Bigger
- Thread starter GJackN
- Start date
wow
fantastic story man! May we all met an Owen one day who is willing to have his manhood given attention! Thanks!
Here it is - the next installment. I'd like to just say again thank you for all the compliments and warm reception. They're much appreciated. Do me a solid though and let's try to keep the comments story-related this time around though? Thank you and enjoy!
CHAPTER 2
I sat in stunned silence on the floor, gaping at my cum-glazed hands. On the couch, Owen was catching his breath, staring up at the ceiling. Had that really just happened? It had all been over in just a few minutes, easy enough to believe that it might not have occurred at all—were it not for the copious amount of goo webbed between my fingers and dripping onto my jeans.
“Oh, man, I’m so sorry, I got it all over you,” Owen said, eyes finally falling on me. His fat, turgid cock rolled stickily over his balls. He quickly stood, his pants still around his ankles, and I rose to meet him. Jizz dripped and coursed from his flat abdomen, down over his heavy, dangling package. His cheeks were growing red with embarrassment again. “Let me get you a towel…”
“Don’t you dare apologize,” I said when I could finally my voice again. “That was incredible!”
Owen had hurried across the hall, into the bathroom, and was exiting again, a towel in hand. He paused in the doorway, looking me up and down. I stared back, taking him in. Naked from the waist down, shirt open, heavy package swaying mightily between his legs, cum-covered and fit, he was a sight to behold. I tried to commit as much of him to memory as I could, already fearful that this might end up another dreaded one-off. What if I’d moved too fast? What if this was doomed to become one of those textbook hookups that were passionate for an evening—and then snuffed out? What if we lapsed back into neighbors who just happened to live in the same building, but for all intents and purposes were strangers again?
“Here,” he said, closing the distance between us in single stride. He was taller than I was, probably a solid six foot tall to my 5’10”, and smelled intoxicatingly of aftershave, sweat, and cum. My hands were extended in front of me for lack of knowing where else to put them, lest I smeared jizz everywhere, and he took each one in turn in his own, gingerly wiping them clean. “You didn’t have to do that for me, you know,” he said softly, as he worked. “It was very kind of you and much appreciated.”
“How could I not?” I said, nodding at his crotch. He blushed and rolled his eyes, that smirk forming in the corner of his mouth again. I was beginning to recognize it as a telltale expression. Up close, I could finally make out the finer features of his face. His long, dark eyelashes; the first faint age lines forming at the corners of his mouth and eyes. His coiffed hair was ruffled, the first silver threads of which were beginning to blossom at his temples, and a lock of it hung down over his forehead.
“Let’s take a shower, so I can clean you up properly,” he said.
Afterward, we lay naked and tangled together on the cool satin sheets of his bed. Try as I might to focus on the conversation at hand, I could not stop staring at Owen’s overgrown manhood. Even soft, it hung so heavy and low over his bull balls, the head resting so far down between his legs and onto the sheets. At one point he reached down and absentmindedly adjusted it, dropping the long slab of it over his thigh toward me. I gasped and reached out, brushing his cockhead softly, fascinated.
“Can I ask you a question?” I said. “How big are you exactly?”
It was a stupid question. One that well-endowed guys got all the time from lesser blessed, yet inevitably envious men. What were the inches between a man’s legs other than a number? They weren’t a measure of his ability to provide for himself or his loved ones, a gauge of his morality or ethics. And yet that number mattered. In the collective conscious of society at large, it mattered. Size inarguably mattered, and with it came power, influence, and opportunities that presented themselves in a multitude of unexpected ways. But I would learn most of that later.
He thought for a moment. “The last time I measured it, it was around nine inches, I think.”
“I’m sorry, but this is no nine inch dick,” I scoffed. “I fucked a guy who had nine inches and you are definitely bigger than him—in every way. When was the last time you measured it?”
Another stupid question on my part, the answer to which nevertheless said more about the guy answering it than it did the guy asking, I’d always thought. The obvious answer was that every guy, at some point in his life, measured his penis. It was like some unspoken rite of passage, rarely taught by instruction, but stumbled upon all the same by every man in his youth. I found them amusing, those men who purported to have never measured and pretended not to know or care, believing full well that just like the rest of those, they’d holed themselves up in their bedrooms at some point, placed a ruler to their pelvis, and stared down, wondering…
“Oh heck, probably back when I was in college,” Owen said. “And I doubt it’s grown any since then. Not at my age. I think it’s as big as it’s going to get…” He trailed off, staring not so much at the ceiling as through it. He seemed to consider something, opened his mouth as if to continue, then thought it better of it. I poked him in the side, coaxing him to continue. “It’s stupid,” he chuckled. “I just haven’t thought about that in a long time. When I was a teenager I used to measure it all the time. Not so weird, I guess. Most guys do that, right?”
“Except most guys aren’t hung like horse,” I said. “When did you first realize you were so big?”
You’re just hitting home-runs left and right, aren’t you? Here I was carelessly working through the quintessential Big Dick 101 questionnaire, never considering how it might make Owen feel to be mentally poked and prodded. Much to my relief, however, he didn’t seem to mind in the least. Or at least, if he did, was chivalrous enough not to show it. Being as endowed as he was, I was certain he’d been peppered with these same questions all his life, by every man he had been generous enough to share his ample assets with, and I was no different. Just play it cool, Mark, I reminded myself bitterly. Don’t scare him off.
“In high school, I suppose,” Owen said. “I used to run track: the mile, hurdles, pole-vaulting. Little bit of everything. I loved it. They made us wear those skimpy little synthetic short shorts though. You know the ones made of nylon or whatever? They felt amazing! I used to wear them every chance I got, even when I wasn’t at practice, especially around the house. I had one of those full-length mirrors you hang on your closet door in my room. So one day I was in my room walking around in those shorts and I saw something sticking out of them in the mirror and when I looked down. Well…you know. My dick was poking out the bottom a bit. So that was probably when I first suspected I was bigger than most guys, in retrospect. But even then I wasn’t totally sure. I couldn’t be. The only other guys I’d ever seen naked were my father and my brother and they were just as big as me, so far as I could tell. But I knew for sure later on in the locker room. I was curious if other guys’ dicks also poked out of their shorts.”
“But they didn’t.”
“They did not,” he said, nodding. “That’s when I first started measuring it, that I can remember. We didn’t have the Internet back then. There was no way I could ask Google what the average dick size was, so I always just assumed I was normal, the same as everyone else. I ended up stealing one of my brother’s Playboys when he was at work and there was this article in the back talking about some woman having difficulty taking her boyfriend’s eight-inch dick and how huge it was. I ended up digging through my mother’s sewing kit for her measuring tape. I must have measured it like five or six times that night just to make sure I was reading it right. But it kept coming up with that same number. Nine inches.”
“You had to have grown by then,” I said. “Do you have a ruler? We could measure it now.”
He chuckled. “I have measuring tape.”
“Your mother’s?” I teased. That earned me a decidedly rough kiss. As he talked, I had rested my head on his pecs, tracing my fingers through his chest hair, but now he suddenly placed his hand under my chin and brought my face up to his, kissing me hard. “I’m serious,” I said, when we finally broke. “I’m telling you. You have the biggest cock I’ve ever laid eyes on. Aren’t you the teensiest bit curious if you’ve grown even more since then?”
His curiosity—or my persistence—won him over in the end and Owen relented, climbing out of bed and disappearing into the hall. I heard him rustling around in the closet. When he returned, it was with measuring tape in hand, his jumbo-sized johnson flopping lazily between his thighs, balls bouncing with every step toward the bed. It was mesmerizing the way that hefty pecker swung back and forth pendulously, brushing his lightly hairy thighs. I could watch that on a loop for the rest of my life and never get tired of it, I thought contentedly.
“I have to get hard again,” he said. “Think you can help with that?”
“Is water wet?”
“Well, technically speaking, water itself isn’t wet. It makes other things wet, see…”
In one fluid motion I grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him tumbling and giggling back onto the bed, and pinned him under me, kissing him hard and returning the favor. He sank into the kiss, losing himself in it as it softened—and never saw my hand snatch the wrinkled measuring tape from him while I reached for his flaccid dick with my other. Once again, I was struck by how abundant a handful his meat was, even at rest. I gripped his pony-sized dick at it’s thick base, pressing my hand into his pubic hair to make sure I was grabbing at as close to the root as possible, and placed one end of the tape there. Slowly but surely, I began stretching it along the length of his soft dick, watching as inch after inch was ticked off. One…two…three…four…well, he’s officially got me beat in the soft department. Not that that was in any doubt. Five…six...seven…fuck, he’s officially bigger soft than most guys are hard, but then again, no surprise there…
“What’s the verdict?” Owen asked, when I’d finished and released his enormous penis, letting it plop heavily between his legs again.
“Eight and half inches.”
“Wait, what? Really?” he said, sitting upright. “I’m not even closet to hard yet though.”
“I told you,” I said, smiling. “You’re bigger than you realize. You’ve grown.”
I didn’t wait for permission to begin coaxing an erection out of him—nor did I have to. Before I could even lean in and begin nuzzling that oversized package of his, I could see his monster cock stirring. Evidently, Owen was just excited about the revelation of his newfound size as I was. And watching him get hard again was no less thrilling than the first time. The sudden incursion of color and size flooded his dick, engorging his veins. This time around, however, I didn’t release my grip. I wanted to feel every fat inch as it was added to that already incredible meat between his legs, feel it slowly but inexorably force my fingers apart as it grew, refusing to be contained by my grip. That’s right, grow for me, big boy. Show me just how huge you can get. Though he didn’t need it, I couldn’t help but lend some oral assistance, lapping hungrily at the underside of his lengthening member. The aroma of his body wash still lingered on skin as I dove in between his balls, nuzzling them. Every part of him smelled and tasted equally inebriating. Thank God there’s more than enough of him to go around because I don’t know that I’ll ever have my fill. My head was swimming by the time I sat back up, finding him at full mast. Completely, gloriously erect. Wordlessly, I gripped his horse cock at the base again. If anyone could give a Coke can a run for its money in terms of girth, it was Owen. He owed a great deal of it to that huge cum-tube under his penis, but even then, he looked like he was at least a couple of inches across. I made a mental note to take a measurement of that while I was at it, too, and met his gaze.
“Here we go,” I said.
In nearly the exact spot as before, I placed the end of the measuring tape at the base of his humongous schlong, only this time I needed Owen’s hands for assistance. He had a donkey cock, and like a donkey, it stubbornly refused to do anything it didn’t want to, pointing straight up at his chin. Owen reached down and forced it toward the ceiling again, the tendons that connected it to his groin straining beneath his skin. I began stretching the tape along those many thick inches, admittedly taking my time, savoring every second in case they never came again. One…two…three… For the second time, I watched as his dick proceeded to not only exceed expectations but conquer them squarely. Four…five…six… As my eyes traveled up the long span from his crotch to his cockhead, following this pencil thick veins up past his circumcision scar, I realized with much excitement and little surprise that his huge prick was going to easily surpass mine, the same as anyone else’s. The only question was, of course, but how much? Seven…eight…nine… And still it kept going. Was it just my overwhelmed senses playing tricks on me or did Owen flex his cock some too, straining for just one more hair of an inch? Or did his cock do that on its own, determined to impress? Before I reported my findings to him, I quickly withdrew the tape, affixing it around his girth. His penis enthralled me completely and I wanted—needed—to know every inch of it. When I finished, my wide-eyed gaze traveled to meet Owen’s.
The final tallies were in.
“Ten and a quarter inches long,” I reported. “And seven inches around.”
CHAPTER 2
I sat in stunned silence on the floor, gaping at my cum-glazed hands. On the couch, Owen was catching his breath, staring up at the ceiling. Had that really just happened? It had all been over in just a few minutes, easy enough to believe that it might not have occurred at all—were it not for the copious amount of goo webbed between my fingers and dripping onto my jeans.
“Oh, man, I’m so sorry, I got it all over you,” Owen said, eyes finally falling on me. His fat, turgid cock rolled stickily over his balls. He quickly stood, his pants still around his ankles, and I rose to meet him. Jizz dripped and coursed from his flat abdomen, down over his heavy, dangling package. His cheeks were growing red with embarrassment again. “Let me get you a towel…”
“Don’t you dare apologize,” I said when I could finally my voice again. “That was incredible!”
Owen had hurried across the hall, into the bathroom, and was exiting again, a towel in hand. He paused in the doorway, looking me up and down. I stared back, taking him in. Naked from the waist down, shirt open, heavy package swaying mightily between his legs, cum-covered and fit, he was a sight to behold. I tried to commit as much of him to memory as I could, already fearful that this might end up another dreaded one-off. What if I’d moved too fast? What if this was doomed to become one of those textbook hookups that were passionate for an evening—and then snuffed out? What if we lapsed back into neighbors who just happened to live in the same building, but for all intents and purposes were strangers again?
