Project William


By Also_KnownAs

Was the sex incredible? Hello? Haven't you been listening?

But you probably want to hear it all, right? Every zippered moment, every rippling contour, every drop of sweat and cum, huh?

Jackson's kiss lingered as his hands roamed my body. His touch was assured, not anxious or needy but definitely knowledgeable. I might have been surprised that he knew immediately how much I liked having my ass kneaded, but who didn't? And how hard I got when my nipples were pinched. But again, who wouldn't try that -- maybe not right away, but everyone gets to that eventually. How, though, did Jackson grasp that if he bit my lower lip as our kiss ended and tugged at me with that gleam in his eye that he could have anything he wanted whether he asked or not?

He stepped back from me and started to slowly tug his shirt from his slacks. He gathered the white cotton material in his large hands and pulled it up, revealing what can only be called the most amazing set of abs I have ever witnessed. Maybe they just looked better in the shadowed candlelight, but the soft covering of fur and his tight, hard belly made me forget to breathe for a minute.

He tossed the shirt aside and his hands started to undo his belt, but then he paused and lifted his gaze to mine. I hadn't said anything, I doubt I was even breathing, but he knew I wanted him to stop, to pause, so I could gather in his beauty and hold this moment in my memory. His torso naked, his pants undone, a dark shock of his hair hanging forward across his gaze.

His body was well trained. Not shredded with muscle, but rather constructed of fat, firm brawn sitting smooth and hard across his frame. The dark fur on his belly went down like a trail out of the foothills leading to the amazing bulge still captive in his slacks. The dark forest across his wide, thick chest gleamed like silk. I longed to push my hand against his muscle and feel that softness across his beautiful brawn. He had round, high shoulders and a long neck. I met his eyes again. His smile was an invitation, and I went into the dream with him.

I touched his stomach and felt his firm muscles. He was so alive, so vital; I almost felt a static shock when our skin touched. His flesh seemed to glow with health. I watched him breath, watched his muscles flex and swell as his lungs filled with air. My gaze traversed the wide mountains of his chest, and the ribbons of strength that erupted from the deep crevasse between. My hand moved across his bulging contours and rested against that muscle, the fat, hard power of his mammoth chest. I could feel his hard, huge nipple under my palm, tickling my skin. My finger circled the top and I leaned forward to kiss it, to pull his nipple into my mouth, suck it against my teeth, grasp it between tongue and incisor and play with it.

His smell struck me again, his heavy masculine scent, with my nose pressed into the valley of his muscle. Jackson's hand was in my hair, his fingers gently sifting through my dark locks. His touch was gentle, loving, and exactly what I wanted.

My hands grasped onto the sides of his broad body and I felt the thickness of his lats. I circled them around him, and the thick bulges there made me moan against him. This just kept getting better and better. I moved down his body leaving soft kisses on his warm flesh. God, he smelled so good. It wasn't a cologne, it was the scent of him, the pure essence of him.

I was now on my knees before him, his hands still in my hair, brushing softly, My hands went to his slacks and I opened them to me, pulling the zipper all the way down past his ample basket.

Underneath his pants I saw the hint of his underwear. They, too, were exactly what I wanted them to be, exactly as I always fantasized them. Baby blue and tiny, made of brushed cotton and so thin that they were little more than a soft covering for what lay beneath. I tugged his pants off his hips -- where had his shoes gone? When had he discarded them? It didn't matter, this was all happening perfectly, just like I always wanted.

He pushed his pants aside with his foot and now stood in front of me wearing only those tiny briefs. They rode low on his hips and a wealth of dark curls erupted above the waistband. But what remained hidden in those lucky cotton briefs was amazing.

I could now easily see that the tool I imagined and described for him was right there, inches from me, awaiting my touch. The huge thickness of it lay all the way toward his hip bone, the swelling lip of the helmet clearly outlined and pressing toward release.

