Augusto messed up in an outing with his friends, and was dumped in a random Uber to find his way back home. He opens up during his ride home and the Uber driver feels sympathetic enough to offer the lad a try-out of this new app he is developing. When Augusto’s life goes back to normal on Monday, he just wants to forget what happened on Friday completely, and leave it behind him as fast as possible—but the stuff he did while drunk catches up to him and in fact to the whole world.
Synthetic Reality, #1 9 parts Added Aug 2021 Updated 4 Sep 2021 14k views 4.9 stars (9 votes) 36k words
Our hero, Augusto, is a normal 23-year-old Brazilian university student, who, like any regular 23-year-old university student, took the last Friday night of his summer vacations to go out bar-hopping with friends. Like any university lad does every once in a while, he had a few too many drinks that night, and made some stupid drunk mistakes which rubbed some of his friends the wrong way. They were also fairly inebriated and as such landed on a relatively stupid drunk solution to their situation: they ended up calling an Uber and just dumping Augusto in it so he’d find his way home by himself.
The trip back home was messy, but Augusto didn’t remember it as particularly uncomfortable—that is, other than the normal discomfort of being sick and drunk in a moving car. Oddly enough, the Uber driver was actually a nice guy, and drunk Augusto was a talkative chap, which was a good mix. Admittedly, he was also a bit horny and although Augusto couldn’t really be counted on to make a fair judgement being drunk and in poor lighting, he did think the driver was seemed to be pretty cute and have a tight body. So he was more than willing to keep the conversation going, and maybe even enter topics he most definitely wouldn’t touch, if he were with a more sober mind.
Between sobs and laughs, he ended up opening up to the driver and telling him his full story, which found in the 24-year-old driver a more than sympathetic ear.
“Dude, I can’t believe they’d just dump you like that for one mistake,” the driver replied, not removing his eyes from the road for a second.
“It was a stupid mistake. Stupid…” Augusto replied, falling to the side on the backseat of that relatively new Hyundai HB20. His head was killing him.
“Still, they are your friends. Just dumping you like that, especially when you are drunk, can be really dangerous,” the driver responded.
“I can take care,” Augusto started, interrupted by a hiccup and a sob, “of myself.”
The driver sighed, for some reason that affected him more than he expected.
“Força, mano, não está fácil para ninguém,” he said, with a sad but slightly optimistic tone. “You know,” he continued, “I actually broke up with my two-year boyfriend four days ago and I had to carry on, even when I had to erase his memory since he knew I was a warlock, I couldn’t even take one day off. Life fucks one deep.”
Augusto’s head was sunk into the middle seat of the car, but he slowly moved it to the sides, to look forward, towards the driver.
“You what did what?” he asked, slowly, thinking he might have heard it incorrectly due to being completely wasted.
“Ah, I mean… just forget what I said,” said the driver, more hurriedly.
“You can erase people’s memories?!” asked Augusto, full of hope in his voice, interrupting him and suddenly pushing his head from the back seat all the way to the space between the passenger and driver seats. The driver got a little surprised.
“Well, yes.,” the driver replied, carefully, “but it isn’t as good as it sounds. When you erase someone’s memory it’s like your past together didn’t happen, and you are living alone in a reality where those feelings were shared…”
“That’s exactly what I want! That they won’t remember anything I did,” said Augusto before moaning with pain. “Ouch, ouch, my head,” he completed, as the turns of the car messed with his already messed-up head, and he brought it back to the comfort of the more poorly lit back seat, laying his head on the middle seat again.
“Unfortunately, I can’t help you with that. It would be highly irregular,” said the driver, then stopping at a red light. “But here is what I can do: give me your phone.” Moaning, drunk and hurting, Augusto was senseless enough to just move his hand to his pocket and take off his last-generation phone, immediately handing it to the driver.
“What’s the password?” the driver asked.
“Oh, you study engineering at USP?” the driver asked, with a high pitch, actually curious.
