Something different

by Richard Jasper

Twenty-nine-year-old Jeff is a 6 foot, 360-pound mountain of muscle but nonetheless gay as a goose. While visiting friends in Houston Jeff’s world is rocked by a couple of short blonds who seem to exert a curious power over the Big Man.

Added: 3 Oct 2020 6,573 words 878 views 5.0 stars (1 vote)

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This is different! Jeff thought.

Jeff loved visiting his friends Brad and Keith. They threw fabulous parties when he came down to Houston, inviting tons of interesting people, dishing out the food, handing out the drinks. Jeff wasn’t much of a drinker but he didn’t mind getting plotzed once or twice a year, especially if all he had to do afterwards was navigate his way to the guest bedroom.

But there he was in the master suite, more than halfway plotzed, sitting on the sofa with Gina, of all people, the door to the living / party area carefully closed. At 29, Jeff was a thoroughly committed homosexual male and rightly considered himself an outstanding example of the species. Gina, though, Gina was something different! For one thing, she was all of 5 ft. tall, which made her exactly a foot shorter than Jeff, and she was all of 90 pounds. All of it in exactly the right female places; even Jeff, ardent homosexualist that he was, could tell that.

Well, he thought, how could I miss it?

Gina was totally nude, except for a cape that hung down her back, as if she were some cross between Supergirl and Lady Godiva. She shucked her clothes after the first martini and Jeff’s mouth had just fallen open when he saw her parading through the kitchen in spike heels and cape. Gina claimed to be 35 but she had the body of a well-toned teenage gymnast, honey hair, golden tan, with a curly light brown lady bush, and, my god, the most perfectly shaped breasts he’d ever seen.

Not that he’d seen many, mind you, but Jeff was a big boy, in more than one way, and a former football player, and more than one hot girl had tried (unsuccessfully) to cop his manhood.

They don’t even jiggle, he said to himself as he gawked. It’s like they’re carved out of marble. They gotta be fake!

Jeff knew a thing or two about being carved out of marble. A former football player, he had taken up bodybuilding with a passion when he’d stopped playing for the Cougars. Not professionally, of course. He was too busy pulling down big bucks as a corporate attorney. And just as well for all those guys who were competing because Jeff would have blown them out of the water if he’d ever stepped on the stage. He was frickin’ huge, his 6-foot frame carrying an even 360 pounds of totally ripped, shredded, fur-covered muscle.

But there he was in Brad and Keith’s bedroom with Gina.

“You are one big boy,” Gina cooed. She had a delicious personality, totally self-confident, obviously, but also bright and cheerful.

“About the biggest one you’re ever likely to see,” Jeff replied, somewhat immodestly. “Well, maybe a few but they’re not likely to have this much muscle.”

Gina purred. “Just how much do you weigh?” He told her: “360 pounds.” Jeff had thought Gina’s nipples were already hard but when he told her his weight he realized they hadn’t been hard at all. Now they were. “That’s exactly four times as much as I weigh,” Gina said.

Jeff looked at her.

“Do you want to see my muscle?”

Gina nodded.

“Yes, please,” she breathed.

Jeff stood up and shucked his shirt.

“Oh my god!” Gina said. “I’ve never seen anything so huge.”

Jeff threw out his 72-inch chest, locked his lats into place, and gave Gina his best double bicep. At 29 inches, his upper arms were bigger than the quads of most pros. “My chest is as big around as I am tall,” Jeff said. “About a foot more than you are, in other words.” Gina’s bronze skin was beginning to perspire slightly, the flush spreading down her tight feminine waist, from those perfect boobs to that intriguing place between her thighs.

“How big are your arms?” she asked. “How big is your waist?” he asked in reply. “Twenty inches,” she answered. “I think I’m too fat, I keep working on it.” Jeff laughed and flexed his forearm for her. “Twenty-three inches here,” he told her. “Three inches more than your waist, and there’s nothing fat about it, who are you kidding? And, yeah, most guys would kill to have biceps this big, much less forearms.”

“And these?” Gina asked, putting her tiny hands on Jeff’s gigantic upper arm. There was no way she could get her hands around the peak, much less Jeff’s whole upper arm. “Twenty-nine inches,” Jeff grunted.

Damn, he thought. It’s getting hot in here.

