Project William

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By Also_KnownAs

A complete, self-contained story with an ending? Who knew it was possible?

His name was William. I remember the day I first saw him, and my reaction to his sudden appearance from around the corner of the lockers.

My name is Jackson. It was my father's little idea of a joke. Because, see, his name was Jack, making me Jack's son. A pretty silly joke, when you think about it. But it's all I have left of him. He and my mom died in a car wreck two years ago -- or I should say two years before the beginning of my story, and two years before I met William. I was fifteen when they died and, since I'm not dumb and there was no one else to do it, I was declared an adult and allowed to raise myself, so to speak. The life insurance money is taking care of little annoyances like rent and car payments and food, and I would have gotten out of high school too if I could have, but I guess you can only be an adult so far before they decide to pull your leash.

Anyway, if I'd left school when I wanted to, I would never have met William, and I'm sure my life would be a lot different.

I'm writing this down, knowing that no one will ever read it. But I feel like I need to get this story out of me now before moving on to whatever comes next. It'll get a little freaky -- no, it'll get a lot freaky before the tale's done, but I swear it's all true.

As I was saying, my parents were dead, I was living on my own in my own apartment, having sold the house to rid myself of its burden of debt and certain memories that were not going anywhere, and it was my senior year in high school.

I guess I should also add that I was -- I am -- gay, although few people knew it at the time. Where I grew up, it wouldn't have been very prudent of me to come out to anyone, even some of my closest friends. And I wasn't all that self-confident enough to do it, either, even though I was fairly popular and considered pretty cool by everyone else since I had my own place and basically no rules to follow. Except those I made for myself. And one of my rules was not to fuck my luck up any more than what I already thought I had.

Call me a coward if you want, I suppose it's true. Buy whatever, that's not the story I'm telling here. Boo hoo poor me and all that shit. No, my life wasn't bad at all, and if I wasn't having the best luck lifewise, I had been blessed in other areas pretty heavily.

First, I'm a big guy. In every sense. And fucking cute, too. Yeah, I was the guy in the locker room who hung out (literally) naked a lot. Frankly, I enjoyed the attention, and probably it was my way of scoping out the possibilities. You know, like who's looking a little closer than normal, paying a little too much attention to my dick, trying to hide their returned desires with a hard-on here and there. And I'm not boasting when I say that I had plenty to show off.

Not only did I already have a more than ample length of horse dick, I was working out a lot and managed to pack on a decent amount of muscle by the time I was 18. I think you could say I was a stud muffin, no doubt about it. And I was getting action from both courts, even though I knew I was gay. The girls were paying more attention to me than the guys -- well, some guys paid me a lot of attention which I returned. I mean, come on, my hormones were pumping overtime and great sex is great sex.

Besides, I had an image to uphold.

Okay, so I've set the scene enough. I know what you're waiting for. I can hear you out there between strokes, baby. You want the goods, the point of this little tale. You need the money shot.


So, William.

William was a transfer my last year at Central. I had been hearing that whoever this guy was, he was going to give me a run for my money in the looks department. I hadn't seen him by the time I was getting ready to put my clothes back on after gym. I was leaning against my locker, toweling my hair dry while proudly displaying my impressive collection of wet and just-pumped muscles, joking with, I think, Larry who was a good friend and occasional fuck buddy (we used to see how far we could get away with the occasional ass caress or prick stroke around the locker room, you know, vicarious thrill, etc.) when around the corner comes this guy who, I swear, made me hard right there. Have you ever encountered some guy on the street or on the beach or in a club and your heart flipped and your mouth went dry and you could feel a tingling down below with such a sudden shock to your system that you felt like someone just tossed hot water on you?

If not, I urge you to get out more. If so, you get an idea of what I felt when William came into view.

Oh my God, boys, this here was a guy I wanted to take then and there and fuck what anyone thought. Larry saw my reaction and must have sensed that I was losing control since he stepped closer and took the towel out of my hand and did his best to hide my woody which was threatening to reach record-breaking hardness as this man walked closer.

How do I explain that first look?

Maybe I'll just tell you what I saw. I don't think I can adequately describe him to you with words, but I'll give it a shot.