“Here,” he said, closing the distance between us in single stride. He was taller than I was, probably a solid six foot tall to my 5’10”, and smelled intoxicatingly of aftershave, sweat, and cum. My hands were extended in front of me for lack of knowing where else to put them, lest I smeared jizz everywhere, and he took each one in turn in his own, gingerly wiping them clean. “You didn’t have to do that for me, you know,” he said softly, as he worked. “It was very kind of you and much appreciated.”
“How could I not?” I said, nodding at his crotch. He blushed and rolled his eyes, that smirk forming in the corner of his mouth again. I was beginning to recognize it as a telltale expression. Up close, I could finally make out the finer features of his face. His long, dark eyelashes; the first faint age lines forming at the corners of his mouth and eyes. His coiffed hair was ruffled, the first silver threads of which were beginning to blossom at his temples, and a lock of it hung down over his forehead.
“Let’s take a shower, so I can clean you up properly,” he said.
Afterward, we lay naked and tangled together on the cool satin sheets of his bed. Try as I might to focus on the conversation at hand, I could not stop staring at Owen’s overgrown manhood. Even soft, it hung so heavy and low over his bull balls, the head resting so far down between his legs and onto the sheets. At one point he reached down and absentmindedly adjusted it, dropping the long slab of it over his thigh toward me. I gasped and reached out, brushing his cockhead softly, fascinated.
“Can I ask you a question?” I said. “How big are you exactly?”
It was a stupid question. One that well-endowed guys got all the time from lesser blessed, yet inevitably envious men. What were the inches between a man’s legs other than a number? They weren’t a measure of his ability to provide for himself or his loved ones, a gauge of his morality or ethics. And yet that number mattered. In the collective conscious of society at large, it mattered. Size inarguably mattered, and with it came power, influence, and opportunities that presented themselves in a multitude of unexpected ways. But I would learn most of that later.
He thought for a moment. “The last time I measured it, it was around nine inches, I think.”
“I’m sorry, but this is no nine inch dick,” I scoffed. “I fucked a guy who had nine inches and you are definitely bigger than him—in every way. When was the last time you measured it?”
Another stupid question on my part, the answer to which nevertheless said more about the guy answering it than it did the guy asking, I’d always thought. The obvious answer was that every guy, at some point in his life, measured his penis. It was like some unspoken rite of passage, rarely taught by instruction, but stumbled upon all the same by every man in his youth. I found them amusing, those men who purported to have never measured and pretended not to know or care, believing full well that just like the rest of those, they’d holed themselves up in their bedrooms at some point, placed a ruler to their pelvis, and stared down, wondering…
“Oh heck, probably back when I was in college,” Owen said. “And I doubt it’s grown any since then. Not at my age. I think it’s as big as it’s going to get…” He trailed off, staring not so much at the ceiling as through it. He seemed to consider something, opened his mouth as if to continue, then thought it better of it. I poked him in the side, coaxing him to continue. “It’s stupid,” he chuckled. “I just haven’t thought about that in a long time. When I was a teenager I used to measure it all the time. Not so weird, I guess. Most guys do that, right?”
“Except most guys aren’t hung like horse,” I said. “When did you first realize you were so big?”
You’re just hitting home-runs left and right, aren’t you? Here I was carelessly working through the quintessential Big Dick 101 questionnaire, never considering how it might make Owen feel to be mentally poked and prodded. Much to my relief, however, he didn’t seem to mind in the least. Or at least, if he did, was chivalrous enough not to show it. Being as endowed as he was, I was certain he’d been peppered with these same questions all his life, by every man he had been generous enough to share his ample assets with, and I was no different. Just play it cool, Mark, I reminded myself bitterly. Don’t scare him off.
“In high school, I suppose,” Owen said. “I used to run track: the mile, hurdles, pole-vaulting. Little bit of everything. I loved it. They made us wear those skimpy little synthetic short shorts though. You know the ones made of nylon or whatever? They felt amazing! I used to wear them every chance I got, even when I wasn’t at practice, especially around the house. I had one of those full-length mirrors you hang on your closet door in my room. So one day I was in my room walking around in those shorts and I saw something sticking out of them in the mirror and when I looked down. Well…you know. My dick was poking out the bottom a bit. So that was probably when I first suspected I was bigger than most guys, in retrospect. But even then I wasn’t totally sure. I couldn’t be. The only other guys I’d ever seen naked were my father and my brother and they were just as big as me, so far as I could tell. But I knew for sure later on in the locker room. I was curious if other guys’ dicks also poked out of their shorts.”
“But they didn’t.”
“They did not,” he said, nodding. “That’s when I first started measuring it, that I can remember. We didn’t have the Internet back then. There was no way I could ask Google what the average dick size was, so I always just assumed I was normal, the same as everyone else. I ended up stealing one of my brother’s Playboys when he was at work and there was this article in the back talking about some woman having difficulty taking her boyfriend’s eight-inch dick and how huge it was. I ended up digging through my mother’s sewing kit for her measuring tape. I must have measured it like five or six times that night just to make sure I was reading it right. But it kept coming up with that same number. Nine inches.”
“You had to have grown by then,” I said. “Do you have a ruler? We could measure it now.”
He chuckled. “I have measuring tape.”
“Your mother’s?” I teased. That earned me a decidedly rough kiss. As he talked, I had rested my head on his pecs, tracing my fingers through his chest hair, but now he suddenly placed his hand under my chin and brought my face up to his, kissing me hard. “I’m serious,” I said, when we finally broke. “I’m telling you. You have the biggest cock I’ve ever laid eyes on. Aren’t you the teensiest bit curious if you’ve grown even more since then?”
His curiosity—or my persistence—won him over in the end and Owen relented, climbing out of bed and disappearing into the hall. I heard him rustling around in the closet. When he returned, it was with measuring tape in hand, his jumbo-sized johnson flopping lazily between his thighs, balls bouncing with every step toward the bed. It was mesmerizing the way that hefty pecker swung back and forth pendulously, brushing his lightly hairy thighs. I could watch that on a loop for the rest of my life and never get tired of it, I thought contentedly.
“I have to get hard again,” he said. “Think you can help with that?”
“Is water wet?”
“Well, technically speaking, water itself isn’t wet. It makes other things wet, see…”
In one fluid motion I grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him tumbling and giggling back onto the bed, and pinned him under me, kissing him hard and returning the favor. He sank into the kiss, losing himself in it as it softened—and never saw my hand snatch the wrinkled measuring tape from him while I reached for his flaccid dick with my other. Once again, I was struck by how abundant a handful his meat was, even at rest. I gripped his pony-sized dick at it’s thick base, pressing my hand into his pubic hair to make sure I was grabbing at as close to the root as possible, and placed one end of the tape there. Slowly but surely, I began stretching it along the length of his soft dick, watching as inch after inch was ticked off. One…two…three…four…well, he’s officially got me beat in the soft department. Not that that was in any doubt. Five…six...seven…fuck, he’s officially bigger soft than most guys are hard, but then again, no surprise there…
“What’s the verdict?” Owen asked, when I’d finished and released his enormous penis, letting it plop heavily between his legs again.
“Eight and half inches.”
“Wait, what? Really?” he said, sitting upright. “I’m not even closet to hard yet though.”
“I told you,” I said, smiling. “You’re bigger than you realize. You’ve grown.”
I didn’t wait for permission to begin coaxing an erection out of him—nor did I have to. Before I could even lean in and begin nuzzling that oversized package of his, I could see his monster cock stirring. Evidently, Owen was just excited about the revelation of his newfound size as I was. And watching him get hard again was no less thrilling than the first time. The sudden incursion of color and size flooded his dick, engorging his veins. This time around, however, I didn’t release my grip. I wanted to feel every fat inch as it was added to that already incredible meat between his legs, feel it slowly but inexorably force my fingers apart as it grew, refusing to be contained by my grip. That’s right, grow for me, big boy. Show me just how huge you can get. Though he didn’t need it, I couldn’t help but lend some oral assistance, lapping hungrily at the underside of his lengthening member. The aroma of his body wash still lingered on skin as I dove in between his balls, nuzzling them. Every part of him smelled and tasted equally inebriating. Thank God there’s more than enough of him to go around because I don’t know that I’ll ever have my fill. My head was swimming by the time I sat back up, finding him at full mast. Completely, gloriously erect. Wordlessly, I gripped his horse cock at the base again. If anyone could give a Coke can a run for its money in terms of girth, it was Owen. He owed a great deal of it to that huge cum-tube under his penis, but even then, he looked like he was at least a couple of inches across. I made a mental note to take a measurement of that while I was at it, too, and met his gaze.
“Here we go,” I said.
In nearly the exact spot as before, I placed the end of the measuring tape at the base of his humongous schlong, only this time I needed Owen’s hands for assistance. He had a donkey cock, and like a donkey, it stubbornly refused to do anything it didn’t want to, pointing straight up at his chin. Owen reached down and forced it toward the ceiling again, the tendons that connected it to his groin straining beneath his skin. I began stretching the tape along those many thick inches, admittedly taking my time, savoring every second in case they never came again. One…two…three… For the second time, I watched as his dick proceeded to not only exceed expectations but conquer them squarely. Four…five…six… As my eyes traveled up the long span from his crotch to his cockhead, following this pencil thick veins up past his circumcision scar, I realized with much excitement and little surprise that his huge prick was going to easily surpass mine, the same as anyone else’s. The only question was, of course, but how much? Seven…eight…nine… And still it kept going. Was it just my overwhelmed senses playing tricks on me or did Owen flex his cock some too, straining for just one more hair of an inch? Or did his cock do that on its own, determined to impress? Before I reported my findings to him, I quickly withdrew the tape, affixing it around his girth. His penis enthralled me completely and I wanted—needed—to know every inch of it. When I finished, my wide-eyed gaze traveled to meet Owen’s.
The final tallies were in.
“Ten and a quarter inches long,” I reported. “And seven inches around.”
IanInNYC
Loved Member
- Joined
- Feb 26, 2007
- Posts
- 250
- Media
- 0
- Likes
- 677
- Points
- 598
- Location
- New York (United States)
- Sexuality
- 99% Gay, 1% Straight
- Gender
- Male
wow. so damn good. please keep it going.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Damn. This is one of best stories I've found here or anywhere else. I'm really glad you're tapping into a genre that turns me on to no end: the nice, unassuming guy with a monster cock in his pants. Who secretly enjoys the attention and knows the power it brings but also isn't cocky about it. And then he meets a guy who truly knows how to admire and worship it. Can't wait for the next installment!
Jutting proudly and prominently upward, anchored in place by a pair of heavily cum-bloated balls, Owen’s dick stretched loftily toward the ceiling, as if straining for even more size. I stared down at it in silent wonderment and he did the same, clearly as surprised and impressed as I was, so much so that his hand drifted away form the base. His towering cock instantly toppled, thudding against his abs as Owen slapped a hand to his forehead in bewilderment.
“Ten inches…” he said. He pronounced the words slowly, sounding them out one at a time, as if he were speaking some foreign language for the first time. “I’m ten inches.”
“More than ten, actually,” I corrected him. I hauled his engorged erection upright again, using both hands this time, marveling at its heat and hardness. “We’re talking double-digits, man. You can officially measure your cock in in double-digits. And here you’ve been telling people you were ‘only’ nine inches all this time, you sneaky bastard. I think that officially puts you in horse-hung territory.” I was so enthralled by his huge pole, that I barely heard him whisper something to himself, only catching the last word of some soft utterance passing his lips. “Hmm?”
“It got bigger.” He said the words with all the reverence and excitement of an adventurer who had just stumbled upon a lost treasure, his blue eyes sparkling with growing wonder. That telltale smirk of his blossomed at the corner of his mouth, but unlike before, it kept growing, wider and wider until it was a full-blown grin. Owen tossed back his head and let loose a joyful, incredulous laugh, clapping his hand to his forehead again. “Boy, oh boy—wow!” He sat up, his hand joining mine on his newfound manhood, tracing the length of it with his fingertips as if he were seeing and enjoying it for the first time. It would have endearing if it weren’t so erotic, watching him marvel at his own size.
An idea suddenly came over me.
“We should compare,” I said. “See how I stack up.”
