For small-town boy Milo the growth that came with puberty never ended. He kept growing and growing, especially in a certain area, and now at 19 he’s sure he’s too much of a freak to know any love but his own. What he hasn’t reckoned on is Jeremy, a take-charge type so beautiful there’s no way Milo can hide his secret from him for long.
Added: Jun 2022 5,841 words 9,533 views This story was commissioned via Patreon Story Commission.
Milo hadn’t seen a lot of guys, not really. Not up close, and not guys that looked like this perfect… beautiful… perfectly beautiful…
Get a hold of yourself, Milo! he reproached himself. He dithered behind his door, hand on his forehead as if he could physically collect his thoughts that way, while his ungovernable cockpillar broke free of the loose sweats he’d reluctantly pulled on to answer the door and blithely assumed its usual vertical position, rubbing wetly at the little hollow under his apple-sized adam’s apple.
He couldn’t make sense of his reaction. You’ve seen good-looking men before, he told himself. Sure, but that was on TV shows. It was normal there—when he bothered with the kind of lush dramas where cheekbones and abs were a casting requirement, rather than the football and baseball he normally wound down watching. Anyway, hot guys were not normal on this side of the screen, a world that mostly involved himself, a few deer, and periodic sightings of Josie, the soccer midfielder on the local high school team who delivered most of his groceries to his porch with impersonal dispatch, or the local UPS driver, a short, balding man named Danny who looked more like a DeVito than an Amendola or a Slavin.
He didn’t watch a lot of porn, either. His sex drive had grown too powerful, too immediate, too all-consuming to need much external stimulation. Once his cock was up and his blood was hot, the pleasure of his own stimulation was all he could handle, and the ferocious orgasm he had coming was all he could think about.
Like now, for example…
The man, the visitor—he was right there, right on the other side of this door. Jeremy Fleming. Even the name was sexy! And he was real. A real physical presence of coursing blood and hot, touchable flesh and roiling hormones… inches away, right on his doorstep where he could not be denied or ignored the way he denied and ignored most of the world. And he was godly, strong, and well-proportioned, with those piercing blue eyes that seemed to look into his soul. And that rich, long hair he wanted to comb his fingers through, and those flanks he could wrap his hands around… So many things he could do with his hands, and his mouth—
His cockhead tapped stickily at the bottom of his throat, begging implacably for his attention. Fuck! This was impossible. He needed to tell this guy to go away. But that would be a mistake, right? If this guy, Jeremy Fleming, really was from Court Street, that was the advance he was counting on to replace his creaky, five-years-out-of-date iMac and upgrade his scarred, second-hand drawing tablet, too.
He just needed to get rid of this boner. Maybe he could stall him?
Fuck, it was too late for that. He’d already kept him waiting too long. There sure as fuck wasn’t time for—
He looked around frantically, searching for something to help him out somehow in the combined kitchen/dining room/living area he’d made early on by knocking a few non-loadbearing walls out to open up the front half of the cottage. He spotted the heavy wooden dining table and figured it would have to do.
Moving one of the two sturdy, wide, armless wooden chairs around to the far side of the table, Milo kicked aside his sweats, dropped into the seat, and determinedly set about the arduous and painful task of levering his proud, rigid, and entirely unwilling penis down far enough to get it under the table and out of sight. Finally managing to get it low enough, he quickly scooted forward so his fuzzy, stone-carved belly was against the table’s edge… and let go.
A second later his cock instantly smacked painfully against the underside of the table with considerable force, and the heavy oak table jumped a good inch before resettling uncertainty on the smooth, polished-wood floor, rocking a little on its new fulcrum like it was a sailor who’d ended up on land for the first time in months.
Gritting his teeth, Milo shoved down on the table with his forearms, steadying it to ensure it stayed put. He still had to endure the considerable discomfort of an erect cock shoved into a position it very much did not want to be in, but he could hold out. Raising his voice to be heard through the door, he called out for his visitor to enter, desperately pleading with all the fates to let him get away with this ruse and let his freakish secret remain somehow undiscovered by the most luscious, cum-worthy man Milo had ever seen.