“Nah, it’s just a decoy,” Augusto replied, “I… hmmm… I study economics.” The uber driver laughed, but the password did work.
“Perfect. I’ll download an app for you that can help you ramp up your life a little. It’s my own design, and it’s still an alpha, but it might help you get over whatever happened with your friends. I’ll also add my number on WhatsApp for you so you can call me to send a review,” he said.
“You are an Uber diver who designs apps?” Augusto asked with a low voice, muffed by bis head being buried in the middle sear again, skeptically.
“Yeah, I actually studied Computer Engineering at USP, but the job market sucks so here I am—driving to make some money. I created this project in my free-time to help my boyf… people without magic, like you. You can also help me by testing its functionalities, and any suggestions would be useful.”
“Is this legal?”
“Well…” he says, finishing up what he was doing on the phone and then handing it back to Augusto, “it’s not illegal, that’s for sure. There’s no law against giving magicless people access to magic-based apps.”
“I see,” Augusto says, and then grabs the phone, slowly bringing himself to looking with his red eyes to its bright screen, as the traffic light turns green and the driver accelerates. “You added yourself as Carlos uber/warlock? Does that mean you are a witch?”
“No,” Carlos laughed. “I’m a warlock.”
“I don’t believe in witches,” said Augusto, a bit confused.
“Pero que las hay, hay,” replied Carlos, jokingly.
“Is that Spanish… ? Oh, I think I am getting sick…” interrupted Augusto, which made Carlos almost jump on his seat and stop the car. Fast like a thunder he left the car, opened the passenger’s door next to where Augusto was sitting, and helped him move his head outside of the car. Less than five second later, he was vomiting.
“There, there, mano. Get it all out of your system,” said Carlos, “It will all be better tomorrow. And enjoy your new app. Just remember to read the instructions and please, don’t use it while you are still drunk, all right?”
“bleeerg… sure dude, you are the best… bleeeerg.”
After a long Friday night out with friends and a horribly painful Saturday morning, I decided to spend the rest of the weekend completely reclused at home, detoxing and recovering from over-socialization. I completely ignored my phone: no calls, no messages, no nothing. A part of it was not wanting to fully recognize that I might have completely ruined one of my best friendships forever, and, to be fair, an overall pessimistic feeling that overwhelmed me the past two days. After all, the last thing I remember is vomiting out of an Uber car, wishing with teary eyes and regret that, somehow, I could wake up in world where last Friday didn’t happen, and then losing consciousness talking to an Uber driver as he raced through downtown São Paulo. I don’t know how I arrived home, but God really does protect drunk people.
On Monday, partly recovered but not fully willing to return to normal life, I went to wait for the bus, as usual, at the stop closest to my home, right where the large mango trees provided plenty of shade. At first, everything seemed reasonably normal, including the fact that I was the only person at the bus stop—as it was really early in the morning. Soon enough, however, I noticed what seemed to be an unreasonably large men walking on the sidewalk in the other side of the street. He seemed a little bit more than 2m tall, but what really surprised me was that he had such a large bulge that I could clearly see it from the other side of the street! I raised my eyebrow a little, confused, swearing that dicks and balls don’t grow that big and it must be some sort of shadow illusion or my mind playing games with me. Once the man had walked far enough that now I could only see his back he did seem like a relatively normal very tall person.
I laughed awkwardly, not knowing what to think.
“Well, I guess I really am an airhead,” I thought to myself, as I looked down the road to finally see my bus coming. I raised my left arm, to give the driver the sign to stop as they got closer to me. They did so, and I entered the bus.
When I paid and passed the turnstile I saw that the seats were all already taken, but, thankfully, the bus was still pretty empty and I was the first one standing, so I decided to make the logical decision of going all the way to the back, in order to stay as close as possible to the exit door. As I walk to the back, the bus is picking up speed, and so I concentrate fully on not falling on my face. I move my backpack from my back to the front, so nobody can take anything without me noticing, and finally stop walking just in front of the exit door—the bus still rushing through the curves in the streets of São Paulo.