“It must be very strong,” Gina purred.

Jeff laughed. “This arm can curl a 200-pound dumbbell for 20 reps,” he pointed out. Gina’s eyes grew wide. She was sitting in his lap now. “That’s more than twice what I weigh,” Gina murmured. Jeff nodded. “It’s about what Brad weighs,” he pointed out. “Keith’s a lot bigger, about 250, but I can still pick him up over my head with one hand.”

Gina’s hands went from Jeff’s arm to the 8-inch deep cleft between his monstrous pecs. “I can hide my whole hand in here,” Gina marveled. Jeff smirked. “See, if you have me around, you’ll never need an umbrella—you can just stand under my pecs!”

Gina was sitting on Jeff’s lap now, her hands around his bull neck. He brought his huge paw up and gently brushed the hair from her face.

“Your hands,” Gina said, as if just noticing them, “are the hugest things I’ve ever seen.”

She took one and held it in front of her. Jeff’s hands made Denis Cyplenkov’s look small; they were what marked him as a genetic freak before he ever got out of junior high school. NBA basketball players wished for hands as big as Jeff’s. Gina lifted (well, guided, more like it) Jeff’s hand to her neck. Jeff opened his hand and wrapped it around.

“My God,” Gina said, “It’s true. You can completely encircle my neck with your hand.”

With that comment, Jeff became aware that he was completely hard. That, in fact, he’d been hard from the moment Gina had asked him to take off his shirt but he was exponentially harder now, harder than he’d ever been in his life.

This girl has some guts, Jeff thought. I could crush her like a banana.

The idea both excited and repelled him.

God, Jeff thought, what’s wrong with me?

“Is it true?” Gina asked suddenly, then patted Jeff’s crotch. “Oh, yea, I think so.”

Jeff looked at her curiously.

“Is what true?”

“What Brad and Keith say,” Gina answered. “About your nickname, Big All Over.”

Jeff didn’t think it was possible for his dick to get any harder but it did.

“Want to find out?”

Gina nodded. Jeff pulled his monster python out of his track pants.

“Jesus wept,” Gina gasped.

Jeff’s tool stood up straight in all its glory, 13 inches in length, a straight pole 10 inches in circumference.

“Most guys can’t handle it,” Jeff pointed out. “Occasionally I find someone who can take but it’s usually some old fat slob into fisting—not much fun!”

Gina whispered in Jeff’s ear. “I can take it.” He whispered in hers. “It would break you in half.” She laughed. “Honey, the thing you have to remember is that I was on the 1992 U.S. Olympics gymnastics team—I’m flexible!”

Jeff flicked his fist-sized thumb oh so gently across Gina’s quivering nipple.

“Then where did these come from? I’ve never seen one of those cute gymnast girls with a pair of these!”

Gina smiled.

“Trust fund and the miracles of modern medicine,” she replied.

Jeff grinned.

“Well, I gotta tell ya, my momma always taught me to give a lady what she wants…”

“But…?” Gina filled in.

“But I’ve never done it with one.”

Gina gave him a motherly peck on the cheek.

“There’s always a first time,” she told him, and then planted herself—ploop!—on Jeff’s throbbing cock.

Jesus! Jeff thought. This feels soooooo fucking good!

“Dayum, girl, what you got in there—a wormhole?” Jeff moaned. “How are you getting it all in there?” Gina writhed, the sweat on her body magnetically glued in place. “Muscle gasp control gasp baby,” Gina said, as she rode Jeff’s cock up and down. “It’s all gasp about gasp control.” By that time, Jeff was gasping, too. He’d had plenty of sex in his life but except for a few special occasions it had usually been lacking something; the hot guys he lusted after couldn’t accommodate him, the guys who could accommodate him tended to run the gamut from schlub to troll. But this!

“Jesus,” Jeff exclaimed. “It feels sooo fucking good!”

Gina’s eyes had glazed over by that point but, interestingly enough, she was still capable of speech.

“It’s”

gasp

“What”

moan

“It’s”

pant

“Designed”

heave

“For!”

It occurred to Jeff that he could wrap his hand around Gina’s waist and use her as a fuck toy.

But why the fuck would I want to do that?

