Panama Heat (mm/mmm, Size Difference, Size Extremes)

[Badunkbadonk]

This is a book for which the blurb is not working. Few copies sold. Free gift to all you great LPSGers. Thank you for reading my work. Whether you’re a Quentin or a Dale, or somewhere between, i hope you enjoy this early 20th century tale.

I will try to post one or two chapters a day. Replies and comments motivate me to continue.

Quentin
Quentin Fournier of the New Orleans Fourniers was an adventurer at heart. Nearly all his family were very much the opposite - conservative, stay-at-home Confederates still mourning the loss of the Civil War. Quentin wanted nothing more than to escape the oppressive household and find his fortune in distant lands. His mother and father did not understand him; his brothers and sisters despised him. Only his Aunt Lisette, an eccentric who never married, understood Quentin’s unusual passions.

She told him, “People rarely tolerate that which is different, for the unusual makes them fear they will stray from the herd. Don’t let people define who you should be. Listen only to your heart.”

Quentin took this admonition as gospel. One night in early 1904, his heart was whispering the name of a bar in the Vieux Carré. The Curzon was a popular hangout for sailors and enterprising women. Not every sailor had the money nor the inclination to pay for these women’s services. Quentin had no need of money, and his handsome face drew interest from the randy sailors in search of a good time. The Curzon had a rooming house right upstairs. It always had vacancies because they offered a discount on rooms rented by the hour.

Quentin entered the smoky bar and chose a barstool with a view of the entrance. It was early yet. He wanted to study his quarry.

The whores tolerated Quentin; they didn’t want to befriend a pervert. They kept a cool distance but they cooperated. Quentin sent talkative men of no persuasion to the nest of prostitutes across the bar, and they returned the favor whenever they clocked a john as a molly.

A steamboat full of Midwestern merchant marines tied up on the docks near the French Market. Within minutes a steady stream of seamen poured into the bar in search of carnal pleasures. Many handsome rakes passed Quentin by in search of a warm bosom. Quentin knew to expect some disappointment in the presence of the harlots. A sailor entered. The bar breathed a collective gasp for two reasons: the man was handsome, and he was big as a house. With each step, his thigh muscles bulged and strained against his white cotton pants. His broad shoulders were attached to arms bigger than Quentin’s legs.

The sailor tipped his hat at Quentin and sat his enormous buttocks on the next stool over.

He extended a sinewy hand. “Jacob Ayers.”

“Quentin Fournier.” He gulped.

Jacob smiled. “Don’t worry, friend. I may be big, but I’m gentle as a kitten.”

“How did you get so big?”

“Lifting barrels of sardines for ten hours a day. Feel that.” Jacob flexed his bicep, tearing at the fabric of his shirt sleeve. Quentin put both hands around the sailor’s massive arm but his fingers would not touch.

Quentin was skilled in the art of seduction. He knew when to stop talking. He held the man’s arm for several more seconds, studying his face.

Jacob grinned. “Here, feel that.” He moved Quentin’s hands to his pectoral muscles. He flexed them one at a time in rapid succession.

Quentin whistled. “Holy Cow.” Again, he left his hands on the man longer than most would.

This was the moment. He smiled at Jacob, then let his eyes roam downward until they reached the crotch. He glanced at his prey, who never stopped smiling.

“Is it big like the rest of you”?

Jacob nodded.


Jacob
Upstairs, Quentin watched the muscleman undress. His torso was unlike any he had seen. Dozens of tiny muscles rippled in unison as he folded his shirt. He grabbed Quentin’s shirt front and yanked it off, exposing Quentin’s thin, wiry frame. Quentin felt pressure on his knee; it was Jacob’s prick growing big and hard, straining against the pants.

Quentin unbuttoned the sailor pants on the left and right, until they were loose enough to move. He tugged hard until they dislodged from the huge shelf of an ass. The legs were tight, so he had to work on them one at a time to prevent them from bunching up. The last hurdle was the cock, which leapt gracefully skyward once freed from its cloth prison.

Jacob’s cock was large. It appeared smaller framed against those meaty thighs, but it was a whopper. Quentin took the man’s hard shaft in his mouth. He tongued it with abandon. It tasted like a beignet. He sucked and slurped, allowing the thick meat to work its way to the back of his throat. There he let it slip past his tonsils and enter the throat. Jacob gasped.

“How did you do that?”

Quentin had his mouth full and couldn’t answer. Instead, he just kept doing it until the muscled sailor grabbed him by the ears.

“Stop. I’m close. Let’s fuck.”

Quentin let the thick cock out of his mouth with a pop. He unbuttoned his pants, turning away from the man as he did so.

“Now hold on there, boy, I wanna see yours too.”

“It’s of little interest.”

He whirled Quentin around, exposing his tiny penis. He guffawed.

“How do you fuck your wife with that little thing?”

“Like this,” Quentin said, turning back so his ass was exposed. He pulled the cheeks apart to show off his perfect puckered hole.

Jacob spit liberally into his hand. He worked a finger into Quentin’s spit-slick backside. Quentin wriggled and let out a sigh.

“This might hurt,” Jacob warned. He put the apricot-sized head of his penis against Quentin’s hole, then pressed. The boy’s puckered anus spread to accommodate the invasion. With some surprise, Jacob continued sliding into him with no protest. He was buried to the hilt.

Quentin had nerve endings that sent powerful messages any time a man’s cock came in contact with them. His pleasure depended on the other man. For that reason, he rotated until he was in a modified missionary, staring into his invader’s dark eyes.

Jacob stared back as he started rocking his hips, sliding deep into the boy. It felt good, so he closed his eyes and gave off a moan.

That blind moan was the trigger Quentin needed. His nerves were on fire with pleasure. He caressed Jacob’s nipples. The burly man grabbed his wrist and placed the hand squarely on his nipple.

“Pinch me hard.”

Quentin obliged, and more moans from the sailor sent reverberating waves of arousal echoing through him. His anus began contracting in spasms of delight. The sailor fucked harder. Quentin could see the man’s perfectly round butt rising and falling with each stroke. He grabbed hold with both hands, feeling the muscles rippling beneath his fingers. He wandered to the small of the back, where the man’s thrusting got its added strength.

Jacob had never fucked like this. No man or woman ever let him ravage them with complete abandon, until now. Quentin had a dick-shaped asshole, perfect for fucking. He occasionally thrust hard enough to hit the end of the rectum, causing Quentin to gasp.

“Am I hurting you? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Fuck me harder. As hard as you want.”

Quentin’s permission was all he needed. He lifted and carried him, impaled, around the shabby room. Quentin bounced and wiggled. Jacob wanted to kiss him, but it was wrong.

Quentin read his mind. He leaned forward and locked lips with the sailor. That was too much pleasure. The end was approaching.

It started with Quentin. His twitching anus stimulated his balls, and he leaked clear fluid onto Jacob’s rippled stomach.

Jacob felt the juice on his belly. It excited him. He made the boy leak like a woman. He sat on the bed, with Quentin riding him like a huge muscled horse. Quentin pinched and twisted both nipples, sending Jacob over the edge of the falls.

“Oh my god, oh god, I’m close, man.”

Quentin planted his feet on the ground to allow him to slide up and down the man’s cock faster.

“Oh yes! Here it comes!” Quentin felt a fiery hot flood of muscleman sperm splatter inside him. The man’s sudden release triggered his own orgasm. Quentin shot sperm up onto the shoulders and nipples of the sailor. Jacob laughed in astonishment.

“You’ll have kids. It’s the bullets, not the gun.”

To shut him up, Quentin kissed him again.

 

[Badunkbadonk]

The Man In Linen Pants

The night was still young. Jacob moved on to another bar; Quentin went downstairs on the prowl for another fuck. He needed to move quickly; he didn’t want the sailor’s sperm to leak out of him. There is no better lubricant than another man’s sperm.

The bar was busy. Quentin wanted a different experience this time. Muscles like Jacob’s are incredible. They’re sexy. But Quentin would take a skinny weakling over muscles if the guy had a horse cock. Quentin was excited by size. Jacob was big, but he wasn’t huge.

Quentin surveyed the room at crotch level. He wasn’t sure he would find a colossal cock tonight. Things looked pretty normal down there.

His eyes landed on a man in linen pants. Down below, there was definitely something abnormally large. This was a soft cock, hanging about a third of the way to his knee. Attached to the prize was a nondescript man with a dull mustache and boring blue eyes. The man approached Quentin. His luck tonight was incredible.

“Hey. I saw you looking at my…”

“I was. It’s hard to miss.”

The man blushed. “Why are you looking?”

Quentin wasn’t sure if he should answer. Instead he asked, “Are you looking”?

“I don’t follow.” God this man was dense. He decided to be brazen.

“I just got fucked. He was strong, but he came up short. That meat of yours could satisfy me.”

More blushing. “Okay, let’s go upstairs.”

Quentin smiled. It worked. Judging by the looks of it, he wasn’t going to be able to walk right after tonight.

They stepped out into the cold night air.

“Let’s hurry. I still have his come inside me. You’ll love how it feels.”

As he was chattering away, Quentin failed to notice the man signaling to a friend down the block. Then came the cold metallic click of handcuffs. The policeman’s companion joined him.

“You are under arrest for crimes against nature.” The two men walked Quentin to the nearby police station, making hateful remarks. The cop removed the rolled sock from his pant leg.

Quentin laughed. “You needed a prop! I’ll bet yours is even smaller than mine!” Then he felt a terrible pain in his head; the lights went out.


Arrested
This was not Quentin’s first arrest. He had embarrassed his family. He would still be rotting in prison had not the Fourniers forked out a lot of money to the Policeman’s Ball every year.

No one came to bail him out this time. The cops kept him alone in his own cell. They taunted him, offering up their inadequate penises while hurling epithets so blue it caused other prisoners to blush. If Quentin had been dreaming of adventure, it was now redoubled with his desire to escape to a new climate less hostile to his predilections. With each passing day, his need for adventure became an obsession.

