Room for more

by BRK   

You don’t always get all the facts when you become roommates with someone. Like, for example, whether they have an insatiable hunger for extra-long cocks, like the one you’re secretly hiding in your pants.

There are certain things you should have to disclose when you’re advertising for a roommate. Like, if your future roomies are barbarians who install the toilet paper with the end under instead of over. There should be a line for that on the Facebook Groups post. A box you check that says “I’m a fake news conspiracist” or “I leave empty milk cartons in the fridge” or “my personal odor is indistinguishable from slowly spoiling meat.” Stuff you should know.

And, especially you should be apprised going in of something like “we’re both handsy, insatiable size-queen sluts who will literally stop at nothing to slurp any raging ten-inch-plus boner in a five-mile radius, continuously and enthusiastically”. That really needs to be a required disclosure. You listening, Craigslist?

But, alas, the Cockhound Confession Act is still stalled in Congress, which means I didn’t find out about Denny and Marek until after I was all moved in and collapsed on their (now our) naugahyde-brown living room couch while an old episode of The Witcher unspooled on the big flatscreen, and Denny and Marek dropped down next to me on either side, tossed their arms around me, and started talking to me about dick.

It very quickly became clear to me, as they casually felt me up like that’s how they were around every guy with a decent bod (spoiler alert: that was how they were around any guy with a decent bod) and gabbled ceaselessly in stereo about all the great jumbo dick I could enjoy around these parts if I was into that sort of thing. Like, Lee, who lived with his husband across the street—he was exactly eleven inches and loved rubbing his red, stubby dickhead against any willing tonsils he could find. Didn’t that sound like fun? Or there was Rob, who worked next to Marek at the call center. His tool was so wide half the guys who tried couldn’t even get their mouths around it, not without practice anyway. Even Marek couldn’t get it all the way down his throat ‘til the third try! But then, Rob liked it better when he got worked from both sides of the shaft anyway, with the guys blowing him taking turns on the head. Maybe I wanted to take a shot? After all, I obviously had a wide and talented mouth…

Their outfits were just as distracting as the handsiness and the cock talk. Denny, a bulging twunk with wide, bright green eyes, spiky strawberry-blond hair, and a face that had been dialed to 11 on the cuteness meter, dressed the part of a guy-slut so completely he might as well have rented out a flashing sign that read “Two Holes, No Waiting”. That night he had on his favorite Daisy Dukes cutoffs (and these were cut so high that, unlike most shorts, they really didn’t have what you could call “legs”), completely exposing his shapely, marble-pink, completely hairless thighs. Up top was a thick cornflower-blue sleeveless tee that had had enough of the bottom hacked off to expose his hairless, innie belly button. He wore guyliner, a gold stud in his left ear, and a ball cap that, though reversed, I had already noticed had a picture of a hot dog over the words I LOVE FOOTLONGS. Marek, meanwhile, had on a pair of low-riding black drawstring cotton sweats that looked like they might be pulled off his hips and long legs very, very easily… and nothing else, allowing anyone present to feast on his rangy, extremely fit, zero-body-fat torso. Also, when he wasn’t talking he had a weird way of grinning with his mouth open a little, like he wanted you to be thinking about the space within and what kinds of nice things might happen there.

Now, the fact was that I was already a bit dazed from the all-day move to my new home and hearth (thanks to a project-hero “promotion” at my engineering firm that had come with a handshake, an attaboy, no raise, and a mandatory transfer to the sprawling headquarters in Forgotten City, North Colobraska), and that combined with a white-haired Henry Cavill almost taking his shirt off (or maybe that was wishful thinking) resulted in my brain kind of stalling out as they sat there pumping me, as it were, for my views vis-à-vis hard, juicy, extra-large cock. I’d just caught up to the fact that I’d let them feel me up way past long enough to lay down a precedent for them being able to do it all the time when I realized that Denny’s hand, which was already under my black and white baseball tee and idly fondling my hard, slightly sweaty abs, was now questing incrementally southward. Left unchecked, it would soon be slipping curiously past the loose waistband of my old comfort-fit jeans, no doubt in search of just what sort of fauna might be encountered in those parts.

With a flash of clarity I stood abruptly, cheeks red and pulse quickening. I could feel the two of them looking up at me in surprise. From the flatscreen, the White Wolf scowled at me through a snowstorm. Well, fuck you, Geralt. Strategic retreat was currently my only option. Because there was no way these two phallo-obsessives could be allowed to discover that the dick of their dreams had just moved into the spare bedroom in their little red ranch-style bungalow. I knew with utter certainty that as soon as they found out what I was packing I would not get a moment’s peace. They would want me all the time—probably literally!—and their attentions were already so intense I was sure I couldn’t handle the desperation I knew they’d have for the biggest, most suckable cock they’d ever seen.

Worse, all this talk of cocksucking was getting me turned on—which not only risked exposing my secret, so to speak, but, the way my body worked, also meant that the cock in question needed immediate action if I didn’t want to let on to what I had in the most spectacular way possible. Without turning to face them I mumbled “I gotta go to bed,” then headed to my new bedroom, barely catching their sotto voce comments about my ass and how I was clearly repressing my love of huge dick. If only they knew! Just as I shut the door I hear Denny suggesting I could be “brought around”—they’d just have to keep working on me. Great.

