Threefer: Barry

by BRK   

Performing at a festival with his band, Barry is getting way too stimulated thinking about all the things that have happened to him since his drummer Wes introduced him into their little group—especially some unexpected and very personal changes that no one knows about yet, not that he’ll be able to hide them for long…

“Thanks for coming out, everyone! We’re Hard Rain!”

A healthy roar went up from the packed and well-lubricated festival crowd, and Barry grinned as Wes started tapping the beats for their last song, a cover of Trevor Copeland’s “You Make Me Soar.” Playing the second slot out of six at the much-hyped Pride Kick-Off Bash at the Little Coliseum wouldn’t quite make them top dogs on Spotify or get them a million likes on their latest video, but he and his hunky bandmates weren’t in it for the fame—what they craved was just the sheer exuberance of performing live for happy, cheering crowds.

Plus tonight, the familiar rush of performance was tweaked a little brighter knowing his guys were out there. They were somewhere in that crowd, there for Wes and for him and to enjoy being out together. Soon all five of them would converge, sizzling with lust and arousal, mashing lips and pulling off sweaty clothes and generally getting each other too riled up for reason, and—

Fuck, he couldn’t think about that now! Just in time he clued into Deshawn’s swelling guitar riff that led to the first verse. Wishing he had a mic stand to grab onto instead of the wireless head mic protruding inconspicuously from his tight sandy-blond curls, he stepped forward and opened himself up to the crowd as he sailed into the bantering lyrics. Even as he crooned about the secret exhilaration of men brimming with mutual desire, he couldn’t keep Quinn and Diego and Cam and Wes from stealing through his thoughts. Heck, what he was feeling for their long-time drummer and his lovers—that was kind of the whole reason he’d started the band doing this song. The four of them didn’t even know how gone he was for them, how much the crazy fucking they’d been wallowing in for weeks wasn’t just sex for him. And they sure as fuck didn’t know about the latest twist in Barry’s already strange life. He’d thought his buddy Wes suddenly sprouting stubby nipcocks and a big beautiful mouthboner would be the wildest, wonderfullest thing ever to happen to him… and then, last night—

Focus, Barry! He slammed into the chorus, eliciting excited cries from the audience, and he beamed at them, trying to keep his mix of performance thrill and deep, self-goaded titillation from physically manifesting any more than it already had in his trademark black jeans. That would be—yeah. He couldn’t let that happen.

All at once they were at the instrumental break, and with a sense of relief he turned to watch Deshawn wailing on his guitar. That didn’t really help his predicament, though. All he could see was De’s shirtless Greek-god body, the beads of sweat catching the stage lights as they glistened over the smooth dark skin of his hard, generous pecs and chiseled abs. Fuck, too hot. Turning to look the other way wouldn’t help him much, either, he knew. Though not as ridiculously cut as De or as built as Barry, the fact was that Gene, their formerly-all-bones ginger bassist with the broken-heart tattoo on his shoulder, was looking pretty damn buff himself these days, and tonight he was just as topless and yummy as De and Barry were.

And behind them, there was Wes…

He was the only one of them wearing a shirt, a thick, snug cocoa-brown ring tee that Barry just happened to know had two carefully cut slits in the front which—fuck, there they were, pushing through the fabric like they were busting through rice paper. So brazen! Not that anyone but him, the band, and Quinn’s cock-posse would ever know that they were real… working… suckable… dicks. Wes’s nip-boners weren’t as big as Quinn’s or even Cam’s, just a few inches of firm, rose-tinged, leaky flesh, but they were wide and hard and so ready to be licked and—

Wes caught Barry’s eye and grinned, his irrepressible mouthboner pushing out just past his lips, though his head being strategically shadowed by the ball cap he’d been wearing to gigs lately meant only he, De, and Gene could see that amazing tongue-cock whenever it started to poke out of Wes’s mouth. Which was more and more these past weeks. Fuck, Wes was so turned on all the time lately. Wes’s special assets were almost always in evidence now, that mouthcock and those chestboners… thick, modest chestboners that put a flushed and frazzled Barry dangerously in mind of his own problem—

Then Wes’s brows lifted, and his eyes widened a little. Shit! He’d almost missed his cue. Quickly he swung back to the crowd and burst into the final verse, focusing all the attention he could on his performance and the beautiful lust-ache of the song. As the four of them finished together it felt like a climax, and the crowd screaming their approval flooded through him like pure, carnal passion. It was too much! He was—he had to—

Amid the cheers and applause he shot Wes a quick look and bolted off the stage. Wes’s “cocky” grin told him he knew what he needed to do.