Eventually, Harold Boyer, the Chief of Police, learned of the identity of the prisoner and ordered him released immediately. The rude jailers escorted Quentin to the Chief’s office.

The Chief waved them away, leaving Quentin alone with the man. Chief Boyer shook his head.

“Quentin Fournier, your antics are giving New Orleans and your family a bad name. I have known you since you were born. Our families sit in the same salons and attend the same Operas. Your shame is spreading. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Quentin had plenty to say, but he bit his tongue. He looked into the gray-haired man’s eyes, studying them. Chief Boyer looked down below his desk. He raised his eyes to meet Quentin’s.

“You have a choice. You can stay in New Orleans as a prisoner, or you can take the next steamer out of town. What will it be?”

Quentin felt like Br’er Rabbit being offered a briar patch for punishment. The adventure he craved would be mandatory.

“The steamer.”

“Good choice. Now, your freedom comes at a price.” He tilted his head, inviting the young man to his side of the desk.

Quentin’s eyes were saucers. The chief was not a young man, but his virility was visibly intact. A flesh log of obscene dimensions snaked down his pant leg.

“Son, you have a reputation that interests an old man with my problem. Help me out.”

Quentin reached to unbuckle his trousers.

“No! Not your ass! You disgusting pervert. Your mouth!”

He forced Quentin to his knees and stood. He dropped his trousers, giving Quentin a close view of the Chief’s enormous cock.

Quentin struggled to wrap his mouth around the man’s horse cock.

The chief thrust impatiently.

“Come on, son, this is what you do, ain’t it?”

Quentin nodded. He preferred to host such monstrosities in his nether regions, but his mouth could be made to accommodate bloated cocks like Chief Boyer’s.

The chief’s wife must be a saint. She had given birth to fourteen children, of which eleven survived. The Boyer’s were a massive clan. And they all started inside these huge testicles and sprang from his wife’s vagina. Giving birth must have been easy for her, given the monster she had to host nightly.

The chief needed this act of fellatio. His wife had a delicate mouth, and he had never experienced the real thing. Her feeble licks and slick hands felt nothing like Quentin’s gullet. This boy was a treasure. As his cock slid past the young man’s tonsils, he felt a pang of regret at sending away such a talented cocksucker. He kept going, heedless of Quentin’s tears, deeper than he had ever been. Not even the whores at Curzon could take his whole length. For the first time, he felt his pubic bone touch lips. He was all the way in.

Quentin feared he might faint if the Chief didn’t pull out. He was deep as he could go, and thrusting in short, rapid strokes. Quentin pulled back, feeling the boa constrictor cock leave his throat, allowing the air to come rushing in. Quentin took two deep breaths and went back down. In this way he was able to continue for thirty minutes. He was aching to touch himself. Having his throat used like a cavernous vagina was exciting. His breath control brought him to the edge of consciousness, where every thrust inspired intense arousal. Spots appeared before his eyes. He withdrew for two more breaths, then for the hundredth time he impaled his head on the fleshy stake of cop meat. His vision returned to normal, briefly.

The chief closed his eyes. Soft moaning grew louder. Quentin realized didn’t need to touch himself. Providing his services to a man who needed them so badly was causing his tiny penis to leak fluid. He knew this meant his own orgasm was assured. He tasted that salty foretaste that preceded the flood. The chief buried his brutal billy club of a cock all the way, thrusting in ever shorter strokes. Quentin could not unblock his airway now. The Chief was oblivious to the plight of his oral savior. Quentin tapped then slapped the chief’s thighs, but the train had left the station. Quentin could feel salty liquid oozing down his raw throat, coating it until it became a slick tunnel for the chief to violate with ease.

Quentin gave up his silent pleas for air. He fondled the man’s prolific testicles, stimulating a muscle that every man knew. It was the muscle that contracts to draw the ball sac upward on cold days. Quentin felt the muscle quiver and pump.

The Chief hollered, “Yes oh fuck I’m there. Sweet Jesus I’m there!” And Quentin felt the fluid begin its long journey from that muscle to the end of the flesh firehose. It was so arousing to swallow all of this man’s would-be children that Quentin had his first hands-free orgasm from oral sex. The last thing he remembered before passing out was a warm river of sperm rushing down his throat into his empty stomach.

When he came to, he was sitting on a bench a block from the police station. The front of his pants were stained with his own orgasm. It was time to go home and pack his bags. He had no destination in mind.

 

[Badunkbadonk]

I hope you guys are enjoying this story!


Adventure
Walking along Chartres Street in the Faubourg Marigny, Quentin spied a poster announcing jobs in Panama. White Americans were given free transportation, housing and generous pay in exchange for labor on the great canal being built. Quentin followed the directions to the warehouse where the hiring was taking place; he signed up on the spot.

Upon learning of his plans, his immediate family heaved a collective sigh of relief. Aunt Lisette, was terribly worried for him. She invited him to tea. It soothed his violated throat and inflamed tonsils.

“Quentin, they say men there are dying by the thousands because of yellow fever and malaria.”

Quentin shrugged it off. The brochure explained how every house was fully screened in against mosquitos, which were recently discovered to be the source of these fevers.

“I am not afraid. The Americans are on the job now, and they know how to do things right. I will be protected against mosquitoes in my home.

“But when you labor in the field, what then?”

“Labor in the field? I’m not going to do such work. Do not worry, Auntie, I will find work in the accounting offices, in line with my training at college.”

Several days later, with very little ceremony, Quentin boarded an ocean-going steamship, the Bayou Prince, bound for Panama.

The Prince was segregated. White Americans with British, Teutonic or French backgrounds were given private rooms above deck. They were separated from Blacks, Italians and Spaniards. It was just how things were done. But Quentin had a fondness for all men, be they White, Black, Spanish or Italian, and he would frequently find excuses to go below board and mingle with the swarthier men. They had better liquor, played better cards, and made for better friends than his snobby white counterparts above deck.

It was here he learned about “Silver and Gold,” the caste system which ensured separation between White Americans and everyone else. While Quentin would be paid in American Gold coins, the others were paid in Panamanian Silver coins. It was necessary, because Spaniards and Italians could pass for white, so they should have only silver with which to spend to ensure they remained in their proper caste.

The journey to Panama would take 15 days. In the first few days, the visits with the men were convivial and friendly, as Quentin expected. About five days into the journey, the absence of women on board was causing a change in the men. This was what Quentin had dreamed of when he signed up. There was a predatory gleam in the eyes of many of the passengers below deck. His stuffy White counterparts were far too puritanical to admit to their ever-growing needs, but the men downstairs were brazen. Quentin laughed along to their many crude jokes. Soon, he would let these men know he was available to them to serve their deepest, most private desires. He dropped subtle hints to seed the field. With ten more days until touching land, the smorgasbord of repressed male sensuality would be a king’s feast.

However, on the sixth day, just when Quentin planned to drop the charade and start his conquest, the voyage took an unexpected turn which could have drastically set back his plans. The steamer touched ground at Progreso to gather fuel. The men were allowed out for six hours. The brothels were full to capacity, absorbing male lust like a sea sponge. But they gave priority to White men with gold coins. Only a few of the silver payroll were able to find release in the wake of the white tide. Sixty-five satisfied men returned to the ship, leaving another two hundred aching for release. It turned out the detour only increased Quentin’s odds for success.


Anchors Aweigh
As the ship raised anchor, Quentin stole away to the Italian quarters. The air was filled with the fragrance of frustration. Quentin marched up to Massimo, a short muscular Roman with a visible blessing below his belt. Massimo’s eyes narrowed. Men rarely accosted one another unless they were picking a fight. Quentin brushed his legs against Massimo’s. He whispered a few words and walked away, into the galley.

It was late; the kitchen was inoperative. Quentin found the pantry. He located a container of lard. He lowered his linen pants and bent over a stack of flour sacks, his pink rump exposed and waiting. He liberally applied lard to his asshole. Not two minutes later, Massimo lumbered in. He lowered his dungarees, revealing a colossal cock. It was nearly as big around as it was long. It rivaled the dry salami swinging from the rafters. Quentin suppressed a scream as Massimo penetrated him. Despite his skill and experience, there were some men he could not accommodate without crippling pain. They were much thicker than normal men and required patience. Few ever had it. They would plunge their cocks into him with little regard for his comfort. But in every case, the searing pain vanished as intense satisfaction took its place.

Massimo’s cock did not grow comfortable inside him right away. Quentin’s brow was covered in a cold sweat. His shallow breaths betrayed the agony he endured. Massimo was inexperienced and brutal. He had no technique. But men were Quentin’s weakness. He grew drunk from their lascivious attention. Massimo's selfish conquest became a cordial for Quentin’s pain. With the pounding warmth of his giant cock, lard melted and ran down their legs, puddling at their feet.

As Massimo’s thrusts grew longer, Quentin reveled in the sublime sliding sensation stretching and stimulating his hole. He wondered if women felt this same tingling satisfaction or if they just spread their legs, ignored the ensuing violation and thought about something else. Massimo’s merciless cock would be impossible to ignore. Immense, cruel and deep, it would leave any hole loose and flapping in the wind.

Massimo was furry. Quentin loved the wooly chest hair scratching his smooth back. The giant bush of pubic hair rubbed across his smooth buttocks. Massimo grunted and slapped Quentin’s beautiful backside. Quentin tightened his anus in response, squeezing the giant member ravaging his insides.

Massimo was all brute strength and no technique. For Quentin, every man was a new delight. Whether they were highly skilled or clumsy oafs, small, medium or large, each one became a token to add to his treasure chest of conquests. Some were more enjoyable than others. What Massimo lacked in skill he made up for in size and force.

