|1: ON A HAZY SUNDAY Danny’s secret muscle-breast fantasy kink begins bleeding into the real world.||2012-07-04|
|2: TROUBLE WILL ALWAYS FIND YOU||”|
|3: DANCING ALL THE TIME Trying for normality, Danny goes out dancing at Exodus, only to find that his muscle-breast fantasy is manifesting there, too.||”|
|4: ALL THE SECRETS THAT WE KEEP||”|
|5: WALK UNDER LADDERS||”|
|6: MAKE THE SUN TURN PURPLE||”|
|8: COVER ME||”|
|9: WHITE SKIES||”|
|10: LOOKING AT YOU||”|
I woke up far too early for my own liking. It seemed like a sin to wake up at 7:30 in the morning on my first summer after graduating college. I’d come to live with my father and my brother Matt a few days ago, and I was still trying to adapt to the routine of the household.
I stumbled out of bed, my designer underwear stretched with my morning hard-on. There was a knock on the door as my feet hit the ground, and I drowsily acknowledged the sound.
“Hey, Danny. You awake yet? Dad’s almost finished making breakfast.”
Matt was always an early riser. He was a consummate jock, a boisterous, outgoing 18-year-old with a tight muscular body that seemed to tell the world that he was a championship wrestler at school, just like Dad was 30 years ago. He wasn’t afraid to show it off, either, and I don’t think he owned a single shirt that had sleeves attached to it. Matt and I got along well, although Dad always seemed a bit more proud of Matt’s accomplishments than my own.
I thought about that as I slowly trudged to the bathroom. I was the more artistic of the two of us, more sensitive, and of course, I was the gay son. I had just finished studying for a creative writing degree. Dad was proud, of course, but it wasn’t like he could go to a stadium to watch me out-write someone else in front of hundreds of people. That’s not nearly as thrilling as seeing a bunch of lean, pumped guys feel each other up in tight, tiny uniforms.
I sighed deeply. Damn, I had to get laid soon.
Not that I had much of a problem with that. I seemed to have inherited the best aspects of both of my parents’ faces. And I had always kept up at the gym since right after puberty, so at 23, I wasn’t exactly an anorexic nerd. I was often told I had a dancers’ build, with strong legs, a tight round ass, and a lean torso. It was interesting to see Dad and Matt and I when we hit the beach, that’s for sure: three fit, handsome men in matching Speedos. Dad had always insisted on that ever since the divorce, no matter how strange it seemed. His way of “family bonding”, I guess.
I slipped a tank top on and made my way downstairs. Dad was scraping fresh scrambled eggs onto a plate for me. Matt was already eagerly devouring his share. Dad smiled as I squinted against the bright kitchen lights.
“Morning, sleepyhead.” Dad winked as I raised my eyebrow at his chipper demeanor. I had to admit, Dad was hot, although I tried not to admit that too often. Or loudly. Or in public. Dad was in his mid-40s, but he was built like a 30-year-old. His white t-shirt was stretched tight over a pair of solid, manly pecs and his bulging gym-pumped biceps. His boxer briefs were similarly pulled taught over a pair of thick, powerful thighs and a full muscle butt that seemed to be like a living advertisement for squat thrusts. A barely noticeable belly had started to grow, an inescapable fact of his age, but like the rest of his body it was firm and solid.
7:45 and already time for a cold shower. I tried to focus more on my breakfast and hoped neither Dad nor Matt would notice the half-hard bulge in my shorts.
“Are we still on for the trip to the beach today, Dad?”
“Sure, Danny. Let me just—” The shrill ring of the phone cut him off mid-sentence. I sighed as my shoulders sank. This always seemed to happen. Dad quickly picked it up.
“Jackson Harrison here. Yeah. Yeah. Well, I had planned to take my sons out to Sandpiper Park and—oh. Well, that’s a problem. OK. No, it’s OK. I’ll be there by 10. Good-bye.”
“Problems?” I don’t know why I asked the question.
“Yeah. The Devine project is—well, let’s just say that some people tend to get more unreasonable as they get richer. We’ve got to make some last-minute revisions to the plans.” Dad was an architect, one of the best around. He dealt with a lot of high-end projects, had even designed houses for movie stars and pro athletes. The Devine family had just hired Dad recently, just after I got to town, actually. They’d just come into a bit of money due to something their oldest son had done, but I wasn’t sure what. Maybe he was a pop star or something.
“So, we won’t be able to do the beach today, boys.”
“Awww, man!” Matt was always more vocal about his disappointment than I was. “But I wanted to try out that new blue and gold Speedo! No girl can resist a guy that looks good in a Speedo, you know.” I rolled my eyes.
“We’ll have to go next week. I promise.” Dad was always making promises.
“I wish you didn’t have to work so much, Dad. I decided to spend the summer here because I never see you, and you’re always—”
“I know, Daniel, I know. I promise, I swear that we’ll be spending a lot of time together this summer. Just let me get through the teething stage with this project.”
“All right,” I said with a sigh. “I suppose I can see if Luke is working today.”
“I’ll call up Mike.”
“Fine. Danny, do you mind—?”
“It’s no problem. I’ll drive him over.”
“OK. I’m so sorry, boys.” Dad started cleaning up the breakfast dishes. I shooed him away from the sink and started to take care of them myself. Dad smiled and patted me on the back as he turned up the stairs to shower and change. I watched him walk and couldn’t take my eyes off of him, the broad back, the thick neck, the ass that seemed to wink at you as he walked away.
Goddamn, I needed to get laid. Luke better not be working late today.
I dropped Matt off at his buddy’s house and drove downtown. I parked the car and began the walk to Retro Future Coffee. It was the best coffee house in town, as far as I was considered, but parking around it was always full and always expensive, so it paid to park six blocks away and walk. Luke happened to work there, too, and he was almost always there on Sunday mornings, even though the place was never busy then.
I’d known Luke longer than any of my other friends. He was my best friend up until the divorce, and even after, we were always very close, no matter that I only spent a small portion of my time here with Dad. Luke was from Manchester, and even though he’d lived here for 10 years, he still had the most adorable English accent. Not to mention an adorable, smooth swimmer’s body that I was more than a little familiar with. Luke and I had never decided to date, but we were more than happy to fool around to our hearts’ content.
I walked into Retro Future, the only customer being an urban hipster type too absorbed in his Sunday crossword to notice me walking in. Luke was cleaning the barista station, quietly singing along to the French chill-out music playing on the café’s sound system. I didn’t see anybody else behind the counter, and Luke didn’t notice me right away. That was all right by me, as it gave me more of a chance to see how nicely his low-rise jeans fit him.
“Oh, hey, Danny! Didn’t see you there.”
“That’s all right. What’s going on?”
“Not much, as you can see. Anything you want to drink?”
“Not right now. I was wondering how long you’re working today. My plans got canceled.”
“The beach trip with your Dad? Man, that’s a tragedy. I was looking forward to pictures of you in your new Speedo.”
“Well, I could model it for you later—when you get off work—”
“Oh, I can’t today. Two of our people called in ‘sick.’” Luke punctuated his statement with air quotes. He ran his fingers through his thick blond hair. “I’m going to have to work until close.”
“Dammit. I just can’t get a break today.”
“I’m sorry, man. But hey, I have the next two days off. If you’re not doing anything tomorrow night, we should hit X-Static Night over at Exodus.”
“X-what at where?”
“X-Static Night. At Exodus. They do it every Monday night. Where you been?”
“Is that a new club or something?”
“Geez, man. You go away for a few months and look what happens to you. Don’t worry, mate. You’ll remember as soon as we step in the door.”
“Uhhh—OK.” I was about to ask Luke for more information. After all, this was all new to me, but Luke acted as if I knew all about it intimately. Unfortunately, a cadre of anxious church-goers in their Sunday best, pouring out of the cathedral down the street prevented me from hanging around.
“This is going to be painful. I’ll talk to you later, OK?” Luke stood at attention at the register.
“OK. Later, buddy.” I waved and ran out of the café. What was I going to do now? No beach meant no parading around in my Speedo. No Luke meant no release. I could pump off, sure, but I was possessed of the kind of sexual energy that only gets satisfied when another person is present. I was getting hard just thinking about it.
Luke and I experimented with a lot of different things, but Luke had never known my true passion, the one secret, hidden fetish that I didn’t tell anybody about. I was fascinated with tit boys. Not transgender people, and not the ubiquitous “chicks with dicks” that you see in every porno store. These were muscular, masculine guys that happened to also have a pair of big, round tits. They weren’t soft tits like a woman would have, but firm and solid and virile, if tits could be called that. The tit boys were proud and strong individuals, boldly destroying expectations of gender and sexuality by their mere presence, flaunting thousands of years of social conditioning from religion and politics.
But they weren’t real. Not in the slightest. I found relief from my obsession through writing countless stories about tit boys, their experiences, their passions. They almost always followed the same pattern. Men of all sexualities were always drawn to them, and they always manage to inflame people beyond belief. Their tits were always like sexual organs, swelling like a cock until they came, shooting masculine tit milk all over everything.
The stories helped me to a point. A friend of mine was also a visual artist who did photo manipulations, “morphs”, to create tit boys. They were beautifully done, and very natural looking, but again, they weren’t real. More than anything, I wanted to meet a tit boy, to worship him, to discover him for the first time as if he were an uncharted island, documenting each and every feature and curve and sensation.
But it would never happen. Never. It wasn’t physically possible. So I kept the stories to myself. I kept my wants and desires hidden and locked up and secretive. The concept was just too bizarre for most people to understand. I didn’t want to be labeled as a tranny-chaser, and depending on the person, being gay was bad enough, never mind anything more bizarre than that. I figured I must be one of the only people in the world who found tit boys arousing, and so I figured that anyone else would think it was just—wrong.
What Luke had said disturbed me to a point. I remember writing a short story once about a club called Exodus that had a night called X-Static. At first, I thought I must be hearing things. Then, I wondered if he’d somehow found the story I’d written and was playing some kind of weird joke on me. But Luke wasn’t the sort to do that. It left me very confused, but a horde of heavily made-up housewives had prevented me from finding out just what the hell Luke was talking about.
I tried to clear my head as I walked around downtown. Might as well do a little shopping, maybe take in a movie, since I won’t be doing anything else. I walked into the bookstore, prepared to do my usual magazine flipping. Page through the muscle magazines and drool over the big, steroid-dependent bodybuilders. Leaf through the gay magazines to check out the ridiculous fashions and read about the things I was supposed to find fascinating but really found “terribly dull,” as Luke would say. I was about to reach for a copy of Men’s Workout when a magazine I’d never seen before caught my eye.
“TITS POWER,” screamed the cover. The magazine was made up to look like an old beefcake publication from the 1950s, complete with the nude male model with a strategically placed thigh obscuring his package.
“How Robert D. Cups Developed His 59 Inch Chest!” was the enthusiastic headline. The cover model, Mr. Cups I presumed, was a handsome man built like a Greek god, resting against a white plaster pillar. A typical muscle mag cover, but with one remarkable exception: Mr. Robert D. Cups sported a pair of perky, round tits that were barely contained by a pair of thin yellow straps.
I jumped back from the magazine as if it had tried to bite me like a snake. I almost fell to the floor in shock, and as I leaned against the opposite magazine rack to steady myself, I took a closer look at the cover. “A Magazine For Men Who Want To Develop Their CHEST.” No doubt about it, Robert D. Cups had one of the nicest, juiciest pair of man tits I’d ever imagined. They sat confident and strong on top what must have been thick slabs of pectoral muscle. He didn’t try to hide his tits, didn’t try to fake modesty. The yellow fabric was stretched taught, nearly transparent, the nipples threatening to tear it open at any moment. Mr. Cups was the unashamed king of the muscle tit in this picture, and he wanted to make sure everybody knew it.
I began breathing heavily, sweat quickly running down my forehead. My outburst must have alerted somebody, because as I leaned in to check out the cover, an attractive, uniform-clad man turned the corner.
“Is everything all right?”
“Are you sure? Is there something I can help you find?”
“No—I’m fine.” The man turned to leave. “Oh! Wait!” He slowly turned, looking a tad impatient. I clutched a copy of Tits Power and showed it to him. “How long have you been carrying this magazine?”
“That one? We’ve had that one for years.”
“Have you never heard of Men’s Workout?”
“What do you—?” I turned to look at the magazine, and Robert D. Cups was gone, replaced with a moody shot of T. J. Hoban and his phenomenal eight-pack, the 59-inch chest headline replaced with promises of bigger biceps and better sex.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Never mind.” I turned a little red as the clerk left, giving me a quizzical stare. I put the magazine back on the rack and shook my head. I would have bet my life that I had just been holding a copy of Tits Power. I knew I wasn’t crazy. First Luke’s comments and now this? What the hell was going on?
I tried not to think about the strange things that had happened today as I drove to Mike’s house to pick up Matt. I knew I wasn’t crazy. At least I was pretty sure I wasn’t. I felt like I should talk to somebody, but who? Matt would not only not be sympathetic, but he would likely tease me about it for years to come. Dad would probably show some concern, but in the end, we’d just end up making an appointment to see a psychiatrist. And Luke—well, I had no idea how Luke would react.
Better to keep it to myself as I sighed and waited for Matt to finish up talking with Mike. I honked the horn impatiently. Matt didn’t even turn to look at me. He and Mike were standing outside Mike’s house talking. Mike was also a wrestler, built just like Matt if a couple inches taller and two years older. Even in front of his friends, Matt couldn’t help showing himself off. He was wearing a tight muscle shirt and jeans that looked almost vacuum-packed around his butt.