Gina was totally in control. It went on and on. For a very long time. They were vaguely aware of party guests coming in to watch; Gina and Jeff were still going at it long after the voyeurs had shot their loads or soaked their panties. Finally:

“I’m ready,” Gina breathed. “When I say NOW, I want you to shoot.”

Jeff had never cum on command for anyone in his life but he’d never gone this long without shooting, either.

“Whatever”

moan

“You”

gasp

“Say”

heave

“NOW!”

The force of Jeff’s ejaculation could have dislodged a brahma bull but Gina just clamped down.

“Oh! Ooohh! Oooohh!!”

Ten minutes later, Gina’s spasms subsided, and, slowly, carefully, she pulled herself off Jeff’s still semi-turgid dribbling cock. “Me oh my,” she said at last. “For a virgin gay boy, you’re a good fuck!” Jeff couldn’t speak. He just lay there, his massive muscles trembling. Finally…

“Does this mean?”

“That you’re straight?” Gina asked while pulling up her fishnet stockings.

Jeff vaguely registered that she was already dressed and that her hair was not only no longer mussed, it looked like she’d just stepped out of a high-end hair salon. He nodded in reply to her question.

“No, baby,” she said, reassuringly. “Not in the least. You didn’t get off on me. You got off on me getting off on you! That’s not the same thing!”

Jeff heaved a sigh of relief.

“On the other hand,” she said, as she stood and gave him another peck on the cheek. “If you ever want…”

“Something different?” he supplied.

She grinned and headed for the door.

“Ask Brad and Keith,” she instructed.

They’ll know where to find her!
Jeff was sitting at the end of the bar at JR’s, still trying to wrap his mind around his encounter with Gina. It was the first time he’d ever been with a woman and, frankly, hot as it was, and it was very fucking hot, he had no interest in repeating the experience. But it had him thinking about what was going on with his sex life. The 29-year-old corporate attorney was model handsome, hairy as a Colt model, and at 6 ft. and 360 pounds of gargantuan, marble-carved muscle, he could have any man on the planet.

So why am I, well, bored? He asked himself.

Jeff was doing a bang-up job of tuning out the dozen or so guys milling around him. They were diverse in terms of age, ranging from early 20s to mid-50s, but otherwise they were pretty similar, ranging from 2-3 inches shorter than Jeff to 2-3 inches taller—and all of ‘em big, beefy, football player, bodybuilder, power-lifter types. None of ‘em remotely as big as Jeff, of course, but there wasn’t one under 220 pounds and a couple were pushing 300. Jeff’s kinda crowd, in other words. The kinda crowd that stood facing each other, hugging and patting and punching each other, with their backs to the guys with “average” builds and those who were more “bear” than “muscle.”

Jeff was staring at the guy sitting at the other end of the bar, chatting up the hunky (and, well, damn hot!) bartender down there, the one Jeff had had his eye on for quite some time and one of the few who consistently turned Jeff down. “Yer a God,” Randy had said, more than once. “I’m a mere mortal. And I already have a husband. So, thanks, but no thanks—come see me in another lifetime!”

Randy seemed very smitten with the guy and Jeff could see why. He was blond in a sexy, strawberry sort of way, peaches and cream skin, bright blue eyes. Very slender build, obviously, and short, kinda really short, in fact. But well-proportioned and wiry looking. Jeff got up from his seat, not bothering to notice that the crowd of chums and wannabe-chums parted for him as easily as the Red Sea had done for Moses.

“Gotta take a piss,” Jeff announced, knowing his entourage would be creaming themselves thinking about his horse cock but none of them had the nerve to follow him to the head. Too risky, they thought, afraid they might be cut out of the Pack. Along the way Jeff stopped to say “hey” to Randy, taking advantage of the three empty stools to left of the blond. He filled up the space, even so.

“Jeezus,” the blond exclaimed. “You really are a fucking mountain of a man, aren’t you?” Jeff flashed the cutie a smile that had been known to melt glaciers and, not taking his eyes of the pocket hottie, asked Jeff: “So who’s your handsome friend here, Randy?”

“Chris Field,” the blond replied, sticking his small hand in Jeff’s massive paw. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Big!”

Jeff laughed. “Name’s Jeff, Chris, and pleased to meet you, too,” he said, adding. “Not many men in this bar can monopolize Randy’s attention the way you do.” Chris had the decency to color slightly. “Not everyone tries as hard as I do,” he conceded.

