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Added: Sep 2009 4,728 words 14,757 views 3.5 stars (2 votes)
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I rolled over in my queen-sized bed at my parents' house. My dick had morning wood. Dreams about sex? Definitely. Sex dominated both my conscious and unconscious worlds. I rolled over again as I felt the ridges between my abs. I accidentally smacked into another body on the bed.
I opened my eyes. Oh, right. My girlfriend, Sarah, was sleeping peacefully next to me. She groaned, “Andy? Up so early? Go back to sleep.”
We had already fought three times this week, and it was only Thursday morning, but I always enjoyed the makeup sex. She wanted us to be joined at the hip. I wasn't ready for that level of commitment. I had almost had enough of her shit.
According to her, I spent too much time with my football buddies. The truth about what I actually did with some of my football buddies would probably gross her out. As the quarterback of my high school football team, I was popular enough to get any girl I wanted… And my influence over the girls made me almost equally influential over the guys… even sexually.
If a guy wanted to get laid, he would come to me and pay his dues, and then I would set him up with a girl. Dues could range from a hand job to an ass fucking. I was such a smooth talker that it usually worked out with the girl, and those rare times that it didn't, the guy was often so strongly enamored by me that he would become one of my secret lovers.
I didn't know exactly why I felt I needed to hide my bisexuality. I guessed it was because homosexual relations were still too stigmatized in the heteromasculine environment. With football, I really couldn't afford for the more homophobic guys to find out I liked fucking other young men. The good thing was I knew who wouldn't be cool with it so I could keep clear of them with… any of that. I also think part of the reason for it to be a secret is the whole naughty aspect of it sorta gets me off.
About an hour later, Sarah and I woke for school. My girlfriend opened the window to let the spring air waft into my room. I drove her as usual. We had almost all the same classes. By the end of the day, I was, as I often was, tired of carrying her books, tired of her high-pitched voice talking about Clara, Summer, and what they were wearing to the prom, tired of her nagging about what I should eat, say, and do, tired of her incessantly holding my arm, tired of her company in every way, and whole-heartedly ready to begin practice without her.
I suppose the primary reason I wanted my bisexuality to be a secret wasn't so much the other guys on the team but the coach. My coach, Randall Sherman, was very homophobic, extremely heteronormative, and indomitably heteromasculine. He reminded me of the drill sergeant from Full Metal Jacket. I don't think he had ever addressed us in a way that wasn't somehow sexist. He was particularly kind today. “Listen up, ladies. I want ten laps from each of you before we start the scrimmage. Now hustle!”
I was one of the few who showered regularly at school after practice. Though it bordered the locker room, the showers had a convenient wall blocking out most of everything going on in there. I engaged the water. It turned so hot it almost scalded me.
I was delighted to find two other jocks joined me, and lucky for me, two others I often enjoyed. Steve Rice was our best wide receiver, and like me, his body was toned and athletic. He had the light semblance of a six-pack, auburn hair, and a penis that showed he was very happy to see my own naked form. Alan Stover was a linebacker for our team, and though he had a gut, he was taller than me, his biceps were massive, and the stink of his pits opened with black brush that tickled me as he wrapped me up in his strong embrace often and right now. Oh, and he had a huge dick, the largest I've seen which more than made up for his lack of a flat stomach.
Steve leaned a hand against the wall as he watched us standing under the steaming flow. Stover hung his head down and let the water pour over his dark mane. Steve must have felt jealousy the water could touch us both everywhere at the same time as he had always fantasized of doing. In reality, I knew Steve was more of a voyeur, and fortunately for him, Stover and I were his one true pairing.
The silence only amplified the anticipation of what was to come next. I looked over at Steve as Stover kissed my neck. I grinned a toothy open smile. An invitation, almost. Steve didn't wait for anything. He went up to us, into the hot stream, and began stroking us both, and at that point, we were so close and hard that we were practically pegging, and he had to slowly pry our pricks apart.