I start dazing off a little, until, looking down, the person in the priority seat to my right catches my attention. He is near me, completely filling this one double sit—overflowing it, really. His back is so wide, in fact, that it juts out of the seat, and his muscular leg is also, I now notice, filling half of the aisle between the two rows of seats which I had just crossed. His body can hardly be contained by his clothes, which are blue and white and hug his muscles in an almost indecent way. His balls are nested between his large legs, basically occupying all the space between his seat and the seat in front of him, and they are crowned by a huge cock which hides between the cum-producing orbs, and disappears under the seat, like a wild anaconda.
When I notice him, my brain short-circuits and I suddenly can’t stop looking—I might have even drooled a little. I notice that even sitting down he is about 1.70cm tall, and that his hair is rather long—it dances with the wind coming from the windows as the bus continues covering its route. As I am behind him, if only one seat, I can’t see his face, but—as I am standing—I have a privileged view of his thick pectorals from above: they are like large balloons of hard meat, hardly covered by his t-shirt, and much more competently hidden by thin, dark brown body hair which emits a deep manly aroma.
The bus stops again, and now two people enter: one teenager wearing a school uniform, who ogles the huge man sitting in the priority seat as he comes my way, to the back of the bus; and a short old woman, carrying large plastic bags full of groceries. She crosses the turnstiles with difficulty, and I even forget to step up and help her with her heavy cargo as my mind is too mesmerized by the male specimen to my right of me (which my rationalizing brain convinces me is a product of my imagination). Before I notice, however, the beast of a man is moving, his muscles bulging to lift his body, his legs moving to the side and allowing his height to fully revel itself (almost stretching the ceiling of the bus), and his balls being lifted out of their nest between the seats to be fully visible now, filling all of the aisle and in fact jutting to the sides of the man’s body, to the point of rubbing on the person seated on the seats of the other side of the aisle.
“Ma’am, there’s a seat here,” said the man, whose voice was clear and deep, but also polite, almost apologetic. She thanked him and moved to occupy the priority seat, forcing him to take two steps backwards while the old lady put her large bags where his balls once were, occupying with her frail body a third or a half of the seat the man had more than fully occupied before.
“Thank you,” she said. He replied and then turned around, moving towards me, and started walking towards the back of the bus.
As he did, time seemed to have stopped to me. My mouth became dry and my eyes couldn’t leave his junk, which were now fully exposed to my eyes (albeit thinly veiled). His manly organs bounced up and down as he took each careful step—his clear attempt to minimize the rubbing of his balls on the people seated in the aisle seats mostly failing. His pants did try, but although they covered the man’s genitals, they could hardly be contained by mere mortal cloth. His cock was easily delineated between his balls, and now I could even see its head pointing backwards under his balls and towards his ass, as his clothes forced his male organ to remain glued to his large cum factories.
After a few seconds, when he was close enough to me that I felt continuing to look would be embarrassing, I forced my gaze up to his face, and saw a gentle smile in his handsome visage. I couldn’t continue to look, or my dick—which was already rock hard—would burst out of my pants and jump to bathe in his body.
He, however, came all the way to the back and decided to stay right behind me:
“Excuse me a little,” he said, and I couldn’t even face him, as he tried to pass behind me in the narrow space in the aisle that I was not occupying. He had to turn sideways to do so, but that meant his balls and dick rubbed on my back for what seemed like an eternity, and his thick pecs passed above my head (higher than 190cm!), creating a visible shadow over me. My legs even shook, and before he even passed behind me completely, he lowered his head close to my ear and said: “Thank you,” with his low and alluring voice. I almost came then and there.
“It’s… fine. It’s fine,” I mumble, but I don’t think my voice even makes it past my now dry mouth.