Jeff patted Chris on the shoulder, saying: “Well, don’t wear him out, okay?! And now I gotta go take that leak!” Jeff was still in front of the urinal when Chris showed up a few minutes later and parked himself in front of the adjacent urinal.

That’s bold, Jeff said to himself. Most of these guys don’t have the nerve.

“Damn,” Chris said, not shy about staring. “Randy told me you were hung like a racehorse but, Christ, that thing is HUGE!” Jeff chuckled, a rumble that echoed off the bathroom tiles. “I piss like one, too, jeezus,” he said. Musta been all that beer he’d had the night before at Brad and Keith’s; either that or he had some kind of kidney disease going down!

Jeff turned his head to look at Chris—and realized he had to look way down to see him!

“Wow,” Jeff said. “You’re a little thing, aren’t you?”

Chris frowned. “You mean ‘short,’ I think,” he said with a slight air of asperity. “I’m a little bit on the beefy side for someone my height.” Jeff eyed the nice piece hanging from Chris’ crotch. “I stand corrected,” Jeff said. “And you sure weren’t short-changed down below, were you? What is that thing, 8-9 inches hard?” Chris beamed.

“Pfft,” he said, zipping up his pants. “It’s 6 inches max. It just seems longer because I’m so short.”

Jeff shook out the last dribbles of his three-quart reservoir and tucked his monster meat back into his pants. “Just how tall are you?” he asked. “And, ya know, I’m really NOT about what size people are. I’m pretty much at one end of the bell-shaped curve, too.” Chris chuckled. “That’s damn sure, Mr. Man Mountain,” he agreed. “As for me, I stopped going UP when I turned 14. I was 5’2 then and I’m 5’2 now.” Jeff looked at the top of Chris’ head. Nice view! “Looks good from here,” Jeff said. “I’m not tall but I’m 10 inches taller than you are. I don’t get to feel like Shaquille O’Neal that often!”

Chris was washing his hands in the basin with the big mirror over it. Jeff stood behind him, brushing his hair with his big, long, sausage sized fingers. “What you are is fuckin’ huge,” Chris said. “Standing in front of you is landing standing in front of an eclipse—you blot out everything behind you!” Jeff looked down at the handsome man.

“Would you like to see more sometime?” he asked.

Weird, Jeff thought, why is my heart racing? Then it occurred to him. I’m asking him out! I don’t ask people out! They ask me out!

“I’d like that a lot, Big Guy,” Chris replied. “You wanna go on a date or…?” Jeff laughed. “I’d love to go on a date, Mr. Sexy,” Jeff said. “But first I want to get some place I can get you out of your clothes.” Chris looked please.

“Your place or mine, Mr. Big?”

They went to Chris’s place. Jeff tried to avoid bringing guys back to Brad and Keith’s place unless he already knew the guy or had at least a little bit of a clue. After all, Chris seemed like a really nice guy but for all Jeff knew he was an axe-murderer (albeit a very small one.) Didn’t remotely cross Jeff’s mind to worry about going to Chris’ place—he never worried about something like that. Who hell was gonna give him any grief?

Chris’ town house north of the bar district was pretty spectacular. Three stories, three thousand square feet, totally modern yet warm and inviting, every piece of classy, high-priced furniture perfectly placed.

“Jeez, Chris, this is one helluva pad! What did you say you do for a living?”

Chris flashed a big grin.

“I didn’t, Mr. Corporate Attorney,” he replied, causing Jeff’s eyes to widen. “And, yes, our bartender pal told me all about you.”

Jeff, sitting on the Italian leather sofa, took the Waterford tumbler full of brandy from Chris and stretched his mammoth arm along the back. Twisting his girder-thick wrist caused tsunamis of muscle to ripple up and down his arm.

“So…?” Jeff inquired.

“Don’t laugh,” Chris replied. “I’m a gynecologist.”

Jeff smiled broadly but squelched the chuckle. “A well-paid one, I see,” he pointed out. Chris shrugged his slight shoulders. “What can I say? Lots of women like a doctor they can look down on! And little hands fit into delicate places, you know?” Jeff did laugh then. “I hafta say I don’t know much about little,” he pointed out.