Below this lengthy wonder were two round, perfect nuts packed tightly inside his shorts. The bulge was more than my imagination, it was all real, all him, and exactly what I wished it was.

So I lifted my fingers to him and moved my touch along his thick cock. It felt like the heat of the beauty could burn its way right through the cotton. It was hot, even now in its limp form. His belly moved in and out slowly as he breathed, the rippled masses arrayed across it swelling and receding.

I tucked my fingers over the brim of his briefs and teased them downward. More of his glistening pubes bloomed outward until I uncovered the root of his mammoth manhood. Down here, his scent was strong. It entered my senses like a tonic, filling my head with ideas and my pants with lust. I could feel myself hard and hot and bulging. I wondered if I could break my own fly open with the strength of my dick's hardness.

I kissed the hidden head of his prick, moistening and darkening the cotton. He shifted against me, he was getting bigger, as if my lips alone could make him bigger. I surrounded the soft firmness of him, sucking hard against the material to pull it and him into my mouth. I kept tugging his shorts down, revealing more and more of his amazing inches until it was all revealed but for the pink head I held inside my mouth.

Then I caught the cotton in my teeth and pulled it off him, and he fell out of his shorts already pulsing dully with the blood I had sucked into his tool.

His warmth fell toward me and his cock pressed to my cheek. God, he was huge! Did they actually build dicks like that out of flesh instead of rubber? Even when I had described the perfect cock, the one I imagined was not nearly as beautiful and powerful and huge as Jackson's cock.

I pulled his shorts off his ass and down his legs and looked up at him, at all of him now naked before me.

He was fucking perfect. I could hardly fucking believe it. He was exactly the man I imagined in my wettest dreams and filthiest fantasies. "Oh my god," I whispered.

"Stand up," he asked. His dick was firm but so big that it hung down, thick and heavy. Or maybe it wasn't firm! Could a limp dick be that thick and long and fat?

I stood. He came forward and kissed me again, his hands on my chin, his touch gentle and loving. Then his fingers were unbuttoning my shirt. He got halfway down and grabbed the material and ripped it the rest of the way, buttons popping and flying everywhere. Then his lips sucked against me, pulling my small nipple into his mouth.

I gasped for air. The move was so sudden after all the gentle caressing and my own worship of his body that I felt my blood suddenly boil. My whole body heated up, blood was pumping into my dick so hard I thought it would explode. He shoved the shirt off my body and his hands were undoing my pants below while his mouth engaged mine and we sucked each other's tongues. He was extraordinarily talented and I was naked, too, before I ever realized it.

He paused. I was breathing hard. Other things were hard, too. "You're so beautiful," he said. I felt a thrill run through me. The man, Jackson really meant it. Then he twisted his mouth against mine again, and suddenly the most beautiful man on the planet was attacking me.

And there was nothing else in the world I wanted more than that.

He shoved me against the wall pinned my arms over my head. His mouth moved down onto my neck. He plunged his tongue into my ear. He was an animal, a hungry beast who wanted to eat me. His mouth was everywhere, suddenly. His hands were, too. He pulled me against him, against his hugeness, against the bulging muscles and innate power that covered every inch of his frame. I closed my eyes and it almost felt as if he was growing larger, as if his muscles grew against my body.

I sank into his talented touch. I succumbed to him, to his body, his hands, his mouth. Good god, but Jackson was amazing. Everything, literally everything I ever dreamed of was happening to me.

I really liked Paul, from the moment I saw him. I knew what he saw when he looked at me. His description was very vivid, incredibly detailed. Once he let his mind explore the depths of pleasure, he was amazingly imaginative and we fell into a rhythm that illustrated to me that he was a possible recruit, just as Larry and I had been.

His body was lithe and compact. He was about six feet tall, with very long legs smoothly muscled. Not bulging with power, not defined with separate wedges of brawn, but well-trained and very hard. His ass was amazing, really. The guy must have been doing squat thrusts since he was two in order to develop such a thing. Grabbing it, hard, and kneading the flesh was like grasping a round, firm muscle that wouldn't yield except under intense handling.