I thought that after that he’d get close to the door and just wait there, out of anyone’s way, as the bus took us wherever we had to go. However, luckily for me, that was not his plan. He stopped right next to me, in front of the exit door but still occupying much of the aisle, and with his large right testicle rubbing on my sides. Despite the wind coming from the bus’s movement, each second he stayed close to me made his smell stronger, more dominating, to the point I felt my dick twitching and releasing some pre in my pants. I shyly looked to my left and up, towards his massive pecs and then his face, which was smiling down at me. I hurriedly looked down, seeing my visible erection, and then the other way completely, trying to get a grip of myself.
As a little time passed, surprisingly, I managed to recover some of my rationality. My dick was rock hard and claiming for attention, but I was completely aware, albeit momentarily, that there was something wrong. Men are not supposed to be this large, handsome and sexy and to smell this good. Their dicks are not supposed to rival a fire hose, not even if they are one in a million. “That’s it,” I thought, “I am getting crazy! Mom did warn me that nothing good could come from living by myself in the capital. I guess I have developed some sort of horny brain cancer due to the pollution or something.”
And then our bus stopped. My heart missed a beat as I feared the handsome man would be getting down, but he didn’t move an inch (and I could feel his every movement, as one of his balls was rubbing on me). I looked towards the front of the bus, then, and noticed three more people entering and coming our way to the back, forcing us to pile up closer together: one was a working-age woman wearing a long dress; the second one was a similarly aged serious-looking man, talking on his phone to other serious-looking people, I assume; and the third an oversized, big-dicked Ubermensch who looked just slightly smaller than the one rubbing his balls on me. Suddenly, I looked around and noticed that I was the only one being freaked out by their presence.
“Excuse me, lady,” I asked the working woman who came to stop right next to me, “do you see that lad next to you?”
She looked at me like I was a moron, and a nuisance.
“Yes?” she replied, with an undecisive tone, and then more aggressively, “why?”
“Does he look… normal to you?” I whispered. She suddenly looked very annoyed.
“More normal than you! Stop pestering people about their size, all right! And leave me alone too,” she replied, turning away and putting on her earphones with extremely loud music—national rock, at least she had a good taste.
“Well, that was an ambiguous answer,” I thought, sighing. Suddenly, someone tapped on my left shoulder, and I looked to the other side.
“Hey,” said the low guttural voice, surprising me again. Now the big brown eyes of the largest human I had ever seen were also piercing me, looking directly into my eyes, “I hope my body isn’t bothering you too much,” he completed, apologetically.
“Oh, no, absolutely, I mean, of course not,” I quickly reply, stumbling on my words. His smile seems to embarrassedly extend a little bit further, in a way that’s weirdly cute and endearing for someone his size.
“I know my body can sometime cause inconveniences to other people. I don’t do it intentionally, but you can tell me if I do it, it’s fine. I prefer that to you keeping it in and hating me for it.”
I laugh a little, before I reply: “It’s okay, we are just two strangers on the bus.”
He laughs too, and our short conversation dies out, but inside I’m screaming at full force because he talked to me and also acknowledged his body, which either means that I’m either completely crazy and need medical treatment now or that this is real. While I am still processing all that’s going on, because it’s just too much to take at once, suddenly the bus breaks, forcing everyone forward, including this large muscleman to my left. At that moment, he almost falls on top of me, his balls basically crashing me to the ground. For a few seconds, my hungry erection is pressing now against his large balls and the shaft of his penis is close to my face. In trying to grab something—anything—one of my hands holds onto a seat and the other one onto the man’s thick masculine anaconda, making him emit a high squeaking sound. In less than a second I make some movements to try to get out of that awkward position, but when notice I’ve actually thrusted my hips up to rub my hard dick on his balls more than once.
