perfect skin. “Thanks, Larry. Why don't you show Scott what you can do?”
“Sure!” He was enthusiastic as he sprang to his feet and kissed Scott's face, then the two started doing something with their agile muscular forms I didn't think was physically possible, but apparently it was. So, legs could really bend like that?
I shook my head and laughed, and D took my face in his hands and drew my gaze to his. “Nothing is impossible,” he said. “Just dream it.”
Another week passed, or it felt like a week. Who knew how long I was under the god of pleasure's spell? And who, really, gives a fuck. What happened during that week changed me utterly. Boundaries were removed, possibilities opened up, I realized just what I had become, what I could do, how much pleasure was possible when fantasies become real.
By the end, I was super human. Beyond beautiful. Impossibly broad with strength and power. Taller than ever. Possessed of a cock that… the ultimate tool of sexual pleasure. It was nothing short of that. My body, every luscious inch, every hair, every cell of skin, every fiber of muscle, was transformed into perfect instruments of carnal bliss. If I caressed your cheek, you'd start pumping a load. If you looked at my face, your heart would burst. If you heard my voice, you'd get so hard you'd think you were going to explode. Inside, I was still Jackson.
Outside, I was your ultimate motherfucking wet dream in the flesh.
D and his disciples taught me how to adjust my abilities to such a fine edge that I could instantly fulfill any man's lustful desires without overwhelming him entirely. “You could drive someone crazy,” they said, “but you can't. Because they don't want that.”
And why they brought Larry and I into the fold was simple, really. “More,” is how D termed it. He needed more. He needed us to go into the world as his conduits and to worship his power by using our own. We needed to find others who would join, too. Beautiful men who would grow more beautiful, then more beautiful still. Men we chose to join with us, learn what we knew, improve their bodies and what they could do until they were like us. Perfect tools of pleasure.
The question was, how? Obviously we couldn't wander the school naked calling out those who wanted to join. I mean, I guess we could, but it wasn't allowed or something. Or the repercussions were, again, unpleasant. No, it had to be done carefully, quietly, cautiously. No need to start shoving unbelievable headlines in your local paper. “Mystery Men Turn Male Populace Into Walking Fuck Machines.” The whole world would freak. And that would be bad for D. And I loved him. I love him utterly.
At the end of a full week of learning everything there was to know about everything there was to know about sexual pleasure from the best teachers in the world, it was time for my final lesson. D had been teasing me mercilessly, which I fucking loved by the way—teasing is an art, too, I'm sure you know. The slim, sideways smile. The wiggled eyebrow. The glance and then turn away thing. The less subtle but oh-so-fucking-work-me-baby fingertip to the lip, the slow drag across the moist flesh, the smoldering look that said yes, bitch, I have what you want and I know how to use it. Man, I loved that.
When he was Brett, I thought he was tempting, but imagine having the most amazing man, literally a god of ultimate sexual pleasure and all that implies, doing that to you. Teasing, tempting, flirting with your overpumped and superstrong libido. Brushing your skin with his hand, licking his fingertip and swirling it around your nipple. Whispering promises in your ear, his breath warm and wet against your skin, and then he grabs your lobe in his teeth and nibbles you so right you feel it to your toes. All that playful shit that absolutely drove me wild, he knew how to do it all. He even taught me some new ones—less subtle hints that gave you a taste of the promise of his capabilities and what he'd be doing to you, but never the fulfillment. Always to the edge, never over the summit.
But then it was my turn. Larry whined a little, since I was getting the treatment first, but he was just fucking with me. We both knew there were no favorites here, that we were all D's guys, equally powerful, equally beloved.
“You think you're ready?” We were in some glade. It was weird, we walked from the pool area between a couple of trees and suddenly we were alone in this beautiful wooded place. The breezes were warm on my skin. The trees towered above us. The wind smelled of spices and pine, of jasmine and lavender.
I laughed slightly. Truth to tell, I was still a little nervous. What I had been shown and taught and done up to now seemed to stretch the limits of what I ever believed I could feel or give to another. Pleasure so deep, so awesome, so fulfilling that anything I felt before was like… like I'd been rubbing velvet and thought that was an orgasm. How big I truly was now, I had no way of knowing for sure. The only other men to compare to had also been changed, become impossibly beautiful creatures of sensual bliss. Just looking on any one of them was… it was beyond ecstasy.
And the most beautiful of all stood next to me. Dionysus, the god of pleasure.
“Yes,” I said. “I'm ready.”
“Do you want what I can give to you, Jackson?”
I took in a breath. The question was important. I could tell. My body, my being, my very soul felt as if it stood once again on some edge, the precipice of ultimate pleasure. As if I was shaking, as if I would blow apart unless something happened here. Now. I either stepped through this final doorway, or I closed it. It was my choice. As always, as the god willed, it was choice. What did I desire?
My answer would not be just words. My answer would be all that I was, and rewrite what I would be from this point until… until forever.
“I want it.”
He smiled. Something clicked. Something moved. Something shouted with joy unbounded. The whole world tilted. I felt that same disorientation from the kitchen when I first saw him, or a hint of what he was. Because now he revealed himself to me. And I was changed in the process.
He was a god. And as I saw what he was, when I looked upon the supreme and essential beauty of him, I became more that I had been. I felt the changes happening, like before, but even more powerfully. And as I began to grow, to swell with power and strength on top of strength and perfect, incandescent masculine beauty, he kissed my lips. His hands, the god's hands, caressed me. His lips touched mine. I could feel myself expand. His body pressed to mine, all his raw and untamed muscle granting mine force and evolution, becoming better and stronger still, bigger and more powerful. My cock swelled. It bulged. It stretched and thickened. It expanded, larger and larger.