I smirked to myself about the ridiculousness of the situation. Mike was straight. Matt was straight, or at least I was pretty certain he was straight. What was the point of showing off? Almost on cue, Mike held his hands in front of his chest as if he was clutching a pair of tits. He continue talking, keeping his hands there, smiling the whole time. Matt looked alternately amused and confused.
I sighed deeply. I was getting more than a little impatient. Between the strange experiences I’d had today and the wicked amount of lust that had been coursing through my body all morning, I really wanted to get home and jerk off. It wasn’t much, like taking coffee for a headache, but it would help. I rolled down the window and leaned out.
“Hey, stud muffin! Let’s go!”
Did I just call my own brother a “stud muffin?” Damn, I needed to get off more than I thought. Not to worry, I told myself. You’re just speaking in Jock. That’s all. Mike wrinkled his nose at me, but Matt just slapped his buddy on the arm and waved good-bye. He jumped in the car and we drove off.
“Pretty engaging conversation you guys were having, huh?”
“Talking about Sofia Vergara again?”
“Mike made the universal symbol for ‘big tits.’”
“Oh. No. We were talking about Mark.”
“He’s this guy I know from school.”
“He’s on the swim team.”
“Where do the big tits factor into this stimulating discussion?”
“Oh. Mark got himself a pair last week.”
I almost missed the red light. I slammed on the brakes, nearly giving both of us whiplash.
“Dude! Be careful!” Matt was rubbing his neck.
“What did you say?”
“I said ‘be careful.’”
“No. About Mark.”
“Oh, yeah. He got tits.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean he got tits. Big, round ones, I guess. Mike said they looked really nice.” Matt seemed entirely nonplussed during the entire conversation, as if a 18-year-old swim jock installing a pair of tits on himself was something that happened all the time, like getting a hair cut.
I licked my lips briefly at the thought—a world where men grew tits all the time, every day, and nobody said a word. Where tit boys were a common, accepted occurrence and not a subversive, sexual fantasy. It was too delicious an idea to dismiss. I was instantly hard. If the car behind me hadn’t angrily honked its horn, I would have missed the green light at the intersection.
“You OK, bro? You seem really spaced.”
“I’m fine. Tell me more about Mark.”
“He’s one of the school’s best swimmers. Took champion last year. He’s pretty hot, too.” That phrase coming from Matt’s mouth shocked some deep, subconscious part of my brain. I looked over at him with skeptical eyes. “I—I mean, for a guy.” Matt corrected himself quickly.
“But now he has tits?”
“Yeah. Big ones. Mike says they’re D-cups.”
“So he’s seen them?”
“Yeah. Said that Mark’s showing them off to everybody he can. Mike said Mark ran into him the other day and was pressing them against him. He said they felt real firm, like muscles, not like tits.”
“And this doesn’t disturb you at all?”
“No, dude. He got tits. What’s the big deal?”
I shook my head vigorously. My earlier resolve had eroded. I was most definitely, assuredly, going crazy. I thought through the psychology classes I took at university. I continued talking as I ran through the memory bank trying to find an amateur diagnosis.
“Quit calling me dude. It makes you sound uneducated.”
I sighed audibly.
“So what does Mark plan do to with these new D-cup tits that you aren’t disturbed by?”
“I don’t know. He’ll probably have a lot of fun with them. I know I would.”
“Have fun. If I had a pair of tits like that, I’d never want to leave my bedroom!”
I slammed on the brakes again. My hand flew out at the same time and found the middle of Matt’s chest. I pressed down, keeping him firmly in his seat as the car came to a sudden stop. I let my hand linger there for a second just to be sure. Yes, he was normal. No tits, just a pair of firm, solid, masculine pecs that no 18-year-old should legally be allowed to have.
“Quit calling me dude!”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Nothing. I’m just—very, very tired.” I started the car again. We were almost home. My cock was painfully hard, and if I didn’t get my hands on it soon, I was pretty sure that my balls were going to explode. “So—Matt—why don’t you get tits, too?”
“Are you kidding? And give up wrestling?”
“Boys with tits aren’t allowed to wrestle? I’d have thought that would have made it more interesting.”
“No, du—uh—bro.” I rolled my eyes, but at least he was trying. “Coach Miller found out about it and kicked Mark off the swim team.”
“Just because he had tits?”
“Yeah. Coach Miller said it was because he wouldn’t be as fast through the water with those big tits. But I heard it was because Mark tried to make Coach Miller his tit bitch.”
“Tit bitch?” My cock throbbed in time with each word.
“Jon and Justin said they saw them in the locker room together. They—” Matt’s voice trailed off as we pulled into the driveway. I got out of the car, trying to hide the huge bulge threatening to break the zipper on my shorts.
“Why don’t you go in, Matt? I’ll get the mail.” Matt nodded and ran inside, eager for dinner time. At least I could hold the mail over my crotch to hide my hard-on. I filled my head with as many images as I could to tame my cock. Ice. Cold water. Waterfalls. Men playing under waterfalls. Men with tits playing under waterfalls in tiny pink thongs. Tiny pink thongs that—dammit—this was not working.
I went to get the mail, actually thankful for once that it contained a new copy of Flex and Exercise For Men Only and not a copy of Tits Power. I was grateful for any sign that I wasn’t turning into a raving schizophrenic. As I was paging through the mail, I heard some noise across the street and turned to look. A strapping young police officer had stopped a man riding his bike across the street. The biker was attractive, his legs wrapped in tight red spandex shorts that prominently showed off a mouth-watering butt and tantalizing package. His matching red top had been unzipped to the navel, the better to allow a pair of pert, shiny tits to fall out.
A pair of pert, shiny tits. This man had a pair of pert, shiny tits. They looked real to me, the same skin tone, the same toned athletic appeal of his butt and biceps. He had his hands on his hips as the officer spoke to him, and the tit boy smiled knowingly as the officer nervously tried to write him a ticket.
I thought I might explode any second, like I was under a massive amount of pressure. Every muscle in my body seemed tight, ready to loose itself any moment, a panther ready to pounce. Luke’s comments, the magazine I found, Matt’s story, they all faded away into the ether. No less than 20 feet away from me was a real, live, honest-to-gods tit boy. I was either delusional or dreaming, and as I winced in pain as I pinched myself, I realized I was wide awake.
“You just—you just—you can’t be flaunting those—those things! It’s against the law!” The police officer was turning red as he waved his hand in front of the man’s tits.
“Why, officer? There’s no law against men going shirtless on a hot, sticky, summer day.” The tit boy took the officer’s hat off and ran his fingers through the man’s short red hair.
“Mr. Bonamy! You are dangerously close to—”
“Please, call me Guy.” There was the slightest hint of a French accent in his voice.
“This is public indecency. You—you need to cover those up right now before—”
“Before what, Officer…”
“O’Brien. Officer Brendan O’Brien.”
“Well, Brendan, as you can see,” Guy tried to zip up the shirt, but he succeeded in only moving the zipper about three inches, “these just can’t be zipped up. They can’t be contained.” The tits were squeezed in closer together as Guy tried to zip up the shirt, pressing against each other, reaching out to Officer O’Brien, begging him to touch them, teasing him, daring him to take them on.
“Those—those—your—umm—chest, Mr. Bonamy—”
“Your chest needs to be…” Officer O’Brien desperately tried to cover the tits with the spandex, a futile effort that served only to excited Guy further, the tits getting jostled and fondled by the nervous cop. The tit boy moaned deeply, and the mound in his shorts grew noticeably larger.
“What’s the matter, Brendan? Are they not big enough for you? Are these not standard issue?”
“Don’t you like my big, round man tits, Brendan?”
That was all I could take, and I did something I’d never done before.
My cock exploded in my shorts, shooting a massive amount of hot cream into my underwear. I felt the cum thoroughly soak through the underwear to my shorts. My whole crotch became soaking wet, my balls working overtime to pump massive amounts of fresh juice, as if I’d never come even once in my entire life. My body convulsed, my skin leaked sweat, and I had to grab on to the mailbox to avoid slamming into the pavement when I felt my knees buckle. For a moment, the whole world went white, engulfed in a flash of brilliant light. I dropped the mail loudly, and both Officer O’Brien and Guy turned to see a young man clutching for dear life against a mailbox.
I slid to the ground, a widening stain appearing on the front of my khaki shorts. My legs twitched with the aftereffects of orgasm, and a massive, broad grin formed on my face. I laughed to myself quietly, knowingly. I’d written about this scenario once, in a correspondence with my fellow tit boy devotee, the visual artist. But I’d never written this dialogue or given the characters names. But everything else was there: the nervous cop, the defiant tit boy biker, and the palpable, infections sexual energy radiating from their meeting.
The two men ran across the street, and I opened my eyes to see them looking down at me, their hands reaching out for mine.
“Are you OK, sir?” Officer O’Brien seemed nothing like the nervous, blustering individual from a moment ago.
“I’m—I’m fine.” I turned to look at Guy. His tits were gone, replaced with a pair of lean pecs that one would expect on an avid biker. His shirt wasn’t even unzipped.
“You must have slipped or something.”
“Yeah. I must have slipped. Thanks for helping me up, guys.”
“No problem, sir.” O’Brien tipped his hat slightly.
“I—I need to go—” I quickly collected the mail and ran inside the house. I slammed the door and ran up to my room so quickly I left skid marks in the hardwood floors of the living room. I closed and locked the door and fell onto my bed.
This is a dream. It’s all a dream. I can’t be schizo. I can’t be crazy. It’s just a dream—I’ll wake up any minute now—a dream—a dream—I’m not crazy—not crazy—
I had gone 24 hours without suffering a psychotic break, and I felt that that was a very, very good thing. My life since Sunday had taken a supremely strange turn. After my explosive orgasm on Sunday, I had decided to become a bit of a recluse, hiding in my room for fear of encountering another fantasy come to life. Things like that simply did not happen in the real world. Things like that meant you were delusional, possibly schizophrenic, but definitely not 100%, tip-top fine.
I had e-mailed my visual artist friend about my situation, after finally screwing up my courage and admitting that I had hallucinated at least three times in the past 24 hours, but I hadn’t heard back yet. If anyone could understand, he would. It was getting very difficult to hide what was going on in my head from Matt and Dad. There was a raging river inside my brain, and if I didn’t maintain an air of calm, the dam would burst.
A call from Luke finally snapped me out of my self-imposed exile.
“Are we still on for tonight?”
“X-Static Night at Exodus, remember?”
“Oh, yeah. Yeah.”
I didn’t know what to say. This was the first indication that something was not right, when Luke reference something from a story he never could have possibly read. Given my current state, perhaps it would be a good idea to bow out.
“I don’t know if I can—I—”
“What’s your excuse?” Luke wasn’t hiding the disbelief in his voice.
“It’s—complicated. I don’t know if I can tell you.”
“I’m one of your oldest friends, Danny. You can tell me anything. Listen, I have to hit the shower. Why don’t you meet me at Retro Future before we go to the club? Maybe 8:00? You can tell me then.”
“OK. Retro Future at 8. See you then.”
What the hell was I going to tell Luke? Oh, I can’t go to Exodus because you see it doesn’t really exist, I made it all up, and it’s probably crawling with tit boys, and if it was, well that would mean I was crazy, wouldn’t it? Oh, what’s a tit boy? Just something I think about all the time, every day, and something that’s causing me to hallucinate and get horny all the time, and is it me, or is my cock really hard right now?
For fuck’s sake. I couldn’t even talk to myself without rambling. Tonight would be difficult. Maybe I’ll just tell him that my grandmother died.
I walked into Retro Future with a massive load of fake confidence. My wardrobe helped: a tight black muscle shirt with steel rings lining the shoulders and a pair of vinyl pants I virtually sewed onto myself, not to mention a pair of sleek black boots. Luke was wearing a thin, tight white top that was almost see-through with a pair of shiny, silver pleather pants. It was like yin and yang between the two of us, black and white, dark hair and blond hair. Luke had already taken the liberty of ordering me my favorite, a white mocha. He smiled as I sat down.
“So, what’s this big secret that almost prevented you from coming out?”
“I haven’t gone out yet.”
“Well, you’re not dressed to play cards.”
I sighed deeply. I figured that sooner or later I would have to tell someone in the real world, face to face, about this. Better Luke than anybody else, I would think.
“Do you know what a tit boy is?” I took a sip of my mocha to let the question sink in. Luke didn’t hesitate for a second.
I nearly spit out my drink.
“Yeah. Who doesn’t know what a tit boy is?”
“You mean you’re not shocked? You’re not going to say ‘Ewww?’”
“Of course not, man. What’s wrong with tit boys?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” I smiled a little and shifted in my chair. This was definitely becoming stranger. “In fact, I think about them all the time.”
“You wanna know a secret?” Luke leaned forward in his chair and fake-whispered to me. “Me, too.”
“Yeah. Ever since the first time I went to X-Static.”
“So what do they do at X-Static?”
“They have tit boys, of course. They come out on stage and shake their tits and sometimes, if you’re lucky, you get to touch them.”
“They’re just there, right out in the open?”
“Of course. Why not?”
“Well, it’s just—how long has this been going on?”
“About six or seven months now. The place gets packed. You can hardly move. It’s like a madhouse.”
Six or seven months. That was around the time I wrote the story about X-Static and the tit boy dancers there, how they mesmerized the crowd, how they filled them with lust, turned them into sex-crazed animals. I remember wishing I had that power over people, wishing that I could experience what it would be like to be a slave to tit lust, to give my entire being over to the worship of tits, mind, body, and soul.