“Minha nossa, minha nossa! I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he says not, extending his huge hands in my direction to help me up from under his heavy balls. Almost unwillingly, I let go of the skin of his cock and I take his hand with my left hand. He closes his strong grip and helps me rise. Soon enough I’m standing again, with the whole bus looking towards me, completely red and suddenly aware that I came when his balls were crushing my dick, although my shorts still look dry.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m fine now,” I say, feeling completely flustered, and trying to straighten my shirt and hair. He continues apologizing, with his large muscular frame almost surrounding me as he repeats apologies. After a little while, when I recover myself from feeling inundated with his musk and presence, I look outside and my eyes almost bulge out:
“I… I have to go… it’s my stop now.” And I push the stop button, almost too late, with the bus’s door opening a second later.
I pass between the muscular man and the last seat, aiming directly for the exit door but unable to reach it without rubbing my once again hard dick on his (I soon found out) large muscular glutes. I then turn around and almost jump out of the vehicle, breathing in twice and trying to calm myself down when I suddenly hear a loud step behind me.
The muscleman had also left the bus, and I certainly stared at him with a sufficiently confused face that he felt the need to actually inform me:
“This is also my stop,” and I looked around noticing it was only four people (including the two of us) in that relatively quiet bus stop that early in the morning after our bus departed I looked at him again, and he seemed almost red, a little embarrassed and a little shy. “I think,” he completed, “I am going to USP,” he explained—and I almost fainted before replying.
“Me too. Freshman?”
“Yes. You too?” he replied, with a smile.
“No. I mean, I study there too but I’m a senior,” his eyes shone.
“What field of study, P.E.?” I asked, and as soon as that left my mouth, I felt like punching myself in the face. Thankfully, he seemed to find it funny and laughed at my comment for more than a few seconds.
“Oh,” I say, surprised. “Me too,” I complete, this time almost silently. He clapped once and then turned around 360 degrees out of sheer excitement.
“No way! So I am your freshman!” he exclaimed, enthusiastically. For some reason seeing his muscles contract and then relax, his balls going up and down, all of that was making me really flustered again. “I was very luck meeting you back in the bus! I don’t really know my way around the campus.”
“I guess… I can take you there.”
“The first week is mostly for introductions and hazing, although now we tend to do it in a more socially responsible way than back in the days, you know? Asking students to levy funds for parties and having games, rather than the humiliating stuff of the past,” I explain to Eduardo, my new uberfreshman, as we walked the relatively deserted way from my faraway bus stop to the main Economics building.
“Oh yes,” he said, excited, “I hear they do lots of stuff to include both sizetypical and sizedivergent folks,” he completed, and my eyebrows certainly frowned at the terms he was using, but I didn’t ask anything, I just made a mental note to look it up online on later when I was alone.
“Oh, yes, we have… many such activities,” I answered, looking to the other side, trying to avoid his large muscular frame and his bouncing sexual organs, as my own male member towered in my paints and asked for attention.
As we entered the campus, I saw a multitude of students. It being so early in the first day of classes (at least officially, in practice it was mostly welcoming activities for freshmen), I knew most were either freshmen, like Eduardo, or seniors in the welcoming commissions of their courses, like me. I tried not to look incredibly freaked out and horned up when I noticed that about 10% of the students were much larger than the people I was used to, ranging from about 2m tall up to (a selected few) larger even than Eduardo—although he did seem to be closer to the top decile of larger males I could see in my fast scan of the students of Engineering and Medicine, as we passed through their buildings. A bit more surprisingly, I noticed their sexual organs also came in incredibly diverse sizes, and in that arena Eduardo also seemed rather privileged.
After five minutes walking around the campus and talking to Eduardo—who seemed rather nice and normal other than being more around 3 meters tall and having balls the size of two bean bag chairs—it was obvious to me that, somehow, the reality I lived in had changed over the weekend—this new one was a lot like the one I was used to, but with a few small (sometimes, as Eduardo himself, very large) differences. Because I was tired and horny, I decided to control my instinct of completely freaking out immediately after I noticed that, and decided to keep calm and carry on while planning to do some researching about it later on. For now I had to keep up this conversation, to seem like I didn’t just want to jump on this giant of a man, and then after that I’d have to meet Hugo, who was heading the Welcoming Committee—the whole reason I had to arrive so early at university today. Only after that, and after all our welcoming activities—hopefully around lunch—I’d have enough alone time to calm my raging boner and google about this freak world in which I had awaken.