He kissed my neck. His soft lips on my heated skin. My chest exploded outward. Fatter, bigger, better. Huge with thick cables of brawn that did not stop, could not. I felt the power increase, higher and higher, and my body reveled in it, drank it in, grew stronger and more beautiful. How was it possible? How could this be happening to me.
Dionysus pulled me into his arms, he embraced me in perfect ecstasy, he surrounded and fortified me, we joined together, I became a god. I felt it happening. All bounds broken. All limits removed. I became perfect and beautiful and sank deep, deep into his embrace.
This was his gift. This perfect moment of ultimate bliss. This, he said, though no words pierced this perfection, is what I give to you. You are everything to me, he said. You are perfect.
And I was.
Coming back to the pool, I must have looked dazed. But I must also have looked pretty fucking amazing, because Larry took one look at me and started pumping a think, hot load that went on for minutes. He was overcome, completely overwhelmed by me. And I realized another nice benefit of the gift. I felt what he felt. I felt what William felt. I felt what Scott felt. And I felt what Dionysus felt. We were connected, now. Larry couldn't realize this part. He had one last step to take. But the look of realization and wonder on my perfect face made William laugh. “Hey, wonderboy! Tone down the charm or your pal's gonna bust a nut! Literally!” Leave it to Scott to bring me back to Earth. If this is what my appearance could do to Larry, who was just one step shy of where I was now, what would happen if I set foot back at the school?
Shit, this was so cool!
D followed me out, and I turned and saw that he was the man I knew, the man I had grown to love. He was no longer the god, but I could see the god in him. Feel the power of the god in me. And I realized that I could give the gift, now, too. And he smiled, and he nodded, and he said, “Yes, Jackson. We're together.” He punched my muscled arm playfully. “Okay, enough high and mighty shit. Who wants to fuck?” He noticed Larry's streaming prick and clicked his tongue. “Jackson, you may want to listen to Scott, at least one more time. Poor Larry looks like he's about to blow a g asket.”
After Larry got his turn in the woods, it was time to get down to business. We pondered and fucked and thought and fucked and discussed and fucked. How could we worship the god and still not throw the balance of the world into hell? What could we do to spread the love around, in a manner of speaking, without being too obvious and making a fucking mess out of everything?
It was Larry who had the idea. He was always more of a thinker than me. And it was so simple and so perfect, we wondered why no one had thought of it before—
Thank you for calling Disciples. How may I serve you this morning?”
This sounded good to Paul already. His brows arched slightly at the sound of the extremely masculine voice on the other end of the line. Even over the decidedly inferior audio quality of the telephone, that deep bass tone came through like rolling thunder. It was calm, musical and powerful. And maybe it was just his imagination, but there seemed to be meaning behind those words, almost like the guy on the other end wanted to be there with him right now, doing… something. “Hi, I need someone for a private function.” He chose that phrase carefully.
“Yes, sir. May I ask if you're a member?”
“Ah, no, actually. I got the number for your service from a friend.”
“Very good, sir. Might I inquire if your acquaintance explained our policies concerning confidentiality, privacy and membership requirements?”
“He said… um, not in so many words. I saw him at another… function with a very attractive man. I asked who the guy was, he said his name was William and he handed me a card with this number on it.”
“Very good, sir. Before we proceed, may I ask the other gentleman's name?”
“Ted. Ted McAllister.”
“Mr. McAllister. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” There was nothing in his tone that sounded dissatisfied or surprised. He expected a hassle about this, the way Ted had been talking. He heard the familiar sound of computer keys and typing. “And your name, please?”
“ We guaranty absolute confidentiality, sir.”
Here it came. “Did Ted do something wrong?”
“As I said, sir, we guaranty absolute confidentiality and we expect the same of our customers. There is a procedure we normally perform before considering new applicants for membership, which Mr. McAllister should be aware of. That's all. You haven't done anything wrong. Don't worry.” Now his tone was warm, friendly and inviting.
“What sort of procedure?” Paul was willing to go through an awful lot to get access to the kind of male beauty he saw accompanying Ted that night. Even encased in the black silk of a tuxedo, William's muscular nature and sheer physical beauty was awesome. Not to mention those eyes.
“Our services are reserved for a select few gentlemen. I may assume from your acquaintance with Mr. McAllister that you would surely meet our financial profile. If you would answer a few questions for us now, I'm sure we'll be able to accommodate your desires.”
Paul actually didn't know Ted McAllister very well, at all. They were often at the same parties, often both ended up naked and sweating, had a nodding acquaintance because they ran in the same circles. But recognizing someone's face and asking about their companion is a lot different from hanging out in the same clubs and going golfing together. Plus, Ted had to be 35 or 40, and he was a mere 23, living off his good looks and family money. Ted was older, balding, slightly pudgy, all his money coming from frequent playing in the markets. Paul was just a player. A self-proclaimed ne'er-do-well, clubbing 'til all hours, hitting the gym to keep his figure trim, enjoying the attention he received because he wasn't bad looking, if he did say so himself.
And he thought that frankly, the only way a guy like McAllister could attract the piece on his arm last night was if he paid for him. And Paul knew from the looks of the guy that William wasn't some cheap buttfucker pulled from an ad in the back of a whacking rag. This guy was so polished he shone. William had a model's good looks stuck on a body like a Mack truck. Shoulders out to there, chest out to here, and when he caught your gaze with his own, those green eyes shot chills straight to your groin. What he wouldn't have given to see him stripped, because if what was in his pants was a tenth as big as his bulge would have them all believe was real…
“Shoot,” he answered.
Then the man asked him some rather personal questions about his sexual preferences, what he liked, who he liked, even his fantasies. All rather odd, but the guy's voice seemed to draw it out of Paul freely. That deep, rolling baritone whispering in his ear, asking what he wanted, what he needed, it was driving him batty. He was hard and wet sitting there on the phone. It wasn't exactly phone sex, but it was damned close.