The something very strange that had started at this very place yesterday morning was quickly blossoming into something entirely not right. No matter how much I tried to deny that things were happening, no matter how much I told myself I wasn’t crazy, all the evidence pointed to something beyond my control. Maybe I was completely delusional. The tit boy magazine, Matt’s friend getting himself tits, seeing Guy flaunt his tits in front of Officer O’Brien, maybe all of it was just one massive hallucination, one singular psychosis that was slowly eroding my brain. I could either fight it full force or give in to it, and either way I knew it wasn’t going to stop. I didn’t understand any of it, but I was becoming too tired to fight.
“Really? They all come to see the tit boys?”
“Oh, yeah. In fact,” Luke took one last slug of his drink, “if we don’t get there soon, we won’t get in. But don’t worry, I know the bouncer.”
I quickly finished my drink, chasing the hot, burning drink with a strong swallow of ice water. Luke got up from the table and walked behind, placing both hands on my shoulders and leaning in close enough to kiss me.
“You’re going to love Tony.”
Luke was right. Exodus was filled to bursting with men, from skinny twinks to rotund bears to muscle heads. The music was pounding, with DJ Kiwi spinning the choicest club sounds of the minute. It was a sea of spandex and tank tops, writhing and pumping to a relentless beat. For a moment, I completely forgot about the curious state my mind was in, caught up in the energy of the club.
That all changed when I took a look at the stage. On either side was a foam replica of Michaelangelo’s statue of David, but each one had been given a pair of full, masculine tits and was wearing a tiny, superficial posing thong. It was David as tit boy exhibitionist. Glitter covered the stage and the curtains, shimmering in the blue and purple lights throbbing throughout the club. Luke grabbed me by the hand and led up to a point close to the stage.
“Wow! They really go all out for this!” I tried to make myself heard over the latest Lady Gaga club mix.
“Are you kidding? It’s their busiest night!” Luke was moving in place to the beat. The crowd of people made it impossible for him to do anything else.
“When does the show start?”
“In about 20 minutes, probably,” Luke checked his watch. “Why don’t we dance in the meantime?”
Luke wrapped his arms around my waist and moved in closer, the top of his thigh rubbing against my crotch. I responded by putting my arms around his torso, one hand on his back, the other grabbing his solid butt.
“Why, Mr. Lucas, I had no idea,” I said with mock surprise.
“Shut up,” he said with a smile and leaned in to kiss me. We moved out bodies to the beat, grinding our groins into each other, pressing our tight torsos together, kissing deeply and desperately. Making out on the dance floor was always fun, especially with Luke. Again, I forgot all about the fact that I may be going schizo. It was almost blissful to feel Lucas against me, almost like I’d never experienced it before. Maybe what was happening to me wasn’t such a bad thing, after all. Every sensation in my body seemed to be magnified. I felt like tearing my clothes off and demanding that Luke fuck me right on the dance floor, a warm-up preshow for the main entertainment.
This continued on through two more extended remixes of otherwise forgettable pop songs. Luke and I continued to grind and move, slowly making each of us more and more turned on. Perhaps this was a warm-up after all. I was about to suggest to Luke that we ditch the club altogether when the music died down and a spotlight hit the stage. A well-dressed man with a carefully trimmed goatee stepped on stage, the metallic pinstripes of his suit shining with each step he took.
“Welcome, gentlemen, to X-Static Night here at Exodus!” The crowd erupted into applause. “Are you ready for the most spectacular show in town?” The crowd roared that it was, in fact, ready. “Well, then let’s. Get. Started!”
The crowd cheered wildly. Men began to jostle each other for a closer spot. The music started back up again, a dance track with a bass so heavy I could feel it reverberate throughout my entire body. The emcee shook his hips a little, spun around, and raised his microphone again.
“Let’s bring out our first entertainer! He’s 23, he’s in great shape, he’s one of your favorites here at X-Static! Please give it up for tit. Boy. TOOOOONY!”
The crowd became noticeably more agitated at the mention of the name. I thought I would get crushed to death. Even Luke was whooping and hollering. Someone pushed me from behind, and I turned around to find out what happened. I was ready to yell at someone, but the pusher cut me off.
“Oh, sorry, man! It’s kind of crazy here!”
“Have we met?” He was handsome, built well, with the dark hair and warm skin tone of someone of pure Italian descent. A hot guy, smiling at me with a confused look on his face. In other words, he was just as I’d written him.
“Not entirely. Where’s your twin brother?”
“He flies in'tomorrow. Are you sure we haven’t met? You look really familiar.”
“No. I’m sure. This is my first night at X-Static.”
“Oh, man, are you in for a treat. Tit Boy Tony’s my favorite! You’re gonna love him!” Marco winked at me as I turned back to the stage. I thought I felt his hand caress my butt for a second, although in this mob of people, that could have been anyone’s hand.
The music swelled and the emcee was replaced on stage with one of the most stunning sights I’d ever seen in my life. A young man appeared on stage, gym-trained muscles covering his body, a white bodysuit tightly wrapped around his body, his package obscenely highlighted by the stretched fabric. In any club, he would be a star based just on his frame alone. But Tony had a pair of round, full tits to compliment that delicious body. His nipples were prominent through the fabric even in the dim lights of the club, like two bullets ready to shoot at a moment’s notice.
Tony spun and leapt and danced across the stage. He was remarkably flexible, obviously a trained dancer. He also knew exactly how to use his body, dipping and grinding and pumping his hips, stretching his body to the limit. The bodysuit accentuated every movement, outlining every muscle, from his diamond-shaped calves all the way up to those succulent-looking tits. The tits didn’t shake or jiggle, but bounced soundly, like solid spheres of perfect flesh on a perfect body.
Tony bent over, showing his butt to the crowd, then slid his legs down into a wide split. He arched his back, then flipped back into a handstand, his beautiful tits seeming to defy gravity. He jumped to his feet again, grabbing his tits with his hands. He seemed to weigh them, judge them, and then he looked to the crowd, his eyebrows raised as if asking the crowd for permission to proceed.
“How about it, gentlemen? What do you want?” The emcee asked from off-stage.
“Show us your TITS!” The crowd sang in unison.
“Hoooow about it, Tony?” The emcee’s voice dripped with salaciousness. Tony responded by reaching behind him and slowly unzipping the bodysuit, the sexual tension in the club rising to unprecedented levels. It seemed to wash over the crowd like a great wave of anticipation. It seemed to take Tony forever to unwrap himself, and he obviously relished the effect it had on the crowd.
He began to peel his sleeves off, turning his back to the crowd. When the bodysuit was hanging around his waist, his torso naked and glistening, he flexed his arms and tightened his back. The crowd was frenzied at this point, and I thought a riot was going to break out until Tony slowly turned around, proudly displaying a pair of swollen tits that put Guy’s defiant chest to shame.
Tony’s bodysuit seemed to hang on his crotch, threatening to fall off and leave him completely naked, but nobody seemed to care about that. His tits were center stage now, and it was like the whole world fell away to show me just those two perfect, flawless globes. They were turgid and full, ready to milk, ready to orgasm. The nipples seemed to be like tiny gateways, promising torrents of cream to anyone who could unlock them. Tony shook his chest, the tits so full of milk that they barely moved. Tony quietly twisted his nipples, and even in the pulsating lights of the club, the few drops of milk that appeared on his fingers were obvious to people clear across the room.
“Uh oh!” called the emcee from backstage. “Looks like Tony needs to be milked!” Tony nodded, licking his lips slowly and seductively. He stepped closer to the stage and bent over, a few drops of milk hitting the foreheads and open mouths of the luckier patrons. Marco and Luke both nudged me at once.
“This is the best part!” they said in unison. Luke grabbed my hand and tried to push closer to the stage. We were only a few feet away from the edge when I caught Tony’s eye and time seemed to stop.
Tony looked straight at me, his eyes seeming to burrow themselves into a point beyond the physical. Everything slowed down and dissolved into nothingness., and for a second there was only the two of us, tit boy and devotee, the god and his worshiper. Tony smiled broadly and his voice hit me like a thunderbolt.
At that moment, I was violently shoved back into reality by someone pushing me to the side, eager to get into Tony’s sexual aura. Tony twisted his nipples once more, and his tits unleashed their milk upon the crowd, dousing the men in front of the stage with fresh cream. It covered their faces, poured down their mouths, and slid down their aching bodies. Tony’s milk was generous and plentiful, though, and it ended up splashing those of us who weren’t lucky to be in the immediate area of effect. I felt several large, heavy drops hit my face, warm and comforting, like a lover’s touch.
I nearly lost consciousness at that point, just like when the world flared white when I saw Guy shove his tits into O’Brien’s face. I felt like the sun was entering my body through those drops of tit milk, like electricity was being pumped directly into my veins through them. The music became a din, the world became a blur, and my mind was spinning. I didn’t notice Luke on one side of me and Marco on the other, or their tongues eagerly liking up the milk on my face like starving cats.
“Tastes so good!” Luke found an extra drop on my chin and collected it with his finger. He gingerly placed it in my mouth and I automatically sucked on it. It tasted like liquid fire, like pure sex distilled into a liquid. My entire body cramped up like a pumped muscle, and I sank my hands into Luke and Marco’s shoulders to steady myself. Luke responded by securing both arms around my torso, while Marco wrapped his arms around my waist.
“You OK there?” Marco sounded genuinely concerned.
“I’m—I’m fine—Luke, I think we better—”
“Right you are, mate.” Luke supported me on his shoulder, practically dragging me toward the door.
“Hope to see you here again, buddy!” Marco said, slapping me on the back. “If you’re ever in the neighborhood, you should—oh, holy shit! That’s Frank McGrath! What’s he doing here? He’s heading backstage, I gotta catch him! Yo, Frank! I’m your biggest fan!”
“Luke, I feel—”
“Come on, buddy.”
“Luke, I feel so—”
“Shhh—let’s get you home. It’s been a big night for you.”
I would call that the understatement of the century. I didn’t remember much of the car ride home, or actually landing in bed. I just know that Luke held me all night as my head descended through a dizzying miasma of uncertainty. Even when I woke up the next morning, Luke’s firm, naked body against my own, I could still feel Tony’s milk working its way through my body, warming every inch of my body.
What I still couldn’t figure out, though, is how he seemed to know me. The way he said, “It’s You” with a capital “Y.” So much reverence from one so perfect. Curious.
I don’t know what I expected after my night at Exodus and my experience with Tit Boy Tony. Were tit boys going to suddenly jump out at me? Were random men on the street going to suddenly sprout huge, tremendous tits, gushing fresh milk onto the pavement?
I could only hope.
Sadly, that was not to be the case. Life proceeded fairly normally for an extended period of time. Well, at least for 36 hours, which was for me, a near miracle. I must admit that to find that I my tit boy schizophrenia had lessened was a little disheartening. I had just accepted that I was going completely insane, almost looking forward to seeing tit boys everywhere, only to find that I was perhaps normal after all.
I began paging through every magazine rack to find another picture of Robert D. Cups on the cover of Tits Power. I began cruising the streets of the neighborhood to find another Guy boldly flaunting his tits at authority figures. If seeing tit boys everywhere was driving me crazy, now not seeing them was driving me crazy. One glimpse of them in the real world, and I was a man obsessed.
My lust was coloring everything I did or saw. I couldn’t talk to my brother without checking out his biceps or his butt. I couldn’t look at my father without wondering what he looked like when he was naked, sweaty, and hard. Even my conversations with Luke were colored with phrases that barely qualified as double entendres, resulting in at least one night of intense making out leading to hand jobs.
I was doing everything to calm myself down. Cold showers, ice cubes down the pants, reading long and boring accounts of religion in the Middle Ages. It was only a temporary respite. I ran laps, did push-ups until I thought my pecs would explode. Finally, I decided to blast the steam out of my body and headed to the gym.
No matter how stupid an idea that might seem like.
I made my way to the gym, prepared for a long afternoon of sweat and sweet muscle ache. Working out was always a major release for me, sometimes an even better physical escape than sex, especially if my heart was in it. At that moment, my whole self was into purging my body of physical need. If anything else, the gym heavily catered to the gay community, and even if I couldn’t clean and jerk my lust away, I could recruit someone else to jerk it away for me.
I came out of the locker room dressed in a tight muscle-shirt and a pair of shorts that barely qualified as workout gear. I didn’t have a lot of muscle mass, but I lean and toned, and these clothes were tight in all the right places. To be sure, I turned a few heads when I stepped into the weight room, if only briefly.
I didn’t waste time, immediately jumping into my routine. I blasted my body, starting with my legs and working my way up, letting the slow pumping fire work its way up, that pleasing pain that lets you know that your muscles as growing stronger. I was energized, my sets fueled by a hedonistic adrenaline that made me work harder and harder as the minutes wore on. Instead of calming me down and blowing off steam, my workout was making me even lustier.
I couldn’t figure out why I ever thought this was a good idea. I was surrounded by muscle and sweat. My every movement was dedicated to strengthening my body to a masculine ideal. My head was filled with images of bodybuilders, fitness models, tangles of taut bodies. I might as well have gone to a pool party orgy for all the good this was doing me.
But I had come to the gym with a purpose, and I was determined to finish the job. I had worked my legs, my back, my arms, and my shoulders. All that was left was my chest. I made my way toward the chest machines, my shorts straining with a half-hard erection, my mind desperately telling me to hurry it up, get out of the gym before you explode. I approached the fly station and was dismayed to find it occupied. I nearly tripped over the leg of the person currently using it as I walked away.
“Oh, sorry about that.”
“It’s no problem, Danny.”
I stopped to look at who had addressed me. Sitting on the fly machine, legs straddling the bench, arms raised into the pads was an attractive, smiling man—with a pair of tits so full and round that they were threatening to break the straps of his tank top.
“Do I know you?”