“So, do you know any?” Eduardo’s deep, enticing voice asks me, getting my attention to once again move to his handsome face. His body was definitely something else entirely, but this lad was perfect in every sense, from his thick lips to his nice green eyes and dark blond hair.
I caught myself not knowing what he was talking about, and shily needing to ask for him to repeat himself. My only consolation was thinking this man was probably used to people daydreaming around him.
“I was just asking you if there are places for sizedivergent folks like me to take care of their needs in the campus,” he said, and looked at me waiting for a reply. I opened my mouth once, and then closed it, and did that twice more before replying.
“I don’t really know, you know. I’m old here but I feel like there’s a lot going on I don’t know about these days. I never heard of places like that, for instance. I’ll have to ask Hugo,” I admit, half to myself—acknowledging how much this new reality was actually new to me -, but mostly to him. His face frowned and somehow, he seemed disappointed.
“Who is Hugo?” he asks.
“He’s the president of the Student Council… last time I checked,” I reply. A silence falls sober between us for a second, and although he is huge and I can feel the heat emanating from his body due to how close together we were, suddenly it felt cold, awkward, and like we were actually far apart. Until he raised his voice:
“I hope you don’t mind asking…” he says, asking for permission. I nod, as to allow him to continue, “but are you not at all interested in sizedivergent people?”
I smile but inside my head I’m rushing through any thoughts over how to respond to this question. Is this flirtation, or is he worried I might be prejudiced against him because of what happened in the bus? I don’t even know anything about sizedivergence, for God’s sake! How can I reply to that question!? It must have taken me a while to say something and I must have looked weird while thinking because soon he apologizes for the question.
“No, it’s okay,” I say, slowly. “I am interested in sizedivergent people, I just don’t know much about your folks,” I complete, feeling comfortable because that’s definitely true, and my hard cock definitely agrees with my brain on that one.
He smiles and emits a loud laugh.
“That’s new to me! Someone who doesn’t know much about sizedivergence? Have you never had any sizedivergent friends, lovers?” he asks.
“Until recently, not really,” I reply, cryptically. He seems amused, “But these days I’ve noticed more and more people around me are sizedivergent.”
“I see,” he replied. “I hope I can be one of these people too,” he completes, a bit embarrassed, and I’m trembling as I hear his words. I don’t really respond with anything very coherent, but maybe something along the lines of “upperclassman urrr urrrr we are all in this together.”
Eventually we arrived in the building of the Faculty of Business, Economics and Accounting. There I saw Caio, one of the members of the Welcoming Committee (who remained the same, apparently), who told us that the other members of the Welcoming Committee getting some stuff ready in the Student Council’s room, while the freshmen were being instructed to wait in the main lecture hall for a while. Thusly, Eduardo and I parted ways then, with Caio pointing him to where the main lecture hall was. I went to meet my old colleagues, whom I hoped (or at least pretended to hope, anyways) continued similar to how I remembered them to be. Nonetheless, I prepared myself for any surprises, which ended up being very useful a few moments later.
I used this time to go to the bathroom and clean myself from the earlier cum in the bus—which had mostly dried out and so, although it was annoying to clean, I think I did a competent enough work getting rid of it. As I walked across the building, however, I also noticed the larger size of door frames and the higher ceiling around me in comparison to what I remembered from last semester. Thinking back, even the urban bus I took early today was larger than they used to be. As that realization dawned on me, I noticed I started to stroke my cock, filled with low-key excitement, until I had enough willpower to stop.
“Are you crazy, Augusto?! You aren’t a dog, you’ve already cum today, leave your dick alone,” I thought to myself, and then went to wash my hand and find my way to the Student Council’s room.