Chris stood in front of the big man. Even though Jeff was seated, he was still looking Chris pretty much in the eyes. Slowly, as if he were some porno star, Chris pulled off his expensive polo shirt.

“Damn, boy,” Jeff said, looking Chris up and down. “You really are one hot fuck, aren’t you?”

For such a small man, Chris had an intense degree of muscularity. His pecs, delts, traps, biceps, forearms, abs, were all full, perfectly formed, and ripped to shreds. He was also excellently proportioned and smooth as silk. Chris squared his shoulders, puffed up his chest, and gave Jeff a quick double bi shot.

“Ya think so?” Chris asked. “Like I was saying, I’m kinda beefy for 5’2, don’t you think?”

Jeff nodded. “You get just a little bit bigger and you’ll have the short class guys trembling in their posers,” Jeff said. “How much do you weigh?”

Chris shook his head.

“Not yet,” Chris said. “I’m the one who needs to be asking the questions.”

Wow, Jeff thought. He’s one take charge little fuck, isn’t he?

“Such as?” Jeff asked.

“Such as: How much do you bench, Big Man?”

Jeff smiled.

“A lot of people think the muscles are just for show,” he observed. “But the truth is I hold the record.”

Chris just looked at him; Jeff realized he wasn’t going to wiggle out from under Chris’ questioning.

“At my last meet, 1320 pounds,” Jeff said, shyly. Chris smiled. “That’s exactly 11 times as much as I weigh,” he observed. Jeff did the arithmetic in his head and his dick jumped. “You only weigh 120 pounds?! Damn, Chris, you look a lot bigger than that to me!” Chris laughed. “That’s because you can’t comprehend a guy’s real size unless he’s twice what I weigh,” he pointed out. “I know who you hang out with.”

Jeff blushed.

“Randy told me you can pick him up with one hand,” Chris continued. “Is that the case?” Jeff nodded. Truth was, he’d one-handed plenty of guys bigger than Randy but…”That’s exactly twice what I weigh,” Chris observed. “I’m 120, Randy is 240.”

ZING! Jeff’s semi-turgid cock achieved rock hardness.

“Show me,” Chris said. “Show me your bod, Big Man.” Jeff slowly stood up; the top of Chris’ head disappeared under Jeff’s pec shelf while Chris unbuckled Jeff’s built. Jeff pulled out the tails of his shirt, slowly unbuttoning the custom-tailored silk button-up, revealing his massive fur-covered torso. “That’s fucking hot,” Chris admired.

With that he pulled Jeff’s pants slowly down his legs, revealing more and more of the humongous, fur-covered tree trunks. The head of Jeff’s enormous tool stuck way out the top of his tighty-whities.

“Mmmm,” Chris breathed. “You’re a whole lotta man!”

Jeff reached his hand down and Chris stepped on it as if it were some organic elevator. With no visible exertion, Jeff lifted Chris in front of him so that the two men, one small, the other so large, were looking directly into each other’s eyes.

“I think we should take this discussion some place more comfortable,” Chris said. “Don’t you agree?” Jeff looked at the petite, perfectly proportioned man whose small feet perfectly filled the palm of massive, muscular hand. “Tell me where you want me, boss,” Jeff replied. Boss? He thought. Where did that come from?

“Up those stairs,” Chris replied. “We need room to spread out.”


Chris’ bedroom occupied the entire top floor of the town house, centered on a custom steel-framed California king bed that looked like it would have no trouble supporting a hippopotamus!

Jeff eyed the bed, eyed Chris, eyed the bed again. “Isn’t that a bit excessive?” Chris had the decency to blush. “What can I say?” he asked. “I like big guys!”

Jeff leaned back on the silk bolster at the head of the bed. “Fuck,” Chris said, “You look like you fill up the whole thing.” Jeff looked from side to side. “Not quite,” he said. “But my shoulders are 40 inches across.” Chris shook his head. “Ya know, Jeff, I’ve been with some really big guys in my time but never one as big as you.” Jeff smiled. “You’re not likely to find one as big as I am, ya know.”

Chris straddled Jeff’s hips. Compared to his vast shoulders, Jeff’s hips were slender indeed but they had to be thick enough to hold up his 39-inch quads. Chris had to stretch to get his short legs on either side of Jeff’s sequoia-thick legs.