“I would hope so.”
“Who are you?”
“I think you know who I am.” The tit boy continued to smile at me, slowly beginning his chest exercises. He acted as naturally and casually as if he didn’t have a pair of tits attached to his body, tits that swelled obscenely with each repetition. When he pressed his arms together, the tits would squeeze together, the cleavage amplified to an unnatural degree. When he released his arms, the tits would lower themselves to their regular positions, still standing proud, strong, and defiant of gravity and even of nature. If lust had been coursing through my veins before, now it was setting my entire body on fire.
“No—I don’t think I do,” I stammered out, trying to subtly adjust the rising pressure in my already tight shorts.
“Come on now, Danny—”
“You know, I think—uhhh—I think I’ll just go over to the benches—”
“OK, Danny. I guess I’ll see you later.”
He hadn’t said it as a question. He just kept smiling at me, winking as I slowly walked away from the machine. I suppose 37 hours without tit boys had been a bit much to be hoping for. And this one, like Tony, definitely seemed to know me.
I slowly made my way over to the bench press station. Until just a moment ago, I was leaning toward sanity, my tit boy schizophrenia seeming to have come to a close, even if it was turning me into a beacon of hormonal need. And if I had been sorry to see the hallucinations go, their absence was a sign that perhaps my recent experiences had been temporary. Now, however, I was firmly in the middle again, my resolve quickly disintegrating. It was like standing in the center of a seesaw, never knowing which end would go up and which end would go down. The strange thing was, I was beginning not to care which way the balance would tip when all was said and done. I just wanted it to tip.
I sat down on a bench and wiped the sweat from my brow. Not thirty feet away, the tit boy continued to work his chest, the tits having grown noticeably even since our brief conversation only moments before. He pressed his arms in, his tits expanded out. He relaxed his arms, his tits bounced ever so slightly back. The nipples inside the tank top resembled bullets, and if I knew my tit boys like I thought I did, that meant he would be ready to shoot at any moment. I shook my head and started to lie down when a hand touched my shoulder.
“He’s amazing, isn’t he?”
The man touching my shoulder was older, probably the same age as my father, and built just like him: powerful legs, muscular chest, broad back, and wide shoulders. His hair was graying at the temples, giving him a very distinguished muscle daddy aura. His tank top was as superficial as the tit boy’s, and his shorts were as tight as mine, leaving nothing to the imagination. He was enjoying the tit boy as much as I was, and it showed.
“Yeah, I suppose he is.”
“Look at those tits—I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Really?” The daddy’s voice was filled with a strange, child-like wonder. “Well, this is the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.”
Of course it was. I knew exactly what was happening around me. I knew the players, I knew the plot, I knew the stage directions and the deleted scenes that would accompany the DVD release.
“I’m glad you like him, Malcolm.”
“How did you know my name?”
“Have we met?” Malcolm Alexander looked me up and down. He raised his eyebrows and placed his hands on his hips, framing the prominent bulge in his shorts. It was inches away from my face, and I had to resist the urge to grab him by his haunches and shove my head into it. Instead, I stood up, looking him in the eye.
“In a manner of speaking. But don’t worry about that.” I turned his face back to the tit boy, still working his tremendous tits on the machine. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I—I—I want to touch him. To taste him. I want to feel him with my hands, to kiss him, to know if he’s real. I want to show him how unique and special he is.” Malcolm licked his lips. His cock grew obscenely hard, threatening to break out of his shorts altogether. I placed my hand on his crotch, feeling the huge, swollen cock trapped inside.
“Why am I telling you this?” He slowly turned his face to the side, my mouth close to his ear. Both his eyes and mine remained locked on the tit boy. I wrapped my arm around his waist.
“He’s almost done working out. He’s going to come over here next.”
“I think I’ll offer him a spot.”
“I think you will, too.” Almost on cue, the tit boy removed himself from the machine, stretched his limbs, and slowly began to saunter over towards Malcolm and myself.
“Who are you?”
“You don’t know?” Malcolm shook his head in response to my question. I removed myself from him, taking a second to look over his fine, muscular form before turning away. I began to walk away, and I heard Malcolm begin to follow me until the tit boy began heading to the bench. I could smell him as he crossed paths, a strong, heady musk that began to intoxicate me even in the few seconds I inhaled it. His hand brushed against me, and the brief second of contact sent my head reeling, a dizzying rush of sensation.
I staggered to the door of the weight room and collapsed in the bench outside. My breathing was quick and heavy. My eyes fluttered. My skin was on fire. The world around me became an indistinct haze. I was in the middle of a massive high, stronger than any narcotic. In the brief moments of coherence I experienced, I was vaguely aware that any second now, someone would drag me away, certain I was overdosing on whatever recreational drug was currently the scourge of the community. Nobody did, however. In fact, I didn’t sense the presence of anyone around me, heard no voices but my own. I had slipped into a kind of limbo, neither conscious nor dreaming, but something in-between.
I was no longer in the gym, not entirely. My head was drowning in a cascade of surreal images, of legs and arms and tits, of muscles and manhood. Naked bodies writhed through the channels of my brain, caressing my senses and filling my field of vision. They made their way through the haze, crawling across my mind. Like a waking dream, the gym filled with men of all sorts, nude and clothed, beefy bodybuilders and lean swimmers. Tit boys splayed themselves on weight benches, muscle studs flexed for rapt onlookers, filling the gym with a miasma of pheromones and sweat.
The men inside the gym were growing tits, experiencing tits, worshiping tits, and praising tits with their mouths, their tongues, and their cocks. The tit boy from the chest machine was there, laying down on the bench, his legs in the air, with a desperate look in his eyes.
“I guess I’ll talk to you later, Danny.”
He reached out for me, his voice clear in my head.
“You know who I am, Danny.”
I found myself speaking in a low voice.
“I know. I know who you are. I know what you want.”
The images blurred together, spinning around like a kaleidoscope, until they were nothing but a twirling mosaic of skin tones. My breathing slowed, and my muscles relaxed. A weight felt like it had been lifted from me, a pressure that had lessened. My eyes warily fluttered open, and I found myself sitting on the cold, steel bench in front of the weight room, my legs trembling.
When I finally regained full control of my faculties again, I wandered down to the locker room, still unsure of my steps. I sleepwalked through the shower, almost absent-mindedly dressing myself again. The smothering lust I had experienced when I entered the gym had gone, dissolved away as I came down from my contact high. I collected my things and headed out the door, stopping to look into the weight room on my way out.
There was no tit boy, and certainly none of the sexual phantasmagoria of my waking dream. In fact, the gym seemed rather deserted, although Malcolm was there, resting on a bench. He stood up, shaking and stretching his body, obviously finishing his set there. The bulge in his shorts was as prominent as ever, and I smirked a little to myself knowingly. I continued to watch him as I walked toward the door, and I didn’t notice the person I walked into until he fell on top of me.
I felt a brief hardness in front of me, and suddenly I fell onto the ground, a heavy body landing on top of me, knocking the air out of my lungs. I felt an enormous pressure on my chest and looked up to see who had crashed into me. His sunglasses fell off his face, and I looked into his eyes. He stopped for a second and smiled at me. I smiled back.
“Sorry, man. I can be a bit of a klutz sometimes.”
“That’s OK,” I responded. “It was my fault.” The man pushed himself off the ground and offered me a hand up. As he helped me up, I took in his body. He was fit and muscular, easily a bodybuilder’s frame. His tight jeans and thin tank top made that clear to the world. But the pressure I felt on my chest, well that was easily explained away. Inside his tank top was a pair of pert, almost cheerful looking tits, the briefest outline around them indicating the half-bra that kept them high and in-place. The man brushed off his chest, his broad hands lingering on the tits, almost as if he were copping a feel on himself. He picked up his sunglasses, granting me a glimpse of a powerful cleavage, one full of salacious promises.
The lust had returned, and this time it was personal.
“Oh, I’m fine.”
“Great. I would have hated to knock you out. These babies,” he cupped his tits emphatically, squeezing them gently as if testing their ripeness, “are a bit more dangerous than they look.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“Oh, geez! How rude of me!” The man extended his hand. “I’m—”
“Alex. You’re Alex Devine.”
Yeah, I’m Alex Devine. Do I know you?”
I was getting that question a lot lately.
“No. You don’t. But I’d recognize the winner of the first Tit Boy International contest if I saw him. Congratulations on that.”
“Thanks, man!” Alex extended his hand, shaking my own vigorously. “I guess word gets around.”
“Not that it needs to.” I took a step toward Alex, feeling suddenly empowered. “Those are champion tits.” Alex laughed, his tits bouncing almost imperceptibly. It was like his entire body was smiling.
“Well, I have been working on them most of my life.” He slapped them playfully for emphasis, like a bodybuilder would slap a prize-winning bicep or thigh. They were just as firm, like round, trained muscles. “Hey, I was just about to head up to the smoothie bar. Care to join me?”
“I’d love to.”
Alex and I slowly sipped our drinks, fruit smoothies with supplements. They were expensive as hell, but it was worth it to share space with Alex Devine. The balance had tipped most definitively now, and it fell on the size of delusional. Although I wondered if I were truly going crazy, would I have been so aware of what has happening to me? For all I knew, the man sitting across from me was not, in fact, a Greek god in a tank top with a pair of firm, round muscle tits that would have made any man salivate with need. He could have been some hideous troll, or he might not have existed at all. Maybe my own mania shielded me from the dozens of on-lookers staring at the confused young man having a conversation with a piece of air.
Regardless, perhaps I was overanalyzing the whole thing. Perhaps I could save myself a lot of grief and stress by just letting go and going with it. And with Alex.
“So yeah, I’ve been working these puppies since I was about 13.”
“Right around puberty, then?”
“Yeah, pretty much.” Alex laughed. “I did my first set of tit exercises two hours after I got my first peach fuzz.”
“How do you—well, what kind of exercises get you—tits like that?”
“Modified push-ups. A lot of tension exercises. Some modified yoga moves. I have a whole set-up at my apartment just to work my tits. It’s like the tit room.”
“Very nice.” My cock had been growing steadily harder with every word coming out of Alex’s mouth. I found myself studying the way his lips moved, tracing an invisible line from his chin, down his neck, straight to the bottomless cleavage of his tits, amplified as he leaned forward on the table, resting his tits on crossed forearms. His words turned into a din. It was almost like I was a dog, unable to make out words except for ‘tits.’
“And then the five-headed monkey came in the room and started breathing fire.”
“Wh—what?” I snapped my head up.
“Just checking to see if you were paying attention.” He smiled warmly. I had to return the smile.
“That’s OK. Something on your mind?” The look in his eyes told me he already knew the answer.
“Yeah. You might say that.”
“Care to share?”
“Honestly? I think you’ve got a spectacular pair of tits and I would love to get a better look at them.” My hand moved automatically to my mouth. “Oh, damn. I have no idea why I just said that. I’m usually not so—forward.” Alex only laughed a little.
“That’s OK, man. I get that a lot. There is only one Mister Tit Boy International, after all. I wouldn’t be where I am today if I didn’t like showing off my tits.”
“Well, that’s true.” I laughed a little myself. “But I guess what’s said is said, right?”
“You want to?”
“Want to what?”
“You want to see my Tit Room? You want to see me work these babies?” He leaned forward even more, his voice dropping, silky and seductive. I swallowed hard.
“Where’s your car?”
Alex carried me into his apartment, my mouth locked onto his, my legs instinctively wrapping myself around his waist. He kept one of his arms around my torso as his other fumbled with the apartment door. Our tongues seemed to be engaged in a war, thrusting and twisting around each other, the two of us grunting and moaning through our kisses.
Alex shut the door of the apartment as I unwrapped myself to stand on my own two feet. I automatically began throwing my clothes off, tossing my tank top behind me. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my tight shorts, surprising myself with how quickly they slid down my legs. They hung around my ankles, exposing the painfully hard cock straining the seams of the thong I was wearing.
I leaned in to kiss Alex again when he smirked knowingly. With little effort, he picked me up and threw me into an over-sized vinyl chair in his living room. Before I could say or do anything, he straddled the edge of the chair, blocking me from leaving with his muscular, pumped body.
“You wanted a show, and you’ll get a show.”
I responded with a few drops of pre-cum. Alex slowly unzipped his shorts, exposing a bright yellow patch of latex. A sigh shuddered out of my body. I reached for my cock, but Alex pinned my hands to the sides of chair with his own.
“No fair getting there without me.”
I smiled up at him, as he leaned forward to engage my mouth again. I reached out for his tits, but he pinned my hands down again. He let his shorts drop to the ground, then stepped out of them, kicking his shoes off. He took a few steps back, enough to let me take in his entire body, from his gelled blond hair to his powerful, vascular feet. He shook his thigh muscles for me, tensing and flexing his legs while adjusting the tiny yellow poser he wore.
“You like?” I could only nod my head while mouthing an “uh-huh.” Alex approached me again, a full yellow basket preceding him. The straps holding his package in place looked ready to snap, like a stretched rubber band. He turned around, bending forward slightly while arching his back, presenting me with a butt as full and round as the tits he still had contained in his tank top. I placed my hands on it, feeling the solid warmth radiating from his body. I leaned forward, eagerly placing my face in-between his cheeks, hungrily licking the yellow strip of latex there. I heard him moan in a low voice.
“Yeah, baby,” he placed one hand on the back of my head. “Let me see what you can do with that mouth.” His words only served to excite me more, and I doubled my efforts.
“It feels like you’re trying to get your whole head up there.” I responded with a long “mmmmm,” running my hands up and down his thighs while trying to work my shorts and shoes off with my legs, my mouth never leaving his butt. By the time I got my shorts off, Alex stepped away, much to my disappointment.