Every man, no matter how clumsy, finds his rhythm some time before he approaches climax. Massimo was no exception. He grabbed hold of Quentin’s hips and thrust in ever intensifying strokes. Quentin felt himself filled completely, then quickly emptied out, over and over in rapid succession. Massimo’s thick tool bumped hard into the bottom of his rectum. It was painful and delicious at the same time. Quentin leaked clear fluid from his small soft penis. He always did when a big dick was in him. He often remained soft to allow his partner’s cock to take center stage. Quentin was not big, tiny in fact, but a hard cock of any size can disgust a man when he’s fucking and thinking about women. This was all part of Quentin’s skill. He had a unique talent for bringing new pleasures to men who preferred women.

Massimo was the beneficiary of these skills. Silent until now, he spoke at last, “You better than the woman.”

Quentin agreed with a groan of lust.

Massimo fucked Quentin harder and harder. “Woman no can take me. They cry. Not you.”

“I know what a man wants, not just what he needs.”

Massimo pushed Quentin hard against the flour sacks to brace him for the onslaught. He pounded him with the ferocity of hand to hand combat. It felt as though Massimo were punching him inside. Massimo’s thick fingers tightened on his flesh and raised welts. Quentin wanted to cry out in pain, but the fucking felt too good. Being joined at the waist, another man’s flesh invading his, was the ultimate pleasure. Quentin gently thrust backwards to meet Massimo’s violent blows. This he knew would please the brute, for women would no doubt pull away from him at this critical moment, when he was lost in fucking, ready to topple into orgasm.

Quentin’s instincts, informed by many hundreds of encounters like this, were correct. Massimo pushed deeply into him, making him leak ropes of clear fluid that stained the flour sacks. The Italian gave a final thrust, groaned, then released a six day load of come into Quentin. He collapsed across Quentin’s back, dripping sweat from his thatch of body hair.

Some men would want to see Quentin orgasm. It would convince them they had done a good job. Massimo was selfish and didn't care. Quentin preferred the selfish men who fucked him only for their own needs.

Still hard, Massimo pulled his massive cock out of Quentin’s rear end, and let it smack hard on his back. It felt like a 3 pound beef tenderloin being dropped on him.

Massimo neither cuddled nor kissed. He wiped the dripping end of his cock on Quentin’s backside, pulled up his dungarees, and turned to leave.

On the threshold, he asked, “You want I send my friends”?

Quentin grinned over his shoulder. “Yes, Please.”

 

[Badunkbadonk]

Well, I have to say that I’m detecting less enthusiasm for this story. What about it do you wish were better? I’ll give another chapter tomorrow.

 

[Badunkbadonk]

All Night Delivery
Quentin stayed prone on the flour sacks all night while the crew of Italian beasts violated his mouth, his hands, his anus. He lost count of how many men whitewashed his insides with their spew. Near dawn, the men left Quentin lying in a heap, drenched in their fluids. He pulled on his linen trousers and stumbled past the breakfast cooks who were just arriving for their shift. He slept until the afternoon.

His fame spread quickly among the lower classes below deck. His services were in such high demand, some men offered him cash. He had no need of their money. He only wanted their semen deep inside him, whether in his throat or in his rectum. He made the pantry his office, and the flour sacks were his desk. He was open wide every night.

Massimo had been one exceptional male specimen, with his powerful thick cock. But a Spaniard named Eduardo put him to shame.

From outward appearances, Eduardo, or Ed as the others called him, was a tall, thin, homely man with deep set eyes in a prematurely balding head. He appeared in Quentin’s offices the end of a busy evening to find him ass out, face down in the sacks. Unlike most men, Eduardo wanted to see Quentin’s face. In halting English, he asked him to turn around and lie on his back.

“Like this”? Quentin raised his legs in a V

“Si” Eduardo grasped one ankle, lowering his pants before grabbing hold of the other.

When the Spaniard’s pants dropped, Quentin gasped. Between his skinny legs was a soft fleshy battering ram, growing harder and larger with each throb. It had a normal sized head, dwarfed by the giant hump behind it which narrowed at the crotch. Ed was much longer than Massimo. His cock was thinner at the head and the base, but much thicker in the middle.

Quentin already had lard and the sperm of a dozen men inside him, so he pulled Ed forward and inside him. Ed’s cock came to a halt an inch in, for it was there it grew far too wide for easy insertion. Ed looked into Quentin’s eyes hungrily. He yearned for a connection. Quentin thought he disliked this kind of man, but Ed was so earnest, it felt different. Quentin enjoyed his attention. Ed put his hand on Quentin’s soft cock, and began massaging it while he forced another inch into him. Quentin couldn't hide his agony. Ed pulled away. Quentin was relieved, but also afraid he would scare Ed off. He scooted on the flour sacks, impaling himself once more on Ed’s oblong tool.

“Don't worry. Just do it.”

He reached for Ed’s buttocks to pull him closer, but his arms weren't long enough. Ed had many more inches to go. Ed leaned into him, slipping one, two, three inches further. Quentin pounded the flour sacks with his fists.

“Yes. Si. Keep going, Ed.” It was the opposite of what his body begged. Every nerve screamed for relief. But Quentin knew relief could be closer if Ed kept pushing. Besides. What his body wanted was secondary to what the owner of the cock inside him wanted. His ass was a receptacle for their pleasure. He only felt right when he was servicing another man.

Quentin’s fingers finally connected with Ed, and he pulled the man closer. With an audible ‘pop’ Ed’s cock slipped past the tightest spot, and rapidly filled Quentin. The unique shape of Ed’s phallus caused it to be pressed very tightly against the bottom of Quentin’s anal cavity, with seemingly nowhere to go. But Ed had technique. He knew the inside of a man’s ass, its many contours and secrets.

Quentin had endured brutal poundings from longer cocks, but he had never discovered what Ed showed him.

Ed shifted Quentin’s torso at an angle, and pressed forward. Quentin gasped as the massive meat shifted and turned a corner. His eyes fluttered. He groaned. What was this new sensation? It was suddenly so comfortable. Ed’s cock head was holding open a gateway Quentin never knew existed. With a final thrust, Ed’s balls smacked into Quentin’s behind, and he was completely inside. The inner gateway was stretched wide by the club-like thickness. Quentin stared into Ed’s eyes, gasping and grunting with pleasure.

Ed continued to fondle Quentin’s cock, which had grown rock hard. It oozed seminal fluid. Ed leaned forward and licked it clean. Quentin shuddered.

Ed retreated, removing perhaps five inches. It hurt terribly, but Quentin was able to hide it. Like a locomotive, Ed repeated his in and out thrusts with ever increasing speed. Quentin thrashed and pounded, but his face was one giant smile. Ed continued to violate the usual opening, but with his deepest thrusts, the stretching moved to the interior doorway, causing ripples of pain and pleasure to travel up and down Quentin’s insides.

Ed’s hand stroked Quentin’s little penis. Quentin couldn't at first figure out why Ed would want to do this. Men are selfish with sex. He studied Ed’s eyes and understood. Ed wanted to know what it would be like to be normal, or even below normal in size. Quentin’s little dick was a gateway to a fantasy. Knowing this allowed Quentin to relax and enjoy the hand job. His mind would not allow him to experience pleasure unless he gave pleasure to another. Ed’s long fingers enclosing Quentin’s manhood felt good for both of them.

Ed pistoned in and out of Quentin. Occasionally he would miss the inner door and ram Quentin’s rectum, sending familiar waves of pain along his abdomen. It all felt good.

Ed’s breaths changed; he was close. Quentin felt the difference, and then a tingling built in his own cock. Ed was massaging it with expert precision. Quentin rarely had a true orgasm, but Ed clearly needed to see it. Ed bent and took Quentin into his mouth, sucking and licking him closer to orgasm. His mouth full, Ed grunted savagely, and thrust his cock completely inside Quentin, past the door, stretching it to its maximum. Moments later, a familiar warm flood filled his bowels. The thrill of being stretched so deep inside put Quentin over the edge. His little penis produced shot after shot of come. Ed held it in his mouth, then spit it in Quentin’s face.

Ed’s tenderness became suddenly violent, as he became disgusted with himself. He smacked Quentin hard across the face, and violently withdrew his still throbbing cock, only to viciously plunge it back inside him.

Quentin saw this as an opportunity to provide Ed more pleasure, so he allowed him to punch him, fuck him, spit on him until suddenly Ed burst into tears. He kissed Quentin forcefully. His cock remained rock hard inside. After the kiss, Ed wiped tears from his eyes. “Sorry.”

Quentin rubbed his belly and stroked his buttocks. Ed grew soft. Quentin expelled the massive man from his still tingling insides. The obscenely long thick cock slapped into Ed’s thigh with an audible smack. Ed looked longingly at Quentin’s little soft penis. He left abruptly, brushing past the next man in line.

 

[sizequeenie]

Well, I have to say that I’m detecting less enthusiasm for this story. What about it do you wish were better? I’ll give another chapter tomorrow.

Your stories are awesome! Thank you so much

 

[Badunkbadonk]

It’s turning into a gangbang...or is it called “running train”? I don’t know what the kids are saying these days.

All Night Delivery
Quentin stayed prone on the flour sacks all night while the crew of Italian beasts violated his mouth, his hands, his anus. He lost count of how many men whitewashed his insides with their spew. Near dawn, the men left Quentin lying in a heap, drenched in their fluids. He pulled on his linen trousers and stumbled past the breakfast cooks who were just arriving for their shift. He slept until the afternoon.

His fame spread quickly among the lower classes below deck. His services were in such high demand, some men offered him cash. He had no need of their money. He only wanted their semen deep inside him, whether in his throat or in his rectum. He made the pantry his office, and the flour sacks were his desk. He was open wide every night.

Massimo had been one exceptional male specimen, with his powerful thick cock. But a Spaniard named Eduardo put him to shame.

From outward appearances, Eduardo, or Ed as the others called him, was a tall, thin, homely man with deep set eyes in a prematurely balding head. He appeared in Quentin’s offices the end of a busy evening to find him ass out, face down in the sacks. Unlike most men, Eduardo wanted to see Quentin’s face. In halting English, he asked him to turn around and lie on his back.

“Like this”? Quentin raised his legs in a V

“Si” Eduardo grasped one ankle, lowering his pants before grabbing hold of the other.