Stover continued to kiss my neck as ambidextrous Steve pleasured us both. Stover's hand behind my neck and pulled our mouths together. This was no chaste, tender kiss. This was passion and desire. This was hunger for the flesh of man. This was want for the ecstasy of lovemaking. This was need for the release of an orgasm. Stover concentrated all his need into the kiss. We all felt other needs, too: the need to be wanted, the need to be free, and the need to be open about our sexuality. Stover deployed his tongue, and the kiss became hungrier.
As we were all ready to take the next step, Stover broke the sensuous kiss to get behind me and finish himself off inside my ass. Steve moved his right hand onto his own stiffy and stroked us both slowly. Steve watched as Stover took up position behind me and could actually get off solely to that. Steve was known for premature ejaculation, one of the reasons he was not the one inside me. Steve was rubbing his thumb along the underside of my helmet where the head split. His fingers gripped onto me and continued stroking slowly. Stover kissed my shoulder again as he entered me for the first time, painfully slowly.
I rose up on my toes when the Stover reached my prostate. Steve and Stover both loved to pleasure me, were experienced at it, and knew what I wanted and what was possible. I drew in a sharp breath as Steve began to lick the precum from my quivering boner, which was pulsating with masculine energy. The hot water poured over and between our bodies.
As my ass felt the familiar rhythm of Stover's tool, Steve's tongue delighted my dick. Stover's passion overwhelmed my asshole. Steve moaned as he sucked me. The vibration he sent through me almost took me over the edge. I felt Stover's powerful hands on my shoulders. muscle pressing against me with every pump. The hardness of my dick started to swell. I realized Steve was already cumming. His sleekness begged more from my member as we all wanted more at that moment.
I felt my load building within me, and I wanted to stay in that pre-orgasmic state where a man feels the most pleasure. I trembled as my balls dropped low in their sac. Stover's embrace was firm and rock solid. Stover's tremendous prick went off inside my ass, and I creamed in sympathy as we all moaned low, our voices almost hushed, but I realized by now everyone had gone from the lockers. My cum dribbled down Steve's face, and dripped off his chin. Water soon washed all our cum away as we lay together in a pile. Our manscent slowly being overcome by the clean heat around us.
With our spunk spent and our dicks deflated, we separated long enough to dress ourselves and call our girlfriends. After we were fully clothed, Steve gave my crotch one more tug and said, “I'm headed out.”
“Okay, man. See ya.” I turned to Stover. He gave me one last bear hug, and we both left for our respective girlfriends' houses.
Sarah asked, “Why do you have to practice for so long every single day?”
I said, “I'm the quarterback. I have to be seen at practice everyday, or the coach will give someone else the position.” He'd probably give the position to Eric Solomon if he found out I was gay. Eric Solomon was my archrival. He almost got the position during tryouts and had to settle for fullback. That little bitch better not get in my way again if he know what's good for him. He was the unelected leader of the more homophobic straight guys on the team.
We were going to state no thanks to him. In fact, scouts from the University of Pennsylvania saw me play at the homecoming game last fall and offered me a full scholarship and a chance to play second string for them. My parents said Penn's in the Ivy League. My father said I'd be insane to turn down such an opportunity.
I bring Sarah back to my house, and we fuck before drifting off to sleep.
The next day, I was checking my email during my free period, and I found a strange email among some others. Sandwiched right between a note from my anatomy and physiology teacher about an impending quiz and an advertisement for a new app for my iPhone was a one kilobyte email message. The subject was “Shouting”, and the sender was Riddell3002@yahoo.com. I was about to delete, but I had a second thought, and I realized it could be from a teacher's home email account so I opened it. It read:
People generally shout at each other when they are far away.
Forward this to more than 5000 people: you will gain 250 pounds of flesh the next time you exercise.
That was it. How bizarre? How could I possibly forward an email to 5000 people? Gain 250 pounds? That's kinda insane.
Besides, there were only about 1500 students attending this high school and probably only about 4500 email addresses in this entire school district.
Something inside of me was telling myself I have to try it.
So I over the next hour and forty minutes or so I tried to find as many email addresses as possible. I was a copy-and-paste dervish. I got all of the teachers' emails. I got all of the football players emails. I was on the list serve for nine or so classes so I forwarded it to them as well. I couldn't really access all of the student's emails unless I was logged on under a teacher's account.