“Thank you, Mr. Johnson. May I place you on hold for a moment?”
He listened to some classical junk for a couple of minutes and the voice was back.
“Congratulations, Mr. Johnson. I'm pleased to welcome you as a member of our elite clientele. How may I serve you?”
“Just like that?”
“So, I assume you provide, let's call them gentlemen companions for various…”
“We provide many services for our membership. Rather than constrain ourselves—and your expectations—we prefer you not to limit your wishes by preconceptions of what other services may provide for you. Whatever your desires, we will do everything to fulfill them.”
The man emphasized the word 'everything' with a tone Paul found rather intriguing. “Well, then. Uh, I have a function planned for this evening and I was wondering if William was available.”
“I'm sure we could provide him for you, but may I make a suggestion, sir?”
“Call me Paul, please.” he actually just wanted to hear that voice say his name.
“As you desire. William can be made available for your needs, of course. But before making your selection, perhaps you'd like to view our interactive catalog of gentlemen escorts. We will be sending you a copy for your personal use, of course, but in the mean time a version is available online. Are you able to access the Internet while on the telephone, Paul?”
Ooh. He got chills. “Yes.”
“Let me know when you're ready.”
He gave Paul an IP address rather than a domain name and he waited a moment after keying it in before a logo appeared. It was in a rather elaborate script—just the name of the organization under a silhouette of a predictably masculine profile. The operator gave Paul a temporary login and password, assuring him a more personalized and secure password would be included in 'the full package', and clicking on the Login button granted him access to a curious interface.
The man—Paul realized the guy on the other end of that phone knew his name, but Paul never got his—the operator explained that all he had to do was answer a few questions regarding his preferences, or as the program explained it, “design your perfect man,” and he'd be matched up to the escort that most closely corresponded with his ideal… physically, romantically, emotionally, all ways.
The instructions seemed ludicrous, designed to disappoint anyone who actually thought it was anything more than a sale. “Be entirely honest when describing your desires,” it read, “Do not hold back. Your fantasy lover exists, and we can provide him. The more truthful you are with your wishes, the more closely will we be able to grant them. Do not misunderstand, we can and shall provide an exact match for your perfect masculine standard. But our representative will be only as good as your depiction of his appearance and capabilities. Use this opportunity to build your ideal man. Again, be perfectly honest. Do not hold back.”
Paul was dubious, to put it mildly, but he figured what the hell?
So, first came the physical properties, and the detail was fairly astounding. They asked him questions that he would never have considered when describing that fantasy guy in his head, but as the questionnaire went on, Paul found himself growing deliciously hot. They covered all the usual angles—arms, shoulders, chest, legs, dick, balls, ass, hair color and length, eye color, body hair, muscular balance (swimmer sleek, boy bodybuilder broad, mother of God brick shit house, and so forth) and on and on—before they started getting into the nitty gritty. Paul thought maybe he went a little overboard with certain dimensions, but they did say his 'perfect' man.
As he built him, Paul imagined him in his mind's eye. They weren't providing any images as examples because, the operator explained, they didn't want to limit his imagination. “We've found that if pictures are provided, it tends to limit a gentleman's expectations. We are in the business of fulfilling desires. Every desire.”
The detail kept increasing, accompanied by graphic descriptions of each factor, until the physical portion was completed and it moved on to sexual preferences.
Now he was having fun!
What did he like to do, and how did he like to do it? What did he like having done to him? How rough? How tender? What turned him on and what turned him off? Paul started thinking about the man he'd just described doing the things he was describing and he had to pull it out and relieve a little of the stress building up. “Jesus,” he whispered, “this is great.” The operator laughed warmly. By itself, the Web site was getting Paul off. If the real thing was even close to the promise, he doubted he'd be able to stand up for a month.
The man kept talking to Paul as he made his choices, always encouraging, never judging. He laughed gently at a couple of choices as if those would be his as well and he seemed sometimes surprised at where Paul's mind went. Mostly, the man with the dick-hardening voice made Paul feel very comfortable. Finally, he came to a screen with a single button on it that said, “Submit.”
That had a double meaning, and Paul was certainly ready to.
He clicked his mouse, expecting to get some weird mosaic of pasted- together images approximating his personally-designed man, but all he got was another mostly blank page with a single phrase: 'Thank you.'
“Damn.” Paul said it before he realized he was going to. But dammit, he was having fun!
“Something wrong, Paul?” His voice brought him back to reality. It was so powerful.
“Just sorry it's over.”
“It's just beginning, I assure you.” He sounded amused. “I do have one more question to ask, one that isn't in the program.”
Paul couldn't imagine what it could be. The questionnaire had been more than complete, as far as he could tell. “Shoot.”
There was a long pause. Paul almost thought he'd lost him, but finally the man said, “Imagine that you could have anything you desired in a man. Literally anything. Your wildest dream. Something that may seem impossible. Do you understand?”
“Sure. A fantasy guy. I think I just ordered one.”
He huffed out a small laugh. “Nearly. Very nearly.” The guy laughed again. Paul thought that maybe he was looking over his answers and was worried they couldn't satisfy him. But the man didn't back off; instead he upped the ante. “But the man you described, although he would be very… unusually endowed in a variety of ways, his… talents could still be considered in the realm of possibility. Would you agree?”
“I guess so. But I can't imagine that any guy like that actually… I mean, the man I described would stand out in any crowd no matter how… the guy would… whoa, this would be one hell of a guy.”
“Granted. But imagine that he exists. The man you described is real, and he's all yours this evening.” He felt a chill go through him. That voice was painting the picture vividly. Paul was starting to believe they could actually do this. “He comes to you, knocking at your door. He's standing on the threshold, this man. He's everything you described, there with you in the flesh. His breath warms your skin. His eyes meet yours, and they are as bright and clear and intelligent as you desire. Do you have that in your mind?”