“You could house a family of four in your pec cleavage, couldn’t you?”

Jeff smirked and rolled his monstrous pecs up and down.

“Jesus,” Chris said.

Jeff put his hands on either side of Chris’ tiny waist. “You are so fucking proportional,” he mused. “And this is so fucking tiny.” Chris laughed. “Don’t I wish! It’s all the way up to 26 inches—I must be getting old.”

With that, Jeff slowly lifted his mountainous arms and gave them a full flex. “29 inches, Boss Man,” Jeff said. “Bigger than your waist.” Chris took Jeff’s right wrist—he could barely get his hands around it—and placed Jeff’s hand against the headboard. “Shall I get out the cuffs?” he asked, playfully.

Jeff grunted.

Damn, he thought. I thought I was already hard!

“Do you think they would fit?” he asked.

Chris sighed. “No, come to think of it, I don’t think they will,” he pointed out. “I’ll just have to think of other ways to keep you in place.” Jeff chuckled. “You and what army?” he asked.

Chris leaned down and licked Jeff’s left nipple. The shock was electric. Gina! The image came unbidden to Jeff’s mind. My God, he Jeff thought. He’s the male version of Gina.

“How many men have you fucked with that thing?” Chris asked. Jeff gawped. “Now, that’s a personal question, isn’t it?!” Chris smiled. “And you want to answer it, don’t you?” Jeff blushed furiously. “Plus you know exactly how many, too, right?”

Jeff blew out his cheeks. “It’s fucking hot in here,” he pointed out. Chris looked over his shoulder. “Actually, it’s 70 degrees exactly,” he noted. “I always cool it down when there’s the possibility of a hot fuck in my bed.” Jeff squirmed. Well, to the extent that a 360-pound mountain of fur-covered muscle can be said to squirm. Chris held his gaze, willing Jeff to answer the question. “A lot fewer than you might think,” Jeff said. “It only works with about one guy in 20. And they’re usually trolls or fisters or both.”

Chris tilted his head to his side. “Not all fisters are trolls, y’know,” he said agreeably. Uh oh, Jeff thought. “And how many women? I would think for the most part they’re even less able to accommodate you. The average woman’s vagina is only 5 1/2 inches deep—you’ve got more than twice that.”

Jeff colored. “Uh, well…” Chris raised his eyebrows. “Unless you’ve never played with women?” he mused. “I’d’ve thought a big strapping football hero like you would have been tripped left and right. Women on the prowl can be fierce!”

Jeff smiled, thinking about all his near misses. Then he thought of Gina and smiled more.

“Ah,” Chris said. “Not totally a straight virgin, I see. You did it when, in high school?”

Jeff laughed at that. “Actually, to tell you the God’s honest truth, it was just last night.” Chris’s mouth fell open. “And she was a totally hot fuck,” Jeff added. “I don’t know how she got it all in but she did and it was waaaay better than what you get from trolls and fisters.”

Chris pounded the big man on his massive, granite-hard pec.

“Oh, c’mon,” he said. “You’re not telling me you’ve never satisfactorily fucked a hot guy?”

Jeff grinned.

“Well, no, I didn’t say that. Quite a few in fact. It’s just relatively speaking…”

Chris laughed. “S’okay,” he said. “I don’t wanna know how many you’ve been with. I don’t think I can count that high.” Jeff looked like he was about to ask a question of his own when Chris continued: “And the other way? How many times have you been on the receiving end?”

Jeff rolled his eyes. “Nobody ever wants to fuck me,” he pointed out. “I’m too big. They want it from me, even though 9 times out of 10 they can’t take it.” Chris put his forefinger to his lip. “Never?”

Jeff sighed.

“Never.”

Chris bent down and put his head inside the cavernous space formed by the intersection of Jeff’s pec, lat, and deltoid complex. “Hello in here, here, here,” he said, emulating an echo, then added. “You could fucking crush me like an egg, couldn’t you, Big Boy?”

Much to his chagrin, Jeff’s cock throbbed, a lot, something Chris couldn’t help noticing considering where he was sitting and the size of Jeff’s monster tool.

“Yep,” Chris. “So much strength, so much power.” Jeff felt beads of sweat break out on his clear, broad brow. “But you want me to fuck you, don’t you?” Jeff panted. “Damn, Chris, are you sure that thermostat isn’t set to 90?”