First of all, this guy was huge. A mammoth wall of male pulchritude ambling across the cold concrete floor, blocking my view of everything but him. And probably "amble" isn't an exact representation of what his body was doing. More like stalk, or maybe pursue. There was something of an animal about how he approached, and I can't say for sure if it was the way his muscles moved, so sleek and powerful and utterly under control, or the sway of his hips or the look in his eyes. But there was something definitely feral and raw about him, even if it was honed to such a perfected edge that it only added to the attraction.

His upper body was bare and the shock of seeing so much beautiful muscle and so much masculine power all at once was nearly overwhelming, and certainly dick hardening. His broad chest had a soft forest of dark curls. Not a thick carpet of darkness, but a soft forest, a curling collection of black curls spreading across its expanse in a way that made you want to reach into it and just sniff him all in. All that luscious hair was distributed in a wide triangle across two immense collections of muscular meat that I don't think I'd ever seen anywhere but in some comic. It was almost as if he'd been carved from stone, or some living metal. The two hemispheres were equally overwhelmed with the striated power built up under the skin.

Across the top of that chest were his shoulders, which somehow managed to match its size muscle for muscle. Broad and fat and rounded with power, stretching and flexing as he approached. The arms that hung from those shoulders were a sculpted collection of bulging strength, each muscle thickly defined and so large and well-formed that they seemed almost unreal. They could pull you inside them and crush you. They defined `huge.' His flat belly was rippled with a cobblestone street and a treasure trail of more of that shining silk lead under the waistband of his cotton gym trunks toward what appeared to be maybe the biggest bulge I'd ever seen in my life -- including mine. He wore the shorts very low on his slim hips, so that a wealth of pubes erupted over the waistband like an invitation.

Then, there was William's face. Again, oh my God, boys. Just... beautiful. Stunning. Gorgeous. Get out a thesaurus and run down the list. He was smiling, slightly, his full lips turned up just so. His eyes, when at last I managed to look up his dimensions to find them, were focused on me in a way that made me feel both amazingly happy and sort of embarrassed at the same time, as if he was sizing me up, liked what he saw, told me so and added how hard he was going to fuck me all at once. I'd heard the term "speaking with his eyes" before, but here was a guy who was doing exactly that, and what he was saying made me want to bend over and let him at me.

`His eyes are green.'

I noted that somewhere as I continued to stare at his approach. Larry, by now, had turned around and I think no one had a towel on at that point, and everyone was hard. William's beauty and obvious strength had sapped me of power. I couldn't move or speak. He was coming closer with each step. All that, just... man. So much manly man. I could see his muscles moving with a fluid, sensual grace. I swear, they were. This wasn't me painting in things that weren't there. Literally, the guy moved like he was fucking someone.

At this point, and I only realized this later, I could feel him approach. You might not believe it, but the guy put out something like heat that surrounded him. It was like heat and scent and power, like some weird sphere of powerful cologne that you could feel and smell and sense. It was raw male sensuality, is what it was. And I could feel it coming off his body. I thought it was just me at first, feeling all hot and bothered, but even Larry was sweating and the room wasn't even warm.

My eyes were tracing along the lines of his brawn, drinking his dimensions in as if he were some dream that would evaporate. I didn't want to forget a single amazing inch of his form, particularly the amazing inches that were currently hidden behind a thin covering of gray cotton that I would have paid to rip open with my teeth. Those shorts were made of the same plain cotton as mine, but on him they clung like silk. Had he bought a pair two sizes too small just to show himself off -- as if he needed to augment anything, because even though I knew he was wearing the school's prerequisite jockstrap down there, I swear I could see his cockhead outlined on his hip bone. The length of his snake lay asleep in his shorts, and it, too, was huge.

God, he was beautiful. So fucking beautiful. And then he was next to me, and he stopped, and I looked up at his face, and the close- cropped jet black hair on his head, stubbled on the back and sides with a longer blue-black lick of hair hanging off his brow, and the faint shadow of his beard on that squared jaw and long neck, and into those green, green eyes.

And he said, William said, "Hi, handsome."

Oh Jesus fucking Christ. Oh good God almighty. Oh, I felt those words down to my toes. Then he arched one thick brow, cast his eyes down to where my prick was tapping a steady rhythm on my belly, reached his hand over, touched the tip of his middle finger to the slime trail of precum spilling from my cock's single eye, raised the digit to his mouth - trailing a string of me like a spider's web - spread a gleaming gloss on his lovely lips and licked my salty essence off.