Owen had been kind enough to return my earlier blowjob while we were in the shower, dropping to his knees as the hot water washed over both of our bodies, but even so, I was rock solid again and had been all evening. It was impossible not to be when I was finding myself increasingly attracted to the man sporting was now officially the largest set of equipment I’d ever seen, in person or online. To be fair, I’d always believed I could hold my own in that department. At seven and half inches, I was comfortably bigger than most guys, though not anywhere near huge. But who is compared to this stallion? I thought, looking at the massive prick in front of me. Ever the playmate, Owen indulged me and sat up on his knees, pointing his huge rod at my navel. From this angle, I was struck impressed at how remarkably straight and perfectly formed his dick really was. It’s like the perfect cock.
“Fuck…” I said. I pointed my own manhood back at him and slowly brought it closer to its much larger, much more intimidating comrade. Heat radiated intensely from Owen’s member and I fleetingly enjoyed the image of heating my hands around it like a campfire on a cold night. My pulse quickened as I continued to humbly aligned my prick alongside Owen’s—and my heart skipped several beats. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck.” Everything about his schlong was bigger, better, longer, thicker. I edged forward until his swollen, plum-sized cockhead was brushing my groin; my own cockhead was still nearly three inches away from him. And the thickness! I brought my dick above his, resting it on his broad log of cock flesh, and realized that his dong was so thick across that it comfortably peeked out on both sides of mine. It was menacing in its bulk, easily huge enough to do some serious damage to any hole it came near. My ass clenched at the thought.
“It got bigger…” I heard him mutter again beneath his breath, more to himself than to me. A glistening bead of precum had formed on his cockhead and when pulled away, it remained connected to me in a dangling thread. I reached down, broke the thread with my finger, and raised it to my mouth, savoring its candy sweetness. Owen shivered and moaned. I couldn’t help but feel proud of the influence that so simple an action had over him. I may not be anywhere near as hung as he was, but thank god I could turn him on. Certainly couldn’t hurt to turn it up a notch, could it?
“Such a big fat drooling dick,” I said. “What’s it like knowing you’re so much bigger than pretty much everyone else, so much bigger than you even realized?”
“Feels good,” he admitted softly.
“Does it feel…this good?” I opened my mouth and extended my tongue, planting a long, slow wet kiss on his cockhead. His oversized johnson instantly responded as I’d hope it would, gurgling up a fresh volley of precum that dripped down the shaft. I slurped it up lovingly and he shivered again. “You’re cock grew even bigger for you,” I murmured, my lips brushing against his throbbing pole. “I think it should be rewarded for being such a good cock, don’t you?”
Owen moaned and nodded his consent, his hands drifting to his chest to roll his nipples between his forefingers and thumbs. I positioned myself between his legs again, steadying myself for the task ahead. The first time around, I had seen the sort of power and volume of cum his donkey dick could produce. Whether or not I would actually be able to swallow it all the second time was inconsequential. I needed to feel the power of that enormous schlong emptying cum into my mouth. When would I ever get a chance like this again? Owen seemed ready for the same, rolling his hips as I took his broad, flaring cockhead in my mouth again. Maybe my jaw was tired from the first time around, but it felt as if I had to open my mouth even wider than before, as if in his excitement Owen had swelled even larger.
I gobbled down as much of his hot, pulsating mast as I could with all the enthusiasm of a starving man, which in the end was about eight-and-a-half inches, I estimated. His huge balls immediately contracted, pulling close to his body, eager to release their contents. They seemed so far away, way down at the base of his bucking dick, yet so tantalizingly close. I wanted more than anything to shove the remaining few inches down my throat and feel the warmth of his overladen sac against my chin. I steeled myself and pushed lower, another half inch disappearing into my skull as my lips were stretched thinner and my jaw cranked wider. Tears filled my eyes as I looked up at Owen. He stared back, eyes half-open and glazed over with a drunken gratitude. His hand drifted toward me, cupping the back of my head—and gently pushed my lower down his gluttonous prick. Every available inch of space in my mouth and throat was being invaded by his enormous cock, but it continued to swell even further, unsatisfied and desperate for more. The space between my straining lips and his fat balls was becoming increasingly smaller. Only an inch to go…
“There you go. There it is,” Owen murmured. “Yeahh…”
I swear I could practically hear the jizz churning in his engorged gonads as my lip lock finally, splendidly, reached the base of his dick. I could only imagine how ridiculous I must have looked from Owen’s vantage point, my jaw practically unhinged to accommodate him, eyes streaming with tears, throat distended. My lungs were screaming for air, but a cool, calm, collectedness had overtaken me as I looked up at the man attached to the monstrous penis conquering my throat. We both wanted this. We both needed it. I would endure for both our sakes.
Then all at once, Owen’s hips begin to rise off the bed, he closed his eyes, and I felt his brute of a dick begin to buck. Every instinct in me was screaming to withdraw as the first searing rope of cum rocketed down my throat and was chased by a second and third. “Gaah!” Owen cried. I couldn’t see how much jizz was flowing out of that cockhead, but I could feel it, and if my assumptions were anywhere near close, he was producing as much cream the second time around as he had the first. Our previous session had clearly done nothing to diminish his reserves. Gimme all you got, big boy!
My brain was misfiring at every neuron, deprived of oxygen, black stars dancing in my blurred vision. A shade of panic rose in the back of my mind as I choked down his load and I briefly envisioned my jaw forever locking in is current position, Owen’s enormous member crammed so far down my throat he had became stuck, the two of us cemented in this position forever. When I at long last felt as if I was about to pass out and his incredible endowment felt as if it had spewed its last, I pulled away. His horse prick (regrettably) did not remain lodged in my throat, instead mercifully retreating now that it had gotten what I came for, dragging itself across my chain, and landing with a splat between his legs.
I collapsed forward onto Owen, trembling and face-planting into his chest as I swallowed huge intakes of air, his drooling cock sandwiched between our torsos. His arms immediately enfolded me, hugging me close, his fingers running through my hair. I could hear his heartbeat drumming thunderously in his chest, going as fast, or faster, than my own.
“So good, so good…” he murmured. “Thank you. Relax. Breathe.”
It was in this embrace that sleep found and overcame us.
“Ten inches…” he said. He pronounced the words slowly, sounding them out one at a time, as if he were speaking some foreign language for the first time. “I’m ten inches.”
“More than ten, actually,” I corrected him. I hauled his engorged erection upright again, using both hands this time, marveling at its heat and hardness. “We’re talking double-digits, man. You can officially measure your cock in in double-digits. And here you’ve been telling people you were ‘only’ nine inches all this time, you sneaky bastard. I think that officially puts you in horse-hung territory.” I was so enthralled by his huge pole, that I barely heard him whisper something to himself, only catching the last word of some soft utterance passing his lips. “Hmm?”
“It got bigger.” He said the words with all the reverence and excitement of an adventurer who had just stumbled upon a lost treasure, his blue eyes sparkling with growing wonder. That telltale smirk of his blossomed at the corner of his mouth, but unlike before, it kept growing, wider and wider until it was a full-blown grin. Owen tossed back his head and let loose a joyful, incredulous laugh, clapping his hand to his forehead again. “Boy, oh boy—wow!” He sat up, his hand joining mine on his newfound manhood, tracing the length of it with his fingertips as if he were seeing and enjoying it for the first time. It would have endearing if it weren’t so erotic, watching him marvel at his own size.
An idea suddenly came over me.
“We should compare,” I said. “See how I stack up.”
Owen had been kind enough to return my earlier blowjob while we were in the shower, dropping to his knees as the hot water washed over both of our bodies, but even so, I was rock solid again and had been all evening. It was impossible not to be when I was finding myself increasingly attracted to the man sporting was now officially the largest set of equipment I’d ever seen, in person or online. To be fair, I’d always believed I could hold my own in that department. At seven and half inches, I was comfortably bigger than most guys, though not anywhere near huge. But who is compared to this stallion? I thought, looking at the massive prick in front of me. Ever the playmate, Owen indulged me and sat up on his knees, pointing his huge rod at my navel. From this angle, I was struck impressed at how remarkably straight and perfectly formed his dick really was. It’s like the perfect cock.
“Fuck…” I said. I pointed my own manhood back at him and slowly brought it closer to its much larger, much more intimidating comrade. Heat radiated intensely from Owen’s member and I fleetingly enjoyed the image of heating my hands around it like a campfire on a cold night. My pulse quickened as I continued to humbly aligned my prick alongside Owen’s—and my heart skipped several beats. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck.” Everything about his schlong was bigger, better, longer, thicker. I edged forward until his swollen, plum-sized cockhead was brushing my groin; my own cockhead was still nearly three inches away from him. And the thickness! I brought my dick above his, resting it on his broad log of cock flesh, and realized that his dong was so thick across that it comfortably peeked out on both sides of mine. It was menacing in its bulk, easily huge enough to do some serious damage to any hole it came near. My ass clenched at the thought.
“It got bigger…” I heard him mutter again beneath his breath, more to himself than to me. A glistening bead of precum had formed on his cockhead and when pulled away, it remained connected to me in a dangling thread. I reached down, broke the thread with my finger, and raised it to my mouth, savoring its candy sweetness. Owen shivered and moaned. I couldn’t help but feel proud of the influence that so simple an action had over him. I may not be anywhere near as hung as he was, but thank god I could turn him on. Certainly couldn’t hurt to turn it up a notch, could it?
“Such a big fat drooling dick,” I said. “What’s it like knowing you’re so much bigger than pretty much everyone else, so much bigger than you even realized?”
“Feels good,” he admitted softly.
“Does it feel…this good?” I opened my mouth and extended my tongue, planting a long, slow wet kiss on his cockhead. His oversized johnson instantly responded as I’d hope it would, gurgling up a fresh volley of precum that dripped down the shaft. I slurped it up lovingly and he shivered again. “You’re cock grew even bigger for you,” I murmured, my lips brushing against his throbbing pole. “I think it should be rewarded for being such a good cock, don’t you?”
Owen moaned and nodded his consent, his hands drifting to his chest to roll his nipples between his forefingers and thumbs. I positioned myself between his legs again, steadying myself for the task ahead. The first time around, I had seen the sort of power and volume of cum his donkey dick could produce. Whether or not I would actually be able to swallow it all the second time was inconsequential. I needed to feel the power of that enormous schlong emptying cum into my mouth. When would I ever get a chance like this again? Owen seemed ready for the same, rolling his hips as I took his broad, flaring cockhead in my mouth again. Maybe my jaw was tired from the first time around, but it felt as if I had to open my mouth even wider than before, as if in his excitement Owen had swelled even larger.
I gobbled down as much of his hot, pulsating mast as I could with all the enthusiasm of a starving man, which in the end was about eight-and-a-half inches, I estimated. His huge balls immediately contracted, pulling close to his body, eager to release their contents. They seemed so far away, way down at the base of his bucking dick, yet so tantalizingly close. I wanted more than anything to shove the remaining few inches down my throat and feel the warmth of his overladen sac against my chin. I steeled myself and pushed lower, another half inch disappearing into my skull as my lips were stretched thinner and my jaw cranked wider. Tears filled my eyes as I looked up at Owen. He stared back, eyes half-open and glazed over with a drunken gratitude. His hand drifted toward me, cupping the back of my head—and gently pushed my lower down his gluttonous prick. Every available inch of space in my mouth and throat was being invaded by his enormous cock, but it continued to swell even further, unsatisfied and desperate for more. The space between my straining lips and his fat balls was becoming increasingly smaller. Only an inch to go…
“There you go. There it is,” Owen murmured. “Yeahh…”
I swear I could practically hear the jizz churning in his engorged gonads as my lip lock finally, splendidly, reached the base of his dick. I could only imagine how ridiculous I must have looked from Owen’s vantage point, my jaw practically unhinged to accommodate him, eyes streaming with tears, throat distended. My lungs were screaming for air, but a cool, calm, collectedness had overtaken me as I looked up at the man attached to the monstrous penis conquering my throat. We both wanted this. We both needed it. I would endure for both our sakes.
Then all at once, Owen’s hips begin to rise off the bed, he closed his eyes, and I felt his brute of a dick begin to buck. Every instinct in me was screaming to withdraw as the first searing rope of cum rocketed down my throat and was chased by a second and third. “Gaah!” Owen cried. I couldn’t see how much jizz was flowing out of that cockhead, but I could feel it, and if my assumptions were anywhere near close, he was producing as much cream the second time around as he had the first. Our previous session had clearly done nothing to diminish his reserves. Gimme all you got, big boy!
My brain was misfiring at every neuron, deprived of oxygen, black stars dancing in my blurred vision. A shade of panic rose in the back of my mind as I choked down his load and I briefly envisioned my jaw forever locking in is current position, Owen’s enormous member crammed so far down my throat he had became stuck, the two of us cemented in this position forever. When I at long last felt as if I was about to pass out and his incredible endowment felt as if it had spewed its last, I pulled away. His horse prick (regrettably) did not remain lodged in my throat, instead mercifully retreating now that it had gotten what I came for, dragging itself across my chain, and landing with a splat between his legs.