I look at the study hall monitor: Missus Gibbons, an older English teacher who probably didn't even have a home computer. I punched in her ID. That was public information. Now… password? Hmm? She really liked cats. What about kitten? I typed it in and pressed enter. The computer came up with a message that said, “Incorrect password. Two more attempts left before system manager is alerted.”
Okay… Okay… Think! She was born in… No, she wouldn't use anything about her birthdate. Let's see… I had her for English in ninth grade. What did she love? What was her favorite play? Macbeth? I typed Macbeth in and pressed enter. The message came up again reminding me I only have one attempt left before the system manager was alerted.
Okay… Think! Macbeth… Her favorite character was Lady Macbeth. Okay… I typed in LadyMacbeth… I pressed enter…
Success! Okay, I need to be fast. I got the emails, and as I was there, I saw that since she was also on the District Board, she had access to all the students' emails in the entire district. Jackpot! I copied all of them, and I pasted them all into the “To:” field for the forwarding. I sent it and exited her account.
I had now sent that email to every single person in my entire school district.
I asked Missus Gibbon, “How many students and faculty are in our school district?” She responded, “Almost 5000 I believe, but it depends if you count the substitutes and the adjunct PTA faculty…”
“Oh, my god!” I nearly screamed out loud.
The Parent Teacher Association for this district had the parents' email of every single student in the entire district. I went onto their website. By the luck of the stars, I actually had my parents' account info. I saw that since my mother was an active PTA member she had almost every single mail for every single set of parents in the entire senior class. It was enough to put me over the top.
I texted Steve and Stover and told them to meet me in the gym during eleventh period. Stover texted back and said that he couldn't for some pathetically normal reason like he had to study, or he was too busy chatting up some girl in his study hall.
I showed my pass, which I had gotten earlier that day, to my teacher. I was almost hom free when my girlfriend caught my arm and begged in the most annoying tone possible, “Where are you off to so quickly? Please, stay here with me!”
Even though she was homecoming queen, I had just about had enough of her crap.
“No, I'm going to work out,” I told her.
“But… But you spend all of your time with your football friends and so little time with me…” She shouted, “You're always with them!”
She seemed like she was on another planet. I had spent nearly all day with her and all last night. “Whatever, I'm leaving!” I barely raised my voice. I ditched her and found Steve already on his second set at the pec deck.
I admired the tightness of his body as it strained to lift the weight.
It was just Steve and me
Steve said, “So what is this about? You wanna quick fuck?”
“No, I want to exercise.”
“What?” Steve said, “If you work out now, you won't be able to make it through practice later.” I smiled a dazzling grin, an open one that I knew I could use to ask anything of him. He returned with his own and the statement, “You're gorgeous.”
“Thanks. You're not so bad yourself.”
I knew at that moment my looks and body and poise and manner and stance and well, everything about me was screaming through Steve's blood, rattling his bones, riding a lightning bolt directly to his pleasure centers and erecting a tent in his shorts.
There was my body, to begin with. I was wearing a white T-shirt that was too small for all the prime muscular flesh it was trying, and mostly failing, to contain. The thing looked painted on, the cotton fibers stretched so thin they were almost shiny. They coated my obviously well trained torso with an almost sheer netting of material that clung to each carved pectoral, every rippling abdominal, and the rounded brawn of my wide shoulders in an altogether amazing way. By now, Steve had stood and had moved closer to me.
Steve's eyes became glued to my body as I moved toward the weight machine, at the way his muscles moved, at how they fit together, at the way I carried myself so self-confidently.
Oh, and also at my ass, which was amazing.
I knew Steve almost forgot where he was as he watched me. When I smiled again in my sly and secret way, the smile said I knew something about Steve that no one else did. And when I began working out Steve's world started to change.
Steve found himself staring at me, and I met his steady gaze with deep brown eyes and that knowing smile on my lips, one end twisted up a little higher than the other. My hair was dark, dark brown. And when I started working the machinery, my body started showing itself off to its full capabilities.