When the Spaniard’s pants dropped, Quentin gasped. Between his skinny legs was a soft fleshy battering ram, growing harder and larger with each throb. It had a normal sized head, dwarfed by the giant hump behind it which narrowed at the crotch. Ed was much longer than Massimo. His cock was thinner at the head and the base, but much thicker in the middle.

Quentin already had lard and the sperm of a dozen men inside him, so he pulled Ed forward and inside him. Ed’s cock came to a halt an inch in, for it was there it grew far too wide for easy insertion. Ed looked into Quentin’s eyes hungrily. He yearned for a connection. Quentin thought he disliked this kind of man, but Ed was so earnest, it felt different. Quentin enjoyed his attention. Ed put his hand on Quentin’s soft cock, and began massaging it while he forced another inch into him. Quentin couldn't hide his agony. Ed pulled away. Quentin was relieved, but also afraid he would scare Ed off. He scooted on the flour sacks, impaling himself once more on Ed’s oblong tool.

“Don't worry. Just do it.”

He reached for Ed’s buttocks to pull him closer, but his arms weren't long enough. Ed had many more inches to go. Ed leaned into him, slipping one, two, three inches further. Quentin pounded the flour sacks with his fists.

“Yes. Si. Keep going, Ed.” It was the opposite of what his body begged. Every nerve screamed for relief. But Quentin knew relief could be closer if Ed kept pushing. Besides. What his body wanted was secondary to what the owner of the cock inside him wanted. His ass was a receptacle for their pleasure. He only felt right when he was servicing another man.

Quentin’s fingers finally connected with Ed, and he pulled the man closer. With an audible ‘pop’ Ed’s cock slipped past the tightest spot, and rapidly filled Quentin. The unique shape of Ed’s phallus caused it to be pressed very tightly against the bottom of Quentin’s anal cavity, with seemingly nowhere to go. But Ed had technique. He knew the inside of a man’s ass, its many contours and secrets.

Quentin had endured brutal poundings from longer cocks, but he had never discovered what Ed showed him.

Ed shifted Quentin’s torso at an angle, and pressed forward. Quentin gasped as the massive meat shifted and turned a corner. His eyes fluttered. He groaned. What was this new sensation? It was suddenly so comfortable. Ed’s cock head was holding open a gateway Quentin never knew existed. With a final thrust, Ed’s balls smacked into Quentin’s behind, and he was completely inside. The inner gateway was stretched wide by the club-like thickness. Quentin stared into Ed’s eyes, gasping and grunting with pleasure.

Ed continued to fondle Quentin’s cock, which had grown rock hard. It oozed seminal fluid. Ed leaned forward and licked it clean. Quentin shuddered.

Ed retreated, removing perhaps five inches. It hurt terribly, but Quentin was able to hide it. Like a locomotive, Ed repeated his in and out thrusts with ever increasing speed. Quentin thrashed and pounded, but his face was one giant smile. Ed continued to violate the usual opening, but with his deepest thrusts, the stretching moved to the interior doorway, causing ripples of pain and pleasure to travel up and down Quentin’s insides.

Ed’s hand stroked Quentin’s little penis. Quentin couldn't at first figure out why Ed would want to do this. Men are selfish with sex. He studied Ed’s eyes and understood. Ed wanted to know what it would be like to be normal, or even below normal in size. Quentin’s little dick was a gateway to a fantasy. Knowing this allowed Quentin to relax and enjoy the hand job. His mind would not allow him to experience pleasure unless he gave pleasure to another. Ed’s long fingers enclosing Quentin’s manhood felt good for both of them.

Ed pistoned in and out of Quentin. Occasionally he would miss the inner door and ram Quentin’s rectum, sending familiar waves of pain along his abdomen. It all felt good.

Ed’s breaths changed; he was close. Quentin felt the difference, and then a tingling built in his own cock. Ed was massaging it with expert precision. Quentin rarely had a true orgasm, but Ed clearly needed to see it. Ed bent and took Quentin into his mouth, sucking and licking him closer to orgasm. His mouth full, Ed grunted savagely, and thrust his cock completely inside Quentin, past the door, stretching it to its maximum. Moments later, a familiar warm flood filled his bowels. The thrill of being stretched so deep inside put Quentin over the edge. His little penis produced shot after shot of come. Ed held it in his mouth, then spit it in Quentin’s face.

Ed’s tenderness became suddenly violent, as he became disgusted with himself. He smacked Quentin hard across the face, and violently withdrew his still throbbing cock, only to viciously plunge it back inside him.

Quentin saw this as an opportunity to provide Ed more pleasure, so he allowed him to punch him, fuck him, spit on him until suddenly Ed burst into tears. He kissed Quentin forcefully. His cock remained rock hard inside. After the kiss, Ed wiped tears from his eyes. “Sorry.”

Quentin rubbed his belly and stroked his buttocks. Ed grew soft. Quentin expelled the massive man from his still tingling insides. The obscenely long thick cock slapped into Ed’s thigh with an audible smack. Ed looked longingly at Quentin’s little soft penis. He left abruptly, brushing past the next man in line.

 

[Badunkbadonk]

Duty Calls
After Ed, average lengths left him disappointed. He knew his pleasure was not important, but he also felt he had a right to feel that inner doorway being violated for another man’s pleasure. Massimo was too hard and thick to turn the corner, so he just kept pounding the painful drum of his rectum.

Besides Ed, Quentin knew only two other men who could reach that point. Black Sam the cook was sixty years old. He didn't like white boys, but he made an exception for Quentin only after he promised to show him something new. Quentin took him easily, for his cock was not thick, and then turned the corner. Black Sam exploded almost immediately. He thanked Quentin for the anatomy lesson, then took his newfound skill and used it on the willing black men in his shared quarters.

A bald Sicilian named Carlo had a horse dick between his legs. He could never get fully erect, because it would cause him to pass out. Even semi-erect, Carlo would be able to reach and fill that hole deep within. But Quentin wasn't satisfied because Carlo had trouble enjoying sex with the fear of fainting on his mind.

The problem, Quentin determined, was that in the pantry Carlo had to be on his feet for sex. He needed a safe place to lie down and let someone else do the work. Carlo was a carpenter. They discussed it, and he agreed to a ruse. He put on his tool belt and followed Quentin to his private cabin. As expected, a nosy ensign stopped them.

“What is this man doing above deck”?

“Sir this is Carlo. He’s going to repair my chest of drawers.”

The ensign glared at each in turn. “All right, but be quick about it.”

Inside Quentin’s room, with the door locked, Carlo dropped his tool belt and his trousers. Quentin pushed Carlo into the hammock.

Naked, he straddled the makeshift bed and rubbed his rosy red butt up and down Carlo’s elephantine penis. Carlo took several minutes to engorge. He was as thick as Massimo, but much longer. As he got close to fully erect, his eyes fluttered.

Quentin jammed Carlo’s head inside. He rubbed his silken chest hairs and rubbed the top of his bald head. Carlo smiled, and grew harder. Then he fainted. But his cock remained hard. Quentin sat down hard, pushing Carlo deep inside him. Carlo woke and looked around the room. Quentin put a finger to Carlo’s lips, and squatted, taking another three inches of Sicilian meat inside him. With a twist and a final thrust, he took Carlo into his inner chamber. He rode the man like a pony. Carlo grew increasingly happier as he felt himself stiffen fully inside the young man.

Quentin had never seen him fully erect. His assessment he was the same thickness as Massimo was wrong. He was much thicker. As Carlo grew inside him, he felt every surface of his interior stretched like a sausage casing. The inner door could scarcely accept such mass and density. Carlo wore the smile of a man experiencing his first true erection. This was what Quentin was after.

He rode Carlo like a bronco. To his embarrassment, the experience of being inflated from inside had caused Quentin to harden. His cock dribbled clear semen on Carlo’s furry belly.

Carlo began to buck and thrust from below. Quentin expected blood, the ride was so rough. But his innards had grown calluses during these days at sea, and he held up.

Tears formed in the corners of Carlo’s eyes.

“What is it baby”?

“Am so happy.” Carlo lifted Quentin to allow him room to fuck in and out of his hole at jackrabbit speed. Quentin felt climax growing in his hard untouched cock. He was ashamed until he felt Carlo put it in his mouth.

Carlo licked and sucked Quentin past the turning point. He greedily swallowed Quentin’s climax.

The jackrabbit fucking slowed suddenly. Carlo moaned.

Deep inside Quentin’s inner room, Carlo released a flood of baby-making sperm. Then another. And another. Carlo felt like he had come for the first time. He had never been erect during orgasm.

The volumes of semen cascaded through Quentin’s stretched passageways, forced out by the pressure of Carlo’s monstrous hardon.

Semen sprayed from Quentin with each thrust of Carlo’s pump handle. The Sicilian spew traced its way through forests of thick hair. It dribbled through the hammock net to form puddles on the floor. Carlo was completely conscious. Still deep inside Quentin, he swung his legs over and stood, bear hugging Quentin to his sweaty chest.

“Mi hai guarito! E un miracolo!” Carlo planted his lips on Quentin’s. It was a kiss of joy, gratitude, and friendship. It meant more to Quentin than any other kind of kiss.

 

[Badunkbadonk]

Welcoming Committee
By the time the Bayou Prince weighed anchor at Colón, Quentin reckoned he had taken well over a gallon of semen in his rear end. His hole was raw and tender. He was relieved to see the men abandon him for the brothels lining the shore of this boomtown. He needed time to heal. He jokingly wondered how many men would now pay the women extra for the use of their other hole.

After paperwork and ink stamps Quentin took the railway to the Culebra Cut, the focus of the canal projec. It was a monumental undertaking, abandoned by the French many years prior. It required carving a v-shaped passage through the Continental Divide. The Biblical labors required to move mountains had taken their toll. Tens of thousands of Frenchmen had lost their lives due to poor engineering and tropical disease.