I collapsed forward onto Owen, trembling and face-planting into his chest as I swallowed huge intakes of air, his drooling cock sandwiched between our torsos. His arms immediately enfolded me, hugging me close, his fingers running through my hair. I could hear his heartbeat drumming thunderously in his chest, going as fast, or faster, than my own.
“So good, so good…” he murmured. “Thank you. Relax. Breathe.”
It was in this embrace that sleep found and overcame us.
A week had passed since I’d discovered that the quiet, middle-aged man that lived in the apartment directly above me was not only interested in me, but was also sporting the largest and most impressive set of male genitalia that I had ever seen. The evening of that discovery had been as unexpected and thrilling as any dream—and like a dream, had ended too soon. In the days that followed, I found myself replaying the events of that night on a constant loop in my mind. Whether I was lying on the couch, sitting at my desk at work, or wandering the aisles of Kroger, I found myself trying to recapture the thrill of having Owen’s hands tracing the contours of my body, his lips brushing mine, or his humongous member crammed ruthlessly down my throat. Thankfully, we remained in constant contact. On the rare occasion that my mind found itself trained on something other than Owen or his enormous package, my phone would ping without fail, promising a silly inside joke between us or seeing a flirtatious update on how my day was going.
We spent nearly evening together. Usually I would arrive home first and spend the few hours until he got home exercising every bit of willpower I had trying not to jerk off, so that when we finally did fall into bed together, I would be firing on all cylinders. To keep my hands out of my underwear, I would occupy myself with laundry, cleaning, or working out. Even so, I had never been so hard so frequently. And then, just when I felt my balls could take no more and they were about to burst from the building pressure, a soft knock would echo from my door and I would open it to find Owen standing there, hands buried in the pockets, bulge protruding forward, mouth titled into a smirk. Whether in his bed or mine, we’d spend each night tangled up together talking about anything and everything under the sun. Our fears and aspirations, our respective sordid dating histories, friends we’d fallen into and out of knowing over the years. But always we would end up circling back around to my favorite topic: his huge cock.
“I’m sure you’ve heard this one before,” I said one night as I rolled his rapidly stiffening pole between my palms. “But your dad must have been a horse.”
“I’m actually the smallest of all my brothers and Dad,” Owen said. “So far as I know.”
I gasped. “You’re shitting me.”
“I don’t know how big they are exactly. We obviously never measured or compared. But I caught a few glimpses of my brothers and my father over the years when they were getting out of the shower or when we’d go skinny-dipping at the lake and they were clearly bigger than I was, sure.”
“Yeah, but you’ve grown since then, remember? I bet you’ve got them beat now,” I said, and although he didn’t reply, his thickening member in my hands did all the speaking for him, telling me all I needed to know. “You’re almost ten and a half inches. Hard to best that.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Almost…”
Difficult as it was to focus on any conversation with Owen’s fully erect donkey dick enticingly hard in front of me, I had found myself becoming attuned to his mannerisms and behavior, chiefly to the fact that he spent a lot of time in his own head. More often than not, if I wasn’t pulling on his prick, I was pulling conversation out of him. Which is why, as we lay there in bed that particular evening, I couldn’t help but notice the inflection of disappointment in his voice.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“Hmm? Oh, no,” he said, stepping back into the present from wherever he’d mentally ventured off to. “I was just thinking. It’s nothing. You’d find it ridiculous, but…can I confess something to you?”
“I didn’t realize we were at that level yet. I thought we were at the ‘fuck and suck each other all night long’ phase. Usually a guy has to buy me dinner out before he can confess things.”
“Hush,” he said, and kissed me for good measure. “Listen. Do you remember that first night when you asked me when I first realized I was bigger than most guys? That got me thinking. I remembered something after you left the next morning. Something I hadn’t thought about for a long time. Something you reminded me of again just now when you said that thing about me being bigger than my brothers and my father. It’s bonkers and you’re going to think I’m mad for even saying this, but when I was younger, even after I realized I was more endowed than my peers…I wanted to be bigger.”
He paused here, allowing the words to fill the room. Perhaps waiting to see if I would scoff at him or somehow indicate the lunacy of his statement. But for all the millions of questions and statements I could think to say — Holy shit! Are you serious? Aren’t you big enough? — all I ended up uttering instead was simply: “How much bigger?”
He shrugged. “I never settled on a specific size. It was never about a number. It was just about wanting to grow. I was elated when I discovered that I was more endowed than my buddies and classmates, but then I walked in on my brother jerking off once and saw how much larger he was than me and, later, how much larger my father was than him. It was wonderful walking around for a month believing I was so much larger than everyone else, but it didn’t last long after that. I guess there really is always someone bigger.”
“You’re almost ten and half inches,” I reminded him.
“Exactly. Almost. But not quite,” he continued. “This is embarrassing to admit, but I spent the whole summer between the end of my senior year of high school and the beginning of my freshman year of college trying to make my penis larger. I tried everything I could imagine. I just wanted one more inch. I would’ve happy with that, but nothing worked. So I gave up on ever thinking I would get bigger. Beside, who was I to complain when I was already more than most guys would ever be? But then you happened. That night. You measured me and—I had grown. After all these years, the thing I’d given up on ever believing would occur happened when I wasn’t even paying attention.”
He was beaming now and that kid-on-Christmas-morning light was back in his eyes. He really is a beautiful man, I thought. As he spoke, he stared down at his enormous erection, aimlessly stroking it. From an outsider’s perspective, it might have looked as if he weren’t speaking to me at all, but to his humongous member directly.
“I don’t think I’ve cum that much in years,” he went on. “I mean, you really had me going that night. The fact that you were there to witness it just made it that much more real. If you hadn’t suggested measuring it, I don’t know that I would ever have thought to do so, let alone believed it. Not after all these years. It almost felt like you being here made me bigger somehow. I know that sounds ridiculous, but that’s what I kept thinking: ‘Mark helped me grow. Mark made me bigger.’ After you left the next morning, I jerked off in the shower before I went to work and then again once I got there and then again on my lunch break. It was all I could think about for days. And then Paul called.”
Paul, I had learned, was the oldest of the Evans’ boys. He was a lawyer that lived in Toledo and was married with three kids. Although he’d never said it plainly, Owen harbored a particular resentment toward his eldest brother that I could not quite put my finger on. It was one of the fossils that he had buried deep inside of him that I would have to emotionally excavate with time and patience, if he ever allowed me. Mentioning his brother’s name had brought a shade of bitterness and discontent back to Owen’s voice though and his smile faltered.
“What did he want?” I dared to ask.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “It was the fact that he called at all. I was in the middle of jerking off and my phone rang. I would have ignored it, but he never calls me, so I assumed it must be important. It wasn’t, but the damage was done. And it made me realize something. When you told me that I had grown to over ten inches long, for the first time in years I believed that maybe, truly, finally I was bigger than my brothers, maybe even bigger than my father. But then I realized that if I had I grown into my twenties and thirties, my brothers probably did, too. Which means they’re probably even bigger now than they were back then, which means…”
He trailed off. Taken at face value, it really was a ludicrous confession. Here was a man more fantastically endowed than most men could ever hope or dream to be, declaring that even after he had experienced an unexpected growth spurt in his pants, he evidently still came up short somehow. Psychological implications aside, what did that say about him? And more importantly, what did it say about me that as he had been talking, my hand had drifted toward my own cock and began stroking it, so that I was now hard as a brick and dripping wet? What conclusions could be drawn from the fact that as he regaled me with this tale, I had begun to envision all the Evans’ men gathered stark naked, their enormous dongs on fully display, each of them as larger or larger than Owen. How much more hung could they possibly be if he’s over ten inches? Is it even possible for cocks to even get bigger than that? God, I wish I could help him grow even more to find out…
I pulled myself back to the present. Owen was still mindlessly toying with his cock, flopping it back and forth over his fist, enjoying his new size in spite of himself. Why does he look so adorable even when he’s pouting? I wondered. Could be that big, fat schlong, I guess. More for my own pleasure than his, but nevertheless as a means of comforting him, I sidled up against him, wrapping my arms around his torso, feeling his arms wrap warmly around me in return. It was fast becoming my favorite way to drift off and abolished any anxiety I had about my day. I hoped it did the same for him.
“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” I asked suddenly. I clapped a hand over my mouth in surprise. The question had come out of nowhere, unbidden, escaping my lips before I could even realize what I was saying. Way to know your audience, asshole, I thought miserably. Read the room next time.
And then, thankfully, the warm timbre of his voice: “I thought I already was?”
We spent nearly evening together. Usually I would arrive home first and spend the few hours until he got home exercising every bit of willpower I had trying not to jerk off, so that when we finally did fall into bed together, I would be firing on all cylinders. To keep my hands out of my underwear, I would occupy myself with laundry, cleaning, or working out. Even so, I had never been so hard so frequently. And then, just when I felt my balls could take no more and they were about to burst from the building pressure, a soft knock would echo from my door and I would open it to find Owen standing there, hands buried in the pockets, bulge protruding forward, mouth titled into a smirk. Whether in his bed or mine, we’d spend each night tangled up together talking about anything and everything under the sun. Our fears and aspirations, our respective sordid dating histories, friends we’d fallen into and out of knowing over the years. But always we would end up circling back around to my favorite topic: his huge cock.
“I’m sure you’ve heard this one before,” I said one night as I rolled his rapidly stiffening pole between my palms. “But your dad must have been a horse.”
“I’m actually the smallest of all my brothers and Dad,” Owen said. “So far as I know.”
I gasped. “You’re shitting me.”
“I don’t know how big they are exactly. We obviously never measured or compared. But I caught a few glimpses of my brothers and my father over the years when they were getting out of the shower or when we’d go skinny-dipping at the lake and they were clearly bigger than I was, sure.”
“Yeah, but you’ve grown since then, remember? I bet you’ve got them beat now,” I said, and although he didn’t reply, his thickening member in my hands did all the speaking for him, telling me all I needed to know. “You’re almost ten and a half inches. Hard to best that.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Almost…”
Difficult as it was to focus on any conversation with Owen’s fully erect donkey dick enticingly hard in front of me, I had found myself becoming attuned to his mannerisms and behavior, chiefly to the fact that he spent a lot of time in his own head. More often than not, if I wasn’t pulling on his prick, I was pulling conversation out of him. Which is why, as we lay there in bed that particular evening, I couldn’t help but notice the inflection of disappointment in his voice.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“Hmm? Oh, no,” he said, stepping back into the present from wherever he’d mentally ventured off to. “I was just thinking. It’s nothing. You’d find it ridiculous, but…can I confess something to you?”
“I didn’t realize we were at that level yet. I thought we were at the ‘fuck and suck each other all night long’ phase. Usually a guy has to buy me dinner out before he can confess things.”
“Hush,” he said, and kissed me for good measure. “Listen. Do you remember that first night when you asked me when I first realized I was bigger than most guys? That got me thinking. I remembered something after you left the next morning. Something I hadn’t thought about for a long time. Something you reminded me of again just now when you said that thing about me being bigger than my brothers and my father. It’s bonkers and you’re going to think I’m mad for even saying this, but when I was younger, even after I realized I was more endowed than my peers…I wanted to be bigger.”
He paused here, allowing the words to fill the room. Perhaps waiting to see if I would scoff at him or somehow indicate the lunacy of his statement. But for all the millions of questions and statements I could think to say — Holy shit! Are you serious? Aren’t you big enough? — all I ended up uttering instead was simply: “How much bigger?”
He shrugged. “I never settled on a specific size. It was never about a number. It was just about wanting to grow. I was elated when I discovered that I was more endowed than my buddies and classmates, but then I walked in on my brother jerking off once and saw how much larger he was than me and, later, how much larger my father was than him. It was wonderful walking around for a month believing I was so much larger than everyone else, but it didn’t last long after that. I guess there really is always someone bigger.”
“You’re almost ten and half inches,” I reminded him.
“Exactly. Almost. But not quite,” he continued. “This is embarrassing to admit, but I spent the whole summer between the end of my senior year of high school and the beginning of my freshman year of college trying to make my penis larger. I tried everything I could imagine. I just wanted one more inch. I would’ve happy with that, but nothing worked. So I gave up on ever thinking I would get bigger. Beside, who was I to complain when I was already more than most guys would ever be? But then you happened. That night. You measured me and—I had grown. After all these years, the thing I’d given up on ever believing would occur happened when I wasn’t even paying attention.”