“That was only the warm-up—now we get to the main event.”
Alex reached for the bottom of his tank top and slowly—so very, very, very slowly—slid the top off his head as if he was peeling fruit. His magnificent tits barely moved the entire time, held in place by a pair of thin, yellow latex straps that matched his minimal poser. He struck a double bicep pose when his tank top finally fell to the ground.
He placed his hands on his hips and inhaled, his tits surging forward, stretching the straps over his tits to the breaking points. I could even hear the material stretch and groan. He exhaled, giving the straps a slight bit of relief.
“How much you wanna bet that I can break these suckers?”
I inched forward in my seat, slowly succumbing to Alex’s charisma and eroticism. He inhaled again, the straps stretching even further, becoming nearly transparent around his swollen nipples. He exhaled, and I could see where the fabric was now loose and worn. Alex inhaled again, the straps stretching even further, straining beyond belief. Alex’s face was a mask of steely determination, his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed. He exhaled slowly. I inched even further forward, my cock achingly rigid, my mouth agape, my eyes wider than I thought physically possible. Then Alex inhaled one more time.
With a feral growl, I lunged forward, knocking Alex to the ground, my mouth automatically finding his left tit. I sucked hungrily and forcefully like a starving man, my hands wrapping around Alex’s tight torso. This was it. I was giving in to all of my lust, all of the tit boy hallucinations, all of my secret desires suddenly brought screaming to the surface. All of it happened in an action that took all of three seconds to perform.
Alex sighed loudly as I worked on his tit, greedily suckling, my tongue doing enough twists and flips to make an Olympic gymnast jealous. I ran my tongue around the perimeter of his nipple, leaving it briefly to explore every square inch of the warm, moist skin of his swollen, firm tit. I kissed his tit at every angle, every position, as if inspecting it for quality.
“What a mouth—oh, man—” As if on command, Alex’s tits swelled ever so slightly as I feasted on them. Without even placing my hands on them, I could tell, as if I they were reflexively responding to my worship. When I thought they couldn’t get any firmer or fuller, they would swell again, constantly surprising me.
I moved down to the Alex’s cleavage, licking the moisture that had gathered there, my tongue barely able to get in-between his tits thanks to their constant swelling. They were remarkably solid, and the space between them was like a hidden secret, accessible only through great struggle. I lingered there only for a second before moving on to his right tit.
I latched onto the nipple there with more vigor than ever, licking it like a piece of delicious hard candy. Now, Alex was beginning to leak. His tits had become so full and swollen that they could no longer contain themselves. The milk was sweet and thick, and it felt like liquid fire in my mouth, the elixir of life. One drop of it on my tongue, and my brain was set alight. I could feel flames dancing down my spine, teasing the nerves in my body all the way down to my feet. It was like the first hit of a drug, and I sucked even more aggressively on Alex’s nipples.
Alex’s tits were ready to burst. I could feel it. His body tensed and trembled. His breathing quickened. I locked my arms around him, my legs entwined with his, my mouth resolute in its purpose. Time became trivial, place was an afterthought. If was as if Alex and I were wrapped together, existing in some kind of pocket dimension separate from the world.
“I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna—”
Alex’s body tensed one last time and his tits began shooting fountains of hot milk, exploding into my mouth, coating my tongue, my teeth, my lips, and my face with sweet cream. I swallowed as quickly as I could, nearly choking on Alex’s milk, spewing out with a force and vigor I never imagined. The cream I couldn’t take flowed over Alex’s sweaty, muscular body, coating his torso in a silky white sheen. He came in massive quantities, as if he hadn’t been milked in ages, his body shuddering, his face in permanent rapture as his milk flowed onto the floor, pooling around him.
Finally, Alex relaxed, the milk slowly tapering off. I continued to lick and slurp the milk off his body, which caused him to shake with pleasure. I let the milk travel down my throat, filling my body with a white light that seemed to radiate from deep within me, threatening to burst from my body. It was a heady potion I was drinking, and it filled my head with so many feelings that I thought I might pass out from sensory overload. I began breathing heavily, straining for oxygen, my heart racing. Alex seemed to sense it, and he wrapped his arms around me, holding my quivering body to his. I felt the milk in-between us, a thin layer of warm softness like a satin sheet.
When I finally stop shaking and the world came back into focus, I saw Alex smiling broadly, his eyes closed. I rolled over onto my back and looked down at my milk-covered body and laughed, the heat from the milk still pulsing through my body. Alex locked his hand into mine.
“Thank you so much, Danny—”
“No, thank you. I—” A chiming clock in the next room cut me off. I counted eight tones. “Oh shit.”
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s eight o’clock. My dad will be wondering where I am.” I began cleaning myself off. “I don’t like having him worry.”
“Here, let me help you.” Alex ran to his bathroom and came back with a pair of heavy cotton towels. He rubbed me down, soaking the towels with his milk. When I was dry and clothed, Alex embraced me, kissing me deeply, his naked body still sweaty and warm.
“I hate to run.”
“That’s OK. I’ll be seeing you later.”
“Sure. I wouldn’t mind that. We’ll have to do this again sometime.”
“Oh, you can count on it.” Alex kissed me again and I slowly walked to the door, my knees shaking. I got into my car and started down the road to home, drunk on Alex’s tit milk—and deliriously happy.
It didn’t take me long to get home from Alex’s apartment, which I was thankful for. I hated being late for family dinners. It upset Dad, as if my absence was a personal affront. And it wasn’t like I was going to be able to explain where I was when he asked me about it. And he would. I was 23 years old, and still a daddy’s boy in many ways.
My encounter with Alex had satisfied me, but I could feel the lust was still there. I don’t know why I thought that one encounter, no matter how explosive, would somehow crush the hormonal invasion that was taking place in my brain. While I was able to think rationally now, the images and thoughts were still simmering inside my head.
I pulled my car into the driveway and took a second to compose myself. Inhale—exhale. OK. Just think straight—open the door—
“Where have you been?”
Dad didn’t waste any time. He hadn’t even turned to face the door, and I could see he was still working over the stove, an apron around his waist over a tight t-shirt and khaki shorts that wrapped very tight around his butt and thighs, almost as if he’d purchased them a size too small.
“Hi, Dad. Sorry, I’m late.” Dad sighed heavily.
“That’s OK, Daniel. I was late coming back from the office. I’m just finishing up dinner now.” As he talked, Dad was dishing the ingredients for his famous fajitas into serving bowls. I set my gym bag down and walked over to the table. Dad intercepted me to give me a bear hug, smelling strongly of cooking spices and sweat. I inhaled deeply. He playfully rubbed my head.
“What kept you, anyway?”
“I met a friend at the gym. We started talking, and I guess we just lost track of time.”
“I see. Is that why you have milk on your chin?” He rubbed my chin with his thumb, bringing back a small drop of Alex’s tit milk.
“Oh!” I rubbed my face. Dad smiled at me. “Smoothie bar. I must have spilled some.”
“Well, I hope you still have an appetite.” I nodded that I did. “Good. Matt! Dinner!”
“Coming!” I heard Matt running down the stairs. He virtually bounded down the hall into the kitchen, jumping into his seat at the table. And that’s when I saw it. Or them.
Matt had tits. Big, round tits.
I stared at my brother dumbfounded. When the hell had this happened? Matt looked at me with concern.
“Yo, bro, what’s the matter?”
I tried to form words. Nothing came out, not even the confused syllables of gibberish that people use in situations like this.
“Daniel, your brother asked you a question.”
“Uhhh—Matt—when did you get—tits?”
“Daniel, don’t harass your brother.”
“Dad! Do you think this is normal?”
Dad only looked at me sternly, his jaw tensed.
“What have I told you about bringing up your brother’s tits?”
“You—you endorse this, Dad?”
“What’s the matter, bro?”
“You—you’re not supposed to have tits, Matt!”
“You’re straight! And besides—you—you—”
“Dude, don’t have a fit.”
“Don’t call me DUDE!”
I threw my napkin down on my plate of untouched food and stormed up the stairs. I heard Dad telling me to apologize to my brother, not to “denigrate” his choices. I ignored him, his voice being drowned out by the blood pumping through my head. There were raging tribal drums ringing in my ears, chaotic and aggressive. I felt the veins in my forehead pulsing and throbbing relentlessly as I slammed my bedroom door shut.
This was not happening—this was NOT happening—
Up until now, my tit boy schizophrenia had followed a kind of strange internal logic. Every event, every sight and sensation had been from one of my stories. The night at X-Static, the trip to the gym, even Alex Devine has been taken completely from things I had written down. There was proof of it in the “real” world, whatever that was now. Printed pages, computer files, actual documents.
But there was no story where Matt grew tits. I booted up my laptop and searched through my stories. Nothing, not a word. But then I remembered—I had written something. Several months ago, I had casually mentioned to my artist friend in an e-mail that I sometimes fantasized about Matt growing tits.
Was this happening? Were even my secret thoughts manifesting themselves now? I would have thought it was just a hallucination, but Dad acted like it was completely natural, like I was the one who wasn’t right. This was not happening—not happening—I’m not crazy—not crazy—
I fumbled for my cell phone and quickly dialed. Pick up—pick up—
“Danny? You OK?”
“I am in a world of not OK. Literally.”
“Calm down, Danny. What’s got you so wigged out?”
“Luke, can I come over? I need to tell you about something.”
“Sure, sure. I’m hanging out by the pool. Just come on down.”
I ran out of the house, narrowly avoiding dealing with Dad and Matt, and made tracks to Luke’s house. He didn’t live too far away, so the drive didn’t take long. I tried to calm myself down the entire way over. I took deep breaths, and I tried not to think about what had just happened, but it was nearly impossible, and it only served to unnerve me even further. The more I thought about it, the more freaked out I was.
The mere thought of my brother growing tits was making me hard.
I parked the car and ran around to the back of Luke’s house. The night was quiet, but the lights illuminating the backyard and a loud splash let me know that someone was around. I made my way to the pool, the blue water shimmering in the lamplight. The diving board was vibrating slightly, and ripples in the water parted to reveal Luke’s blurry form slowly emerging from the bottom. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed his blue Speedo sitting on its own at the edge of the pool.
Luke shot his head up, pressing his body toward the edge, which allowed me only to see his head and shoulders. The water pressed his blond hair against his head, and as it cascaded down his face, it made his skin shine. He smiled broadly when he saw me, although I found it hard to return the sentiment. I was still sweating a little, my breathing not having entirely calmed down.
“Hey, man. You sure got over here fast.”
“Yeah. I have a lot on my mind.”
“Well, what’s going on?” Luke was still smiling slightly, but I could tell he was curious.
“I think I’m going crazy.”
“Well—it’s—OK.” I sighed and stared down at the floor, pacing a little. “I’m seeing tit boys everywhere. And I shouldn’t be. They—they shouldn’t exist, but they do.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes, that’s all,” I said sarcastically. “Ever since I moved back home, it’s like I’m slowly being drawn into a world of tit boys. It’s like the real world is starting to disappear and get replaced.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s not normal! All these tit boys—I’m finding myself in situations that I wrote about, things I create stories around. Seeing Tony at X-Static, seeing tit boys in the gym, Alex Devine—all of it came from my head. It’s like the world is being pulled out of my brain. And then I came home tonight, and Matt, my own brother, is sporting a pair of big tits, and Dad is sitting there like it’s completely natural. I don’t know what’s real anymore!” I sat down hard on a wooden deck chair and began rubbing my head. Admitting it out loud didn’t make me feel better, just made me sound crazed. I felt like my head was exploding.
“What the hell do you mean?”
Luke didn’t answer, but pushed himself out of the pool. The water cascaded down his firm naked body, glimmering in the light. He stood there calmly, allowing me to take him his entire form: his firm thighs, his strong shoulders, and his proud, firm tits.
“Oh, fuck. Not you, too.”
“Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“What are you talking about? I never wrote about you having tits.” I was trying not to look at him, but I found myself unable to take my eyes away from his own.
“But you dreamed about it, didn’t you? You fantasized about it.” His voice was low and calm, soothing. I hesitated in my answer, and he took a step toward me.
“Yes. I did.” I was terrified of what was happening, the implications behind it. If even my deepest fantasies were all coming true, seeing a pair of tits on Matt would be the least of my concerns at home. Luke took two more steps toward me.
“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”
“Yes. To this. To us.”
“All of us. All the tit boys. You created us. You made us what we are.”
“But—you’re my best friend, Luke! I didn’t create you. I just—”
“You gave me tits. You changed me. You made me something new, something beautiful and brilliant.” Luke was nearly on top of me now. I looked up from the chair to see him looking down at me over his succulent, dripping wet tits. He reached down, locking his hands under my armpits and hoisted me to my feet, our eyes locking together.
“Welcome home, sleeping beauty.” Luke wrapped one arm around my waist and the other around my neck, pulling me in, kissing me deeply. The water soaked into my clothes, his hard cock pressed into mine, his tits squeezing against me with a delicate strength. I returned the kiss, caressing his back and his neck. He pressed himself tighter into me, his nipples unbelievably hard, a small amount of milk already mixing with the water that trickled down his chest. It was that warm, thick feeling that made me pull back. Luke looked at me in confusion.
“No. I can’t. This—this isn’t right. This isn’t happening. I need to wake up in my bed at home.”
“No. This isn’t real. It was one thing to meet Alex Devine. This is just—I have to go.”
“Danny, please don’t go. I want to show you how grateful I am to you. Isn’t this what you always wanted?”
“I’m sorry, Luke. I don’t know what’s going on, and I’m—frightened.”