After the first pump, it was like something was inflating me. Each successive pump built me bigger and bigger. My chest exploded, swelling fat and thick and hard with power. My arms would go back and my chest would stretch and then Steve watched the muscles go wild as they shoved the weight again, the fibers twisting and swelling around each other. My shoulders joined in on the fun, bulging higher and stronger and not receding, not relaxing, just getting bigger and bigger.
How was this happening? Who was I now? I was watching Steve watching me growing before his eyes, my whole torso seeming to swell with more and more powerful brawn until finally, my T-shirt began to rip.
It started under my arms. I heard the seams tearing open. Steve watched as with the next pump my lats shoved right through the shirt. The dark wetness of my pits opened up. The shoulders came next. They pushed up higher and higher until they were simply too large to contain, and they ripped the cotton apart.
I relaxed my body as I released the weight, and my smile grew suddenly brighter and more open, and with the next pump, my chest blew up like a balloon and the shirt stretched and stretched and finally, tore apart right down the center, displaying my tanned and sweaty collection of muscle and the deepening cleavage between my still developing pectorals.
And still, I grew larger. As Steve watched me, his own shorts tented and sopping, sucking in the moist air in short shallow breaths and now smelling my intensely male smell, the stink of my sweat and the power of my workout that was pressing my body to do impossible things. I shoved the weights forward again, and the T-shirt literally tore itself to shreds off my unstoppable and incredible upper body. It was as if invisible hands grabbed the white cotton and ripped it all away. It flew from my body as if the pressure of his growing muscles had exploded outward.
And then I rose slowly from the machine and came toward Steve again, my unblinking gaze locked on Steve's, and again I moved by him so closely that I pressed himself onto Steve's aroused body, rubbing my slick and mighty muscles across Steve's body, moving my hand down to cup Steve's firm ass, shoving my fat dick against Steve's own erect member and I said, “Excuse me,” in my soft and deep voice, and I smiled as I approached the thighmaster. I sat down and swung my ankles behind the paddles and started pumping up my legs.
If anything, they reacted even more enthusiastically than my upper body. The cables of muscle erupted outward, suddenly pumped with strength and power. They shredded themselves as their definition grew more and more distinct as the muscles of my thighs swelled and pushed out against my copper skin with its soft coat of dark fur. Then my shorts started experiencing the same sad fate as my shirt had. The sheer size of my growing legs ripped the side seams open. And there, between my legs, something else finally started showing signs of growth.
Steve and I could both see my dick swelling between my legs. It was literally growing bigger, but not because it was becoming hard. It appeared to be experiencing the same growth that the rest of me was having. It was becoming larger and larger, now shoving angrily against its cotton cage, bulging like an overinflated balloon. Steve could see the head of the my growing prick swelling outward, ripening, growing fatter.
I got off the machine, and I walked again toward Steve, who was frozen in place, and I said, with my powerful tone, “Excuse me,” and rubbed myself and my sweat and strength across Steve as I moved around him, almost through him, almost making love to Steve with my closeness and intimacy and sheer size, and Steve surely felt my enlarged cock like a snake, like a firm and juicy burden down below, press against his own painfully hard dick.
And I moved finally over to the curling bench. And I picked up a bar overladen with iron, almost drooping with the weight, and I started to slowly build up my arms to match the rest of me.
And now that I was warmed up, it didn't take hardly anything at all to get them there. From the first curl, they bulged like they were being inflated, and probably they were. Inflated with strength and power and incredible size. The muscles of my arms swelled so fast and so huge that it almost looked cartoonish. But the strength I possessed and my innate muscular development was clearly etched on every inch of me.
I was a beautiful, tight bodied wonder when Steve first saw me fifteen minutes ago. Suddenly, Steve was looking at a vascular, super-strong, muscle-fat body still topped with my amazing and perfect face. The face with the sideways smile and those gorgeous brown eyes. The face that was turned in his direction through the whole process, the face that was now still looking directly at him as if this show was for him, all for him.
I stood up and stretched my overwhelmingly beautiful and powerful new body, and finally, the growth between my legs managed to do what my legs could not as my shorts began to rip open, too. There was no zipper to burst, no snaps to pop, the size and weight of my growing dick simply tore through my shorts and then I flexed something, somewhere, some collection of power and strength that made the shorts literally tear themselves apart, and I started walking over to Steve totally fucking naked.