He was beaming now and that kid-on-Christmas-morning light was back in his eyes. He really is a beautiful man, I thought. As he spoke, he stared down at his enormous erection, aimlessly stroking it. From an outsider’s perspective, it might have looked as if he weren’t speaking to me at all, but to his humongous member directly.
“I don’t think I’ve cum that much in years,” he went on. “I mean, you really had me going that night. The fact that you were there to witness it just made it that much more real. If you hadn’t suggested measuring it, I don’t know that I would ever have thought to do so, let alone believed it. Not after all these years. It almost felt like you being here made me bigger somehow. I know that sounds ridiculous, but that’s what I kept thinking: ‘Mark helped me grow. Mark made me bigger.’ After you left the next morning, I jerked off in the shower before I went to work and then again once I got there and then again on my lunch break. It was all I could think about for days. And then Paul called.”
Paul, I had learned, was the oldest of the Evans’ boys. He was a lawyer that lived in Toledo and was married with three kids. Although he’d never said it plainly, Owen harbored a particular resentment toward his eldest brother that I could not quite put my finger on. It was one of the fossils that he had buried deep inside of him that I would have to emotionally excavate with time and patience, if he ever allowed me. Mentioning his brother’s name had brought a shade of bitterness and discontent back to Owen’s voice though and his smile faltered.
“What did he want?” I dared to ask.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “It was the fact that he called at all. I was in the middle of jerking off and my phone rang. I would have ignored it, but he never calls me, so I assumed it must be important. It wasn’t, but the damage was done. And it made me realize something. When you told me that I had grown to over ten inches long, for the first time in years I believed that maybe, truly, finally I was bigger than my brothers, maybe even bigger than my father. But then I realized that if I had I grown into my twenties and thirties, my brothers probably did, too. Which means they’re probably even bigger now than they were back then, which means…”
He trailed off. Taken at face value, it really was a ludicrous confession. Here was a man more fantastically endowed than most men could ever hope or dream to be, declaring that even after he had experienced an unexpected growth spurt in his pants, he evidently still came up short somehow. Psychological implications aside, what did that say about him? And more importantly, what did it say about me that as he had been talking, my hand had drifted toward my own cock and began stroking it, so that I was now hard as a brick and dripping wet? What conclusions could be drawn from the fact that as he regaled me with this tale, I had begun to envision all the Evans’ men gathered stark naked, their enormous dongs on fully display, each of them as larger or larger than Owen. How much more hung could they possibly be if he’s over ten inches? Is it even possible for cocks to even get bigger than that? God, I wish I could help him grow even more to find out…
I pulled myself back to the present. Owen was still mindlessly toying with his cock, flopping it back and forth over his fist, enjoying his new size in spite of himself. Why does he look so adorable even when he’s pouting? I wondered. Could be that big, fat schlong, I guess. More for my own pleasure than his, but nevertheless as a means of comforting him, I sidled up against him, wrapping my arms around his torso, feeling his arms wrap warmly around me in return. It was fast becoming my favorite way to drift off and abolished any anxiety I had about my day. I hoped it did the same for him.
“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” I asked suddenly. I clapped a hand over my mouth in surprise. The question had come out of nowhere, unbidden, escaping my lips before I could even realize what I was saying. Way to know your audience, asshole, I thought miserably. Read the room next time.
And then, thankfully, the warm timbre of his voice: “I thought I already was?”
I’m in love with this story and the way you write! I can’t wait for more
dredlifter
Expert Member
Wow! Your writing is so good. It's like a love story with three characters 
Surprise! A new installment just in time for Friday. Not sure how much time I'll have free this weekend to write, so I wanted to drop this early. Hopefully it'll give you a good idea of where things are headed, plot-wise. And, hey, did you know I'm over on Twitter? Feel free to connect with me there at @AndyJackman8. Enjoy!
CHAPTER 3
The ad was small. Inconspicuous. I might’ve missed it altogether were it not for the fact that my dentist was running behind schedule for my annual cleaning, leaving me bored senseless in the waiting room. I’d long exhausted my Twitter and Instagram feeds and pocketed my phone, glancing around the empty waiting room for some form of entertainment. A water cooler gurgled in the corner while the soft clacking of fingernails on a keyboard floated to my ears from the front desk. Sighing, I reached for the first magazine within arm’s reach, mindlessly flipping through its pages without absorbing any of the information. I was generally aware it was some sort of medical journal, given the lack of pictures and plethora of Venn diagrams, flow charts, and numeric tables. I thumbed through it quickly, cover to cover, and was just about to toss it aside when I caught a glimpse of the advertisement buried on the last page:
”) and sent it off to Owen without a second thought, folding the magazine and returning it to its stack. Less than a minute later, my phone buzzed back, signaling his reply.
My heart leapt in my chest.
I’m game if you are.
Before I could ask if he was teasing, the damned dental assistant appeared in the doorway. I begrudgingly pocketed my phone and followed her back, but all throughout the appointment I wondered if I’d just been subjected to another instance of Owen’s dry humor. He delivered it so unassumingly sometimes, that I would find myself disarmed and cocking an eyebrow at him trying to decipher. He would stare back, plain-faced and serious—then suddenly break into a riotous laugh, leaving me to playfully punching him on the arm or needle him in the side. With that in mind, I thought to myself: I’m sure he was just joking…right?
That evening, we agreed to meet at our favorite restaurant for dinner. I arrived first and sat strumming my fingers on the menu. It was late August now and though summer would soon come to an end, the heat had stubbornly dug its claws into the Midwest and refused to break. Seemingly unfazed by it, Owen wore his signature khakis and Keds with a pinstriped button-up shirt. I sat upright in my seat as he entered, scanned the room for my face, and then spotted me. Even from across the restaurant, his bulge was evident. He might dress like a middle school math teacher, but he’s hung like a porn star, I thought as he weaved his way through the tables toward me. I couldn’t help but glance down at the thick, swaying mass shifting beneath his pants as it approached. Every time I laid eyes on it was like seeing it for the first time again. My mouth began to water for something other than ramen.
“How was your day?” he said, pecking me on the cheek as I rose to greet him.
“Fine, fine,” I said, squeezing my hand into a fist to keep from reflexively cupping his bulge. Whenever we were together, I found my hands magnetically drawn to some part of his body, primarily his overladen crotch, but also his ass, his arms, his chest. I was falling fast for him and the faster I fell the deeper and irrevocable my attraction became.
As we waited for our food to arrive, I did my damnedest to appear engaged in what Owen was excitedly chattering about. It was something having to do with a percentage of premiums being advanced back to customers and as he spoke, he gesticulated wildly with his hands. To an outsider, he was quiet. Meek. A loner. He would make polite conversation, but never delve deeper than the surface. If you had the opportunity to get to know him though, you would uncover a chatterbox with a penchant for all things obscure and geeky. The moment our waitress reappeared at our table, however, he fell quiet again, smiling politely, folding back in on himself until she was out of earshot.
“You’re adorable, do you know that?” I remarked.
“Eat,” he said, rolling his eyes. “But save room. We’re getting dessert after.”
I smirked. “Oh, I already know what I want for dessert…”
“Hush.”
“Something big and thick and cream-filled…”
“Mark.”
If we were someone less conspicuous he would’ve shut me up decisively with a kiss, as was his way. I decided to press onward. I’d discovered that although he was the undeniably more endowed between the two of us, I basically had total control of his huge prick and could practically make him hard at will. It usually began with conversation like this and ended with him red-faced and tugging at his pants to hide the huge, growing outline running down the inside of his thigh. It really was unfair of me to yield this power over him so casually, but whatever guilt I felt was quickly assuaged by the knowledge that if we were anywhere near the apartment building when I turned him on like this, he would usually return the favor by edging my cock until I was begging for release and then splatter me with a heavy facial from his massive dong as payback.
“So about that thing I texted you earlier…” I said, changing course. Owen shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his hand furtively disappearing under the table to readjust himself. No doubt he was growing larger and harder with each passing second. If we went too far down this road, the couple at the table next to us was going to get dinner and a show when Owen finally stood up. I waited for his reaction, but when he didn’t reply, I took it as tacit permission to press on. “Did you mean what you said?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps. What do you think about it?”
What I wanted to scream was: I think you’re already hung like a fucking stallion and the idea of you getting even bigger blows my mind and makes me want to blow a load right here on this table! He knew this. I knew he did. And he knew that I knew he did. So instead of making that very public proclamation, I casually lifted my spoon to my lips and slurped my broth slowly. Buying my time. When I finally looked up, Owen had leveled his gaze at me pointedly. His eyes burned cold. Eager.
“I looked into it a bit. You know, just to see if that company is legit.”
Still no reply; only the quiet clinking of silverware against porcelain from all around us.
“They seem like they’re on the up-and-up, from what I could tell.”
He remained stiff and expressionless as a statue, his gaze unsympathetically piercing.
Goddamn it, I cursed silently. Sure, I could get him rock hard in under a minute and make him shoot multiple deliciously hot ropes of cum, but he could turn the tables on me in half that time with just that gaze alone. It made me weak in the knees and he knew it. That was his game and he played it well. I was an amateur going up against a prize-fighter. My chest ached just looking at him. My hand quivered.
“I want you to do it,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I want you to get bigger.”
Anyone else might have missed the signs, but I knew them well. His eyes fluttered close. His nostrils flared. With a deliberate slowness, he lowered his spoon onto the table without a sound, reached for the cloth napkin in his lap, and patiently wiped his mouth. When he was finished, he folded the napkin exactly once, gently laid it on the table—
His chair scraped loudly as he stood abruptly, pushing himself away from the table. As he did, his enormous, enraged erection came into view. Had anyone ever tented their pants so well before? Even hidden beneath the confines of his khakis, his manhood looked as large and menacing as ever. The woman at the table beside us gasped for the both of us at the sight of it. Jesus help me, I’m going to pay for this one, I prayed silently as Owen fished a handful of cash from his wallet, tossed it on the table, and jerked his head toward the door. I rose automatically and shivered as he planted his hand on the back of my neck, pushing me toward the exit. He leaned in close, growling in my ear,
“Home. Bed. Now.”
The door to my apartment was still wide open when Owen spun me around and pushed me against the wall, tearing at my shirt. He kicked it shut with his heel as he fell against me, biting at my neck and ear. His cock was huge and so was the appetite that fueled it. I could feel it raging within his pants, pressing against and upstaging my own, but when I reached down to grab at it, he snatched my hands away by my wrists and pinned them against the wall above my head. If I was panting like a dog in heat, he was snorting and stamping like the stallion he was. He tore at my clothes voraciously, ripping them from my body, and pushed me bullishly down the hall toward my bedroom. Between the jelly sensations in my knees and Owen insatiably thrusting his overstuffed crotch against my ass, I could barely make it there without toppling over.
In the bedroom, he tossed me onto the bed. I’d not seen this side of him yet. It was frightening and breathtaking at the same time. My fingers fumbled at my zipper and jeans as he stood at the foot of the bed, practically looming over me. An icy fire burned in his eyes as his own hands dutifully unleashed his beast of a prick from its restraints. No sooner had the dark shadow of his pubic hair come into view before it was eclipsed behind the incredible girth of his dick springing up against his abs, thwacking them loudly. My eyes grew wide at the sight of it. My mouth went dry as sandpaper. If he looked uncompromising, his schlong looked utterly unforgiving. He stepped toward me.
“I-I’m a top,” I stammered suddenly. We’d had that conversation before, early on, but the glint in his irises told me he needed a soft reminder. I held my breath—and then sighed a breath of relief as he paused, the words seemingly having a sobering effect on him.
“Do you like getting rimmed though?”
For all his brutish strength and manner, when he spoke, Owen’s voice was measured. It was the warm, honey-smooth timbre full of reassurance that even though I was outwardly dealing with the likes of Mr. Hyde, his kinder counterpart was still in control from some where deep within. “Please,” was all I could manage to utter before had flipped me over, his hands gripping my ass cheeks firmly and pulling them apart. My whole body shook as he nuzzled my exposed asshole with his clean-shaven face. I quaked as he blew a solid stream of cool air against this rare part of me. He repeated this process a few more times, the tip of his tongue darting out to taste my ass while my fists clutched the bed sheets. Owen spat sharply, coating my hole and used his fingers to nimbly glaze every inch inside and out.
“I didn’t get to have dinner,” he growled—and dove in.
“Nnnnghhh!”