“Yes.” Paul spoke softly.
“Now imagine that he will fulfill your ultimate desire. Your fondest sexual wish. He will literally do anything you ask of him. Do you u nderstand?”
“I ask that you keep in mind exactly what you are seeing in your mind's eye at this moment. Whatever it is you imagine yourself and this man doing. Will you do that for me?”
The image was frozen in his head. Paul could see them. That man and him. “That's it?” Paul's excitement was obvious in his voice. He couldn't hide it.
The operator let out another soft laugh, perhaps anticipating his reaction. “That's it, Paul. Your escort will be over at 6PM this evening.”
“And I pay him?”
“Don't worry about that, it will be taken care of. Is there anything else I may do to serve you?”
“Talk dirty to me.”
He laughed. “I'll see you later, Paul.”
The phone went dead.
I hung up the phone and a smile crossed my face. “Oh, Larry,” I said, “am I going to have a good time tonight.”
He looked over at me and smirked. “How can you tell?”
I shrugged my mammoth shoulders, feeling their power swell and recede in the movement. “Just a feeling.”
Desciples. Isn't it perfect? An escort service! I mean, think about this; it's a service that men call who already want pleasure. They may only want the pleasure of a beautiful man at their side, someone to charm their host, someone to drain the jealousy of every other man in the room, someone so beautiful to look at, so wonderful to listen to, so charismatic and captivating that he is the object of everyone's attention but he goes home with you.
Or maybe they just want a nice raunchy romp. Some big fucking muscle stud to come over and use his big dick in every way a big dick ought to be used. Some swarthy hunk of man meat with a window-rattling depth charge voice wearing leather everywhere and a rough growth of hair on his chin and fat fucking muscles busting through his skin who'll manhandle them like a big, bad daddy and really show them what their ass is for.
Or a cowboy. One time Scott left the place looking nothing short of fine. He had this lean, hard-muscled form, flat-bellied and wide- shouldered, Montana sky blue eyes, sunken cheeks, gnarled hands and about the tightest ass I'd ever seen on a man in these even tighter blue jeans and starts talking with this Texas drawl that about had us all rolling on the floor. Still, whoever his partner for the evening was, that man was about to experience the fantasy of his life.
We could be anything, anyone, our customers desired. We would allow them to live their dreams, fulfill their fantasies, and leave them better men than when we found them. We were on a mission, see. We were building men, fucking making them better than they were. We would spread these seeds, sort of, the seeds of possible. We would inspire and entrance and introduce the idea to these men that they could be better than they were. And we would change them when we were with them, and they would start becoming better.
And as they improved, as they went to their gyms and saw gains they never saw before, as their dicks grew, as they regained their youth and rediscovered how horny they could be every morning, every afternoon, every evening and every night, they would go to other men and “spread the gospel” of D. The gospel of utter pleasure, of the sharing and the experiencing, of the possibility of giving yourself over to your desires and becoming able to live them and fulfill them in others.
It was perfect.
Larry brushed a hand through his hair. I scanned his muscled form as he lounged there, his legs open, his chest rising and falling as he breathed, the clear perfection of his eyes and his smile. “What are you doing?”
“You're just sitting there.”
His smile grew brighter. “Is it working?”
We had a very good fuck.
Here's what Paul Johnson's profile told me to be. 'He has dark hair. Jet black. The kind of black that seems to have blue highlights. It is cut so that his bangs drop across his eyes on occasion, so that he has to reach up and brush them away from those eyes, those ice blue eyes, eyes that sparkle and reach inside you and make you feel nothing but good. His skin is olive, Mediterranean, not tanned but born dark. Smooth and soft to the touch, the sort of skin that seems to glow in certain light as if it is made of silk.'
'His chin is square and strong. His lips, broad and sensuously soft. To look at them is to feel them on you. When he speaks, his voice is deep and lush, smooth and soft and powerful all at once. You feel it as well as hear it.'
'His nose is slightly broad as well, as if he has been in a fight and had it broken. It has character, and says he is a man, not a model. High cheekbones accentuate the lean, sculpted appearance of his face. It is, as you would expect, a face to die for. When he smiles, it's the sun coming out. His whole face changes. Without it, he looks serious, slightly mean, a don't-fuck-with-me face. When he smiles, he looks inviting, sexy, a fuck-with-me face. Night and day.'
'His neck is long and lined with fine muscles. Stretching onto a set of shoulders that would have no trouble holding up a small planet. Big, round, powerful muscles off of which the rest of his huge powerful body hangs.'
'And that body shows off his assets to consummate beauty. Starting at the top, his chest is amazing. It stretches the largest of T shirts to the breaking point, and is carpeted with a soft forest of dark curls, erupting like a shadow from the deep cleavage between his hemispheres of power and spreading like an inviting carpet that accentuates and does not mask the obvious strength and size of that chest. And his nipples could tear a hole in aluminum. Large, tight and hard. Round caps begging to be played with in the center of silver dollar-size areola.'
'His dark fur trails down onto a belly rippling with a cobblestone street of brawn. Like a river, it winds though the depth of those muscles to heighten and illustrate their contained capacities. His narrow waist and hips widening to that chest and those shoulders help create a tapered V of such dramatic flair that it looks like he might topple over. But that's before you see his legs.'
'That soft fur appears again, there. And beneath that are strips and wedges of incredible definition and evident capability. Broad, thick, muscular thighs and diamond calves.'
'Circle around the man, and observe an ass created for a god. Breathtaking in its shape, it is a round, smooth, beautiful butt to make anyone observing it—clothed or naked—cream their jeans immediately. The definition of a man's ass. Spherical, high, dimpled and aching to be caressed, kneaded and fucked.'