"Thanks," he said, smiling. His teeth were white and straight, naturally. "I hope I can repay the compliment later." He reached down again, grabbing me and rubbing his rough thumb over my glossy helmet. "You're Jackson, right?"

I nodded, watching his lips moving with my luster still on them.

He licked his lips slowly. "My name's William." His voice was thunder, a low rumble from across vast mountains, the sound of the sea at storm.

"I know." My voice, to my ears, following after the deep baritone of his window-shaking voice, sounded thin and fragile.

He looked at Larry, whose own cock was also an angry red and hard as steel, though nowhere near as long as mine. William's hand was still holding my dick. I could feel the calluses he no doubt acquired from hours and weeks at the gym, and the rough surface on the palm of his hand against my lusty cock. His thumb was performing some sort of gentle miracle as he squeezed me. If anyone was watching this, he didn't seem to care at all, and I knew I certainly didn't mind his attentions. At that moment, I'd have done whatever he wanted. And you better believe I wanted him to ask.

His eyes met mine again. He continued to pleasure me as he said, "I hear you've got your own place, Jackson." He glanced down, taking his hand off me for a moment to spit a gob of saliva on his palm before reapplying it to me, adjusting his grip on my cock in that very public place. He was slowly stroking, now, not merely rubbing, but running his large hand the length of my very happy prick.

Was I still breathing? I must have been, but it felt like I was sinking into some thick pool of bliss. This beautiful man was hand- jobbing me in front of my locker where everyone could see. Wasn't that what was happening? Should I be trying to stop him, trying to protect my lie, trying to... man, did this guy ever know his way around a dick! Oh, Jesus!

I managed another nod as my eyes closed, but I pried them back open to see the face before me, to watch his lips move as that powerful sound escaped and licked my eardrums.

His stroking increased. He leaned down toward me, bringing his gorgeous face toward mine. His lips were moist and thick, and the smile he had on them promised almost too much to bear. The heat of him grew against me as his muscled flesh neared my body and his mouth was so close to my ear that I could feel his breath when he said, "I'd love to see it, Jackson."

I swallowed. Hard. "Yes?"

His face came into view. He kissed me on the lips. I felt it to my toes. "Tonight."

"Yes."

He straightened and his eyes fell toward where his hand was giving me so much pleasure and I could feel myself close, painfully close to spurting my hot cream all over it. He seemed to sense that, because he stopped stroking and just squeezed me, hard. I don't doubt his imprint is still on my flesh down there.

I ground my teeth together, feeling the pleasure transfer into pain, a silver pain of ecstasy. "Then we'll finish this up later."

He took his touch from me, smiling broadly, and continued walking across the floor toward the door leading out to the blacktop. I managed to watch the tight globes of his ass as he left, and the ringing in my ears wasn't just from delirium, but from the school bell telling me I was now late for my next class.

And that was how I met William.


I looked for him later, but for whatever reason never saw him around. I skipped my next session so I could get off. He may have managed to temporarily dampen my spirit, but when I watched his butt walking away I got hot and bothered all over again and just had to do something about it.

Sure, I saw plenty of looks aimed my way. When it came right down to it, I had to reconcile that I probably wasn't fooling anyone anyway, and this admittedly weird little erotic run-in with an almost impossible-to-ignore behemoth in the middle of the locker room cemented my new position as the school faggot. And how was I supposed to deny it -- and really, what was the point anymore? My reputation was the least of what was running through my head that day.

So I went home, thinking maybe the guy was just fucking with me or something. Maybe that's how he got off. Pinning the most likely target and shoving him out of the closet. I had no doubt that William, whomever he was, was in the family, too. No matter how muscular and masculine he appeared, there was no fucking way a guy who'd do that wasn't at least bi.

At around six, there's a knock on the door. I'm hoping it's him, but I'm also keeping that hope in the back of my head in case it wasn't. But I am wearing the jeans that make my ass look great and a black, ribbed T shirt that makes my nipples hard when I look at myself in it. So, you know, I'm looking hot -- not like he hasn't already seen everything, but it never hurts to look your best.

I scan the peep hole and what do you think I see?