I practically trapped his head in a leg-lock as he devoured my ass, eating me out as if he’d recently been freed from a hunger strike and unleashed on a Thanksgiving feast. Oh my god I’m being tongue-fucked! He’s LITERALLY fucking me with his tongue. Yes yes yes more please more don’t stop don’t ever stop! His tongue slipped in and out of me rapidly and ravenously. His hands came up, gripping my calves, and he pressed my legs forward and down, practically folding me in half. The lower half of his face from his nose down was buried deep within my ass, obliterating it, so that all I could see were those brilliant blue eyes of his as he continued folding me like a lawn chair. With my knees nearly on either side of my head, he finally came up for air. Sopping and exposed to the icy air-conditioned breeze of my bedroom, my asshole twitched uncontrollably.
Owen stared down at me between my legs, panting and sincere.
“You’ll help me get bigger?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” I pleaded. In that moment, I would have agreed to whatever he wanted, anything at all, if it meant his outstanding oral skills would be unleashed on my hole again. Evidently I’d stumbled upon the magic words, even in my erotic daze. A brilliant, beaming grin spread across his face. “Don’t stop…please…I’ve never felt anything...not like this…”
“Say what you said at the restaurant. Say it again.”
My brain was practically putty in my head. I struggled to cast my mind back.
“Bigger,” I stammered. “I-I want you to get bigger.”
That was all it took to convince him to demolish my ass until dawn.
CHAPTER 3
The ad was small. Inconspicuous. I might’ve missed it altogether were it not for the fact that my dentist was running behind schedule for my annual cleaning, leaving me bored senseless in the waiting room. I’d long exhausted my Twitter and Instagram feeds and pocketed my phone, glancing around the empty waiting room for some form of entertainment. A water cooler gurgled in the corner while the soft clacking of fingernails on a keyboard floated to my ears from the front desk. Sighing, I reached for the first magazine within arm’s reach, mindlessly flipping through its pages without absorbing any of the information. I was generally aware it was some sort of medical journal, given the lack of pictures and plethora of Venn diagrams, flow charts, and numeric tables. I thumbed through it quickly, cover to cover, and was just about to toss it aside when I caught a glimpse of the advertisement buried on the last page:
Pharmallic Inc. is seeking male participants, ages 20-65, for a Phase I clinical trial designed to assess the bioavailability, efficacy, and safety of an innovative medication administered in tandem with a hypertrophic therapy program aimed at increasing penis size. Those who qualify may be eligible for reimbursement of time and travel expenses...
My eyes scrutinized the paragraph a second time, trying to decipher the medical jargon. I was no medical professional, but the gist of the advertisement boiled down to those three magic words: “increasing penis size”. The remainder was inconsequential. My mind, of course, immediately drifted to my new horse-hung beau. Though we had shared numerous conversations over the past month, I found myself often returning to the one in which Owen had unexpectedly admitted to me that although he was pleased to discover he was sporting a 10.25” cock, he would gladly welcome being even larger. I chuckled at the thought, shaking my head again at the absurdity of it, and pulled out my phone again, snapping a picture of the ad. I quickly jotted down a short caption (“Here’s your chance
”) and sent it off to Owen without a second thought, folding the magazine and returning it to its stack. Less than a minute later, my phone buzzed back, signaling his reply.My heart leapt in my chest.
I’m game if you are.
Before I could ask if he was teasing, the damned dental assistant appeared in the doorway. I begrudgingly pocketed my phone and followed her back, but all throughout the appointment I wondered if I’d just been subjected to another instance of Owen’s dry humor. He delivered it so unassumingly sometimes, that I would find myself disarmed and cocking an eyebrow at him trying to decipher. He would stare back, plain-faced and serious—then suddenly break into a riotous laugh, leaving me to playfully punching him on the arm or needle him in the side. With that in mind, I thought to myself: I’m sure he was just joking…right?
That evening, we agreed to meet at our favorite restaurant for dinner. I arrived first and sat strumming my fingers on the menu. It was late August now and though summer would soon come to an end, the heat had stubbornly dug its claws into the Midwest and refused to break. Seemingly unfazed by it, Owen wore his signature khakis and Keds with a pinstriped button-up shirt. I sat upright in my seat as he entered, scanned the room for my face, and then spotted me. Even from across the restaurant, his bulge was evident. He might dress like a middle school math teacher, but he’s hung like a porn star, I thought as he weaved his way through the tables toward me. I couldn’t help but glance down at the thick, swaying mass shifting beneath his pants as it approached. Every time I laid eyes on it was like seeing it for the first time again. My mouth began to water for something other than ramen.
“How was your day?” he said, pecking me on the cheek as I rose to greet him.
“Fine, fine,” I said, squeezing my hand into a fist to keep from reflexively cupping his bulge. Whenever we were together, I found my hands magnetically drawn to some part of his body, primarily his overladen crotch, but also his ass, his arms, his chest. I was falling fast for him and the faster I fell the deeper and irrevocable my attraction became.
As we waited for our food to arrive, I did my damnedest to appear engaged in what Owen was excitedly chattering about. It was something having to do with a percentage of premiums being advanced back to customers and as he spoke, he gesticulated wildly with his hands. To an outsider, he was quiet. Meek. A loner. He would make polite conversation, but never delve deeper than the surface. If you had the opportunity to get to know him though, you would uncover a chatterbox with a penchant for all things obscure and geeky. The moment our waitress reappeared at our table, however, he fell quiet again, smiling politely, folding back in on himself until she was out of earshot.
“You’re adorable, do you know that?” I remarked.
“Eat,” he said, rolling his eyes. “But save room. We’re getting dessert after.”
I smirked. “Oh, I already know what I want for dessert…”
“Hush.”
“Something big and thick and cream-filled…”
“Mark.”
If we were someone less conspicuous he would’ve shut me up decisively with a kiss, as was his way. I decided to press onward. I’d discovered that although he was the undeniably more endowed between the two of us, I basically had total control of his huge prick and could practically make him hard at will. It usually began with conversation like this and ended with him red-faced and tugging at his pants to hide the huge, growing outline running down the inside of his thigh. It really was unfair of me to yield this power over him so casually, but whatever guilt I felt was quickly assuaged by the knowledge that if we were anywhere near the apartment building when I turned him on like this, he would usually return the favor by edging my cock until I was begging for release and then splatter me with a heavy facial from his massive dong as payback.
“So about that thing I texted you earlier…” I said, changing course. Owen shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his hand furtively disappearing under the table to readjust himself. No doubt he was growing larger and harder with each passing second. If we went too far down this road, the couple at the table next to us was going to get dinner and a show when Owen finally stood up. I waited for his reaction, but when he didn’t reply, I took it as tacit permission to press on. “Did you mean what you said?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps. What do you think about it?”
What I wanted to scream was: I think you’re already hung like a fucking stallion and the idea of you getting even bigger blows my mind and makes me want to blow a load right here on this table! He knew this. I knew he did. And he knew that I knew he did. So instead of making that very public proclamation, I casually lifted my spoon to my lips and slurped my broth slowly. Buying my time. When I finally looked up, Owen had leveled his gaze at me pointedly. His eyes burned cold. Eager.
“I looked into it a bit. You know, just to see if that company is legit.”
Still no reply; only the quiet clinking of silverware against porcelain from all around us.
“They seem like they’re on the up-and-up, from what I could tell.”
He remained stiff and expressionless as a statue, his gaze unsympathetically piercing.
Goddamn it, I cursed silently. Sure, I could get him rock hard in under a minute and make him shoot multiple deliciously hot ropes of cum, but he could turn the tables on me in half that time with just that gaze alone. It made me weak in the knees and he knew it. That was his game and he played it well. I was an amateur going up against a prize-fighter. My chest ached just looking at him. My hand quivered.
“I want you to do it,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I want you to get bigger.”
Anyone else might have missed the signs, but I knew them well. His eyes fluttered close. His nostrils flared. With a deliberate slowness, he lowered his spoon onto the table without a sound, reached for the cloth napkin in his lap, and patiently wiped his mouth. When he was finished, he folded the napkin exactly once, gently laid it on the table—
His chair scraped loudly as he stood abruptly, pushing himself away from the table. As he did, his enormous, enraged erection came into view. Had anyone ever tented their pants so well before? Even hidden beneath the confines of his khakis, his manhood looked as large and menacing as ever. The woman at the table beside us gasped for the both of us at the sight of it. Jesus help me, I’m going to pay for this one, I prayed silently as Owen fished a handful of cash from his wallet, tossed it on the table, and jerked his head toward the door. I rose automatically and shivered as he planted his hand on the back of my neck, pushing me toward the exit. He leaned in close, growling in my ear,
“Home. Bed. Now.”
The door to my apartment was still wide open when Owen spun me around and pushed me against the wall, tearing at my shirt. He kicked it shut with his heel as he fell against me, biting at my neck and ear. His cock was huge and so was the appetite that fueled it. I could feel it raging within his pants, pressing against and upstaging my own, but when I reached down to grab at it, he snatched my hands away by my wrists and pinned them against the wall above my head. If I was panting like a dog in heat, he was snorting and stamping like the stallion he was. He tore at my clothes voraciously, ripping them from my body, and pushed me bullishly down the hall toward my bedroom. Between the jelly sensations in my knees and Owen insatiably thrusting his overstuffed crotch against my ass, I could barely make it there without toppling over.
In the bedroom, he tossed me onto the bed. I’d not seen this side of him yet. It was frightening and breathtaking at the same time. My fingers fumbled at my zipper and jeans as he stood at the foot of the bed, practically looming over me. An icy fire burned in his eyes as his own hands dutifully unleashed his beast of a prick from its restraints. No sooner had the dark shadow of his pubic hair come into view before it was eclipsed behind the incredible girth of his dick springing up against his abs, thwacking them loudly. My eyes grew wide at the sight of it. My mouth went dry as sandpaper. If he looked uncompromising, his schlong looked utterly unforgiving. He stepped toward me.
“I-I’m a top,” I stammered suddenly. We’d had that conversation before, early on, but the glint in his irises told me he needed a soft reminder. I held my breath—and then sighed a breath of relief as he paused, the words seemingly having a sobering effect on him.
“Do you like getting rimmed though?”
For all his brutish strength and manner, when he spoke, Owen’s voice was measured. It was the warm, honey-smooth timbre full of reassurance that even though I was outwardly dealing with the likes of Mr. Hyde, his kinder counterpart was still in control from some where deep within. “Please,” was all I could manage to utter before had flipped me over, his hands gripping my ass cheeks firmly and pulling them apart. My whole body shook as he nuzzled my exposed asshole with his clean-shaven face. I quaked as he blew a solid stream of cool air against this rare part of me. He repeated this process a few more times, the tip of his tongue darting out to taste my ass while my fists clutched the bed sheets. Owen spat sharply, coating my hole and used his fingers to nimbly glaze every inch inside and out.
“I didn’t get to have dinner,” he growled—and dove in.
“Nnnnghhh!”
I practically trapped his head in a leg-lock as he devoured my ass, eating me out as if he’d recently been freed from a hunger strike and unleashed on a Thanksgiving feast. Oh my god I’m being tongue-fucked! He’s LITERALLY fucking me with his tongue. Yes yes yes more please more don’t stop don’t ever stop! His tongue slipped in and out of me rapidly and ravenously. His hands came up, gripping my calves, and he pressed my legs forward and down, practically folding me in half. The lower half of his face from his nose down was buried deep within my ass, obliterating it, so that all I could see were those brilliant blue eyes of his as he continued folding me like a lawn chair. With my knees nearly on either side of my head, he finally came up for air. Sopping and exposed to the icy air-conditioned breeze of my bedroom, my asshole twitched uncontrollably.
Owen stared down at me between my legs, panting and sincere.
“You’ll help me get bigger?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” I pleaded. In that moment, I would have agreed to whatever he wanted, anything at all, if it meant his outstanding oral skills would be unleashed on my hole again. Evidently I’d stumbled upon the magic words, even in my erotic daze. A brilliant, beaming grin spread across his face. “Don’t stop…please…I’ve never felt anything...not like this…”
“Say what you said at the restaurant. Say it again.”
My brain was practically putty in my head. I struggled to cast my mind back.
“Bigger,” I stammered. “I-I want you to get bigger.”
That was all it took to convince him to demolish my ass until dawn.
- Joined
- Dec 4, 2016
- Posts
- 110
- Media
- 0
- Likes
- 286
- Points
- 233
- Location
- Pennsylvania (United States)
- Verification
- View
- Sexuality
- 99% Gay, 1% Straight
- Gender
- Male
"like a lawn chair" - fabulous image...in a fabulous tale.