“Then let me reassure you.” Luke tried to embrace me again. His tits seemed to have grown. In fact, I could see them steadily growing in front of my eyes. I gasped as I saw them swell, Luke never seeming to notice or care, even when his tits became the size of his head.
“I can be whatever you want, Danny—this is your world now.”
“No. This is a dream. This is a hallucination. This is that episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer where the demon makes her think she’s imagined her whole life. I’ll wake up in some mental institution or something, right? I’m sorry. I have to get out of here.”
The world became a tunnel, and at the end was Luke, his voice echoing seductively against the walls. It was a low whisper magnified into a clap of thunder. His tits had grown monstrously huge now, like an absurd cartoon, and they began to leak profusely, the milk pouring out into pools at his feet, puddles that began to creep toward me like a monster in a cheap horror film from the 1960s. I recoiled from the inviting, gleaming white liquid, knowing that if I touched it, I would be trapped.
Trapped. Trapped in a world of tit boys, a world I created, a world that shouldn’t exist. What would happen if fantasy became reality? Psychologists had a word for this: depersonalization. My life had become a living, breathing tit boy story—and I was more certain than ever that I was insane.
I ran from Luke’s voice, a siren song begging me to come back. The trails of milk continued to slither after me like liquid snakes, even when I got in my car and burned rubber down the street. My heart raced, threatening to burst out of my chest, my skin was on fire, beads of sweat rolling down my face. My mind was spinning violently, and nothing seemed even the least bit real.
I sped home as fast as I could, Luke’s voice still ringing in my head, as if it had followed me.
There was only one thing left to do.
It was 2 in the morning. I dressed in a tight t-shirt and a pair of designer jeans. Nice shoes. I wanted to look good.
I hit the “Send” button in the e-mail program. I had to tell my visual artist friend what was happening to me. I typed out the whole sequence of events, from the cover of Tits Power to Luke’s impossibly growing tits. If anything, it would give him something interesting to remember.
I took a look through Matt’s bedroom door on the way out. He was sleeping soundly. He had pulled the bed sheet up to his chin, his tits creating a pair of cotton-wrapped mountains that rose and fell with his breathing. He smiled in his sleep, and as I watched him, one of his hands absent-mindedly cupped his tits. I shut the door quietly.
I walked past my father’s room, the door open. The men of my family were all deep sleepers, and Dad was no exception. He had tossed the sheets around in his sleep, and most of his body was uncovered, clad only in a tiny pair of trunks that fit him like a second skin. I padded to the side of the bed and took a good look at him. He looked so peaceful and serene, a sleeping giant. I ran my fingers lightly down his thick, muscular arm and his equally powerful thigh. I leaned forward and kissed him tenderly on the lips. Daddy’s boy—
I slowly walked downstairs, careful not to make any noise. I laid the note on the table and headed out the door.
This was it. I stood on top of the building, twenty stories up. The early morning air was crisp and cool, dancing around my body, caressing my skin even through my clothes. I walked to the edge and looked down, dizzy and briefly unsure.
No. I had to do this. I wasn’t going to live my life in an institution. And I was obviously crazy. Nothing was making the tit boy visions go away. They only seemed to be getting worse. I was unable to separate my fantasies from reality.
I paused briefly. Would it be so bad to live in a world full of tit boys, to be constantly surrounded by swelling tits and drinking sweet, rich milk? Luke had begged me to come to him, like he was the gateway. What was the harm in giving in?
No. No. It wasn’t real. It was all an illusion. When the fantastic is made flesh, what is left to dream about? What is left to hope for? I couldn’t let myself be sucked in. I couldn’t let myself succumb to what was obviously a dangerous, destructive mental ailment.
I looked down again. The soles of my feet balanced on the edge. I closed my eyes. Daddy’s boy—
I allowed myself to fall. The wind rushed past my face, the seconds stretching into hours. Suddenly, I was no longer falling forward but flying sideways.
“I have you.”
I opened my eyes. I was indeed flying through the air—in the arms of a handsome, muscular tit boy wrapped in a skintight leather cat suit. He had me tightly in one of his strong arms, his other one holding onto a sturdy-looking rope ladder hanging from a black helicopter. I was dumbfounded. My very own superhero had come to my rescue.
“The very same.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Saving you from doing something remarkably stupid. I had expected you to be braver than this, Daniel.”
“All will be explained once we arrive.”
After several minutes of flying through the air, we landed at a pristine white manor house. I had shifted myself in Gemini’s grasp, wrapping my legs around his waist, resting my head against his generous chest. Far from unnerving me as Matt and Luke’s tits had, Gemini’s tits seemed to bring me comfort, like a warm blanket. He hadn’t said anything to me after our initial conversation, and I was desperate to know what was going on.
We touched down, and I shakily stood on my own two feet. Once the helicopter blades stopped turning, the pilot exited, and I saw that it was Elliot Frost. I had written about Gemini and Elliot extensively, the noble tit boy superhero and his loyal sidekick, a dedicated man who was irresistibly drawn to him, even though Elliot was straight and Gemini was gay. They both looked exactly as I had written them, down to the clothes they wore and they way they walked.
“Welcome, Daniel,” Gemini took my hand and led me into the main hall of the large manor. He sat me down on a large, plush couch. I sank into the cushions, grateful for the rest.
“Would you like some water, mate?” Elliot seemed as cordial as ever.
“Yes, please. You—sound like Luke. I guess that’s where I got the inspiration for you.” Elliot just smiled. He reached into the bag hanging from his shoulder and pulled out a bottle of water. Gemini immediately began questioning me, even before I put the bottle to my mouth.
“Now, Daniel. Why would you try to jump off a building?”
“Because—well, because I’m crazy. Right?” I looked to both men for a sign. Elliot only shook his head.
“Nonsense.” Gemini’s voice was stern.
“Then what’s going on?”
“You haven’t figured it out yet?” Elliot almost laughed, but a look from Gemini shut his mouth.
“Daniel, have you heard of the concept of solipsism? It’s the belief that all of reality is created from the mind of an individual, that everything exists because you believe it.”
“What does that have to do with it?”
“Daniel, this is your world. I am your creation. So is Elliot. So was Tony. So were your brother’s tits. All of it. It all came from you.”
“So—I’m not crazy?”
Gemini sat down beside me, placing his arm around my shoulder. His leather suit was warm and smelled tantalizing. It appeared to barely contain his strong, healthy tits, and I was sure that if I wanted them to, I could make them bust out. Almost as if on cue, I saw Gemini’s tits inflating, stretching the leather, and threatening to break the teeth on the zipper.
“I did that?”
“Danny Boy, you can do anything. This is your world.” Elliot sat down on the other side of me.
“The mind is a very powerful thing, Daniel,” Gemini placed his hand on my head. “The passion in your stories, your power of belief made all of this possible. You injected us with purpose and vigor. You made us come alive. And now, we want to show you how grateful we are.”
I was feeling remarkably warm and dizzy, intoxicated even, drunk with relief. I wasn’t crazy. At least, I didn’t think so. It still made no sense. How could this even happen? Things like this didn’t happen in real life, it was physically impossible. Things like this only happened in—stories. Gemini turned my face toward his.
“Daniel, we want you to be with us forever. We want to show you how beautiful the world is that you created. But we want you to want it, too. If you do not want to join us, we shall leave you be.”
“It’s your decision, Danny.” Elliot had his hand on my thigh.
“What will you decide?” Gemini placed his hand on my other thigh. Both men drew themselves closer to me. I could feel Elliot’s breath on my neck. Gemini was close enough to kiss. From the back of mind came Luke’s voice pleading with me to stay—please stay, Danny—
“I—I want,” Elliot’s hand traveled to my abdomen, gently caressing my torso. Gemini’s hand rubbed my thigh, his lips threatening to consume my entire face.
“Tell us, Daniel.”
“I want to stay.” Before the sentence was even out of my mouth, Gemini’s normally stoic face broke into a broad smile. I felt Elliot’s breath as he exhaled deeply.
“You have made us all very happy, Daniel.” Gemini turned and called to the space behind him. “Diego! Guillermo!”
Two tit boys came from the next room, clad only in the tiniest of posers. The white pouches were barely able to contain the cocks inside, the straps becoming stretched to transparency. Their muscular bodies were smooth, their skin a beautiful honey brown. Their faces were that of eroticized angels. But all of that paled in comparison to their tits. Each of them had a pair of massive, engorged tits that hung full and sensual from their chests. Their nipples were proud and courageous, pointing up as if toward heaven. They walked slowly and seductively, their massive tits swinging subtly as they walked toward Gemini.
“Please prepare for the ritual. He has said yes.”
Diego and Guillermo smiled then quickly turned back to the room they emerged from. Their asses were just as beautiful as their tits, swaying from side to side as if speaking, begging for attention. Their huge tits were plainly visible even from the back, like pieces of ripe, succulent fruit.
“You have accepted us. But you must be baptized.” Gemini smiled, helping me stand up from the couch.
“Oh, man, I’ve heard about this. You’re gonna love it!” Elliot slapped me heartily on the back. Gemini drew me into himself, pressing me tightly against his swollen chest. I could feel the aching teeth of the zipper gently brushing against my torso. He lifted me slightly off the ground until our faces were on level ground, his lips meeting mine in a kiss. Elliot closed in behind me, and I felt his crotch fall into place against my ass. I felt my whole body exhale, as if releasing pressure.
Gemini’s tongue was like the sun in my mouth, the keeper of time and the source of all light and heat. He was my connection to a new world, his mouth a well leading to the water of life. My hands moved automatically to Gemini’s tits, caressing the solid fleshiness held under the taut leather. Elliot reached around me placing his hand in the tiny space in-between Gemini and myself, slowly working down the zipper as far as it would go down Gemini’s bodysuit.
Gemini removed himself briefly, Elliot still holding on to me, as he seductively unzipped the front of his suit, the tits bursting out free and exuberant. The nipples were aching and desperate, the tits themselves glistening with moisture. Gemini carefully peeled the suit off, soon standing in front of me nearly naked except for a miniscule purple poser. His masculine physique was made all the more remarkable by a pair of unbelievably round, full, perfect tits. He walked toward me deliberately, his eyes full of promise.
“Welcome home, Daniel.”
Elliot reached for my crotch, slowly unzipping my jeans. He pulled my pants down, exposing a raging erection in my briefs. Gemini pulled off my shirt, pressing his tits into my warm chest. I sighed contentedly as both men reached for my briefs and tore them off, allowing my cock to valiantly release itself so hard that it throbbed straight up. I shuddered as Elliot kissed the back of my neck.
“Please.” Now I was doing the pleading. I reached for Gemini’s tits again, leaning forward to take one in my mouth. Gemini stopped me, guiding my face toward his lips.
“You will soon have all that you need, Daniel.” The tit boy superhero kissed me longingly as Elliot teased my ass with the bulge in his pants. Diego and Guillermo reappeared from the other room.
“It is ready,” one of them said.
“All have assembled,” the other one chimed in.
“Excellent. Come, Daniel. It is time.”
Gemini and Elliot led me into a large, open room. In the center was a large, raised platform, almost like an altar. I could smell the black leather wrapped around it as soon as I entered. Running along the entire edge of the room was a series of alcoves that were lit from behind. In each alcove was a figure shrouded in shadow, standing silent and still.
Diego and Guillermo stood by the door, guarding against what, I didn’t know. Elliot moved to stand in-between them, allowing Gemini to lead me to the platform on his own. I crawled on top, pleasantly surprised to find that it was thickly padded like a couch. Gemini laid me down gently, running his fingertips across my skin after I made myself comfortable. The light touch, combined with the cool air circulating through the room, sent my skin tingling, Gemini’s every touch electrifying it. I smiled and sighed deeply.
“It is time. Now the first.”
At Gemini’s proclamation, one of the shadowy figures stepped forward out of its alcove. It was a young man, looking to be about the age of my brother. His body was firm and toned, lean and sleek. He was obviously a swimmer. He was clad only in a shiny orange poser that looked as if it had been shrink-wrapped around his equipment, a tiny patch of lycra held in place by miniscule straps. He smiled warmly at me, cupping his round, pert tits as he did so.
“You’re Mark, aren’t you? The swim jock that got tits.”
“Now the second.”
The second figure stepped from the alcoves. It was Guy Bonamy, the first tit boy I saw when this whole experience began. His eyes were bright as he stepped forward, proud and majestic, his tits preceding him. They seemed bigger than I remembered, but just as shiny and inviting. He wore a poser similar to Mark’s, although his was a deep red color. The two of us exchanged nods as he stepped forward, one hand on his tits, his eyebrow cocked as if to ask if I wanted a sample. I was already getting remarkably hard at this point, and I reached for my cock, only to be stopped by Gemini. He shook his finger slowly at me.
“All things in time, Daniel. Now the third.”
The next figure to step forward was Tit Boy Tony from X-Static. He ran his fingers through his silky blond hair as he approached the platform, his tits swaying with every step in opposition to his overloaded green poser. His whole body was a symphony of physical perfection, his every step filled with a flowing grace, as if he was tracing waves in the air.
“Now the fourth.”
The tit boy from the gym stepped forward. He appeared just as I last remembered him, when he was working his huge tits on the chest fly machine. He even seemed to be glistening ever so slightly, a thin sheen of moisture coating his gym-pumped muscles. It gave his tits a succulent, sweet look, as if he was presenting ripe, prize-winning fruit that begged to be savored. He adjusted his blue poser as he approached.
“I never gave you a name, did I?”
“I don’t need one.” The tit boy only smiled. Gemini continued.
“Now the fifth.”