'Saving the best for last, his cock and balls make you question how he manages to wear pants at all. He is gifted with a tool of such thick, firm, lengthy glory that seeing it puts horses to shame. It is in perfect proportion to the rest of him, yet so enormous and lush and beautiful that all you want to do is swallow him whole and feel him grow large and hot inside you. The head is cowled in a tight, uncut foreskin. Yet his prick is so big, even his naturalness cannot fully contain him and the broad tip of his helmet hangs there, pink and luscious.'
'His balls hang low and full, like fruit ripe for plucking. Separate round beauties, they look plump and firm and ready to produce gallons of his powerful seed. And cum he does, in thick hot fountains that shoot across the room. He erect prick, hard as steel and hot as molten lead shoves his load of white lava so fully that you can hear him cumming in the next room.'
This is what Paul told me that he wanted. This was his dream lover, his ultimate man, the fantasy he wished fulfilled.
And, hey, that works for me!
Six o'clock couldn't come soon enough.
Paul's plans had been pretty simple. A little necking, a little fucking, a little dinner, a little more fucking, good night. Just him and a guy for hire for a little night of fun with no strings attached. He was no spring chicken, he'd been around and around. Money is a powerful aphrodisiac, a powerful tool for getting things. It may not buy happiness, buthe found that it bought enough happiness for himself. He'd paid for sex, he'd been paid for sex. He'd tried lots of things, and he didn't think he was afraid of anything.
But the more he thought about the service, and what William had looked like, and the man he'd described, the evening kept getting more elaborate. Paul had hired the guy and chances were the man of his dreams was going to like him and whatever he had in mind. And the weird preparations he'd gone through pretty much guaranteed that the guy would be up for whatever he was up for. Literally. There'd be very little need to seduce anyone, and that went for the both of them.
But as the hour drew near, he found myself experiencing butterflies like a 15-year-old virgin facing his first tube of KY, some guy's hairy ass and an unopened Trojan. Paul knew it didn't matter to the guy if he measured up. He'd pretend to like him, no matter what.
But was pretending enough? If the perfect man—literally the man of his dreams—appeared on his doorstep, didn't he want this man to like him as much as he worshiped the man?
So his brain started flip-flopping between his thoughts of strictly carnal joy, bought and nearly paid-for, and some silly romantic fantasy of perfect romance where we'd find everything in common and fall deeply in love, enjoying each other in every way possible for the rest of our natural lives.
Which was, he felt, was complete bullshit.
He kept trying to force his head toward fucking. Paul imagined the man's muscled form, the silken skin under his hand, that face of masculine beauty. He saw them tangled in sheets, he saw them under a hot shower, he saw himself swallowing the man's hard, huge meat, he saw the man licking his own asshole, plunging his tongue into him like some prehensile dick that dug deeper, hotter and wetter than any cock ever could.
He imagined the feeling of the soft, black fur spread across the twin muscled globes of his immense chest. He felt the man's lips on his neck, the man's hot breath against his skin, the soft kisses of his mouth accompanied by the fullness of his prick in Paul's ass. He saw the eyes he described, the same eyes that haunted his dreams, the shiningly handsome eyes, shadowed under a heavy brow, the ice blue surrounded by dark, long lashes. The eyes that, when they looked into his, sent deep shivers through his body and made him cum, pumping thick and heavy and forever. Just the look.
The clock in the hall started to chime, and just as it finished, the doorbell rang.
The servants had been excused. The house—his house, inherited from the estate of his grandparents when he turned 16 and his sole place of residence, far from the folks in Connecticut because city life was “too fast” for them—was an empty, darkened place. The curtains pulled, the candles lit, filling the shadowed corners with dancing light.
His pulse quickened. He was about to see if his imagination could be fulfilled. Paul couldn't imagine that the man on the other side of the door measured up to his dream. How could any stable of men fulfill every man's fantasy, without limitations?
He opened the door.
Good evening, Paul. My name is Jackson.”
I didn't have time to pick my jaw up off the floor before he leaned forward, placed his broad and sensuously soft lips against my mouth and kissed me so completely that I could feel my toes curl. He smelled like sex and power. If his mouth hinted at what the rest of him was capable of, I was going to fall very deeply in lust with this man. Not to mention that he looked exactly, and I do mean exactly, as the doctor ordered.
I kept my eyes open and he did too, so I could watch his ice blue eyes gaze so deeply into mine that I thought he could see my soul. All I saw in his was desire. Desire and sensuality and potency. It was coming off him in waves.
He broke off the kiss and smiled. Night became day. The lean, beautiful, sculpted lines of his face softened into something so human, so male, so warm and welcoming that I couldn't think of anything for a moment. I was simply overwhelmed by him. “Thank you for choosing me.”
“No problem.” My voice sounded like it was coming from miles away.
“May I come in?”
“Oh. Shit. Yes! Of course, I'm sorry.”
His smile quirked sideways, creating a dimple exactly where it should be. “No problem,” he echoed. He filled the doorway as he entered. He moved past me, and the back of his hand brushed my ass. The touch was gentle, so slight that I might otherwise have ignored it. But it felt like an electric shock made of pure sex has just touched me.
This, I was telling myself dimly through the screams of want and need, was impossible. My excitement, sexual and otherwise, was at a fever pitch. I wanted the man so, so bad.
The fantasies you make up in your head are not supposed to arrive at 6PM sharp. They're not supposed to turn up in the flesh, smelling like you never knew you wanted them to, kissing you and teasing your butt. They're supposed to appear when you close your eyes, not when you open your door.
“You look good, Paul,” he said. His voice rattled the tempered glass shelving in the entertainment center. He was taking off his overcoat. I watched his shoulders roll and swell, and then I saw an ass, breathtaking in its shape, a round, smooth, beautiful butt clothed in the sheer whisper of gray linen slacks. The sort of ass that would make a dead lesbian wetter than the Pacific. An ass that inspires poets and artists to create works of such beauty in reflection of the male form that the gods themselves weep that they do not possess such a tool. He did not appear to be teasing me in the way that some men do. The way that some men who own such an ass, and are perfectly aware of it, and are further equally aware of its affect on the male of the species, pose and strut and show off their ass like a prize.