All right, yes, of course it was him. I suppose it's no surprise that if he can find out my name and recognize me on sight, getting my address wouldn't be all that difficult. Hell, he was probably attracting the attention of every guy I'd ever fucked here, so why shouldn't he know where I lived? All he had to do was ask. And how did I know it was him? He was still shirtless, believe it or not boys, and what I saw through that fisheye gaze was that furry chest and its amazing and tongueable cleavage.

William leaned down as if he knew I was there and smiled his perfect grin at me. "Open up, Jackson. I think I've got some jacking off to finish."

Damn, that man's voice was loud.

I opened the door and he leaned his huge frame against its frame. He was shirtless, for sure, but he had on a leather jacket that just barely managed to contain his muscular bulk. One elbow rested on the doorframe and his hand was at the nape of his neck. His underarm was dark and deep and hairy, and his jacket was doing all it could to keep from bursting under the power of his bicep. It swelled like a grapefruit. I could smell his scent again, and feel that odd heat against my skin. He rubbed his scalp with one hand, his other had a six-pack in it. He was wearing blue jeans over motorcycle boots, a look I'd never found particularly attractive but I got the feeling that for this guy, it wasn't just a look. His rippled belly slowly moved in and out as he breathed, the tight muscles of his abdomen swelling and contracting. "How they hanging?" he rumbled.

"Great," I answered, trying to sound as cool as he looked. "Come on in."

I opened the door wide and he sauntered into my lair, such as it was. I watched his ass move again as he passed. How could I not, with his two bulbous cheeks fitted so snugly into that worn denim. A pair of mirrored aviator glasses dangled from one pocket (can you say clich´┐Ż?) and there was a ragged tear under one of those cheeks, exposing a slim taste of tanned skin as he walked. Of course the guy would go commando. I doubt he even owned a pair of underwear.

The funny thing was, his get-up was a complete turn-on for me. It was a fantasy made real. It would have looked completely ridiculous on anyone else, but he made it work. All that was missing was the leather chaps.

I still had some of my parents' old furniture and the place looked about as far from a bachelor pad as a place could get. His eyes, however, seemed glued to my form so I doubt he even noticed. He said, "Nice place," and set the pack down, cracking a brew open and handing it over. I figure that the guy had to be my age, but his hormones were working overtime or something because that shade of a beard from the afternoon had burgeoned into a regular 5 o'clock shadow and his was looking damn sexy. Not that he was looking like a hobo earlier, of course. The beard accentuated the cleft in his chin (how had I missed that, I love that!) and the dimples of his cheeks.

"Thanks," I said, accepting the suds. I took a long draught on the bottle and wiped my mouth on my sleeve, my eyes just as locked on his display of brawn as his were on mine.

"No problem." He was still standing pretty close to me. I suddenly felt awkward and exposed. He could do that to a person. "I would have thanked you for what you did earlier, but I couldn't find you again."

He grinned but said nothing.

"I guess you know you outed me pretty good to everyone."

His eyebrows arched. "I suppose I should apologize." His answer came of soft and low. It seemed like he was standing even closer, though I didn't see him move at all. Maybe it was just his size and height. He was one big motherfucker.

I shrugged. I could feel his presence like a heat in the room.

Then he did step toward me, closing the gap entirely. He reached up and put his hand behind my neck. The roughness of his skin was matched with the tenderness of his touch. He bent his head down to mine and I met his lips halfway, my arms attempting to wrap his leather-clad enormity in an embrace. The black leather was a second skin on his bulging contours. He was so hard, amazingly hard under his jacket.

I expected his kiss to be rough and sudden, urgent and demanding. Instead, the tenderness of his hand's caress on my neck was mirrored by his kiss. It seemed like the passion and gentleness was a test of some sort. Like maybe he wanted to take his cues from me. I kissed him back, pulling him to me and thrusting my tongue in his warm mouth. God, he smelled so good. And the man could kiss as good as he looked. Warm, wet, and it went directly to my crotch.

Of course, the fact that he was digging down my Wranglers was helping elevate matters. And he was doing that part one-handed. So, a man of many talents.

I had a hard time remembering that the guy was my age. He seemed so much older, so much more experienced, and probably he was. He was sure comfortable with the whole gay thing. I mean, not like I wasn't good at it, but I was still sort of tentative about things until the relationship was farther along than this.

He pulled away then, and seemed to have read my mind. "So, shall we get acquainted first?"

It was my turn to laugh. "I thought that's what you were doing." I arched my brow and gazed south, shifting my hips to allow his hand easier access to my package.