Much to my relief I saw that there was a push-button lock on the doorknob. I shoved the button in with my thumb, then wasted no time in stripping off my baseball tee and shucking my baggy jeans, tossing them both on a nearby stack of boxes. Then I moved to the final step, removing the compression shorts and jock that concealed the size and girth of my eager, utterly-not-to-be-ignored phalloconda. As soon as the shorts and jock were down my dick finished hardening and sprang to its full, impressive length, almost 17 inches these days and with no sign of stopping.

No one even knows what I’ve got between my legs. I’ve never gotten up the nerve to show it to anyone. See, puberty was late for me, and when it did come it hit me like a truck, doing all sorts of weird things to me that I never got used to. The upshot was that while I stayed the awkward shy kid mentally, my body was doing all this freaky shit. Like what? What was this belated, extra-bold puberty doing to me? Lotsa stuff. Like, clearing and smoothing my skin to reveal a face certain people in high school weirdly could not stop staring at. Growing my lush, mousy hair ridiculously fast all of a sudden (and yet not sparing any attention to the hair on my face—I still have practically no beard at all, damn it, and I’m still getting carded every damned time). Making my muscles easy to build and tone to the strength of bridge cables and the beauty of an Olympic gymnast. And? And (here’s the kicker) starting my junk steadily, incrementally, unstoppably expanding in length and a little bit in girth, year after year, like my body had this fathomless quantity of hard dick in reserve waiting to emerge over a span of decades and centuries and eons of daily, infinitesimal, unrelenting growth. My balls get a little heavier every year, too, but it’s mostly my dick. It’s like all my gonads are intrinsically bound to the fucking inexorable expansion of the universe or something.

It always wants out to play, too. I have to cum, like, four times a day most days. Have to. It’s nuts, no pun intended. And I won’t even tell you how much I cum, because you won’t believe me. Just trust me when I say I make such a mess I can’t just duck in and blow my load anywhere. I’ve clogged enough toilets with my spunk to know better, for one thing. Once when I blew my massive load in an alley behind my old office there was so much jizz the dizzy office manager called the police, claiming someone must have stolen a vat of cum from a sperm bank and dumped all their loot! Then someone started a rumor about a randy elephant in the area, but I think that was just a joke. I don’t think anyone believed an elephant did it…

Once my dick snapped to attention, sticking up about 30 degrees from the horizontal and as hard as a crowbar, I felt the urgency take over my body. Once I was fully hard I had to cum, as soon as possible, and until I did I was in this weirdly pleasant agony of anticipation. My heart was thumping insistently in my chest. My whole body was hot, as well—pricks of sweat were already dotting my hairline. I ran my hands back through my soft, shoulder-length hair, making sure it was out of the way (fuck, I needed another haircut), then grabbed an extra-large bath towel and laid it on the edge of my queen-sized bed before sitting down on it and attending fully to my huge, high-maintenance alter-ego.

The act of sitting down shifted the angle of my dick, pointing it more or less toward my face, and—as I had been doing on a regular basis now for the past several years—I took the hint, bending down and wrapping my mouth around the head and upper shaft of my pleasingly thick, ridiculously long, and utterly delicious power tool. Whatever you’re thinking, it wasn’t just a perk of my situation, it was a necessity. I’d become quite adept—again, out of need—at hastily gulping down as much of my mega-eruptions as I could put out, usually leaving only a bit of overflow to stream down my crazy-long shaft and down between my balls.

I moaned a little, the hum giving me an extra frisson of reaction that slivered nicely up my spine. I knew I’d only need a few minutes’ mouth-fucking and expert lingual self-service before I blew one of my loads—my new double-teaming, cock-hungry roomies had gotten me seriously worked up. I probably wouldn’t even need my hands, this time. Just mouth, lips, and tongue would be enough to drive me to a crazy-intense, ball-tightening release, and soon.

I went to town on my dick, focusing happily on my work, and so I didn’t hear the whispering at my door or realize I was about to have my secret exposed until I heard a sudden crash. I looked up in shock to see that the door had broken open and Denny and Marek had tumbled to the ground in a pile, dicks in hand, like they’d been leaning against the door as they listened to me getting myself off and the cheap lock had abruptly given way.

They stared at me from the floor, Marek on top of Denny, both of them mindlessly stroking like it was fucking autonomic for them, and I was so shocked I instantly started climaxing. Jet after thick jet started geysering into my mouth, and in a panic I started swallowing it down as fast as I could. They came, too, almost automatically. I dunno whose eyes were wider as we stared at each other, theirs or mine, but as my orgasm tailed off I know they were the ones grinning as wide as a queer in a hunk store with a sale in the extra-hung aisle.

I could see it in their eyes. The pleasurings they would give my beautiful, giant dick. The people they would tell, and the pleasurings they would give to me and my dick. Lines around the block. Word would spread in town, and then at work, and then I’d kiss cumming alone down my throat in the handicapped stall or the privacy of my bedroom goodbye as the demands of my dick became known to all, inspiring a universal interest in making sure it was kept very, very happy, as frequently and as creatively as possible.

My heart sank as my gleeful, slavering, happily cum-spattered cohabitors stirred and moved toward me on their knees. My own mouth was still wrapped around my cum-covered shaft, but I let it go with a pop. Stupid roommate ads, I thought with a sigh, as my cock’s new best friends moved in with uncontrollable smiles, ready to give me more pleasure than I could ever have imagined.

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