No, he was so comfortable, so self confident, that the perfect ass before me was simply another aspect of his overwhelming beauty. As if he had no idea how perfectly beautiful his round, firm butt was, even though he must have chosen those pants to ride across and under and between the lickable globes because they outlined the asset so well that it appeared that they were painted onto it.
I was getting very hard, indeed.
He tossed his coat on the Eames ottoman and wandered across the rug to the far side of the room. His movements were sensual, self- assured, an illustration of his power and strength. I was in terrible, terrible danger.
If you've never been in a situation where you've been faced with your ultimate fantasy, maybe you can't understand what I was feeling. It is a place where hard reality and sparkling, nebulous, soft non- reality collide and for a few minutes, nothing seems real. You start wondering if you actually fell asleep and that everything that's happening isn't happening at all.
Was Jackson real? Was that kiss real? Was his hand, were his fingers, was that light, tempting touch on my ass… real?
Rather than feeling exhilarated, I started to wonder whether he was up to this. I started feeling a little scared, like I couldn't possibly meet this guy's standards. I mean, sure he was everything I asked for. It was uncanny how much he was everything I asked for.
It was scary. The man in my home, walking across the carpet with his swaying hips and perfect ass and wide, strong shoulders had stepped out of my dreams. I was faced with everything I ever dreamed of and he was here, tonight, for me, in the flesh. In the muscled, smooth, silken, furry flesh.
And I was no longer as hard.
“This is a beautiful home, Paul.”
His thunder rolled across the landscape to my ears, licking them. I said, “Thanks.” He was silhouetted against the candlelight flickering all around him. His torso had such an impressive collection of muscles that it looked as if he were wearing some yard-wide padding in his shoulders, and his waist was cinched with a 28-inch belt. But I knew the truth. Because I had defined it.
It was all him. All Jackson. All muscle and might and brawn and beauty.
“Is there something wrong?” I could see his teeth gleaming. He was smiling. He knew what I was experiencing. I knew that somehow. He knew what I was thinking, why I was being so quiet and uncharacteristically coy.
And why wouldn't he? Imagine going through life a fantasy made flesh. Imagine the reactions you'd get shopping at Safeway. Or pulling up to the window at Burger King to get your BK Broiler. Or exiting your car in the parking lot, walking toward the mall to pick up another pair of tiny 2-Xist briefs that can barely contain your mammoth appendage, the huge, thick tool you've been growing since hair began sprouting under your arms. You made it through high school, walking through the locker room exhibiting your collection of raw talent for anyone who wanted to look.
You kept getting bigger, taller, stronger. You noticed that the guys weren't. You also noticed that you were looking at the other guys and doing more than measuring yourself against them. You were drawn to them, to their muscled legs, their bulging arms, the hair on their chests and chins. You weren't less of a man than the guys who liked girls. If anything, you felt super masculine, so filled with the juices of man that you were bursting with it, needed more of it, thirsted for the smells of men, the feel of them, their strength and sweat and beauty.
You built on what you had, glorying in your own strength and beauty. Honing your perfection, building your muscle, becoming that fantasy made flesh.
All of that occurred to me in a moment. It, too, was part of the fantasy. It excited me, reignited me. There was something about Jackson that went beyond the pretty boys dancing on the bars or the beautiful men roaming Miami in their perfect bodies posing in underwear ads. They had only a piece of what Jackson owned lock, stock and barrel.
“It's a bit overwhelming.” I was still standing near the open front door.
“It?” His tone was amused. Sexy, too, the f ucker.
“I understand.” The words caressed me, comforted me, surrounded me in his powerful presence.
I closed the door. The skin of his arms, the cabled beauty, was glowing like burnished bronze in the candlelight. “I didn't really expect… I mean, William was certainly amazing to look at, but I didn't think that everything I…” He starting walking toward him, and my mind blanked.
“Everything you…?” He looked even better coming than going. He was wearing a white T-shirt stretched across his chest. His nipples were poking against the material like party hats. It clung to his rippled belly like a paint job. He had pleated gray slacks and those pleats were for more than appearance. He needed that extra material to hold in all his equipment.
“When I was filling out the questionnaire, I honestly didn't think that everything I wanted could… that any man was…”
He continued walking toward me. His grin was lascivious, inviting, knowing. “I really enjoyed speaking with you today, Paul.” He was standing next to me. He was exactly my height and I'm six-one, but he was so much broader, so much larger that he seemed to tower over me. But his face, his gorgeous face was right in front of me, eye to eye, mouth to mouth. He was so wide that he blocked the candlelight. “I think I've been looking forward to six o'clock as much as you have.” His voice became soft. It moved through me.
“That was you on the phone?” I suddenly remembered what the operator said before he hung up. 'I'll see you later, Paul.'
“You have a very… vivid way with words.”
My mind started spinning a whole new way. “I was describing you?”
His grin opened into a wide smile. His hand moved behind my head and he pulled me to him again, his kiss embracing me wholly. I could feel the strength of him against me. His hard muscles bulged beneath his cotton shirt. He whispered, “Yes, Paul. I am the man you want. I am the man here with you, the man from your dreams.” He kissed him again, harder. “And I want to be with you.”
“I don't understand.” Why did he want to be with me? His words had the ring of truth to them. He wasn't acting a role, I felt the difference. He really was the man of my fantasies. He really was here kissing me, pressing his powerful muscles against me, pressing his moist, soft, warm mouth to mine.
“You don't have to,” he answered. “You don't have to do anything.” He kissed him again. For a long time. “That's why I'm here.” Another kiss, his lips softly brushing mine. “Tell me what you want.”
Only one word came to my mind.