His lips quirked in a playful grin. His fingers were working some kind of miracle. I was on my toes all the sudden, feeling his thumb rubbing me the right way. "We already got the preliminaries out of the way, lover. I just thought you needed a reminder."

Good, god, he was talented. He was getting me off and I hadn't unzipped anything. "You have... quite a way with... your hands."

"Hand." His grip tightened. "It comes in handy when I'm out at the movies."

"I bet." I was really close to cumming in my jeans. He wasn't stroking me so much as rubbing, caressing, squeezing and releasing in just the right way. His hand had a rough, mechanic's feel to it. He leaned forward and planted another of his deep kisses on my mouth, shoving his tongue into me like I wanted the rest of him shoved into me. I felt like his tool, or his puppet, and I was willingly allowing my strings to be pulled.

Then I was cumming, streaming half a dozen thick shots of jizz inside my pants, all over his hand. The cum slickened my cock and he did stroke me, then, pumping the last of my load from me. My body was jerking from the intensity of my orgasm, and I almost came all over again as he pulled his hand from my crotch and licked himself clean, coating his long tongue in my salty seed. "I love your taste," he said, before rubbing my sauce on his huge nipples until they got hard and pointed, then he pinched them and I watched his tool jump in response.

Man, was this guy hot.

I had a huge wet stain on my groin and I could feel my spunk dripping down my leg. He asked, "Did you want to change?" as he pressed his body to me so I could feel his huge hard muscles when he kissed my mouth again. He moved his hand up my body, over my shirt, curling his fingers down the front of my collar. I had an idea of what he was planning, but I couldn't believe he'd be so dramatic.

Still, it did send a thrill through me when he roughly, and rather easily, tore my shirt from my body.

The fabric ripped like paper under his powerful handling, and the next thing I knew he was caressing my chest and shoving my undone jeans downward. Being a not-dumb guy, I sort of planned on events proceeding in this manner, sooner or later, and wasn't wearing underwear so he could dig inside and find my goodies with very little effort.

His fingers, like his mouth, had an expert's touch and putting that together with the fact that I was just one horny lad to begin with and made all the more so by his manipulations earlier, I was getting very hard all over again and my tool was starting to drool some serious precum in expectation of more fun to come. I wasn't even thinking about how this was possible, how I could be hard again and prepped after having just delivered one hell of a load. But I could feel the hot slickness down there as it cooled. Maybe because my cock is so big it happens to produce a lot of that lubing juice.

He had to weight 225, 230 at least. So much man there next to me, it was almost frightening. I felt like he could do anything he wanted to me, and would I have done anything to stop him?

My hands pushed his jacket off those huge shoulders and I was struck by a wave of his scent, the glorious perfume of sweat and leather, his musk was a sexual aroma that filled my head. He pulled his touch from deep in my pants and stepped slightly away, but his eyes never lost mine. He moved his hand to his mouth, again licking my salty concentrate from his fingertips. Man, that was so hot. He removed his jacket, rolling his meaty torso around to shrug the garment from his fantastic body.

He knew exactly how his movements made me feel. He was grinning with a sly wisdom, his smooth, youthful features putting themselves to excellent use as the maturity I sensed in his touch all but disappeared and he looked exactly as old as his 17-year-old face exhibited.

The jacket dropped to the floor and his hands reached down to undo a black leather belt before finding the button fly of his tight 501's, those rough fingers popping the first and then the second. That goody trail of dark hair erupted into a thick, wide jungle down there. Something else thick and wide snaked its way downward from where his jeans were popping open, too. All the way along his right thigh.

I heard him huff out a soft laugh and looked up, realizing my mouth was hanging open. He had me in his pocket. I was making another dark stain on my jeans and my prick ached inside the denim confines. It felt like I'd be bursting the zipper any second.

I said, for some stupid reason, "how'd you know my name?"

His grin widened into an honest smile. "I asked some girls who was the biggest stud on campus. Your name came up -- repeatedly." He popped another button. "You do seem to get around, Jackson." He was feeling himself up, running his hand through that soft black forest stretching across his chest.

"And how did you know I'd respond to your rude advances, William?"

"I have a rather uniquely developed gaydar." That right there, friends, is what's called foreshadowing, but I heard it as what's called foreplay. His other hand was now digging down his own pants. "Among other uniquely developed talents."