Jeremy sat down at the rustic, hand-hewn oak table cautiously, keeping his satchel in front of his crotch until the last moment. His host looked like he might bolt at any second, but he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the wood Jeremy had sprung. Jeremy had never seen a man that big that tense before, all stiff posture and jangly nerves. As forest animals went, at the moment, he was a bit more reminiscent of a deer wondering whether hunting season had started again than the ferocious grizzly the freckle-faced Roy had mistaken him for—at least in affect, if not in size and sinew.
Not that he had much experience with seven-foot-plus deep-voiced man-beasts possessed of shoulders the width of railway ties and thick-furred pecs bigger than Jeremy’s head, he reminded himself ruefully as he settled into the sturdy chair, placing his satchel on the table next to him. Maybe guys like him were naturally shy. Or just Milo was. His choice of dwelling would fit with that. He wasn’t used to dealing with people, Jeremy reasoned, especially outsiders.
Hoping to put the big man more at ease, Jeremy offered Milo his most heart-melting smile, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Instead of relaxing, Milo’s eyes widened, his bulging shoulders drew back slightly, and—did the table move? Maybe Milo was nudging it with his feet. The thought made Jeremy suddenly curious about his host’s feet, which hadn’t been included in Jeremy’s first, all-too-brief inspection of the man. How big were they? Had he been wearing shoes, or was he as deliciously and provocatively barefoot as he was shirtless, exposing his extra-extra-large dogs for all to see who dared come close? He actually found himself starting to move his head downwards, like he was actually going to look under the table and ogle whatever wonders lay at the end of his client’s tree-trunk legs, but just then Milo urgently interrupted him. “What brings you here, Mr. Fleming?” he demanded stridently, eyes just a little wild.
Jeremy’s cheeks colored, and he sat up straighter in his chair, chiding himself for his lack of control. He made himself meet Milo’s gaze. He couldn’t forget the rest of what Milo looked like or how achingly hard it made him, but he could pretend he could. He folded his hands together on the table in front of them, as if to keep them from mischief. “It’s just a bit of tradition we have at Court Street,” he explained. “Our partners and executive editors insist on signing contracts in person with our creators at meetings like this. This affords us both a chance to structure the project together right at the start, face to face…”
He couldn’t help it. As soon as he said the words “face to face” his imagination filled his overheating soul with impressions of him and Milo coming close, their faces drawing near… Milo’s bearded lips brushing against Jeremy’s, even as Jeremy readied his tongue to push gently forward into its new favorite home…
Unwillingly he let his eyes drop to Milo’s sweet, smooth mouth. Though framed by virile red-gold bristles it seemed innocent and untouched, waiting for the right explorer to plunder them for the very first time. As he watched, they parted slightly, and then suddenly there was a soft thump from somewhere and the table shifted again before Milo leaned forward, as if only his considerable strength could make the recalcitrant wood-slab behave itself. “I-is that right?” Milo said, his sub-basso voice strangled.
Jeremy let his eyes crawl slowly back up to meet Milo’s, which were now round enough to show white almost all the way around the hazel. Understanding starting to dawn, and his blood seemed to heat up by at least five degrees. “Absolutely,” he said meaningfully, watching the other man closely. “It’s a time to take care of any problems that might… arise… during the course of our mutually beneficial relationship.” He leaned forward slightly, his look intense. “Can you think of any problems you and I could take care of right now, Mr. Jones? Problems we might take care of together?”
Milo looked harried. “N-no?”
Jeremy tried his smile again, this time actively hoping for the stimulating effect it had had before. “Are you sure?”
Milo gulped. He stared back at Jeremy for a long moment. Jeremy waited. Finally, in a voice so low it was almost on the edge of human hearing, he grunted, “Stand back.”
The table made an almighty clatter when it flipped over, but Milo was sure his visitor barely noticed. His attention was fixed on the titanic neck-high cock that flew into position instantly on release, spraying arcs of precum on Jeremy and everything else, and on the nearly inhuman beast-body that now bulked fully exposed beyond it. Milo stared as Jeremy drank him in, as awed as a flamen Dialis before a phantasm of Jupiter Optimus Maximus and as dangerously electrified as bolt of white, crackling lightning. When Jeremy started moving on him, ripping off his clothes and exposing his honed, muscled, altogether perfect body, it suddenly, ridiculously, occurred to Milo for the very first time that another man might be as red-line aroused by his freakish, still-growing body as he was himself. Or more.