Alex Devine approached the platform. He wore the same yellow poser he wore when I met him, his tits deliciously swollen and full. Even his muscles seemed to be fuller and thicker than before. He grinned broadly as he sauntered forward, his tits bouncing ever so slightly.
“Now the sixth.”
Luke slowly walked forward. I gasped when I saw him, his body no longer looking alien and foreign but natural and true, even though nothing about him had changed since yesterday. His hands never left his tits, constantly caressing them, teasing the nipples. His black poser was strained to the limits by a hard cock, the fabric seeming to stretch and grow as needed to keep the barest possible coverage of his needful package.
“I’m glad you decided to join us.”
“I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you. I still don’t quite understand it. I mean…it’s like you knew the entire time.”
“Luke is one of the Seven Gates, Daniel.” Gemini placed his hand on my chest. “In ancient Sumer, they had a myth concerning Inanna, the goddess of love and war. She descended to the underworld in search of knowledge and had to pass through seven gates to reach her destination. At each one, she removed part of her power, until she was naked.
“You created this world, Daniel, but we can only show you glimpses of it. To fully enter it, you must be made new.”
“Like a baptism?” All of the tit boys surrounding me smiled in response.
“Yes.” Gemini gestured to his companions. The tit boys approached the very edge of the platform, a ring of gorgeous men standing tit to tit to tit. I looked around me at the brightly colored packages, the seductive under-cleavage of seven pairs of firm, full tits, a thick desire permeating everything. The tit boys reached for me, gently stroking my body, running their fingers through my hair, feeling the shapes and lines of my muscles. I closed my eyes, laughing quietly, my head dizzy and light.
“Now we begin.”
At Gemini’s command, the tit boys withdrew their hands from me, placing them instead on their own tits. Immediately, they began to fondle their tits, exploring every nuance, curve, and inch. Immediately, seven overfull posers began to spring to life, stretching and growing before my eyes. My own cock was deliriously rigid, and just a brief touch sent flames dancing down to the tips of every nerve in my body.
I kept one hand wrapped around my cock, stroking it slowly. My other hand wandered from pouch to pouch, as if judging their weight and form. I was delighted, like a child in a toy store, my eyes lighting up with wonder. Above me, seven tit boys seemed oblivious to my hand, continuing to minister to their tits. They massaged the firm globes, tweaked and teased the nipples, and glided their fingers in-between the cleavage. I could see them licking their lips, their eyes closed in ecstatic sensation.
I was ridiculously hot. It wasn’t just that my body felt as if it was on fire, sweating profusely. The sight of all those tit boys working their delicious chests, straining those shiny posers, surrounding me with their heat and their intoxicating musk made me hornier than I’d ever been in my entire life. My heart was no longer pumping blood but pure sex, feeding every cell in my body, slowly turning me into a blazing beacon of hedonism. All of the sexual energy I’d ever channeled in my entire life before entering the room could not compare to the overwhelming, intimidating, commanding sexual energy I felt at that moment.
The tit boys were swelling now, their chests filling slowly with milk. I heard them begin to moan and sigh loudly. Here and there was a shudder, an “oh yes” released as a wet, tantalizing promise. None of them turned to themselves for help in release, and none reached for me. All of their attention was focused entirely on their tits, on stimulating them, on filling them to a point beyond capacity.
Sweat began to trickle down my face. I rubbed my eyes with my hand, my skin slick and moist. I began to breathe heavier and deeper, my hand pumping my cock harder and faster. My body was ready to spontaneously combust, the heat building in me so desperately that I thought I might literally explode into a million pieces at any second.
The tit boys were swelling to fantastical levels now, their tits ridiculously round and full. The skin surrounding their tits was pulled taut, shining brilliantly. The nipples were themselves turgid and looked unbelievably solid, as if begging for release. The tits continued to swell larger and larger, and as I looked up, I could barely make out their faces. All I saw was seven pairs of massive tits being diligently fondled and stimulated. Some of their moans became punctuated with low, plaintive cries of “Danny—”
I began to grunt and growl, my fist pumping furiously around my cock. Every muscle in my body tensed and hardened, a full-body erection. I was liberally sweating now, a fact I was only barely aware of. My limbs were on fire, my hips automatically thrusting forward, my head thrashing back and forth. With a deep, throaty scream, my cock exploded, spewing cum like a geyser, shooting in impossible torrents. Ropes of cum coated my chest and abs, traced lines on my thighs, and coated my hands like frosting on a cake. My body convulsed in orgasm, twitching and throbbing in a feverish post-coital ecstasy. I began to hear music playing in my head, nearly drowning out everything else.
“Now.” Gemini’s voice echoed off of the walls. On command, seven tit boys reached for their nipples—
Cover me with love.
Then seven tit boys delicately twisted those nipples—
Be in me as one.
Seven tit boys groaned in a harmonious choir of sexual power—
Never wake me up.
I felt one drop fall on my chest—then another—then another—
Let the darkness come.
Suddenly, seven pairs of man tits were loosed. Fourteen separate fountains of hot, fresh milk began to fall. And one young man became part of the most erotic baptism in the history of the universe.
The milk was warm and soft, liquid silk covering me in its welcoming embrace. It seemed to soak into my skin, my body accepting it like a sponge, working its way into every pore, every hair, and every single cell. It coated my legs and arms, covered my abs and chest, and eagerly poured into my mouth. I ran my hands up and down my body, spreading the thick cream over every inch, relishing the slippery disconnect between the liquid and my skin.
None of the tit boys’ milk seemed to be slowing or slackening. They continued to pour copious amounts of the sweet, fragrant liquid onto me. I swallowed as much of the delicious milk as I could, even as the milk threatened to consume me. It filled my stomach quickly, soothing and nourishing. Every inch of my body was saturated with it, and now the milk was beginning to coat me like a blanket, pooling around me, threatening to drown me in a sugary deluge.
The tit boys didn’t stop, groaning with delight, the milk beginning to cocoon me. I felt it surrounding me, a thick, sexual membrane slowly wrapping itself around me as if it had a mind of its own. It was warm and comforting, a million tingling fingers delicately teasing my body into submission. I felt my legs relax, completely coated in the thickening milk. Then it was my cock, still rigid as if frozen in time. I felt the sparkling caress on my abs and back next, then on my arms.
The tit boys continued to spill milk over me, my head spinning with flashing visions. Tit boys on a stage, dancing and flexing. Tit boys on a beach, proudly flaunting themselves. Tit boys in a club, grinding and dancing. It was days of futures past, glimpses into potential realities, dozens of them coalescing into a single point of light that expanded rapidly to surround my mind with images of angels. They flew around me, beautiful men with beautiful tits, the very sight of them filling my heart with warmth and calm. Their tits seemed to be reaching for me, waiting to embrace me, whispering to me of promising new sensations and experiences.
The milk cocoon crept up my chest, slowly crawled up my neck, and soon began to inch its way around my head and face. The milk filled my every sense: the pure whiteness of the milk itself, the tempting smell of it, the welcoming heat it possessed, the sweetness of it on my tongue, and the sound of it as it poured out in the tit boys’ never-ending orgasm. The milk covered my eyes, my nose, my mouth, and finally my ears. I was encased in a pulsating cocoon of tit boy cream. Before I passed out, I heard Gemini say one final thing.
“And on the seventh day, he rested.”
I woke up in my own bed after what seemed like an eternity of blissful sleep filled with quiet dreams. I opened my eyes slowly and carefully. The last thing I remembered was a torrent of tit boy milk filling my entire being, and I was sure now that I had, indeed, dreamed the whole thing. That is, until I looked down at myself.
I had tits.
I had a pair of firm, round, beautiful tits.
My heart skipped a beat. My voice got caught in my throat. My breath got taken away. I went through every cliché and metaphor for shock and surprise all at once and in one quick moment. I carefully brushed the tits with my fingertips, afraid they would burst like a soap bubble at the slightest touch. Instead, I was rewarded with a rush of sensation unlike anything I had every experienced before. For one brief second, my entire body became a living endorphin.
I shakily stood up, my knees quivering. I leaned against whatever I could to get to the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door. My feet padded quietly against the hardwood floor, each step a difficult one. My body was trembling, and my mind was racing, trying to sort out dozens of wildly divergent thoughts at once. When I finally made it to the mirror, my heart stopped again.
Yes, there they were: a pair of large, delicious tits sitting on my body. They were real, fleshy, and solid. I hopped in place, smiling as I felt them bounce. I struck pose after pose, front and side and back, admiring them from every angle and every possible way. I watched the way they moved, the way they sat on my chest, the way they responded to my touch. The tits—
No. MY tits. These were MINE. They were a part of me, as inseparable to my body as my heart or my brain.
I ran my fingertips along the nipples, receiving another rush of sensation. I shuddered all over, almost falling to my knees in ecstasy. I stumbled back to my bed, crashing onto it, my hands eagerly massaging my new tits. My cock was instantly hard, throbbing, and insistent. In response, my tits grew almost imperceptibly, starting to fill with milk as my cock was filling with desire.
As I touched my tits, I felt similar sensations surrounding my cock, as if they were linked. Indeed, my whole body seemed to have become a gigantic sexual organ, begging for stimulation. The slightest touch turned into a wave of pleasure, the simplest gesture became a cascade of emotion.
I ran my hands over my tits. I cupped them. I felt their weight. I could feel them filling with milk under my very touch. They were becoming rounder with every passing minute. Thicker. Fuller. So very, very erotic.
This was the culmination of all of my writing, all of my fantasies, and all of my subconscious thoughts. Every tit boy dream I had, every story I had written; all of it was leading up to this exact moment. While I admired the idea of the tit boys, of the grace and power they possessed, I had never admitted to myself what it was that drove my thoughts. All of my adoration was merely an expression of my desire to have tits myself.
I had become the pinnacle of human sexuality. I was the ultimate sexual being, a man with tits that responded to the lightest touch, a body made for pure hedonistic pleasure. I was like the next stage of evolution, a being beyond human, tapping into a vein of sexual power never before experienced.
That may have been true, or it may have been my lust speaking for me, but regardless of what my tits represented, they were overwhelming my body with bliss.
My tits were becoming filled with a captivating pressure. The more my tits filled with milk, the more I wanted them to fill even more. It was like the first time I had an orgasm, how I felt my balls churning and swelling with need. This was the same, a signal that my body had changed and was changing in new and dramatic ways. Gemini had told me that I had to be made new to enter the world I had created, and he was right.
I began panting and moaning, my mouth forming odd noises that couldn’t truly be called words. Everything rational was being abandoned, including language and logic. I gave myself in fully to primal lust, to emotion, and to my tits. I was no longer the master of my body. As my tits continued to swell, I realized that my life would be spent in service to them: a life devoted to erotic rapture and revelation.
My body began to throb and shake. My voice became louder as I felt the weight of my tits sink into my chest. I caressed them, pinched the nipples, even spanked them, laughing to myself as they refused to shake or give. It was like slapping a bodybuilder’s flexed bicep, nothing but firm, solid, turgid muscle. They were impossibly round and strong, filled to bursting, swelling to remarkable heights. I found myself imagining them to fill continuously, inflating to cartoonish proportions, becoming a total slave to the sensation of my tits.
A single drop of fluid escaped from my left tit. For a second, I felt as if I was beyond my body, as if I was something far more than human, even more than a tit boy. Then, with a loud, sharp, joyous cry, I came.
Twin fountains of milk erupted from my tits, shooting high and fierce and defiant. The warm cream fell onto my body, covering my chest, dripping down my body onto the bed. The milk flowed easily and smoothly after its initial eruption, trickling down my abs, slithering down to my cock, traveling down the bed to drip audibly onto the floor.
Part of my mind still believed I would wake up any second, and that this was not real. With every satisfied exhalation, I checked to make sure I was still there. I was constantly reassured however, by the ecstatic feel of the milk escaping my nipples, by the puddle of cream that was growing around me, and by the tightening muscles of my body.
This was it, this was me. I was now, officially and forever, a tit boy. This was my new world.
I collected some of the milk, licking it off with my fingers, tracing lines all over my body. It tasted delicious, almost like vanilla cream and it felt like satin against my skin. It felt natural and even ordinary, as if this had always been my destiny, had always been my birthright and only now was I finally accepting it.
My heartbeat slowed, my breathing returned to normal, and soon I was basking in afterglow, my tit milk making a mess of my bed and the room itself. I began laughing to myself, smiling broadly, filled with a sense of confidence and purpose that I had never felt before. I was so lost in myself that I didn’t hear the door open.
“Bro, I’ve been knocking for five minutes. What’s going on?”
Matt stood in the doorway clad only in his underwear, staring at me, and at my sweaty, milk-covered post-orgasmic body. Oddly enough, I didn’t feel any shame or embarrassment. His tits were as firm and round as mine, as if they’d been cast from the same mold.
“Good morning, Matt.”
Matt took a cautious step into the room. I sat up, milk spilling down my torso to join the already large puddle cascading off the bed. I smiled at my brother. He smiled back.
“Look at you, bro.”
“Look at you.”
“I came to get you for breakfast.” Matt walked very slowly toward the bed. I could see that his cock growing through his underwear, as if each step was causing him to become harder.
“I think I’d better shower first, don’t you?”
“No.” Matt had reached the side of the bed. He gingerly ran his fingers through some of the collected milk, bringing it to his lips. He laughed a little.
“What is it?”
“It tastes like mine. Must be the family thing.” He placed one hand on one of my cream-stained tits. “They feel like mine, too.”
I placed one of my hands on Matt’s tits. He exhaled slightly as I felt his tit. He had been right: it was just as beautiful as my own. It had the same firmness, the same heft, and the same warmth. My other hand wandered almost absent-mindedly to his other tit.