Steve couldn't breathe. He couldn't talk. We both must have thought this was impossible. This was amazing and this… This had to be a dream. It had to be.
The beautiful naked man, my copper-skinned body dusted with dark curls, my muscles bulging thick and fat, my dick swinging like a pendulum, impossibly long and impossibly thick, and my two fat and round balls hanging low behind that tool, and my brown eyes came over to Steve again and paused in front of him. My whole body glistened with sweat, like polished metal, slick and smooth and perfect. I reached down and took Steve's workout towel from his hand and lifted it to my face.
I paused and breathed in Steve's scent from the towel, sucking Steve's sweat stink into my powerful body and smiling. Then I wiped my face off and scrubbed the towel across my scalp, turning my silken mane into a messy nest as if I just crawled out of his bed, then I rubbed the terry cloth under my arm pits, bunching my huge shoulders into swollen mountains of brawn. And across the wide thickness of my chest, the muscled hemispheres, across my hard round nipples, down my rippled six-pack. Then I slowly pressed the towel into my moist pubes and then lower, wiping down my ample and luscious prick, the length of the thick shaft and the dangling bud of the helmet, and underneath it, on my two big nuts in their hairy sack, and then I turned and showcased my tight, firm ass, the two round globes of it as I polished my wide, rippled back and then down to my tight waist. I wiped the sweat from my butt cheeks and then lower, underneath, and then between them. My soft pink hole opened up, almost begging for him.
I couldn't wait for him any longer. I dropped the sopping towel, and I slowly fingered my own ass. Through my shredded legs, I saw him pick up the dripping towel. He deeply inhaled its powerful scent, the ultimate aphrodisiac. I realized now not only had I grown more muscular, but I had also grown exponentially more masculine.
I felt entirely in control, completely sure of myself, and most of all, powerful. I felt like everything about me was power that, like my sweat, it dripped from my dick.
Steve got down on his knees put his face directly between the mounds of my buttocks. He licked the back of my hand, indicating that he would now take responsibility for my prostate stimulation. I withdrew my hand, and he attacked my butt with his mouth, licking the crack with his tongue. His enthusiasm was almost infectious. The tip found the target and massaged and lubed the entrance. He pushed the tip inside, moving it around to loosen me up. Waves of pleasure washed over me, and my penis began to harden for the first time since its new length and girth swelled into being.
Steve used both of his hands to reach between legs and my widespread stance and grab my fledgling erection. His expertise had me moaning in pleasure, but as I lengthened and arced ever more upward, his posture became more and more strained. Finally, I said, “I can take it from here.”
By this time, my ass was puckered, hot, and ready to be penetrated with more than just a wily tongue barely caressing my prostate. I felt sexy. I felt like no one else in the world could match my strength and my virility.
Steve goes, “I think there's another problem.”
“Huh?” I wondered as I faced him. Steve gasped as he saw my fully erect and augmented dick for the first time. It was dripping startling amounts of precum and absolutely solid as iron and reached almost to my mouth. I now realized that I had grown so tall that my ass was far higher than he was able to enter comfortably. “No problem,” I assured.
I got down on all fours. My dick just barely kissed my pecs. As Steve began penetration, I took up my own mast in earnest. His agile gait ensured that my ass would burn with pure ecstasy. My strong hands ran over my shaft which was hard as steel and so sensitive I swam in transcendent pleasure with each touch and released moans that rocked Steve's body to the core.
I threw caution to the wind as I began sucking on my own dick. The precum tasted great. It had a hearty man-flavor like beef and potatoes. My stroking became feverish as Steve worked my asshole so wonderfully I was swimming in and ideal satisfaction. As he came off in my ass, I began cumming. My mouth caught wave after wave of amazing heat as my dick and balls cascaded with delirious pleasure.
Suddenly, I heard the door to the lockers open. Someone entered. Not someone. At least three someones came into the gym annex to see us both in climactic ecstasy, a smaller man inside a titan's ass. “Oh, my God!” exclaimed the first guy. I recognized his voice. It was Eric Solomon and his two cronies, easily the three most homophobic guys on the entire team.
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