In the year since the Americans bought the rights to continue the long-abandoned project, they had taken drastic measures to improve working conditions. Married white men were permitted to move their families into villages. This kept morale high on the gold payroll. Quentin had no family, so he was relegated to another township across the canal reserved for Gold bachelors.

Fever was still common, but less so since the discovery it was carried by mosquitos. The company blanketed the countryside with DDT, reducing the mosquito population drastically. Improvements of the modern age, like sanitation, steel scaffolding, and steam powered digging machines further reduced the hazards at Culebra Cut.

Quentin turned heads as he walked the Main Street through the center of the bachelor village. His walk and his beautiful face made every man take notice. There were no ethnic men of color here, but Quentin didn't mind. Any man with an aching desire could become his next partner in pleasure. He was overjoyed to make his home in a village of single men, miles from the nearest brothel. He discovered the silver camps of Spaniards, Italians and Negroes were less than a mile from his cabin. Women and family were not permitted in the silver camps. Quentin couldn't believe his good fortune. He was a chicken in a cornfield.

Quentin found his cabin at the end of a road off the Main Street. He had no neighbors yet; the surrounding cabins were shuttered.

Because he was so isolated, he was startled by a knock. His door opened and a tall muscular red haired man entered. Quentin thought quickly, and removed his shirt and trousers in preparation for an unplanned shower.

“Hey, uh, name’s Murdough.”

Quentin regarded the strapping lad over one shoulder. “Quentin.”

“I'm the welcoming committee.” He was blushing, stealing furtive glances at Quentin’s derrière.

The shower water was lukewarm. He stepped in, soaping up, taking extra care to clean his hole which made so many men grunt and moan. He fingered his soapy ass, sliding in and out seductively. When he glanced over his shoulder, Murdough had built a tent in his trousers.

“You’re welcome to join me.”

Murdough closed and locked the front door. He stripped to his knickers. They cradled a massive set of balls and a hefty, plus-sized cock. He stepped into the shower still in his underwear. Quentin dropped the soap, and rubbed his bare ass against the swelling mass between Murdough’s legs while retrieving it.

Quentin lathered Murdough paying extra attention to the clothed areas.

“You don't need those now.”

Murdough agreed. He shucked his underpants, revealing the full glory of his manhood. Freckled and plump, his penis grew thicker, stretching skyward from the patch of red pubic hair at the base of his shaft.

Quentin turned off the shower, knelt and put him into his mouth. Murdough closed his eyes, no doubt picturing a girlfriend back home. Quentin coated Murdough's thick meat with saliva, the best lubricant available. He rose and put both hands against the shower wall, presenting his anus to the physically fit young man. Murdough was new, but instinct told him what to do. He was clumsy, but he found the entrance. He penetrated Quentin with inexperience. Although he was quite thick, he was an average length. He would not be visiting Quentin’s interior room. Once inside, Murdough’s animal rutting instincts took over. He was young; his efforts were quick and effective. Within moments, he blew liquid pearls inside Quentin.

Quentin was glad to be of service to this handsome freckle faced laborer. Murdough stayed hard. Twice more he rutted to orgasm before he finally grew soft enough for Quentin to push him out. A soft dick and three loads of young come exited his stretched anus.

Sitting in the living room later, Quentin manipulated the young man for his own selfish ends. First, he complimented the averagely endowed man. “You must be the biggest one in the camp!”

“No, Dale Clark is three times my size. He’s the biggest.”

“But you’re surely next.”

“No, there’s Oswald Betancourt, Frank Simpson...those are the three I know for sure are huge.”

Quentin pulled a second trick on the young man. “Please don't tell those men about me. You were more than I could handle.”

“Oh, I won't.”

Quentin watched the young man’s eyes dart to the right, a sign he was lying. He would brag to them, as certain as Sunday.

“Thank you for your discretion, Murdough. I hope we can do this again soon.”

“Welcome to Culebra Cut, Quentin. Do you know where everything is?”

“I think so. The mess hall is on the Main Street. I passed it on the way in, right”?

“Yep. And you can catch a bus to work every morning right where they left you off.”

“Mr. Murdough, you have made me feel exceptionally welcome here.”

“Our aim is to please.”

 

[B_er]

I cant wait to read more about the 3 biggests

 

[Badunkbadonk]

Sorry, I got caught up in work-at-home nonsense. Here are the three hotties.


Frank
No sooner had Quentin unpacked his possessions, there came another bold knock.

In walked three men, exactly as he had expected. Men always brag and they always lie.

“Gentlemen, welcome. Let me guess...Oswald, Frank and Dale.”

“Right, but I’m Frank; he’s Dale. How did you know”? Frank was short and stocky, with a black spray of chest hair escaping his open shirt collar.

“Frank, your reputation precedes you. They spoke about you in the brothels of Colón. All three of you have earned a certain fame in these parts.”

Oswald spoke, “You too. We hear you like it up the bum.”

“You heard right. Now which of you is first? Frank”?

Frank Simpson needed no further encouragement. He undid his belt and let his trousers fall, revealing a long, fat, pink penis. He tugged ferociously at Quentin’s pants until the button ripped and they fell, revealing his small penis and his beautiful round buttocks.

This time, Quentin was prepared. He produced a tub of Vaseline, rubbing it liberally on and in his anus. Frank’s penis grew longer and harder until it stood out at a 45-degree angle from his waist. Quentin bent over and spread his cheeks, inviting Frank inside.

The two men watched as Quentin expertly accepted Frank into his anal cavity. Frank moaned softly, then gave a yelp when he felt his cock turn a corner he never knew existed. For the first time, he was buried completely inside a man.

“You fit so easily, Frank. I don't know why I struggled so with Murdough.” He was playing mind games. Each man considered himself to be huge. Hearing an average lad like Murdough was painful made them uneasy. Frank needed to prove his worth. He slammed in and out of Quentin feverishly, trying to get him to admit to pain. With Vaseline, pain was not likely. Plus he still had slippery remnants of Murdough inside him.

Frank needed to hear he was bigger, better than the handsome Murdough. Quentin wanted only to please Frank, now that he got him fucking at a frantic pace. He moaned.

“Oh it hurts! Frank, you're hurting me!” Frank smiled and pounded harder, increasing the frequency with which he entered and exited Quentin’s inner hole. Quentin’s soft penis released a long string of clear semen. The two men watching remarked on it.

“Frank, you made him come like a girl.”

That was all Frank needed to hear. His wounded pride was restored. He was victorious over his new conquest. With that, he released a hot spray of semen and pulled out violently. He sprayed more come onto Quentin’s back and over his legs.

The two onlookers cheered. Frank excused himself for a shower.


Oswald
Oswald Betancourt stepped forward.

“You next, Ozzie”?

He was a bookish man. He was average in every way: average height, average intelligence, average weight. Until he unbuttoned his linen trousers, revealing a colossal soft white cock.

“I need you to get me started.” He held his jumbo penis like a flesh ice cream cone. Quentin leaned forward and gobbled the soft meat, swallowing it like a vitamin pill. Ozzie gasped. He never felt someone swallow him like a cannibal. His cock grew quickly, stretching Quentin’s mouth and throat. Quentin continued to swallow the man, tasting salty fluid signaling his extreme pleasure and warning of an early release. For a moment, Quentin feared Oswald would come in his mouth - an awful waste. His fears were unfounded.

Oswald pulled out. He pushed Quentin onto the bed, face up. He was going to fuck him missionary. The properness of the position matched his average appearance. But Oz was way beyond average in skill and size. He pushed his way into Quentin effortlessly, despite wielding a cock longer than a po’ boy and bigger around than a can of baked beans. It was Quentin’s turn to gasp as Oz pushed his way into the second chamber like it was his own bedroom. The girth of his erect penis stretched the doorway painfully. Quentin grabbed his sheets and sucked air through his teeth. Oz smiled sadistically. As more petroleum jelly worked it's way inside, the stretching became pleasurable. Quentin moaned as he submitted to Oz’s masterful fucking. Quentin could only enjoy the fucking because he knew his gasps and moans made Oz want to come.

“Oh, Oz, you’re making me come.” And again, a long trickle of clear fluid escaped his tiny soft cock. Without warning, Oz grabbed his hips and plunged into him, as deep as any man could go. He held still, face red, then released a loud breath.

“I'm coming”! And he filled Quentin with his syrupy semen.


Dale
Frank stood in a towel watching the performance. He chuckled and Oswald joined in. There was an inside joke, and Quentin wanted in.

“Sorry for the rude laughter, Q. It’s just we are worried for you.”

“How do you mean”?

Frank answered. “If I am an orange, Oz is a grapefruit, wouldn't you say”?

He nodded.

“Dale is a watermelon.” They both burst out laughing. Dale turned beet red.

“I can take him.” Quentin boasted.

“You’d be the first. The doctor says he can't even have kids.”

Dale growled at the men, “I don't want any goddamned children!”

Quentin sized up Dale. He was tall and strong with black hair and deep blue eyes. His skin was the pale color of alabaster. His crotch seemed quite normal under his jeans.

Dale spoke. “Quentin, you’re a nice guy. I can't do this. C’mon guys, let’s go.”

Quentin could not let this fish get away. “What excites you, Dale”?

“What do you mean”?

“What do you think about when you’re pleasuring yourself”?

“Cunts. Asses. Little dicks.”

“You already know I have a little dick. But did you know I have a cunt deep inside my ass”?

Frank added, “He does! I never fucked anything like it!”

Oz nodded.

Dale sighed. “I am sure I could reach it if I could fit.”

Frank praised Dale’s endowment. “It’s beyond massive. I don’t think a cow could take him”

Dale smacked Frank.

“I’ll show you, Quentin. But I don't expect you to follow through.”

Dale lowered his jeans and extracted a soft wrinkled willy not much larger than Quentin’s.

“Just give it a minute. Tell me about your cunt.”

“Well, Dale, I only just discovered it myself on the steamship to Colón. A Spaniard with an extra long one turned a corner and popped right through. It makes me come like a girl.”

“I see you come like a girl. Do you want me to make you come”?