“Wow, bro. You have nice hands.” Matt began exploring my other tit, his hands gliding easily over my skin, the milk acting as a slippery lubricant. He leaned forward, his face slowly approaching my own. I saw his lips begin to part and recoiled slightly.
“What’s the matter, bro?”
“You’re very—hot. And you’re tits are spectacular, but—you’re my brother! And besides, aren’t you straight?”
“I can’t help it. You look so hot with tits.”
“Bro, these babies,” Matt cupped his tits, his hands lightly coated in my milk, “are the hottest things I’ve ever seen. They make me feel so horny all the time, knowing that I have something that drives people crazy. But until now, I’ve never known what it was like for someone to admire them up close. It’s like I’m looking in a mirror. I want to show you how hot these are.” I ran my hands down my chest. I drew my hand back, allowing the milk to dribble onto my abs.
“I think I already know.”
Matt didn’t respond, but instead drew back so I could take in his whole body, from his disheveled bed hair to his solid, strong calves. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and slid them down with one fluid motion. He casually tossed them behind his head, his cock bouncing free, rock hard and ready. He approached the bed. I could feel the heat radiating from his body. 18-year-old jocks are naturally swarming with hormonal energy. I could tell that Matt’s tits ramped that up to an absurd level, and he positively exuded sex, a release of pheromones that was almost visible to the naked eye.
Matt began to crawl into the bed. I was hard despite of myself. My little brother—I shouldn’t want him, I shouldn’t want to feel him, to taste him, to experience him. But he was so hot, his lean, pumped body made perfect by his beautiful tits, his cock filled to bursting with vibrant sexual potency. He was nearly on top of me now, and he seemed to be crawling into the bed in extreme slow motion.
I felt Matt’s thigh against mine as he got into the bed, heard the splashing as his knee landed into a pool of my tit milk. He brought his other leg around, straddling me, lowering his weight onto mine. Our stomachs touched first, then he laced his hands into mine. Then, he lowered himself fully until his tits were pressed into mine, sending electricity throughout my entire body. His nipples brushed mine, his firm flesh sank into my own, and for a second we were no longer human beings, no longer tit boys. We were beings of pure energy, sexual flames powered entirely by our tits.
Matt’s eyes fell into mine, and before I could think about it, our lips were locked. His tongue eagerly explored my mouth, as if searching for hidden treasure. I returned the favor, twisting my tongue around his lips. I brought one of my hands to the back of his head, as if trying to bring him in even closer to me. Our bodies slid against each other, my tit milk making us slippery and moist.
Matt’s hands went for my tits, massaging them with an endearingly inexperienced touch. I grabbed his tits in response, my hands working quietly and deftly, educating by example. Matt was quick to catch on, and his massage became gentler as the minutes drew on. He continued to kiss me the entire time with his moist, energetic mouth.
Matt eased himself down on the bed, his cock briefly crossing with mine. I trembled at the sensation, my own cock throbbing insistently. Matt’s mouth quickly found my nipples, eagerly sucking and nibbling on them. I cried out, overtaken by sensation. Matt had obviously never had experience in servicing a chest, and he would occasionally lose himself in his lust, biting down too hard on my nipple. When he did, I would playfully slap him on the side of the head, and he would correct himself.
He continued his ministrations on my other nipple, his every kiss and lick causing my tits to respond and fill with milk, despite my explosive orgasm only moments before. My tits seemed not to care, reflexively filling with lust and need at the slightest provocation. Matt began to grind his crotch into me as he worked, his tight muscular butt pumping and writhing automatically. His smooth skin shined in the soft morning light, the globes of his ass appearing as tantalizing as fresh, succulent fruit.
Matt looked up from my swollen tits, smiling wickedly. He lifted himself up again, kissing me deeply and passionately, his large cock rubbing against mine. He grinded himself forward until his tits were directly above my mouth, and I eagerly licked his nipples, causing his own tits to swell just as mine had. They filled faster and stronger than my own, perhaps a reflection of the sexual vigor of youth.
He moaned loudly as I worked on him, my mouth jumping from right to left and back again in an effort to stimulate both his tits. Matt arched his back his hips bucking slightly, his cock bouncing. I ran my hands down his back, lacing his skin with my tit milk. I could feel his butt flexing and twitching even without touching him.
Matt took a handful of cream from the pools on the bed and reached behind him to coat his ass with it. I saw him working the cream into his hole, saturating himself. Matt took another handful of cream and reached for my cock, slicking the thick shaft up, sending shivering currents down my spine. I knew what was about to happen, and I was powerless to stop it, entirely consumed by lust and need. Matt removed his tits from my mouth, and shifted back on the bed.
He slid easily onto my cock, the milk acting better than any lubricant I’d ever tried. He was beyond tight, but his ass eagerly swallowed me up. He lowered himself completely onto me, taking me all the way to the base. He grimaced momentarily in pain, unprepared for what he was doing. I didn’t move but placed my hands on his ass, gently kneading the solid flesh. Matt grunted through clenched teeth.
“Just breathe. Relax.” I placed my hands on his tits, distracting him, lightly brushing my fingers against his nipples. It seemed to work, and soon his face changed to a more serene expression. I covered my hands in tit milk and painted it all over his torso, from his tits to his abdomen, making sure to coat his cock with it, too. That caused him to throw his head back and moan. I must have flipped a lever in him somewhere, because he began to slide his ass up and down on my cock very slowly.
“Oh, Danny—Danny it feels so good.” Matt barely ever called me by name. It was always “Bro” and “Dude.” Now, however, he kept saying my name like a mantra. He raised his hips until only the head of my cock was in his ass, then he slid down until I felt his ass against my balls. It was slow at first, gradually quickening as Matt gave in more to his hormonal needs.
Matt’s ass wrapped around my cock like a pair of warm lips, his trusts like a deep soul kiss into the heart of my very being. The two of us began moaning and grunting like animals in heat, our bodies writhing, our tits growing full and swollen. We were so trapped in our euphoria that we didn’t hear a voice coming from down the hall: a voice that was growing louder.
“Boys! What’s going on? Breakfast has been ready for fifteen…” Dad stopped in the doorway. Only a small pair of tight boxer briefs maintained his modesty. I clamped my hands onto Matt’s hips, stopping him cold in mid-thrust. We looked at Dad with a mix of horror and thrill, as if being caught in the act itself was a mild aphrodisiac.
“It’s good to see you boys finally playing nice together.” Dad crossed his muscular arms over his stomach, framing a massive pair of tits.
“Dad? You, too?”
“Of course, Daniel.” Dad’s tits were huge, bigger than any I’d seen before. It made sense in a way. Dad was built like a brick house. It was only logical that his tits would be just as big as the rest of his muscles, pumped and firm and commanding. He walked forward, his whole body like a pillar of virility.
“This is your world, Daniel.” Dad slid his briefs off, peeling them down as if it were the skin of a banana. His cock was only half-hard, but it was a beautiful sight to behold, thick and snaked with veins. He walked forward. “But your still Daddy’s boy, aren’t you?”
My whole body came alive with the words, my mind opened to a new, brilliant insight. This was, indeed, my world. This was a world I created, with rules and laws that were birthed from deep within my subconscious. I had secretly lusted for Dad and Matt, and now were they were, my Dad naked and hard, watching approvingly as Matt sat on my cock, our bodies slick with my tit milk. And all three of us sported a pair of seductive, needful tits that were constantly on alert, constantly in need of attention.
Every thought, every appreciative glance was being crystallized before me, my entire fantasy life made real. I was indeed new in every way, remade into a world of hedonism, passion, and desire. But deep down, in the core of my being, I was still Daddy’s Boy.
Dad was fully hard now, his raging hard-on impressive but no match for his massive tits. They were regal and dominating, almost daring you to resist them, although I couldn’t see how anybody could. They demanded respect as soon as they appeared in the room, more intimidating than even the largest pectorals or biceps of the most celebrated bodybuilder.
With Matt still sitting on my cock, Dad reached for my thighs and pulled me toward the edge of the bed, leaving traces of cooling tit milk on the bed. The strength in his hands was remarkable. He spread my legs apart, forcing Matt to readjust himself if he wanted to stay where he was. Dad stepped forward, placing my legs on his broad shoulders.
“Yes,” I gasped. “I am Daddy’s Boy.”
Matt scooped up more of my tit milk with each hand. One hand reached for my ass, the other for Dad’s cock. Matt lined my ass with cream just like he had done with his. His other hand softly stroked Dad’s huge hard-on, making it slick and moist. Dad approached slowly, wrapping his hands around my thighs. I felt the head of Dad’s cock tease my ass, and I flexed the muscles there, groaning quietly.
Dad slowly and lovingly entered me, filling my ass with his cock. The milk was a fantastic lubricant, the cock sliding in effortlessly. He began to pump slowly, kissing the back of Matt’s neck, his hands running up and down my spread legs. The sexual energy of the room began to coalesce into my groin as Dad fucked me and as Matt rode my own cock. It was the focus of the world at that point, the source of all that was vital and alive.
I wrapped my legs around Dad’s waist, locking him into place. Dad in turn wrapped his arms around Matt’s waist, encouraging him to ride me harder. Dad had amazing control, never missing a beat in his steady thrusting. The three of us slipped into an amazing rhythm, easily matching each other in an erotic dance, three handsome, athletic men thrusting and grinding and groaning, our bodies sweating, our muscles throbbing, our tits swelling, growing, and filling.
Dad’s huge tits pressed into Matt’s back. I could feel the milk leaking from them as it snaked down Matt’s body and dripped onto my thighs. Matt began to leak himself, Dad’s arms lifting them up as if presenting a blue-ribbon prize. The tight, solid tits looked ready to explode, Matt’s head moving back and forth, his mind entirely lost to the moment. My tits began leaking as well, the new milk mixing with the traces of the milk from my earlier orgasm. They were filled to capacity again, almost looking bigger than they became before, and I found myself with a desperate need to see them swell as big as possible.
As if it were synchronized, all three of us released at once, torrents of milk and cum exploding from our bodies. I felt dad’s thick cock pulse inside me, filling me with his seed, while at the same time I came inside my brother, filling him with his first load. Matt’s cock throbbed and sang, shooting fiercely, his juices sailing over my head to mark the wall behind me.
Our tits cried out in unison, six pure fountains of lust spewing from us to cover everything in sight. Our bodies, the bed, the floor, everything was blessed with fresh tit milk. My own milk repeated its earlier performance, two geysers of cream saturating every inch of my torso, sprinkling onto my face and neck. Matt’s milk poured like twin waterfalls, splashing onto my abs, seeping into the spaces between our thighs. Matt enthusiastically rubbed the milk all over his body, moisturizing himself with it.
But Dad’s milk was the most explosive of all. His huge tits shot liberally and forcefully, the milk shooting like water from a garden hose. It hit Matt’s back, ricocheting out to spray everything in the room. The milk flowed down Matt’s back, kissing the back of his ass, falling down to caress my thighs and balls. I closed my eyes to avoid the milk hitting my eyes, but I could still feel the hard droplets sail into my skin like tiny orbs of concentrated sexual heat.
For several minutes we stayed still, enjoying the aching sensations in our tits, enjoying the unity of form and body. Dad and Matt withdrew from me, Matt collapsing on top of me in an exhausted heap. Dad walked around to the side of the bed, leaning forward to embrace both of us, all of us coated in a thin layer of hot, fragrant cream.
“I think we need a shower. Don’t you, boys?” Matt and I nodded our agreement. Dad helped us get to our feet, our muscles stiff and aching in the most delicious way. We stood up, our feet making splashing sounds on the floor as the tit milk slithered down our bodies into tiny puddles on the floor.
“What about the mess?” I gestured to the room around me.
“We’ll worry about that later. Come on, boys.”
We entered the large shower adjacent to Dad’s room, the three of us easily fitting into the spacious stall. The hot water was like an elixir, immediately waking us up, enhancing our senses. We spent a long time cleaning each other, soaping our bodies up, feeling the tit milk wash off and swirl into the drain. Matt and I explored Dad’s tits as he fondled our own. I wondered if mine would ever grow that impressive. What could I or could not do in this brave new world? The possibilities were infinite and each idea more thrilling than the last.
Mouths traveled, meeting lips and nipples. Hands massaged tits, butts, and cocks. Had we not all come so massively moments earlier, I was sure that we would soon turn the shower into a creamery, bathing ourselves in milk and cum. My tits had temporarily reached their limit, it seemed, and I would need to recharge them before I could see them swollen and desperate once again. I prayed that Dad and Matt would be around when it happened, and I imagined the three of us taking turns having the other two suckle our tits to orgasm.
It was like we were meeting each other for the first time, discovering new sensations and new experiences. We were new people in a way, with new bodies, new outlooks, and entirely new needs. I looked forward to becoming fully acquainted with both Matt and Dad in the most intimate of ways.
A ringing phone broke us from our reverie. With a sigh, Dad exited the shower, patting us both on the ass as he walked out. He walked downstairs, his body dripping wet, leaving trails on the wood floors. He didn’t bother to wrap a towel around him, walking boldly with his tits bouncing and his virile cock on display for anyone to see. I could hear his voice from downstairs, listening intently even as Matt and I continued to gently caress each other.
“Jack Harrison speaking. No, I’m sorry. No, I’m not available today. Well, it can wait until tomorrow. I know it’s important, but I’m spending quality time with my sons today, and that takes priority. No, my mind’s made up. All right. See you tomorrow.”
Dad walked back up to the shower as Matt was turning it off. He opened the door, our bodies hot and most, his naked body appearing fantastically inviting, like the divine made flesh. He smiled broadly, three small Speedos in his hand.
“Well, boys! Who wants to go to the beach?”
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