The members of the WelCo (Welcoming Committee), other than me, were six: Gabriela, Mariana, Luísa, Mateus, Caio and Hugo. I knew Caio was still the same, and I guessed most of the other members probably hadn’t changed either, but one or two might have. As I prepared to open the door of the Student Council’s room, I heard voices talking inside—most seemed normal, but there was at least one much deeper voice which I couldn’t identify because of the walls and bad acoustics. I grabbed the doorhandle and then I held my breath for a moment, finally mentally preparing myself for pushing the door wide open.
And there they were, Mateus and Hugo on each side of the wide wooden table that dominated the Student Council’s room, with the girls between them on the other side of the table from the door and with the large windows behind them. The sun shone on their skins, making them look like they came from another planet. The women were carrying loads of buckets and the two men had 5 large blue 200 liters tanks. It was the two large men who took most of the space, however, framing the whole room with their immense bodies, like two immense pillars of muscle on the sides of a renaissance door, one of white ivory and the other one of black ebony.
Their massive bodies were covered by strained t-shirts with the colors of our Student Council—blue, yellow, gray and white—with a drawing of Mercury’s head inside a gear in the center—the logo of our Student Council. Their pectorals stretched the cloth so much that Mercury’s head was wide like an elastic, and the usually circular gear looked more like an elongated ellipse. My eyes absorbed their image in a millisecond, the sun behind them helping to burn it deeply in my retina. At lightning speed my eyes moved down, bathing in the allure of their large muscles, arms and abs, to meet their obscene bulges. There, Mateus and Hugo were most different.
Mateus’s bulge jutted forward from his frame, with his massive balls (larger than the buckets they were carrying) pressuring against the heavy table in front of him. It looked like a tight fit, but he didn’t seem to mind much, as his junk was probably used to a world that was a bit too small for its convenience. His dick was not settled on top of his nuts—on the contrary, he had laid it to the right, and therefore it was coincidentally 100% visible from my position at the door: it was about as wide as a melon and as long as a normal large men’s arm, and I could see a small stain near the head, probably due to his male liquids being pumped from his untiring nuts.
On the other side of the table, Hugo had him beat. I remember that even before this change Hugo made me weak on my knees, but now his body had taken it to a whole different level. He seemed taller than 3m, which made him the largest guy I had seen today by a fair margin. His bulge was also proportional to his large size: instead of hanging between the table and the floor, Hugo had comfortably put his orbs to rest on top of the large wooden furniture. They were each so large that from there they reached up above his pecs, and there was no way they could ever fit between his massive frame and the heavy table that dominated the room. If the cum-manufacturers of Mateus’s were better compared to one of the large buckets my colleagues carried, the industrial-scale orbs that Hugo possessed were closer to filling one of the 200 liters tanks they had with them.
And that’s before my eyes could even see his cock. Calling it an anaconda wouldn’t make it justice, when I realized that Hugo’s member was almost a third leg—one comparable to the two other wide muscular ones he had supporting his body. It rested lazily on his balls, but in its own independent fabric container, allowing the flesh tube to move independently, almost as if it had a mind of its own. It was not at attention, laying down so long and looming so large that it stretched on top of Hugo’s balls all the way to the tabletop, and then a bit more, almost a quarter of the way to the other side of the table—covering maybe a whole meter, give or take a few centimeters.
When I entered, everyone’s attention was on me, and I quickly tried to get control over the situation.
“Oh, hey everyone. Sorry that I’m late,” I say, stumbling on my words, my head mostly focusing half on my cock and only half on what I was saying. I was, myself, still hard, but seeing my colleagues my organ twitched, and probably started oozing some pre. I also felt a sting on my ass, as if asking to also be taken into consideration.
Mateus smiled at me.
“Long time no see, dude. I was starting to worry you wouldn’t arrive here on time, and we couldn’t get in touch with you since Friday,” he said, referring to the recent incident and making me turn completely red on the spot (as if his own physique wasn’t enough for that). He referred to it in such a nonchalant fashion though, that I had to look the other way, which meant my eyes were now fully on Hugo’s divine face. My dick was already completely hard, but I was starting to pray that I wouldn’t just cum on the spot.