I saw that line coming from a mile off, but what the fuck did I care? I was unzipping myself out of my jeans, letting some fresh air in to the downstairs sauna. "And when do I get to see the goods?"

He removed his hands from his body and folded them behind his back. I watched his biceps and triceps grow. He tucked in his chin and went all puppy for a second, then glanced down at his bulging basket and did something magical that seemed to make that grow as well. "Be my guest."

I stepped out of my pants and walked over, my dick bouncing high and hard. I probably would have laughed at myself, walking across my floor with my dick at full mast. William, he didn't laugh, he didn't budge. It looked to me like he could manage to open his own pants without using any hands at all, and there was nothing that could have turned me on more than watching him try that.

I grabbed his pants and pulled wide. The last three buttons popped and I could see the thick, pink root of his cock. There was a tangle of black hair, sweaty and glistening, and a vein ran down his flat belly toward what had to be a mighty monster.

He was grinning that grin again, determined not to help me uncage this beast. I was pulling the painted-on jeans off his slim hips. My hand slipped behind and landed on one of the smoothest, roundest ass cheeks I'd ever felt. He tensed for me, and I felt his muscle butt harden under my hand. Oh, man, did I want this guy.

I had to peel him free of those jeans, which made me wonder how he'd managed to get them on, but when at last the pants were to his knees, my eyes beheld one of the biggest, fattest pricks I'd seen in print or video -- and never had I seen anything like that in real life.

William was gifted with what I can only describe as a monster prick. It was almost scary how big he was. I mean, how much do you want me to go into this?

Probably a lot.

Well, number one, it seemed to swell as I watched it. Maybe being held captive inside his pants had caused some shrinkage, if not in length than in girth. It was turning out that this all-man man was really a more-than-a-man man, granted by nature with a tool of amazing proportions that appeared to be getting more amazing as I watched. The shaft was long and overwhelmed with veins. They were everywhere, almost as if his prick were made of nothing but veins. It was a little weird, I gotta admit. But sexy and powerful looking, in a way. His cock was slightly darker than the rest of him, and he was uncut, which again sort of creeps me out in general, especially when its extremely long, like a turtleneck pulled over someone's head, like he had. I'm talking a vast wealth of foreskin, which amazed me. What was God thinking, making a dick with this much extra skin?

My hand was still on his ass, and I leaned forward against him and licked his cock, dragging my tongue along its inches. His scent was strong here, and it mingled with his taste. Jesus, he was big. His balls began to reveal themselves as well, dropping out of nowhere and swelling into eggs that hung behind that tool like enormous fruit. His legs were hairy like the rest of him, just enough dark fur in all the right places to be entirely sexy. I had another fuck buddy, Al, who was pretty hairy for a guy our age, but William made Al look positively bare. I had very little body hair, but the overwhelmingly masculine nature of the body in front of me was making me extremely hot.

I love being a guy. I love having a dick, I love having muscles, being big, all the guy stuff. And that's why I love other guys. The manlier, the better in my book. Muscles, hair, sweat... give me a man's body working out, working up a thick stink of glistening perspiration running in dirty trails through his the hair on his rippled stomach and I am there with a spoon.

And while I'd seen guys in magazines and pornos that had something of that thick, hard manliness to them, most guys my age were smooth and not quite there yet, know what I mean? I had friends that had the muscle, the skin, the ass -- but William had all that and more.

He was looking down at me, stripped, thick and beautiful. I've tried to give you an idea of his appearance, his beautiful body, the dark shadowing of hair, the chest and arms and shoulders and his lean, masculine features. Imagine, if you aren't already, the epitome of human masculinity. Picture your leather fantasy -- and everyone's got one, even if they won't admit it. But he was all that and more.

And this is where stuff starts getting weird. And when I say start, I mean that it'll get weirder than this, but weird step one was about to begin.

His dick, as I think I mentioned, was slowly swelling. And I, which I think I mentioned, thought that it was just some sort of development of his tool because it was unleashed from its confines, now allowed to bloom to its full glory.

But it wasn't stopping.

No, my friend, that beast, now uncaged, was very insistent that it was definitely not done coming out of its shell, so to speak. The shaft continued to thicken and lengthen. As it did, it was filling in and I suddenly realized that the reason it looked like it had all those veins on it was because its core, or whatever, wasn't fully there. And now it was exercising its option and the veins were visibly pulsing, pumping that monster bigger and bigger. And when I say pump, I mean pump.