Barry made it out the stage exit and into the alley with only seconds to spare. The steel door slammed shut and he fell back against the rough brickwork as it all got to him and he started cumming massively in his pants, shooting so much forceful cum that it was spitting up past his waistband and onto his bare, sweaty muscle-hard torso. In seconds his chest and abs were wet with trail after trail of hot, thick cum, blobs of it already rolling slowly back down his ab-gutters to rejoin the utter mess he’d made of his soaked jeans.

He was almost afraid to look, and yet… he couldn’t wait to see.

It was all Diego’s fault. The suave, savvy, intoxicatingly beautiful international model had made a point of meeting up with Barry every so often outside of the five-man cum-tsunamis they were indulging in three or four times a week, joining him for coffee or meals or a bit of shopping just to connect as men. Not that Diego didn’t get him instantly boned with that knowing smile of his erven in the middle of damn Macy’s, or with the warm hand he always seemed to have on Barry’s back, or the lengthy kisses they shared whenever they separated… especially if there was an audience. Barry knew Diego was making sure he knew he was a part of them now, and that they wanted him to become more—when he was ready. He could move in, it was there without being said. Comments that Diego made about houses and condos they passed hinted at another possibility, too, a new beginning where the five of them got a place of their own together—one with room for five sexy guys and one or two very big beds.

Barry wanted that. He was already falling for these guys. Wes, he’d had a crush and an oral fixation on for a solid year, and that had deepened to insatiable lust and something more for the hard-bodied, hairy drummer that afternoon they’d kissed for real. Cam’s muscle-boner thing was hot as fuck, and his exuberance was always infectious, in bed and out. Quinn’s lean, hot body and three big, dripping cocks were perfection, and he was genuinely fun to be with. And Diego—fuck, Barry was helplessly in love with sly, sweet Diego, and that wasn’t even taking into account that tanned, exquisitely sculpted, powerfully masculine physique that people paid good money just to catch the barest glimpses of.

He wasn’t holding back or resisting Diego’s gentle wooing because he didn’t want to be part of their fivesome. He was in too deep for that. He was already there. He was one of them. He just… some part of him didn’t quite feel like he measured up, as a person and as a man.

He’d never been ashamed of his extra-thick four-and-a-half-incher. He didn’t measure himself by his dick, exactly. Though… he knew his runty size cockwise compared to his phallically fortunate best buddy Trey, confirmed one afternoon comparing their sizes in the high school P.E. showers, had definitely been one of the spurs that had started him relentlessly grooming and shaping his body. Trey had been too undisciplined to show him up there. He’d kept it up all these years, honing and growing all the muscles that got the most attention from guys, and maybe in some secret corner of his mind he felt like it might be giving potential partners a kind of compensation for not getting to enjoy a big, beautiful eight-incher like Trey’s.

He had maybe the best body out of any of them. He was bigger than the sleek, tawny, aesthetically glamorous Diego, who made a living with his carefully curated musclebod and played soccer every chance he got between gigs and fucks. As long as Cam wasn’t turned on Barry might have the edge there, too. What Diego and Wes and Cam and Quinn were packing, though… he knew he couldn’t live up to that, in size or quantity. That was what had been worrying him. So much big, hard cock, and Barry couldn’t stop himself thinking, however irrationally, that he just wasn’t pulling his weight.

And then last week it had happened. He’d come home from a sandwich-bar date with Diego, mouth still tingling from their requisite five-minute farewell make-out, the scent of his cologne lingering in his nose, only to discover, tucked in his front pocket like he’d slid it in there himself, a small, two-dose sampler for a strange, fringe-pharma drug called DX3.

Barry hadn’t even hesitated. He downed all four tablets in a single swallow, drank two tall glasses of very cold water, and sat back on the couch to wait, certain he’d just made the best and most destiny-altering decision of his entire life.

Barry was still panting lightly when he heard the stage door slam open again, feeling a little dazed—his orgasms were getting stronger and more disorienting. And then Wes was standing in front of him, his heavy stubble looking almost like a full beard under the shadow of his cap in the harsh light of the alley. His red, wet-tipped mouthboner protruded from his smile like a tycoon’s (very fat) cigar, and down below his eager, exposed nipcocks begged for mouths to cum in. The others were there too, clustered close around Wes, arms tight around each other like a lovers’ scrum: Quinn, curious and intrigued, his big, subtly upcurved nipboners impressive and rigid; Cam, already so turned on he was straining the tight, sheer-white tee he was wearing, his own, smaller nipboners proudly shoving past his pec-slits; and Diego, looking utterly edible in an upscale cobalt button-down and skin-tight leather pants, his bright brown eyes glinting with anticipation.

“Wes texted us to get out here right away,” Quinn explained with a little smirk. “He said you needed our ‘help’.”