Was the sex incredible? Hello? Haven't you been listening?
But you probably want to hear it all, right? Every zippered moment, every rippling contour, every drop of sweat and cum, huh?
Jackson's kiss lingered as his hands roamed my body. His touch was assured, not anxious or needy but definitely knowledgeable. I might have been surprised that he knew immediately how much I liked having my ass kneaded, but who didn't? And how hard I got when my nipples were pinched. But again, who wouldn't try that—maybe not right away, but everyone gets to that eventually. How, though, did Jackson grasp that if he bit my lower lip as our kiss ended and tugged at me with that gleam in his eye that he could have anything he wanted whether he asked or not?
He stepped back from me and started to slowly tug his shirt from his slacks. He gathered the white cotton material in his large hands and pulled it up, revealing what can only be called the most amazing set of abs I have ever witnessed. Maybe they just looked better in the shadowed candlelight, but the soft covering of fur and his tight, hard belly made me forget to breathe for a minute.
He tossed the shirt aside and his hands started to undo his belt, but then he paused and lifted his gaze to mine. I hadn't said anything, I doubt I was even breathing, but he knew I wanted him to stop, to pause, so I could gather in his beauty and hold this moment in my memory. His torso naked, his pants undone, a dark shock of his hair hanging forward across his gaze.
His body was well trained. Not shredded with muscle, but rather constructed of fat, firm brawn sitting smooth and hard across his frame. The dark fur on his belly went down like a trail out of the foothills leading to the amazing bulge still captive in his slacks. The dark forest across his wide, thick chest gleamed like silk. I longed to push my hand against his muscle and feel that softness across his beautiful brawn. He had round, high shoulders and a long neck. I met his eyes again. His smile was an invitation, and I went into the dream with him.
I touched his stomach and felt his firm muscles. He was so alive, so vital; I almost felt a static shock when our skin touched. His flesh seemed to glow with health. I watched him breath, watched his muscles flex and swell as his lungs filled with air. My gaze traversed the wide mountains of his chest, and the ribbons of strength that erupted from the deep crevasse between. My hand moved across his bulging contours and rested against that muscle, the fat, hard power of his mammoth chest. I could feel his hard, huge nipple under my palm, tickling my skin. My finger circled the top and I leaned forward to kiss it, to pull his nipple into my mouth, suck it against my teeth, grasp it between tongue and incisor and play with it.
His smell struck me again, his heavy masculine scent, with my nose pressed into the valley of his muscle. Jackson's hand was in my hair, his fingers gently sifting through my dark locks. His touch was gentle, loving, and exactly what I wanted.
My hands grasped onto the sides of his broad body and I felt the thickness of his lats. I circled them around him, and the thick bulges there made me moan against him. This just kept getting better and better. I moved down his body leaving soft kisses on his warm flesh. God, he smelled so good. It wasn't a cologne, it was the scent of him, the pure essence of him.
I was now on my knees before him, his hands still in my hair, brushing softly, My hands went to his slacks and I opened them to me, pulling the zipper all the way down past his ample basket.
Underneath his pants I saw the hint of his underwear. They, too, were exactly what I wanted them to be, exactly as I always fantasized them. Baby blue and tiny, made of brushed cotton and so thin that they were little more than a soft covering for what lay beneath. I tugged his pants off his hips—where had his shoes gone? When had he discarded them? It didn't matter, this was all happening perfectly, just like I always wanted.
He pushed his pants aside with his foot and now stood in front of me wearing only those tiny briefs. They rode low on his hips and a wealth of dark curls erupted above the waistband. But what remained hidden in those lucky cotton briefs was amazing.
I could now easily see that the tool I imagined and described for him was right there, inches from me, awaiting my touch. The huge thickness of it lay all the way toward his hip bone, the swelling lip of the helmet clearly outlined and pressing toward release.
Below this lengthy wonder were two round, perfect nuts packed tightly inside his shorts. The bulge was more than my imagination, it was all real, all him, and exactly what I wished it was.
So I lifted my fingers to him and moved my touch along his thick cock. It felt like the heat of the beauty could burn its way right through the cotton. It was hot, even now in its limp form. His belly moved in and out slowly as he breathed, the rippled masses arrayed across it swelling and receding.
I tucked my fingers over the brim of his briefs and teased them downward. More of his glistening pubes bloomed outward until I uncovered the root of his mammoth manhood. Down here, his scent was strong. It entered my senses like a tonic, filling my head with ideas and my pants with lust. I could feel myself hard and hot and bulging. I wondered if I could break my own fly open with the strength of my dick's hardness.
I kissed the hidden head of his prick, moistening and darkening the cotton. He shifted against me, he was getting bigger, as if my lips alone could make him bigger. I surrounded the soft firmness of him, sucking hard against the material to pull it and him into my mouth. I kept tugging his shorts down, revealing more and more of his amazing inches until it was all revealed but for the pink head I held inside my mouth.
Then I caught the cotton in my teeth and pulled it off him, and he fell out of his shorts already pulsing dully with the blood I had sucked into his tool.
His warmth fell toward me and his cock pressed to my cheek. God, he was huge! Did they actually build dicks like that out of flesh instead of rubber? Even when I had described the perfect cock, the one I imagined was not nearly as beautiful and powerful and huge as Jackson's cock.
I pulled his shorts off his ass and down his legs and looked up at him, at all of him now naked before me.
He was fucking perfect. I could hardly fucking believe it. He was exactly the man I imagined in my wettest dreams and filthiest fantasies. “Oh my god,” I whispered.
“Stand up,” he asked. His dick was firm but so big that it hung down, thick and heavy. Or maybe it wasn't firm! Could a limp dick be that thick and long and fat?