The reason for his wealth of foreskin was also becoming apparent, because as I watched, my eyes probably bugging out of my head, his little head was dropping lower and lower, swelling larger and larger until its little eye was poking out of the skin, and that dark skin was thinning against the massiveness of him.

"Something wrong, Jackson?" I could even hear the smile in his voice.

I was kneeling there, watching his tool blossom, and I swallowed. Hard. "I've never... I just... You're... It's..." See? I'm quite loquacious when it counts.

He was laughing this gentle, deep rumble. His dick waggled. Which meant, my god, it was still limp. He said, "Yeah, I'm something, ain't I?"

I looked up to his face. His eyes were sparkling. "How big are you?"

He shrugged. "I stopped measuring."

I looked at his still swelling tool. It had to be nine inches by now. It was about four inches longer than when I'd freed it, and a lot thicker. I could see it visibly growing. It looked like it was swelling even faster now. "Jesus fucking..."

He sighed, I think. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

"Get what?" I gripped him in my hand, feeling him getting bigger and firmer by the second in my grip, actually feeling him swell. His cock was also growing more, well, beautiful as well. So huge and perfect. So much man. Maybe too much?

He continued growing as he spoke. It might have been my imagination, but his voice seemed to be deepening as well. "I'm too big."

"Too big?" I knew exactly what he meant, but I didn't want to admit anything. I wanted this thing, I wanted to swallow him whole, I wanted... Jesus, now it looked like his balls were growing, too. But that was ridiculous.

"Too big. Usually I don't reveal myself so soon, but there was something about you. I really wanted to be with you." He sounded so different from the self-confident guy who'd jerked me off in the locker room all the sudden. He sounded like some young kid, almost shy. I suppose when a guy's got a horse hose between his legs, he's automatically granted a certain amount of that. Lord knows I was one cocky bastard with my own low hangers and thick dick. But this attitude was really weird, I thought.

"Be with me?"

His huge hand reached down and he raised my chin to meet his gaze. God, he was gorgeous. Looking so big and muscled, but with this sort of puppy look on his face, too. "Be with you." He said it so simply that nothing more had to be said.

I gulped. My hand was still holding his growing prick, and I realized that my fingers no longer touched my thumb. And he wasn't done yet. "We can be together," I said. "I want to be with you, too."


Friends, if you want to experience something close to heaven, find a man with a great big dick who knows what to do with it. And I'm not talking about watching him take a piss.

No, I'm talking opening your ass as wide as you can, squeezing on a tube of KY, gritting your teeth and feeling him slide on home, filling you up so completely, so fully, that you wonder why you thought buttfucking was a pleasure before he turned up.

And a big, fat Ryker-sized dildo ain't going to do it for you, either. Plug yourself with all the pink silicone you want, there is nothing like the hot, hard flesh of a real man ramming himself up your ass to know what fucking is all about. The smell of him, the power, the, well, presence of him is what counts far more than any fuck fantasy you may be holding onto.

I'm not going to lie to you, it hurt. Oh, it hurt. It hurt like hell. I swear, young William was ripping me open there at first. He tried to be tender, bless him. What he saw as caution, I felt as teasing.

"Put it in."

I could feel him pressing against my asshole. It was like he was testing the waters, putting in a toe before taking the plunge. He felt so hot against me, like he was going to burst any second. I mean, Hello? Where was the hairy stiff licking my cum off his fingers in the locker room? I was beginning to think he was all talk and maybe I'd be the one steering this pleasure cruise into port for a few minutes, there.

He entered me with excruciating slowness. He'd get in there, and I felt like he was filling me with his hugeness only to feel him pull back out and say, "that was two inches."

Two fucking inches! It felt like two fucking feet! Shee-it! "It's okay," I said. "Really."

Two inches?

There he was again, knocking ever so gently on my cellar door. Then there was a sudden thrust and sudden burning pain as my ass opened wider than it ever needed to before. "More," I begged.

"Okay," he said. He sounded doubtful. Just how much was in there... ouch! Fuck!

"Fuck!"

"Huh?"

"Me. Fuck me! Come on, you son of a bitch, fuck me. Give it to me. I can... yeeee owww!"

"Sorry." •


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