I was getting great feedback from him, too. Very clear, almost cinematic. Becoming a disciple meant I was pleasure incarnate. It wasn't like before, precisely. I wasn't aware that the things I was doing were because someone else wanted those things. I became what they wanted without thought, without consideration, simply by being with them. I would be everything they dreamed, better even than that because I wasn't prescribed merely by their words or their thoughts, but by their very essence. It went deeper, even, than their conscious mind. I was perfect. Literally, perfect.

I devoured him. He made me amazing. He had a concentration and strength of the art of pleasure inside him that was highly unusual. He allowed me to be so much more than I'd been with others who called me to them. Once he succumbed to the idea, once he accepted what was happening, his dreams began manifesting as reality. He was in a realm of pleasure perhaps only a few imaginative and open-hearted souls could touch.

Beyond carnal, beyond emotional, to a place that fused those together and then went further, still. A passionate, blissful, intensely physical place where I was unchained, where all my talents could be brought to bear, where I could use him and pleasure him and be everything he wanted and he'd ask for more, still more.

I swallowed him down and his cock exploded, pumping a great load of his salty tang into my belly. I shoved my tongue up his ass, my long wet heat diving in deeper and deeper like no cock he ever felt. My kisses rattled his bones, shook him to the core. My prick bathed him in a tide of cum, I came often and fully, he drank me in, too. He welcomed me and demanded more and more of me and I could fulfill his every desire, again and again.

He was an adept. He understood pleasure like no other mortal man I'd been with. Whether he was like this with everyone, or whether my appearance had tapped reserves of what came natural to him but had never found physical outlet before, I didn't know.

So I took a chance, and I allowed him something during our lovemaking. I started him along the same path that I took to becoming who I am today, but I gave him a hard shove. I did it the same way William had done it to me, masking his awareness of what his body would be going through, but he'd grow bigger faster than I did.

He began to grow immediately. I gave him a gift. I passed it to him as if it was a kiss, or an embrace. And he would grow bigger and more powerful and more beautiful each passing hour, each passing day. Paul will wake up tomorrow and feel great, better than he'd ever felt in his life, and probably attribute that to me.

Not an unrealistic thought, and more true than he could possibly imagine. And if he were paying close attention, he'd notice that his arms were larger, the muscles fuller, rounder and harder. His belly's hard flatness would be broken by the ripples of a six-pack rising under his skin. He would have a chest, a real chest, two distinct hemispheres of power.

And his dick would feel heavier, because it was heavier. It would be thicker and more substantial and a bit longer than he was used to. And it would stretch longer and longer, growing firmer and fatter, all the time.

But he would discount all these things. Even later, that same day, when he was bigger, still. More improved, more handsome, more healthy. His shoulders would fill out his jackets better. His thighs would press out against the legs of his jeans. He would feel a tightness in the seat of his drawers because his ass was higher, rounder, even firmer than it had been.

That evening, perhaps with another man, maybe with me again, he would be much better looking and much stronger, but still he would discount it. If he bent his arm, the bicep will jump high and full. If he teased his nipple to ripeness, his whole body would respond. And his dick would be something to behold, because the essence of my magic, of the god's magic, would be working strongest there, building for him a tool that would deliver orgasmic floods of intense and lengthy erotic bliss both to himself and to his partners over and over and over again.

Paul would awaken a new man, a better man, a man like myself at the beginning of my story. And other men, too, would be joining us. And they will meet still others, all of them growing stronger, more beautiful, bigger with muscle and gifted with impossibly large and abnormally talented cocks hanging so thick and ripe and firm that the men they meet will think they are dreaming. They will believe that the men they meet and caress and fuck are the substance of fantasy, of stories on the Web, of fevered dreams in the dark of night in front of computer monitors.

But they aren't. Because I'm not.

And I'm waiting for you. •

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