Quentin glanced and drew a sharp breath. His cunt talk had aroused Dale. Quentin stared. Like a pneumatic tire, Dale’s small soft endowment was inflating rapidly. What had been a very wrinkled piece of meat was extending and thickening into a colossus. The cock kept growing far beyond anything Quentin had ever seen. It was a log of liverwurst between his legs. It was perfectly smooth.

Dale folded his arms defiantly. “See”?

Quentin’s need to please clashed violently with his self-preservation instinct. He seriously could die pleasing this monster. His male-centered gratification won out. If he must die in the effort, so be it.

Dale bent to pull his pants.

“What are you doing”?

Dale smirked. “What? You think you’ll be the first to take me on? I haven't been inside anyone, ever.”

Quentin hefted the six pound hunk of meat and liberally applied Vaseline. He added a tablespoon to his insides.

Dale lay back on the bed. His towering cock glistened with jelly. Quentin straddled the edifice and placed his butt on top. He needed help.

“Dale, can you fit a finger inside me?”

He could. Then two, then three.

“Stretch me, Dale.”

In a few minutes, Dale was past the knuckles. Quentin’s hole encircled his wrist.

“Keep going.”

Dale’s arm went deep.

“Now make a fist and try to pull it out.”

Dale pulled and twisted his fist until at last it came out with a loud pop. Quentin suppressed a scream.

“Put it back in.”

Dale repeated the motion several times, until his full fist could punch its way in quickly. Quentin hid the tears from him.

“Now we’re ready Dale.” He placed his butt at the top of the tower again. This time, he was able to let Dale penetrate him. Every inch was agony, but Quentin was determined to please his man.

Dale’s eyes widened. He had never felt this before. It was much better than he had hoped. Quentin smiled and let gravity impale him further on the gargantuan penis. Progress was agonizingly slow. The smile across Dale’s face spread pleasure to mingle with the dolorous spasms in his rectum.

Two painful minutes later, Quentin felt Dale reach the rear wall. He had no idea if he could go any further. Like Massimo, Dale was rock hard and impossibly thick. He checked; Dale still had three inches to go. Quentin contemplated riding Dale without full penetration. It was his first time inside a person. He wouldn't know if he was missing something. But Quentin was a perfectionist. He wouldn't feel true pleasure until he allowed Dale to enter him completely.

Oz and Frank stood slack jawed. Never in their lives had they witnessed such bravery. Quentin’s flat belly bulged with the mass of flesh he pushed inside himself.

Dale wept softly with gratitude and joy. He was losing his virginity at last. No woman would ever have him. He had been ejected from every brothel. But this kind, patient man was willing to sacrifice himself on the dick of death. But then something wonderful happened. Quentin leaned and bore down hard until Dale entered the inner passage beyond the anal canal.

Quentin wanted to scream. Never had he endured such pain in his life. The fist sized head of Dale’s cock punched past the doorway, stretching and tearing him internally. He needed to see Dale enjoying this or he wouldn't make it. Dale was in ecstasy. Sex had been forbidden him. He was learning the joys of copulation from an expert.

“Q, you feel so good.”

That was the words he needed. He lifted himself, withdrawing Dale from the inner room, then sat hard, taking him fully. The inner doorway stretched, but didn't tear. It felt so good to be filled far beyond capacity. Dale’s cock was as big as a newborn baby. Quentin closed his eyes and gave birth over and over, riding him at an ever increasing pace.

Dale’s moans caused Quentin to start leaking the clear fluid from his tiny soft penis. He raised and lowered his butt to the rhythm of Dale’s heavy breaths. They grew shallower, increasing the speed. Dale bit his lower lip and whined. He had painstakingly brought himself to orgasm before, but this was far more powerful. Each time he entered the inner chamber, his cockhead throbbed. He could feel his own clear fluid seeping out.

Dale’s hips began to thrust of their own accord. Quentin had waited for this moment. He rotated position and commanded Dale to stand.

“It will feel best if you do the fucking.”

Dale nodded. He grabbed hold of Quentin’s hips and thrust in and out. It was an animal instinct, the need for the male to pound his hips into his partner. With Dale in control, the satisfaction of pleasing him completely eclipsed any pain. Quentin was leaking like a faucet, making a map of France on his clean linens. Dale’s strokes grew longer and more violent. Quentin was in a mystical state where pleasure and agony intertwined to form a hybrid sensation which lifted his spirit out of his body. No man had ever violated him so completely. Dale was the thickest and the longest he had ever taken.

Frank and Oz were dumbstruck. What they saw seemed physically impossible. Dale’s massive cock forced its way deep into the man. Quentin put his hand on his belly and felt the grotesque organ push its way to the surface with each inward thrust. It was how he imagined a baby kicking would feel. The birth and baby theme was new for him. Pretending he was pregnant, giving birth over and over again, caused him to grow hard. He didn't want Dale to see, in case it disgusted him.

Dale was approaching climax. He fucked with reckless abandon. Nothing could touch him now. He was soaring high above the clouds.

Quentin felt Dale grow impossibly large inside him. He knew what was coming. The pressure of his added girth caused his hard cock to throb. Clear fluid no longer flowed. Without touching himself, Quentin was going to ejaculate fully.

Dale's groans dissolved into grunts. Like a pig, he slammed his oversized cock far inside Quentin. He cried out and released.

Just as a baby’s cry made a mother’s milk flow, so too did Dale’s cry send Quentin over the edge, shooting volumes of milky white semen across his bed. Inside, he felt the hot flood of Dale’s sperm. The man behind him was shuddering, his legs trembling. He stayed buried inside Quentin for several minutes, fully erect. There was a smattering of applause from the audience.

Frank whispered to Oz, who nodded.

Dale began to shrink, bringing a flood of relief to Quentin’s battered and stretched hole. He expelled the cock on a river of semen. This time there was blood.

Frank spoke. “Q, you gave a powerful performance. Unlike anything we’ve seen. Oz and me, we got to thinking. Could you take us both at once”?

Coming next:
Two Is Better Than One

 

[Badunkbadonk]

As promised...

Two Is Better Than One
Quentin felt every nerve in his lower digestive tract throbbing with pain. He saw the hunger in the men’s eyes. He was stretched bruised and torn, so what worse could they do. He nodded.

Frank lay on the bed, stiff as a board with excitement. Quentin lowered himself easily onto Frank, who seemed so small to him now. Frank went all the way past the second door with scarcely a wince from Quentin.

Quentin laid back against Frank’s chest and raised his legs. This provided a front entrance for Oswald. Oz pressed his meat against Frank’s, allowing him to penetrate Quentin. Together, the two well hung men were hard to accommodate. Although they were not solid like Dale, they stretched Quentin in new and painful ways. Soon, the two men were both fully inside.

As they each fucked Quentin to their own rhythm, he felt a cacophonous rhythm inside. With time, the two men realized how good it felt to coordinate their movements. In truth, they were giving one another pleasure, and Quentin was merely the receptacle to hold their huge cocks and permit them to slide against one another.

This was a new role for Quentin. He was facilitating pleasure between two friends buried deep inside him. It caused him to have his womanly orgasm. He leaked from his tiny soft cock, which had withdrawn inside him in reaction to the pain of two cocks. It resembled a large clitoris.

Oswald was teaching Frank how to fuck. Frank was a quick study. Soon both men were pleasuring Quentin and one another in steady strokes, perfectly timed. Frank pulled Oz to his lips. They explored one another’s mouths. Quentin was in a state of bliss. He watched love blossom between two men whom he held tightly inside him. The flow of love from one through him to the other was so exciting, Quentin experienced female-like multiple orgasms. His little clitoris seeped clear come in wave after wave. The waves caused him to contract, squeezing the two newfound lovers more tightly. It was too much, they couldn't hold back. Their kisses became hungry and rough.

Oz touched one of Frank's nipples, and he bucked. Oz tickled it lightly until Frank moaned. He switched nipples.

“Oh shit! I'm gonna come!” And in seconds, Ropes of hot semen filled Quentin and basted both men’s cocks. The added slipperiness caused Oswald to teeter over the precipice. A new flood filled the anal cavity.

The two men were so deeply engaged in kissing, they scarcely noticed when peristalsis forced their soft cocks from Quentin’s sperm-soaked aching hole.


Doctor
After breakfast and then a short bus ride, Quentin limped to the field accounting office early. The internal bruising and torn openings made every step a challenge. There he met his many coworkers. Most were childless women whose husbands were architects or civil engineers. They kept busy adding rows and columns of numbers, then double entering them into the General ledger and the current accounts. Quentin knew accounting well. He was a great addition to this busy office.

Quentin had trouble remaining seated. The women watched as color slowly drained from his face. The women had all gone through something very different which bore a resemblance to Quentin’s state of health. They sent for the doctor, suspecting amoebic dysentery. He tried to fight off the medical staff, insisting he was fine. They took him to the field hospital. Here, jaundiced victims of fever and malaria lay in beds fighting for their lives. Quentin knew exactly what had caused the problem and its initials were DHC: Dale’s Huge Cock.

What Quentin didn't know was he had been ruptured and lacerated in several places. He was slowly losing blood. By the time they reached the hospital, Quentin was too weak to stand. They wheeled him to an examination table, where he lost consciousness.

He awoke to a sunny bed. His insides still ached, but they were dulled by a euphoric feeling akin to a waking dream. He knew it must be morphine. In the hallways, the nurses spoke at low volume. Quentin could not decipher the whispers, but he did recognize their judgmental frowns. They were the faces of the family he left in New Orleans.

A doctor entered the room, locking the door. He was handsome, with gleaming white teeth, sky blue eyes, and a constant blush Quentin found endearing. “Good morning, Mr. Fournier, I’m Dr. Heimert.”

He consulted a chart. “You were admitted for symptoms of amoebic dysentery. But we can both safely conclude dysentery is not your diagnosis.”

Now it was Quentin’s turn to blush.

“I told them I knew the cause.”

“Who attacked you”?

“Attacked? I had a party in my room last night. Nobody attacked anyone.”