A squat, low-ceilinged building in a mostly defunct strip mall, the office looked absolutely nothing like I’d imagined. Medical offices conjured up images of white tiled floors and buzzing fluorescent lights. This place couldn’t look any less clinical. I glanced down at my phone again to verify we were at the right location. Sure enough, planted squarely between the former tanning salon on its left and a travel agency on its right, stood the front door of Phallarmic, Inc. Owen was as visibly uncertain as I was, if not more so, but once glance at the peeling white letters on the door confirmed it.
“Let’s just ask for an application and if it seems iffy, we’ll go,” I offered.
I suspected that the sweat beading on Owen’s forehead had nothing to do with the sweltering summer sun beating down on his, but he wiped it away on the back of his hand all the same and followed me to the door. To the untrained eye, he looked like a soon-to-be heatstroke victim, pale and shaking. As I held the door open for him and he passed by, I made sure to place a hand on the small of his back reassuringly. While no less drab, the interior was mercifully cooler. As we entered, a middle-aged receptionist glanced up from behind a sliding glass window.
“Good afternoon. Do you have an appointment?” she asked.
“Not exactly,” I admitted. “We were hoping to speak with the doctor in charge of, um, a study be conducted here. We saw an ad in a magazine for it.”
“I’m going to need more information than that, sir. We complete a lot of studies here.”
“This one,” I said, handing her my phone and the picture I’d snapped and sent to Owen.
“Oh. That one. You should know that Dr. Stiles’ inclusion criterion is fairly stringent and the candidate pool is competitive. We’re nearly full up, in fact. You’ll need to fill out these forms here—“
“We’ll only need one set, actually,” I said, taking the clipboard of forms she handed me. I thanked her with a polite smile that was only halfheartedly returned and lead Owen to the row of cracked vinyl chairs lining the wall opposite the front door. He didn’t sink so much as collapsed into one.
“Here, you fill these out. I’ll be right back.”
His hand automatically clenched my forearm. “Where are you going?”
“To get you something to drink,” I said. “Relax.”
I pried his fingers loose and disappeared down the hall, spotting a vending machine. As I passed by closed doors, I could hear low voices murmuring from the other side of each. I tried to envision the men within. Were they all here for the same reason? The candidate pool is competitive, I repeated to myself as I dropped quarters into the vending machine. What does that even mean? How can a clinical trial for penis enlargement have a ‘competitive pool’ of candidates, unless everyone and their brother has signed up? Unlikely. Most guys are probably too embarrassed to admit they want to be larger. Fucks sake, look at Owen. He’s already hung as horse and even he’s practically shaking like a leaf. With that thought in mind, I hurried back to lobby, half expecting to find him curled up in a fetal position. I thankfully, albeit perplexedly, found him squinting and holding the clipboard at arm’s length instead.
“I forgot my glasses,” he confessed.
“Trade me,” I said, handing him his Coke. A battery of questions covered the first page: everything from his family medical history, to the list of medications he’d taken in the last five years, to his exercise and diet regimen. The subsequent pages asked more obscure, psychological questions. The final page, however, was the most unconventional of all. How would you rate your overall penis size: below average, average, or above average? How would you rate your confidence in your penis size, from a scale to one to ten? If you could change one thing about the length, girth, or overall size of your penis, which would you choose? I did my best to keep my voice to barely above a whisper as I prompted Owen for his answers: Above average. Seven. All of the above.
When we finished, I returned the forms to the receptionist.
“We’ll be in touch,” she said primly.
I frowned. “We won’t find out today if he’s been accepted?”
Before she could answer, a door behind her opened and a man who was ostensibly a doctor entered. He was older than I was, though less so than Owen, and wore a laminated badge that hung from one of his belt loops. Large red letters announced him as the Dr. Brian Stiles. He handed a chart to the receptionist and was just turning to leave when he spotted the clipboard containing Owen’s application. His eyes darted to me, then back to the forms, then back to me.
“You didn’t tell me we had another candidate waiting, Nancy,” he said.
“I’m not,” I said quickly. “A candidate, I mean. I’m here for, uh, moral support.”
He cast a glance over my head, spotting Owen across the lobby.
“Alrighty then,” he said. “I think I’ve got time for one more interview before lunch.”
He waved us on through, down the hall to an open door at the end. Inside, a quintessential examination room awaited us, the first real indication that we were in a legitimate doctor’s office after all. We filed in slowly, Owen looking as if he were walking to the gallows, and took seats in the corner. With three grow men in the room, it felt especially cramped, but Dr. Stiles seemed unbothered as he shut the door, hooking a nearby stool with his foot and dragging it beneath him. “So, Mr. Evans,” he said, as he snapped on a pair of latex gloves. “I have to be honest with you. Not many men bring their buddies to these sorts of things. That’s a first. There’s no rule against it, per se, but I would require that the both of you to sign NDA’s, should this go further. Standard practice for these sorts of things.”
As Dr. Stiles busied himself with pulling a fresh sheet of paper over the exam table, I reached over and squeezed Owen’s knee reassuringly, prompting him to release the breath he’d been trapping inside. He exhaled shakily. Exam table thoroughly prepped, Dr. Stiles patted it jovially, instructing Owen to climb up and to remove his shirt.
“On your application, you selected that you believe you’re more endowed than your fellow man—take a deep breath for me and hold it,” the doctor said, placing a stethoscope against Owen’s chest. “This clinical trial is, among other things, aimed at evaluating participants’ satisfaction with the actual or perceived increase in size of their penises while undergoing a series of treatments. Most applicants enter the study with a certain sense of anxiety about what they’re packing, so to speak. Unsurprisingly, very few candidates rarely answer anything outside of ‘average’ or ‘below average’ on their applications and nearly no-one answers ‘above average’ for obvious reasons. I would be remiss to inform you otherwise.”
“The form didn’t really offer a lot of options,” I said, on Owen’s behalf. “Just those three.”
“We don’t typically need more than three,” Dr. Stiles chuckled.
“Evidently, you do.”
Dr. Stiles paused, stethoscope pressed between Owen’s shoulder blades, and leveled his gaze at me. I could recognize a healthy dose of skepticism anywhere, particularly when it was so plainly evident on someone’s face, but I could also identify a rising impatience. Dr. Stiles removed the stethoscope from his ears and slung it around his neck. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what are you fellas doing here exactly?” he said. “You realize that this is a genuine, professional, clinical trial being overseen with federal supervision, don’t you? We ask you respect that.”
“No games, I promise,” I said, holding up my hands. “Let us—him—show you.”
Up until now, Owen might as well have been a coatrack in the corner, sitting so stiffly and silent. Now that the attention had been turned to him, whatever color remained his face drained away and he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple quivering tremulously. He looked from me to the increasingly exasperated doctor and back to me again. I nodded back encouragingly. You’ve got this, big guy.
Owen slowly rose to his feet, cleared his throat, and flexed his fingers.
“May I…?” he said, reaching for his pants.
Dr. Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you insist.”
Even with his nerves getting the best of him, Owen’s fingers hadn’t forgotten the expert nimbleness required of them when it came to unveiling his prized package. He fluidly unfastened his belt and zipper. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants, steadied himself with a deep inhale—and let his pants, underwear and all, fall to the floor. Released from its cramped restrictions, his jumbo-sized Johnson dropped heavily from his groin, swaying pendulously between his legs and landing with an audible smack against his thigh. Behind it, his prodigious, jizz-filled balls bobbed and swung. Good god, I thought. The sensation of being punched in the gut gripped me as the entirety of it came into view so suddenly. Perhaps it was a trick of the light or perhaps it was seeing it for the first time outside of the privacy of our bedrooms, but his entire package looked larger than I’d ever seen it. In every way it seemed to hang lower, thicker, longer, proudly pushed forward by his bloated balls. He had to be hanging at least damn near nine inches long and every bit as fat as I’d ever seen.
“Holy shit.”
Although the phrase was flashing neon in my mind, the words didn’t come from my mouth, instead issuing softly from across the room. I somehow managed to tear my eyes away from that enormous, dangling dick before to look at Dr. Stiles. Wide-eyed and stunned, his knees had given out from beneath him and he’d dropped back onto his wheeled stool. A dumbstruck expression had overtaken his face and I wondered was the one I’d worn the first time I’d laid eyes on Owen’s stupendous assets. It was the look of a man astonished and impressed, baffled yet enlightened. Join the club, doc, I thought, recalling my first time seeing it. It was both a blessing and a curse all at once, the sudden realization that not only were there indeed specimens of manhood in the world larger than your own, but that here before you now was one of the largest natural monster-cocks of all, outmatching you so thoroughly and so completely, you were now faced with having to rapidly readjust your worldview of what was possible. Dr. Stiles rolled toward it wordlessly, drawn in by its overwhelming dimensions, and I couldn’t help but notice his hand flinch in what looked like a suppressed urge to reach out.
“I think you want me in your trial,” Owen said. All at once he was in in his element, his tone confident and unwavering. My eyes reluctantly drifted from his groin to his face. The meek and mild version of Owen had vanished, replaced by a stone-faced stud. Not for the first time I marveled at how very much so his mammoth dong was like his superpower. Clark Kent meets John Holmes, I thought.
“It’s not really designed…you’d be an outlier to the data set,” Dr. Stiles stammered.
“I already am,” Owen said firmly. “Do you want me or not?”
The doctor gulped. “The statistical analysis would be so skewed…”
Owen rolled his eyes. Slowly—deliberately—he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and sent the entirety of his enormous package shifting and swaying again. The long, thickness of his soft prick swung tantalizingly back and forth. The doctor’s eyes followed it back and forth, his head unconsciously following it to and fro. A look of desperation formed in eyes, instantly ratcheting up to a pleading helplessness as Owen reached down and scratched at his balls.
“Yes,” the doctor said instantly. “Okay, yes, of course.” Even from my position, I saw Owen’s mouth tilt into a smirk. Satisfied with his work, he started to bend over to collect his pants from his ankles, when Dr. Stiles hand suddenly went up. “How, um…how big are you exactly?” he said, voice cracking. The sobering gravity of what had just taken place—a man, a professional, a doctor being all but humiliated and manipulated by the power and size of a enormous set of cock and balls—seemed to wash over him and cleared his throat, trying to regain whatever dignity and composure he could salvage. “I should note it in your intake form. For, um, our records.”
He stood, professionalism returning to him in shades as then looked around the office, trying to reorient himself to this new reality. As he collected himself, he gathered various forms and equipment from around the room. I caught Owen’s eye and snuck him a congratulatory thumbs-up. He tossed me back a playful wink and blushed.
“We’ll need to do a full body examination to get a baseline,” Dr. Stiles explained, once had all the proper equipment in place. “And given that this is a clinical trial for penis enlargement, I’ll need to secure measurements both flaccid and erect.” Without revealing all the lurid details of our first cum-covered night together, I informed the doctor that Owen and I were already aware of his erect size. The doctor politely but respectfully explained that while he in no way doubted the robust result of our at-home measurement, for the purposes of this particular clinical trial, he would need to secure both bone-pressed and non-bone-pressed measurements of Owen’s erection. Brandishing a tool that looked similar to a pair calipers, he then explained that similar measurements would need to be taken of Owen’s testicles, as well as their “volumetric output”. All of these measurements would be taken once a week, in addition to a regular toxicology report, to ensure that there were no negative side effects in addition to the desired results. When he finished, Dr. Stiles looked up at Owen and clapped his hands together.
“There’s no time like the present to get started,” he said. “So if you could just, uh. I meant to say, if you’d like some privacy, I can leave the room while you get, you know…”
“No need,” I interjected. “He’s got no problem rising to the occasion.”
The joke seemed lost on Dr. Stiles, who merely nodded and sat back, watching as Owen reached down and gripped his thick pipe of a cock at the base and began tugging at it. Maybe it was having an audience, or maybe it was simply by virtue of its dominance, but Owen’s horse-prick took remarkably little stimulation to begin filling out to its maximum size. Length and girth poured into with record speed, as if someone had opened a tap, swelling in every direction and stretching toward the floor only momentarily before it began that long, heavy rise to the vertical. Thirty seconds later, he was rock solid, his enormous prick proudly stiff against his abs.
“How do you want to do this?” he asked.
Dr. Stiles looked equally parts bewildered and intimidated be by the sheer size of the monster-cock before him. Eventually he decided on asking Owen to level his throbbing prick out horizontally while he placed a metal ruler against his groin. He measured once, cursing in disbelief beneath his breath as he scribbled a note on his clipboard, and then measured again. Afterward, he fished a length of measuring tape from a drawer, wrapped it methodically around the base, middle, of head of Owen’s dick, and wrote down a series of more numbers. When he was finished, he turned and faced us ceremoniously, as if only half-believing what he was about to say. He cleared his throat.
“A very impressive ten and a half inches, gentleman,” he said. “Congratulations.”