I stood. He came forward and kissed me again, his hands on my chin, his touch gentle and loving. Then his fingers were unbuttoning my shirt. He got halfway down and grabbed the material and ripped it the rest of the way, buttons popping and flying everywhere. Then his lips sucked against me, pulling my small nipple into his mouth.
I gasped for air. The move was so sudden after all the gentle caressing and my own worship of his body that I felt my blood suddenly boil. My whole body heated up, blood was pumping into my dick so hard I thought it would explode. He shoved the shirt off my body and his hands were undoing my pants below while his mouth engaged mine and we sucked each other's tongues. He was extraordinarily talented and I was naked, too, before I ever realized it.
He paused. I was breathing hard. Other things were hard, too. “You're so beautiful,” he said. I felt a thrill run through me. The man, Jackson really meant it. Then he twisted his mouth against mine again, and suddenly the most beautiful man on the planet was attacking me.
And there was nothing else in the world I wanted more than that.
He shoved me against the wall pinned my arms over my head. His mouth moved down onto my neck. He plunged his tongue into my ear. He was an animal, a hungry beast who wanted to eat me. His mouth was everywhere, suddenly. His hands were, too. He pulled me against him, against his hugeness, against the bulging muscles and innate power that covered every inch of his frame. I closed my eyes and it almost felt as if he was growing larger, as if his muscles grew against my body.
I sank into his talented touch. I succumbed to him, to his body, his hands, his mouth. Good god, but Jackson was amazing. Everything, literally everything I ever dreamed of was happening to me.
I really liked Paul, from the moment I saw him. I knew what he saw when he looked at me. His description was very vivid, incredibly detailed. Once he let his mind explore the depths of pleasure, he was amazingly imaginative and we fell into a rhythm that illustrated to me that he was a possible recruit, just as Larry and I had been.
His body was lithe and compact. He was about six feet tall, with very long legs smoothly muscled. Not bulging with power, not defined with separate wedges of brawn, but well-trained and very hard. His ass was amazing, really. The guy must have been doing squat thrusts since he was two in order to develop such a thing. Grabbing it, hard, and kneading the flesh was like grasping a round, firm muscle that wouldn't yield except under intense handling.
I was getting great feedback from him, too. Very clear, almost cinematic. Becoming a disciple meant I was pleasure incarnate. It wasn't like before, precisely. I wasn't aware that the things I was doing were because someone else wanted those things. I became what they wanted without thought, without consideration, simply by being with them. I would be everything they dreamed, better even than that because I wasn't prescribed merely by their words or their thoughts, but by their very essence. It went deeper, even, than their conscious mind. I was perfect. Literally, perfect.
I devoured him. He made me amazing. He had a concentration and strength of the art of pleasure inside him that was highly unusual. He allowed me to be so much more than I'd been with others who called me to them. Once he succumbed to the idea, once he accepted what was happening, his dreams began manifesting as reality. He was in a realm of pleasure perhaps only a few imaginative and open-hearted souls could touch.
Beyond carnal, beyond emotional, to a place that fused those together and then went further, still. A passionate, blissful, intensely physical place where I was unchained, where all my talents could be brought to bear, where I could use him and pleasure him and be everything he wanted and he'd ask for more, still more.
I swallowed him down and his cock exploded, pumping a great load of his salty tang into my belly. I shoved my tongue up his ass, my long wet heat diving in deeper and deeper like no cock he ever felt. My kisses rattled his bones, shook him to the core. My prick bathed him in a tide of cum, I came often and fully, he drank me in, too. He welcomed me and demanded more and more of me and I could fulfill his every desire, again and again.
He was an adept. He understood pleasure like no other mortal man I'd been with. Whether he was like this with everyone, or whether my appearance had tapped reserves of what came natural to him but had never found physical outlet before, I didn't know.
So I took a chance, and I allowed him something during our lovemaking. I started him along the same path that I took to becoming who I am today, but I gave him a hard shove. I did it the same way William had done it to me, masking his awareness of what his body would be going through, but he'd grow bigger faster than I did.
He began to grow immediately. I gave him a gift. I passed it to him as if it was a kiss, or an embrace. And he would grow bigger and more powerful and more beautiful each passing hour, each passing day. Paul will wake up tomorrow and feel great, better than he'd ever felt in his life, and probably attribute that to me.
Not an unrealistic thought, and more true than he could possibly imagine. And if he were paying close attention, he'd notice that his arms were larger, the muscles fuller, rounder and harder. His belly's hard flatness would be broken by the ripples of a six-pack rising under his skin. He would have a chest, a real chest, two distinct hemispheres of power.
And his dick would feel heavier, because it was heavier. It would be thicker and more substantial and a bit longer than he was used to. And it would stretch longer and longer, growing firmer and fatter, all the time.
But he would discount all these things. Even later, that same day, when he was bigger, still. More improved, more handsome, more healthy. His shoulders would fill out his jackets better. His thighs would press out against the legs of his jeans. He would feel a tightness in the seat of his drawers because his ass was higher, rounder, even firmer than it had been.
That evening, perhaps with another man, maybe with me again, he would be much better looking and much stronger, but still he would discount it. If he bent his arm, the bicep will jump high and full. If he teased his nipple to ripeness, his whole body would respond. And his dick would be something to behold, because the essence of my magic, of the god's magic, would be working strongest there, building for him a tool that would deliver orgasmic floods of intense and lengthy erotic bliss both to himself and to his partners over and over and over again.
Paul would awaken a new man, a better man, a man like myself at the beginning of my story. And other men, too, would be joining us. And they will meet still others, all of them growing stronger, more beautiful, bigger with muscle and gifted with impossibly large and abnormally talented cocks hanging so thick and ripe and firm that the men they meet will think they are dreaming. They will believe that the men they meet and caress and fuck are the substance of fantasy, of stories on the Web, of fevered dreams in the dark of night in front of computer monitors.
But they aren't. Because I'm not.
And I'm waiting for you.
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