Heimert tilted his head and gave a smile Quentin knew and loved. They were part of the same secret family. “So, you incurred these injuries through your own choice”?

“I’ll do it again as soon as I am able.”

“We examined your throat and gave it a clean bill of health.” As the doctor said this, he discreetly adjusted the crotch of his pants. A bulge protruded.

Quentin smiled and leaned back, allowing his head to loll over the side of the hospital bed. From this angle, the doctor would have a smooth ride to the back of Quentin’s throat.

The doctor unzipped and presented a long, thin cock. He inserted it ¾ of the way where he hit the tonsil blockade. He was surprised Quentin did not gag. He was ten times as surprised when Quentin swallowed Heimert’s cock deep down his esophagus. The doctor was paralyzed, unsure if he should move deeper and risk suffocating his patient. Quentin lifted his head and dropped it, letting the cock go as far inside as possible, then letting it slip past the epiglottis, creating a stroking sensation most men never experience. Dr. Heimert was one of the blessed few to know the pleasures of full throat fucking. Quentin held the doctor’s round buttocks in his hands and encouraged him to start bucking and thrusting. If his mouth weren't so full, he would have said, “Don’t hold back.” He pulled the doctor forward and back until at last he understood Quentin’s mouth belonged to him now. He could extract satisfaction from his gaping maw with no reticence.

The doctor was overcome with the animal lusts which drive men to rut. His hips rocked violently back and forth. His long cock ran across the epiglottis, where all cocks should go, but rarely do. This flap of cartilage which prevents food from entering the windpipe is also a highly erotic narrow spot in the throat. It gives the illusion someone is running a finger up and down the end of your cock. Short cocks can't reach it. Quentin was anatomically deprived, and would never know how much pleasure he was giving the doctor at this very moment.

But Quentin was different from most men. He didn't need his cock sucked to feel pleasure. He just needed to ensure he was pleasing another man.

He had total assurance from the doctor, who was getting a surprise anatomy lesson from his patient. Never had his wife been able to perform such feats. She disliked oral sex, putting Heimert’s cock in her vagina as quickly as possible. This led to an unfortunately large litter of children. If she would let him in her mouth or her ass, they could keep the baby making at bay. Now he knew a gold bachelor with many talents. He may not need his wife at all now.

The doctor was puzzled by the damage to Quentin’s interior. He clearly engaged in anal sex, as evidenced by the many puddles of semen inside. But he wondered why he was hurt so badly.

The doctor set these thoughts aside and concentrated on bringing himself to climax. He could get close if he stayed buried deep for a minute or more. He knew this would deprive his patient of oxygen. He needed two full minutes ramming past the epiglottis to reach orgasm. He withdrew his cock entirely, letting threads of saliva drip to the floor and forehead.

“Can you hold your breath a long time”?

Quentin nodded. He opened his mouth and reached for the Doctor’s extra long cock like a baby bird reaching for a worm from its mother’s mouth. He inhaled a large breath of air, then the man’s entire length. The doctor went deep, taking short strokes ensuring his patient’s epiglottis would scrape hard against the end of his cock.

Quentin didn’t panic. He had already learned the dangers of holding his breath for so long. He felt an increasing urge to regurgitate his breakfast. But these feelings were not important. His job was to please his doctor and let him use his throat like a vagina. The doctor picked up his pace, blowing out short bursts. Sweat formed in droplets on his forehead, splashing. Just as Quentin became certain he would pass out from lack of oxygen, he saw Heimert’s balls contract. The doctor threw his head back. “Yes! Take it!” Deep inside the throat of his patient, he expelled bursts of semen repeatedly. Quentin felt it squirt inside him twice before he pulled his head away with a hoarse cough allowing air to fill his lungs. The doctor’s long cock continued to shoot, splashing his tonsils, then his tongue, and as it left his mouth, the meat stick sprayed more come on Quentin’s face. Then, as if nothing had happened, he consulted the chart.

“I’m going to give you laudanum for the pain. You need to limit your motion to keep your wounds from reopening. You swallowed several ounces of my semen. It should be fine.”

“May I go back to work”?

“I’m going to write a letter asking you return in three days. You need to stay in bed to allow the torn flesh in your rectum and sigmoid colon to heal.”

Quentin nodded. Then he grew curious. “Will there be scars”?

“Yes, I’m afraid so, although they won’t be visible.”

“So am I going to tear again easily”?

The doctor put a pencil to his upper lip. “No. The scar tissue will be much thicker.”

Quentin got dressed while the doctor watched.

“As a doctor, I would like to ask what happened to cause so much damage.”

Quentin didn’t hesitate. “Frank Simpson fucked me as did Oswald Betancourt. Dale Clark took some doing, but I got him in. Then both Oswald and Frank did me at once.”

The pencil hit the floor. The doctor didn’t bother retrieving it.

“I know all three of those men. Dale Clark is incapable of penetration. He’s come to me asking for help, which I cannot give. Nature’s blessing is a curse for that man.”

“I was his first.”

The doctor shook his head. “You are talented, but please be careful your talents don’t kill you, son.”

Quentin gave the same nod one might see an alcoholic give when promising to swear off drink.

 

[Badunkbadonk]

Silver Camp
After three days of laudanum and bed rest, Quentin was ready for a new adventure. Dale had been to see him twice. He brought flowers the second time. Quentin knew he must learn to take the man, for he was his only hope. But Dale understood he needed to wait. He had gone his whole life waiting. A few more weeks was tolerable.

Quentin knew once he allowed Dale in again, it would be hard to enjoy other men. The stretched holes would not satisfy other men. Quentin had searched many hundreds of men to please, and none had found greater pleasure than Dale. He was the one who would snare Quentin for good. Quentin would allow his anatomy to become permanently altered by Dale’s battering ram. The flowers said all this. Dale would never find satisfaction without him.

Before Quentin committed to this one needy man, he wanted to feel burning need from others.

On the sixth night of his recovery, Quentin felt ready to get back on the horse, so to speak. He took a tub of Vaseline and a flashlight. He followed the trail down to the silver camps. The men were segregated by ethnicity. One cabin housed Caribbean and American black men. Another held Spaniards and Caribbean Spanish speakers; the third was Italian.

Quentin saw Massimo, the Roman whom he had once thought the biggest, thickest man he would ever take. He seemed almost normal to him now.

Massimo asked if he wanted to give him his ass, and Quentin obliged. Massimo took him to the telegraph office, which was closed for the night.

Quentin bent over the desk and lowered his buttocks enough to allow the short man easy entry.

This time, Quentin finally gave Massimo the surprise he had held back. His anatomy had already been changed by a single night with Dale. Massimo slipped into the inner chamber easily. When Massimo’s hips came in contact with Quentin's buttocks, he gasped.

“Did I put a the hole in you”?

Quentin smiled and shook his head. “I saved this for you as a surprise.”

Massimo rutted fiercely, groaning before he released his semen in the inner room.

Quentin felt none of the pain or discomfort he had felt with Massimo before. It was good, but he longed for more. Massimo buckled his belt.

“Before you go, can I ask a favor”?

“Si, yes.”

“Will you let the other men know I am in here”?

Massimo nodded, and left.

Quentin waited eagerly. He heard the door open, but with the lights off, he couldn't see who had entered.

It was someone new, a black man. The man was enormous like Carlo, but nothing like Dale. His thrusts were hurried and desperate. Quentin felt very full, but still experienced no pain. The man was familiar with the inner room already, and he found his way there easily. Quentin felt the man’s pleasure increase. He imbibed the man’s delight and increased his own. It was not long before he reached climax. Quentin took the man’s sperm and released him back into the night.

A line of strangers formed. One by one Quentin invited them to use him as a receptacle to spill their come. He took men of all shapes sizes and colors. With each new man, Quentin’s rectum filled with fluid. He expelled it periodically so a sticky puddle formed at his feet. The puddle grew. With one enormous Columbian, he himself grew hard and added his own white semen to the gooey mess below.

Quentin had never allowed himself to be a whore to so many men in one night. He loved facing away from them, so he only came to know them by their hands, their technique and the shape of their cock inside him. No one wanted conversation. They were here for a gratifying release. It was many hours before the line grew shorter. The messy puddle of semen had become a hazard. One man had slipped, stabbing Quentin in the gut. It felt like a feather compared to Dale.

Men returned with towels and used their feet to mop around Quentin and whomever was inside him at that moment. Quentin felt some younger men enter him a second time. He knew their skin, their thrusts, their cocks. As he filled with semen, he was troubled by a paradoxically empty feeling. He thought with each new satisfied cock he would feel his happiness increase, which it did in the beginning. But now, six hours later, he was weary of the excess. He expelled another measure of semen. As it left him, he felt something new. He felt lonely. With so many men pleasuring themselves inside Quentin, he couldn't claim to be alone. And yet this was how he felt.

Indeed, when the last man had found pleasure inside him and deposited his semen, Quentin was left alone to clean the floor. He cried for the first time since infancy.

It was near dawn. In two hours he would need to report to work.

During the walk uphill, he soiled his dungarees. Several ounces of semen left in his sigmoid colon had found their way out his loose anus. He cursed himself and his greed for satisfying men.

When he reached his cabin, he studied the doctor note. He didn't return until the next day, so he could rest after all.

He threw his dirty trousers into the hamper and showered, scrubbing himself inside and out. He tried to wash away the shame, but it was useless. He looked at his below average penis and felt an inner rage at God for making him this way. He could never satisfy anyone the way these men satisfied him. He was designed by nature to be a whore for men to use. He longed to feel their pleasure, but he needed to feel their gratitude. Last night taught him this. None of these strangers thanked him for his service. They simply used them, exchanged pleasure with him during the buildup to orgasm, then walked away.

Quentin remembered Carlo, the Sicilian, who kissed him with gratitude for curing him of his fainting spells. He thought about Oz and Frank, two men with huge cocks who discovered a love for one another sharing his hole.