“He sure does,” Cam exclaimed. “Guys, look!” He nodded toward Barry’s thick pecs. Barry knew what they were looking at, and his already warm face reddened just a bit more. He’d almost forgotten about the broad cockheads he had for nipples now, so fixated had he been on the rest of what was happening to him.

Diego was on the same page. “I bet’s not all,” he said, sounding awed. He was tracking the spurts of cum that had shot up from Barry’s pants and across his torso—spurts that showed multiple tracks, suggesting multiple points of emission.

Cam had already freed himself from the scrum and was kneeling in front of Barry. “Look at this package,” he gushed. With a bit of effort he unbuttoned the cum-saturated waistband and slowly unzipped the straining fly, sliding the pants down enough to expose the now-unconstrained wonder within. Barry wasn’t sure he was glad or sorry he’d worn no underwear, but at the moment he could barely remember what underwear was.

“Holy fuck,” Quinn gasped.

Barry swallowed and looked down, excited and afraid to find out what he’d see. His goo-covered junk had definitely multiplied… again. Not completely doubled, he thought with twinge of giddy relief. Out of the four extra-thick four-and-a-half-inch mushroom-headed dicks he’d had going into the concert (up from two as of only hours before the festival thanks to a frenzied jerk-off session to try to take the edge off before taking the stage), only two had made equally fat and cummy twins of themselves, while a third had just gotten wider and developed a second head, like it pushed gotten halfway through the process of cock-mitosis and decided it liked being conjoined instead.

“They should always be covered in cum,” Cam said reverently. His snug shirt was literally straining at the seams, he was so turned on. “Quinn, c’mon, help me out!” Instantly Cam’s hot, talented mouth was wrapped around the big, double-headed cock, and Barry gasped. A moment later Quinn was next to him and he felt wet heat and strong lips around another of his insatiable pricks, pulling a moan out of him. Fuck, he was about to have more cocks. He surprised himself by being weirdly excited by the idea.

Diego looked stunned. “Does it happen—” he began curiously.

“Every time I cum,” Barry gasped. “I guess, ’til the dosage wears off?” That had to be how it worked… right? Just then Quinn twisted his tongue expertly around the fat, insanely-hard prick he was pleasuring, and Barry shuddered.

“And…?” Diego began again, an uncharacteristic uncertainty in his eyes.

“And I could not be happier, thanks to you,” Barry panted. “All of you.” He reached a hand behind the grinning Diego’s neck and pulled him in for a sloppy kiss. Below, Cam hummed a jaunty no problem around the doubled cock.

Diego broke the kiss and smiled, back to his full rakishness. “I think I’d better help the others,” he said with a wink, before sinking to his knees and squeezing in next to Cam to start playfully licking at one of his fat, bowing cum-geysers.

Wes was the only one left standing in front of him. Barry met his delighted gaze, and his eyes fell to the man’s hypnotically beautiful mouthboner, which now looked even bigger and harder than ever. “You know the rules—” he rasped, only they were making out before he’d even finished the running gag. Wes’s hard mouth-cock pushed deep into Barry’s throat, even as Quinn, Cam, and Diego intensified their ministrations to Barry’s stiff, unslakable dicks, and Barry knew it wouldn’t be long before he’d be exploding with yet more hot cum and hot cocks.

Quinn elected to drive, his three boners still achingly hard as he piloted the Mercedes back to the condo, and Diego took shotgun while the other three wrapped around each other in noodley, post-coital laziness in the back seat. Diego was hard, too, and looking forward to properly initiating their new friend Barry into their loving, spunk-filled polyamity when they got home. His own dick felt a little big—not so much as would be the case had he taken an actual dose of the DX3 or anything, but… maybe he was getting a little microdoses second-hand through all the cum he had in his system these days thanks to Quinn, Cam, and Wes. And now Barry, who’d be producing spunk by the truckload, so to speak.

Could he afford to get bigger? He had a job modeling swimsuits in Martinique not two weeks away. Altering his image would have consequences, and there was a line between an alluring bulge and an obscene one. He sure didn’t want to have to stand on a sugary Caribbean beach in front of twelve bored assistants and prove to the photographer for the shoot, the brilliant and famously unforgiving Martín, that he absolutely wasn’t stuffing his thong.

Still… his long, elegant dick flexed, as if to signal that it, at least, might be open to convincing.

He should check his messages. Pulling out his phone, he opened his email. There, at the top of his inbox, was a cock-enlargement ad that had somehow slipped past the spam filters. “DXL—New from HiPhyte, the makers of DX3,” the subject line read.

Diego stared at the message for a long second, before a slow, curious smile began to spread across his face.

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