“Let’s just ask for an application and if it seems iffy, we’ll go,” I offered.
I suspected that the sweat beading on Owen’s forehead had nothing to do with the sweltering summer sun beating down on his, but he wiped it away on the back of his hand all the same and followed me to the door. To the untrained eye, he looked like a soon-to-be heatstroke victim, pale and shaking. As I held the door open for him and he passed by, I made sure to place a hand on the small of his back reassuringly. While no less drab, the interior was mercifully cooler. As we entered, a middle-aged receptionist glanced up from behind a sliding glass window.
“Good afternoon. Do you have an appointment?” she asked.
“Not exactly,” I admitted. “We were hoping to speak with the doctor in charge of, um, a study be conducted here. We saw an ad in a magazine for it.”
“I’m going to need more information than that, sir. We complete a lot of studies here.”
“This one,” I said, handing her my phone and the picture I’d snapped and sent to Owen.
“Oh. That one. You should know that Dr. Stiles’ inclusion criterion is fairly stringent and the candidate pool is competitive. We’re nearly full up, in fact. You’ll need to fill out these forms here—“
“We’ll only need one set, actually,” I said, taking the clipboard of forms she handed me. I thanked her with a polite smile that was only halfheartedly returned and lead Owen to the row of cracked vinyl chairs lining the wall opposite the front door. He didn’t sink so much as collapsed into one.
“Here, you fill these out. I’ll be right back.”
His hand automatically clenched my forearm. “Where are you going?”
“To get you something to drink,” I said. “Relax.”
I pried his fingers loose and disappeared down the hall, spotting a vending machine. As I passed by closed doors, I could hear low voices murmuring from the other side of each. I tried to envision the men within. Were they all here for the same reason? The candidate pool is competitive, I repeated to myself as I dropped quarters into the vending machine. What does that even mean? How can a clinical trial for penis enlargement have a ‘competitive pool’ of candidates, unless everyone and their brother has signed up? Unlikely. Most guys are probably too embarrassed to admit they want to be larger. Fucks sake, look at Owen. He’s already hung as horse and even he’s practically shaking like a leaf. With that thought in mind, I hurried back to lobby, half expecting to find him curled up in a fetal position. I thankfully, albeit perplexedly, found him squinting and holding the clipboard at arm’s length instead.
“I forgot my glasses,” he confessed.
“Trade me,” I said, handing him his Coke. A battery of questions covered the first page: everything from his family medical history, to the list of medications he’d taken in the last five years, to his exercise and diet regimen. The subsequent pages asked more obscure, psychological questions. The final page, however, was the most unconventional of all. How would you rate your overall penis size: below average, average, or above average? How would you rate your confidence in your penis size, from a scale to one to ten? If you could change one thing about the length, girth, or overall size of your penis, which would you choose? I did my best to keep my voice to barely above a whisper as I prompted Owen for his answers: Above average. Seven. All of the above.
When we finished, I returned the forms to the receptionist.
“We’ll be in touch,” she said primly.
I frowned. “We won’t find out today if he’s been accepted?”
Before she could answer, a door behind her opened and a man who was ostensibly a doctor entered. He was older than I was, though less so than Owen, and wore a laminated badge that hung from one of his belt loops. Large red letters announced him as the Dr. Brian Stiles. He handed a chart to the receptionist and was just turning to leave when he spotted the clipboard containing Owen’s application. His eyes darted to me, then back to the forms, then back to me.
“You didn’t tell me we had another candidate waiting, Nancy,” he said.
“I’m not,” I said quickly. “A candidate, I mean. I’m here for, uh, moral support.”
He cast a glance over my head, spotting Owen across the lobby.
“Alrighty then,” he said. “I think I’ve got time for one more interview before lunch.”
He waved us on through, down the hall to an open door at the end. Inside, a quintessential examination room awaited us, the first real indication that we were in a legitimate doctor’s office after all. We filed in slowly, Owen looking as if he were walking to the gallows, and took seats in the corner. With three grow men in the room, it felt especially cramped, but Dr. Stiles seemed unbothered as he shut the door, hooking a nearby stool with his foot and dragging it beneath him. “So, Mr. Evans,” he said, as he snapped on a pair of latex gloves. “I have to be honest with you. Not many men bring their buddies to these sorts of things. That’s a first. There’s no rule against it, per se, but I would require that the both of you to sign NDA’s, should this go further. Standard practice for these sorts of things.”
As Dr. Stiles busied himself with pulling a fresh sheet of paper over the exam table, I reached over and squeezed Owen’s knee reassuringly, prompting him to release the breath he’d been trapping inside. He exhaled shakily. Exam table thoroughly prepped, Dr. Stiles patted it jovially, instructing Owen to climb up and to remove his shirt.
“On your application, you selected that you believe you’re more endowed than your fellow man—take a deep breath for me and hold it,” the doctor said, placing a stethoscope against Owen’s chest. “This clinical trial is, among other things, aimed at evaluating participants’ satisfaction with the actual or perceived increase in size of their penises while undergoing a series of treatments. Most applicants enter the study with a certain sense of anxiety about what they’re packing, so to speak. Unsurprisingly, very few candidates rarely answer anything outside of ‘average’ or ‘below average’ on their applications and nearly no-one answers ‘above average’ for obvious reasons. I would be remiss to inform you otherwise.”
“The form didn’t really offer a lot of options,” I said, on Owen’s behalf. “Just those three.”
“We don’t typically need more than three,” Dr. Stiles chuckled.
“Evidently, you do.”
Dr. Stiles paused, stethoscope pressed between Owen’s shoulder blades, and leveled his gaze at me. I could recognize a healthy dose of skepticism anywhere, particularly when it was so plainly evident on someone’s face, but I could also identify a rising impatience. Dr. Stiles removed the stethoscope from his ears and slung it around his neck. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what are you fellas doing here exactly?” he said. “You realize that this is a genuine, professional, clinical trial being overseen with federal supervision, don’t you? We ask you respect that.”
“No games, I promise,” I said, holding up my hands. “Let us—him—show you.”
Up until now, Owen might as well have been a coatrack in the corner, sitting so stiffly and silent. Now that the attention had been turned to him, whatever color remained his face drained away and he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple quivering tremulously. He looked from me to the increasingly exasperated doctor and back to me again. I nodded back encouragingly. You’ve got this, big guy.
Owen slowly rose to his feet, cleared his throat, and flexed his fingers.
“May I…?” he said, reaching for his pants.
Dr. Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you insist.”
Even with his nerves getting the best of him, Owen’s fingers hadn’t forgotten the expert nimbleness required of them when it came to unveiling his prized package. He fluidly unfastened his belt and zipper. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants, steadied himself with a deep inhale—and let his pants, underwear and all, fall to the floor. Released from its cramped restrictions, his jumbo-sized Johnson dropped heavily from his groin, swaying pendulously between his legs and landing with an audible smack against his thigh. Behind it, his prodigious, jizz-filled balls bobbed and swung. Good god, I thought. The sensation of being punched in the gut gripped me as the entirety of it came into view so suddenly. Perhaps it was a trick of the light or perhaps it was seeing it for the first time outside of the privacy of our bedrooms, but his entire package looked larger than I’d ever seen it. In every way it seemed to hang lower, thicker, longer, proudly pushed forward by his bloated balls. He had to be hanging at least damn near nine inches long and every bit as fat as I’d ever seen.
“Holy shit.”
Although the phrase was flashing neon in my mind, the words didn’t come from my mouth, instead issuing softly from across the room. I somehow managed to tear my eyes away from that enormous, dangling dick before to look at Dr. Stiles. Wide-eyed and stunned, his knees had given out from beneath him and he’d dropped back onto his wheeled stool. A dumbstruck expression had overtaken his face and I wondered was the one I’d worn the first time I’d laid eyes on Owen’s stupendous assets. It was the look of a man astonished and impressed, baffled yet enlightened. Join the club, doc, I thought, recalling my first time seeing it. It was both a blessing and a curse all at once, the sudden realization that not only were there indeed specimens of manhood in the world larger than your own, but that here before you now was one of the largest natural monster-cocks of all, outmatching you so thoroughly and so completely, you were now faced with having to rapidly readjust your worldview of what was possible. Dr. Stiles rolled toward it wordlessly, drawn in by its overwhelming dimensions, and I couldn’t help but notice his hand flinch in what looked like a suppressed urge to reach out.
“I think you want me in your trial,” Owen said. All at once he was in in his element, his tone confident and unwavering. My eyes reluctantly drifted from his groin to his face. The meek and mild version of Owen had vanished, replaced by a stone-faced stud. Not for the first time I marveled at how very much so his mammoth dong was like his superpower. Clark Kent meets John Holmes, I thought.
“It’s not really designed…you’d be an outlier to the data set,” Dr. Stiles stammered.
“I already am,” Owen said firmly. “Do you want me or not?”
The doctor gulped. “The statistical analysis would be so skewed…”
Owen rolled his eyes. Slowly—deliberately—he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and sent the entirety of his enormous package shifting and swaying again. The long, thickness of his soft prick swung tantalizingly back and forth. The doctor’s eyes followed it back and forth, his head unconsciously following it to and fro. A look of desperation formed in eyes, instantly ratcheting up to a pleading helplessness as Owen reached down and scratched at his balls.
“Yes,” the doctor said instantly. “Okay, yes, of course.” Even from my position, I saw Owen’s mouth tilt into a smirk. Satisfied with his work, he started to bend over to collect his pants from his ankles, when Dr. Stiles hand suddenly went up. “How, um…how big are you exactly?” he said, voice cracking. The sobering gravity of what had just taken place—a man, a professional, a doctor being all but humiliated and manipulated by the power and size of a enormous set of cock and balls—seemed to wash over him and cleared his throat, trying to regain whatever dignity and composure he could salvage. “I should note it in your intake form. For, um, our records.”
He stood, professionalism returning to him in shades as then looked around the office, trying to reorient himself to this new reality. As he collected himself, he gathered various forms and equipment from around the room. I caught Owen’s eye and snuck him a congratulatory thumbs-up. He tossed me back a playful wink and blushed.
“We’ll need to do a full body examination to get a baseline,” Dr. Stiles explained, once had all the proper equipment in place. “And given that this is a clinical trial for penis enlargement, I’ll need to secure measurements both flaccid and erect.” Without revealing all the lurid details of our first cum-covered night together, I informed the doctor that Owen and I were already aware of his erect size. The doctor politely but respectfully explained that while he in no way doubted the robust result of our at-home measurement, for the purposes of this particular clinical trial, he would need to secure both bone-pressed and non-bone-pressed measurements of Owen’s erection. Brandishing a tool that looked similar to a pair calipers, he then explained that similar measurements would need to be taken of Owen’s testicles, as well as their “volumetric output”. All of these measurements would be taken once a week, in addition to a regular toxicology report, to ensure that there were no negative side effects in addition to the desired results. When he finished, Dr. Stiles looked up at Owen and clapped his hands together.
“There’s no time like the present to get started,” he said. “So if you could just, uh. I meant to say, if you’d like some privacy, I can leave the room while you get, you know…”
“No need,” I interjected. “He’s got no problem rising to the occasion.”
The joke seemed lost on Dr. Stiles, who merely nodded and sat back, watching as Owen reached down and gripped his thick pipe of a cock at the base and began tugging at it. Maybe it was having an audience, or maybe it was simply by virtue of its dominance, but Owen’s horse-prick took remarkably little stimulation to begin filling out to its maximum size. Length and girth poured into with record speed, as if someone had opened a tap, swelling in every direction and stretching toward the floor only momentarily before it began that long, heavy rise to the vertical. Thirty seconds later, he was rock solid, his enormous prick proudly stiff against his abs.
“How do you want to do this?” he asked.
Dr. Stiles looked equally parts bewildered and intimidated be by the sheer size of the monster-cock before him. Eventually he decided on asking Owen to level his throbbing prick out horizontally while he placed a metal ruler against his groin. He measured once, cursing in disbelief beneath his breath as he scribbled a note on his clipboard, and then measured again. Afterward, he fished a length of measuring tape from a drawer, wrapped it methodically around the base, middle, of head of Owen’s dick, and wrote down a series of more numbers. When he was finished, he turned and faced us ceremoniously, as if only half-believing what he was about to say. He cleared his throat.
“A very impressive ten and a half inches, gentleman,” he said. “Congratulations.”
G.man
Sexy Member
- Joined
- Mar 24, 2006
- Posts
- 88
- Media
- 1
- Likes
- 88
- Points
- 238
- Location
- United Kingdom
- Sexuality
- 90% Gay, 10% Straight
- Gender
- Male
Similar threads