Quentin glanced at the vase of tropical flowers Dale had brought him. Gratitude. Far more intoxicating than mere pleasure.

He drifted into a dreamless sleep

 

[Badunkbadonk]

It’s been a long journey for Quentin and a miracle for Dale...this is the final chapter and epilogue. Thanks for all who read along. You can find other Peter Schutes books on Amazon or Smashwords.
Or head over to
www.peterschutes.com


Getting It Just Right
Quentin awoke at noon. Dale sat by his bed. He looked longingly at Quentin. He had a tongue sandwich for Quentin, who quickly realized he was famished. They spoke very little. Dale put his big hand on Quentin’s forehead. No fever.

“Quentin, can I get you anything”?

“I need you to hold me.”

Dale brightened at the request. He climbed under the sheet and wrapped his big arm around Quentin. Quentin could feel a swelling in Dale’s groin. It grew rapidly and stretched Dale’s pants so hard, they could hear a seam rip.

“I'm so sorry. Being near you like this…”

Quentin turned and put a finger to Dale’s lips. Then he kissed him. Dale kissed back. They were following a dangerous path. Quentin put his hand on Dale’s leg near where the head of his penis was trapped. He traced circle eights across its mass, causing Dale to shudder.

Quentin didn't want to return to the hospital, but failing to gratify this huge handsome man was worse than any physical pain he had endured.

“Dale, I'm ready for you.”

“But...are you sure”?

Quentin nodded. He undid Dale’s belt. After some struggle, Dale’s rapidly swelling penis escaped his trousers. It flew upwards then fell with gravity, landing on Quentin’s abdomen and chest. Free from tight pants, it spread longer and wider.

Quentin shuddered, fear mingling with intense desire. He spread Vaseline along its length, repeating several times until every inch of skin was coated and glistening.

Dale applied jelly around and inside the anus. He used his hands to gently stretch Quentin wider. Then, with more force, he steadily applied pressure until his hand was engulfed. He formed a fist, just as Quentin had taught him, and tried removing it. To his surprise, it came out easy. Quentin blinked. He felt no pain. The laudanum had long since left his system; it defied explanation.

Dale inserted his clenched fist inside again. He watched Quentin’s face carefully, but all he saw were fluttering eyes.

“Am I hurting you”?

“You should be, but you're not. I don't know why.”

“Shall I keep going”?

In answer, Quentin pulled the fist from inside him, and pushed it easily back inside.

Once both were convinced Quentin was prepared, Dale positioned his head at the puckered entryway to pleasure and desire. He pressed in easily.

Quentin grabbed Dale by his shirt and kissed him deeply. He felt his small penis harden with desire. He wanted Dale. He didn't just want Dale to feel pleasure like before. He wanted Dale to make love to him. He wanted to be filled with Dale Clark.

As these new desires flooded Quentin’s heart and brain, Dale’s destroyer slipped easily in, hitting the rectum wall with a soft landing.

“Q, you don't have to try to take more of me.”

Quentin felt between his legs. The length of Dale’s exposed cock was several inches more than his own tiny penis. It was obscene to leave so much meat exposed to the wind.

Contorting his abdomen, Quentin found the scarred passageway to accept Dale completely. In a smooth motion, Dale’s cockhead pushed its way four inches into the colon. Dale’s hips were pressed lightly against the buttocks. Quentin grasped at Dale’s muscular buttocks and pressed his hips tightly, until his cockhead was five inches past the inner door.

Dale closed his eyes. He felt like he could stay there forever, deep inside this man who had nearly died to join with him. Dale loved him. It was so simple. He loved him. He wanted to make love to him.

Quentin, forever tuned to subtle energies, felt Dale’s sudden awakening hit him like a mule kicking him in the head. With every inch buried deep inside him, this silent telegraph signal of love swirled between them. Dale had not moved, pressed as far inside his newfound love as any man could go.

Dale withdrew eight inches before smoothly sliding back in completely. His balls spanked Quentin’s beautiful round buttocks. As Dale continued to thrust back and forth, his lover entered an altered consciousness. He was intensely in his body, but his brain flew him to a meadow. In the meadow, Dale lay on his back, his gigantic cock growing longer and thicker. From high above, Quentin fell earthward. Dale’s cock caught his fall and entered him, stretching him and filling him with its immensity. Quentin returned to his bed with a loud gasp, as one of Dale’s thrusts missed the inner door and pummeled his rectum. It was painful, sensual, delightful.

“Oh Q, Sorry--”

Quentin silenced his man with a deep tongue kiss. It was the first kiss since they had each realized they loved the other. Combined with the mutual joy of penetrating and being penetrated, the kiss multiplied their erotic joy.

Dale found a sweet spot, where the length of his strokes were just right to tickle Quentin’s inner door and squeeze his own cockhead. To accomplish this, he had to press his belly against Quentin’s. Dale’s belly rubbed continually against Quentin’s hard penis, making it drool.

The inner tickling sent Quentin to a new place he never even dreamed he belonged. While Dale marveled he could insert his penis inside anyone, let alone this man he loved, Quentin groaned from the intensity of having his inner door thrown wide open and slammed shut every two seconds. It caused a fireball to form in his belly and travel to his crotch. With Dale's belly stimulating him, Quentin realized he was about to come.

The fireball was felt by both, for Dale’s cock head had been pressed and released hundreds of times now, and his balls were burning with a fresh delivery of seed.

Quentin said, “Dale, you’re making me come.” He kissed Dale hard as the first rope of come exploded from his small cock and hit Dale under the chin.

“Oh shit!” Dale released his first shot of come buried completely in his man.

Quentin had never allowed himself to enjoy orgasm like a man. He shot load after load of semen, landing on the furniture, in Dale’s hair, up his own nose. He grunted and squeezed out the final drops, tasting them. His semen was sweet and syrupy, unlike the salty clear fluid he leaked like a girl.

Dale was pulling back rapidly. The second shot hit the back of the rectum. His third shot filled Quentin’s anal canal with a saucerful of hot seed. His next shot was outside. It landed on Quentin’s lips. He opened his mouth to catch the next shot, then licked his lips.

Dale thought he would never stop. He landed another shot in Quentin’s mouth, then shot into his own mouth. Quentin kissed him, the semen intermingling in their mouths.

Dale’s cock was still rock hard. He had another go in him, but wanted to give Quentin a break.

Quentin pushed Dale back on the bed and impaled himself on the towering cock. With great skill, he rocked his behind back and forth until he was sitting on Dale’s lap. With gravity’s assistance, he pressed downward until he could feel Dale’s pubic bone between his butt cheeks.

Quentin was a natural acrobat. He used his legs to propel himself upward, then let gravity bring him back down. He repeated this motion for several minutes. Dale lay on his back and watched his love perform his feats of endurance and bravery. On one upward motion, Quentin overshot and Dale’s cock came out.

Dale couldn't believe what he saw. Quentin’s rectum was so stretched, it remained open. He could see into the hole. Then Quentin slid right back down without using his hands. He wanted to see it again, so he lifted the man off of his cock each time, then watched in astonishment as the gaping hole found its target every time, burying Dale to the hilt.

The gaping hairless hole bookmarks by two perfect round buttocks was too much for Dale. He had no time to warn Q. As he came springing skyward, his gaping anus hovered over Dale’s cock head. Out of the piss slit came a massive load of white spew. Like a sharp shooter, Dale was able to fire it right into Quentin’s wide open anus. He repeated a masterful series of shots several times until his last drops merely cascaded down the outside of his towering elephant’s trunk of a penis.

Quentin felt each load land inside him without touching his hole. He could feel a breeze blowing and wondered how much Dale had stretched him. After the last load landed inside his gaping hole, he stood and let the semen from both rounds start to pour. Like icing on a cake, they landed all over the massive cock of the man he now loved. He turned and licked the icing from his man’s cake.

EPILOGUE

Quentin had journeyed to Panama in search of endless encounters with men. He found love instead. Dale had escaped to Panama to forget his ‘curse’ only to have it transformed into a blessing when he met the one person on Earth who could take him. The fact it was a man who could accommodate him meant very little, for this man was extraordinary in every way. Better still, they fell in love with one another. There was a lid for every pot.


Epilogue
After two deadly outbreaks of yellow fever, the loving couple chose to leave the tropics for safer climes. They took their hard-earned gold and moved to San Francisco.

Quentin never again felt pain with Dale. The love they shared and the constant lovemaking left them perfectly in tune to one another. Quentin became acclimated, but never grew tired of taking one of the world’s largest cocks deep inside him. They found hundreds of new ways to please one another. Dale’s favorite trick was to end lovemaking with Quentin lying face down on the bed, remove his cock and play target practice with the gaping hole he had made. Quentin jumped with surprise as each ball of come found its mark.

Quentin found sex with Dale so stimulating, he could no longer ignore his own cock. The soft dribbling female orgasms of his youth were replaced with confident, manly ejaculations. Despite his small dick, he had very long range. His favorite ending was to shoot into Dale’s open mouth while sitting on his hard cock. Because he had so little to aim with, his spigot was less precise than Dale’s garden hose. But he always managed to soak Dale’s face from below.

Quentin was heartbroken to learn his beloved spinster Aunt Lisette passed away. He was astonished to learn she truly loved and accepted him. She left her entire fortune to him with a will so rock solid, no lawyer in his family could approach it. Dale and Quentin were suddenly very rich.

Many years later at the Olympic Club, Dale and Quentin ran into Oswald and Frank. They convinced Dale to let them celebrate their first union by recreating that night with Quentin. Quentin took the couple effortlessly. He let them slide and pound their way into him, rubbing against each other’s penises until they painted his insides white. Then Dale used their come to lubricate his masterful lovemaking. It was a repeat performance with a very happy ending.

 

[johntygc]

Thankyou for posting a great story..

 

[Badunkbadonk]

Thankyou for posting a great story..

It makes me happy to share my big dick fic with an appreciative audience.

 

[dcsmbottom]

It makes me happy to share my big dick fic with an appreciative audience.

And we love reading it!!!