Chris planted his small mouth on Jeff’s and spent the next few minutes extracting Jeff’s tonsils. “We could be in a refrigerator,” Chris said. “You’d still be fucking hot.” He looked at Jeff again. “Now answer the question.”

Jeff felt something unclinch inside of him, a clinch he had never known he had. He cupped Chris’ handsome face in his grizzly bear hands, looked deep into those liquid blue eyes, and, at last, answered the question:

“Yes, Chris,” he said. “Yes, I do.”

“Just lay back there, Big Boy,” Chris told Jeff. “The trick is to get comfortable and relax.”

Then Chris proceeded to crawl over every inch of Jeff’s body, starting with Jeff’s handsome face and working his way down: All around Jeff’s beer keg thick neck. “Just relax.” Out along both of his gargantuan shoulders, each as wide as Chris’ whole body. “Let me do all the work.” Back into Jeff’s cavernous armpits. “I know you’re used to being in control.” Up, down, across, and deep within the cleavage of Jeff’s monstrous pecs. “You’re so fucking huge, so fucking strong.” Around all eight of Jeff’s fur-covered abs, each one the density and thickness of a cinder block. “Why should you do any work?” Tracing the contours of Jeff’s mammoth lats, marveling at the thickness and definition of his serratus and obliques. “Let me give this to you.” Along and down and across Jeff’s rigid manhood, which was longer than one of Chris’ forearms, thicker than one of his clinched fists. “It’s okay to be the passive one.” And down the quads, the calves, awed that even Jeff’s feet (size 14EEEE) were as huge and as muscular as the rest of his body. “It’s okay to let the little man take the lead.”

Finally Chris brought himself up to Jeff’s ponderous sac, each ball the size of an orange, the thick curly black hair doing nothing to obscure the size and heft of Jeff’s patrimony. Chris licked, sucked, nibbled, tickled, groped, cupped, and slapped Jeff’s equipment; Jeff moaned and writhed, his giant forearms (significantly bigger than Chris’ legs) rippling with muscle.

“Mmmm,” Chris said from down below. “I see you like having your balls played with.”

Jeff’s giant fist slammed the bed.

“Uh,” he gasped. “No gasp not usually. But, shit, your mouth—my God—is so fucking hot!”

Chris smiled inwardly. He rubbed his blond locks against the underside of Jeff’s package, gently squashing the contents against Jeff’s pubic bone. “Put your knees up,” Chris ordered. Jeff complied without thinking, despite the fact he was not able to see Chris; at this angle, Jeff’s giant pecs obscured the view. He could feel Chris but he couldn’t see him.

Chris was amazed by Jeff’s ass, although perhaps he should not have been. The big man weighed 360 pounds and held the world’s record for the bench press (1320 pounds) What he didn’t know was that Jeff also held the world’s record for the squat (1620 pounds, 4.5 times his body weight.) If there had been an Encyclopedia of Hot Gay Men, a picture of Jeff’s ass would have appeared next to the entry for “Bubble Butt.”

It was magnificent.

And, as he expected, there was no way Chris’ entirely functional, capable six-inch dick was going to get past 10 inches of butt cheeks. Chris covered his hands in the self-warming lubricant he kept for special occasions, and slowly, cautiously, lingeringly, began moving his hand between the twin globes of glorious butt flesh towards Jeff’s anus. Jeff’s squirming intensified; it occurred to Chris that he might need to strap himself to Jeff’s leg to avoid being bucked off. When the tips of Chris’ fingers met Jeff’s quivering, puckered mangina, Jeff shook so violently the entire bed, consisting of a 500-pound steel frame, California King box springs and mattress, and 500 pounds of man flesh, jumped two inches to the left.

Chris inserted first one finger, then two, and so forth. With each addition, Jeff’s moans became a bit louder, his heartbeat became that much more elevated. Finally, Chris removed all his fingers, balled them together into a single fist, and moved it into Jeff’s rectum.

“Fuck,” Jeff called. “Oh fucking Christ, that feels good.”

Chris grinned.