Then Jeremy was on him, in his lap, Milo’s gargantuan, ultra-hard erection throbbing feverishly between them, clear liquid spitting up from the coin-slot slit in little spurts like a defective drinking fountain. All Milo saw just then, though, was Jeremy’s pretty blue eyes staring hard into his. There was meaning in that stare—desire, possession, a need to claim Milo as his own—and Milo was there for it.
He lifted a shaking hand and slid it slowly through the long, lush hair that brushed Jeremy’s exquisitely defined shoulders. Jeremy leaned into the touch, still watching him.
Milo realized he wasn’t breathing. He drew in an audible breath, almost a gasp.
Jeremy’s eyes grew flinty with desire. “I need to make you cum, Milo,” he said. It was almost like a command.
Milo suppressed a whimper and nodded.
Jeremy’s eyes dropped briefly, raking over Milo’s uberprick as though trying to prioritize all the things he wanted to do. He shifted closer, pushing the taut sack of Milo’s dark, hairy testicles up onto Jeremy’s creamy thighs.
“Hands,” Jeremy rasped.
Four hands grasped the hard, precum-slicked shaft. Milo and Jeremy slivered as one, almost as though Jeremy already shared this giant cock with its once-solo owner. The hands started to slide, together, up a half a foot, then down again. Then up.
Milo moaned. “That’s it, baby,” Jeremy, his low tenor a rough coo. “That’s it.”
“I won’t last,” Milo warned him in a tight voice.
He felt Jeremy look up, and when Milo did the same, both of them still slow-stroking Milo’s impossible dick, Milo found himself impaled on that look, like he truly had been claimed. Those eyes said what Jeremy didn’t need to: If Milo thought that the orgasm they were about to make together was the only time Milo would be climaxing this morning—in the next hour, even—then he was about to learn how wrong he was.
What he said was, “Mouths.” Again, it was like a command, but the way a conductor gave orders to an orchestra, guiding the music toward the transcendence they craved.
His reason gone, Milo lowered his mouth to his own cockhead, mirroring Jeremy. Normally he would have taken the whole glans straight into his mouth; this time he mouthed the side instead, and Jeremy did the same, both of them continuing their slow pistoning of the shaft below as though providing harmony to the pleasure of their lips. The first sparks of pre-orgasm stirred in Milo’s balls and up his spine as Jeremy let his tongue loose, adding a third instrument to his performance. Almost shaking, Milo did the same, licking and mouthing around and under his own cockhead in synchronicity with Jeremy. Below, they progressively increased their four-handed stroke, building toward mutual pleasure.
Almost overcome, Milo made a helpless noise in the back of his throat that seemed to set Jeremy off, and suddenly their pace was quickening, ands and lips and tongues. Then all at once Milo’s release burst over him, and they were cumming hard, his giant prick jetting massive spurts of cum all over them both as Milo’s mouth crashed against Jeremy. They kissed as best they could, gasping through their orgasm. Finally the eruptions slowed, and they parted to pant and catch their breath before resuming their kiss, this time in a languid, cummy make-out that lasted for some time.
A few moments later Milo found himself dazed and doped with a level of euphoric satiation he’d never experienced before, his damp forehead resting against Jeremy’s. They were breathing together, the smell of man and cum filling Milo’s nostrils in a way he should have been used to but that felt entirely new.
Jeremy was admiring the still-mostly-hard phallus pressed between their spunk-covered chests. “You do realize,” he said shakily, “this is way too much cock for one man.” He lifted his gaze to meet Milo’s, his blue eyes glinting with amusement. “Even a beast-man,” he added playfully.
Milo gave him a crooked smile that Jeremy seemed to like. “You offering to help me take care of it?” he asked quietly, his basso voice still seeming to fill the room.
Jeremy shivered. “More than offering,” he said. “I think I’m insisting.”
Milo’s heartbeat quickened. He realized he’d been setting his expectations, and even his dreams, a little too low all this time. Pretty funny, he thought, for a guy that a few sizes larger than he was supposed to be, and who was probably only going to keep getting bigger.
He felt his smile widen into a real grin. “Sounds good,” he said, low and soft. Then Jeremy’s mouth was on his again, and there wasn’t any more conversation for quite a while.