You ain’t felt nothing yet, Big Boy, he said to himself. And yes, there it was, the lumpy walnut of Jeff’s prostrate. Just barely inside! Chris exulted. Any further down and the damn thing would be halfway poking out his ass. He massaged it. Jeff’s breathing went into hyper-drive, his entire body clinched. Surrounded by a hundred or more pounds of leg muscle on either side of him, Chris began to wonder if had made a mistake.

If he squeezes them together, he mused, I’ll be a fucking stain on the bedspread.

But Jeff didn’t squeeze them together, although his fingers and toes were tearing deep gouges into Chris’ $2000 gold-thread bedspread. Every time Jeff got close, Chris backed off a bit. Every time Jeff relaxed, Chris started up again.

“Please,” Jeff said, after an hour or so of this. “Please, please, please.”

“Please what?” Chris demanded.

“Please let me cum,” Jeff said. “I gotta cum.”

Chris cleared his throat. In his light tenor, he announced.

“You’ll have to ask for it, Boy, and even then I’ll decide.”

Jeff’s voice was ragged.

“Please, Sir, please. I’ll do anything. Just let me cum.”

Gotcha, Chris thought.

“I think you’re ready, Boy,” Chris said. “When I say the word, you may cum.”

Delirious though he’d become, Jeff had enough presence of mind to ask.

“Sir, please, WHICH word?”

Chris chuckled in a nasty way.

“Oh, you’ll know, Boy, you’ll know.”

And with that he mashed his little fist into Jeff’s hunnynut, a blow that would have caused any (other) man to erupt. Again. And again. And again. Finally.

“NOW!” Chris ordered.

Jeff shot, or more precisely, he exploded. Gina, his mind bellowed.

The bed shook, the cum went everywhere, Chris once again feared for his life. Eventually, after 10 or 12 tremendous volleys, the eruption subsided and slowly, raggedly, Jeff’s body began to unclinch, his breathing becoming slower and more regular. He felt Chris crawling up his body, this time in a way that was, well, kinda weird feeling. Chris came to rest on Jeff’s mammoth pecs. He crossed his legs and sat there like Aladdin on a magic, fur-covered carpet. The expression on Chris’ face was one of intent curiosity, as if he were entomologist examining a particularly large bug.

“I own you now,” Chris said reasonably. Jeff’s expression was calm and neutral. He accepted Chris’ statement without question.

“More precisely, WE own you now,” came a soft feminine voice, one joltingly familiar and yet completely unexpected, dangerously out of place.

Jeff looked to his right.

Gina!

“Good job, brother,” Gina told Chris. “The question is…” Chris nodded. “The question is: Do we want to keep him?”

Jeff’s mind raced at a thousand miles a minute. How could these two tiny creatures—brother and sister?!—possibly think they could control a man who could literally pull down this elegant townhouse with his bare hands?

And yet. Jeff examined his thoughts and feelings.

My God, he realized. It’s true!

He opened his mouth and found he couldn’t speak.

“No,” Chris said. “Now that I think about it. I don’t think so.”

Gina raised an eyebrow, questioning her brother. She climbed aboard Jeff’s mammoth chest, assuming the same posture as Chris. Together they weighed 210 pounds but they felt like feathers. The real weight was on Jeff’s mind, not his chest.

“Too big,” Chris continued. “Think of the food bill!” Gina buried her fingers deep in the luxuriant curls of Jeff’s chest hair. “There’s that,” she said. “And we’re really NOT what he needs.” Chris nodded in agreement.

“What you need, Big Man,” he said.

Jeff was afraid to hear what Chris—or Gina!—might say.

“A skinny guy who can look you in the eye,” Gina said. “And with a dick at least 10 inches long,” Chris added. The brother and sister looked at each other. “You need fucking on a regular basis,” they said as one. “We’re not the ones to do that. Trying to do so, and failing, would displease us.” They slipped from Jeff’s chest and stood on either side of the bed.

“You may go.”

Jeff practically levitated down the stairs, grabbing the clothes Chris and Gina threw his way, somehow dressing before he got to the front door, and then running, literally running the 10 blocks back to Brad and Keith’s places. Hands shaking he tossed his bags into the back of his roomy Lexus SUV and didn’t stop until he got back to Dallas.

He sent e-mail to Brad and Keith when he got home. His message read:

Next time you guys need to come see me!

I’ve got plenty of room and it’s your turn and let’s face it…

Houston is too damned hot!

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