“Hey, Augusto, get some of the buckets to help the girls. Mateus and I will carry the tanks,” said Hugo, and then I came back to my mind, laughing awkwardly and moving forwards to receive over the table of the buckets that the girls were carrying. I didn’t even try to go around the table, recognizing that that space was already over occupied by the two massive hunks on either side of the room.
“Sure, dude. But what are we going to use those for?” I asked. Mateus smiled a little.
“The same as usual, a game in order to include our sizedivergent freshmen as well,” Mateus said, before completing with a smile full of mischief: “Did you forget we had that in our freshmen year too?” Even as he said it, I still couldn’t look directly at him, and I do have to admit my eyes also didn’t want to leave Hugo’s flesh tube which moved the ever so slightly over his balls to the turn of his breathe.
“Oh, I don’t think I took part in that,” I replied, kind of aloof, looking to Hugo’s balls, which were making all those wonderful natural movements balls make when adapting to their environment.
“I am pretty sure you did,” responded Hugo, his articulation moving his balls and cock further, and his soft voice making my gaze move up to his eyes and handsome face—the one thing I’d miss from how things were before if it had changed. “I remember your hand went so deep in my cock you almost made me cum,” he completed, and my eyes went wide while I turned pale of embarrassed.
“Are you saying you forgot that?” Mateus said, laughing. I didn’t know what to reply or where to look.
“Guys,” Gabriela thankfully interrupted us, looking up from her phone. “Caio is waiting for us, let’s just take the material to front garden and prepare for the main activities.”
“Sure,” I hurriedly replied, and almost left the room carrying a dozen or so of the buckets, before I was called back by a voice: it was Hugo.
“Dude, you are forgetting the balls,” he alerted me, and I almost replied “no, I’m not,” because there’s no way I could forget his balls anymore, their image was carved out in my mind forever. But thankfully I managed to dodge that bullet and just stop in my way and ask:
“What balls?” He laughed, I turned around.
“These,” said Mateus, showing me another bucket filled with what looked like a bunch of fist-sized black metal balls. “The ones you’ll have to push as deep as possible our sizedivergent freshmen’s cocks for the second game.” I couldn’t even fully assimilate what he was saying, so I just grabbed the bucket and shyly said:
“Oh, yeah, those balls.”
“Were you thinking of something else?” Hugo asked, laughing.
“You really seem aloof today, did something happen?” Mariana noted. I just nodded.
“Do you need some help, we can get you some medicine…” Luísa intervened, probably seeing my completely paled complexion. I shook my head.
“It’s fine, I will see you guys in the lecture hall,” I managed to say, before my fight-or-flight response kicked off and I left the room completely. Of course, that meant I couldn’t see how Mateus and Hugo managed to move their bodies out of their… tight spot. But something told me I’d have plenty of opportunity to appreciate their new physic later on. As I hurriedly left them behind, though, I do remember hearing someone (and I think it was Hugo) saying:
“I hope he is fine, I was about to offer him some milk ‘directly from the source’, but it seems he is kind of uncomfortable today.” I started sweating due to both anxiety and expectation thinking of what he meant. I just knew for certain that I’d have to give another visit to the toilet before I went to meet our young freshmen.
Eduardo went to the main lecture hall to meet the other freshmen of his course. Caio, the senior he had seen before, arrived a few minutes later with two professors and they had a few words of advice for them. After about an hour, the professors left and Caio moderated a short debate on expectations and the reality of going to university at USP and studying economics more specifically. That’s when the other members of the Welcoming Committee arrived, joining the debate and telling everyone they had prepared a few other activities for the rest of the morning—but that those would happen outside. There was also a short explanation of what those activities were, and reassurances that participation was 100% voluntary.
Eduardo had sat in the backrows of the large lecture hall, as it was usual for large man like him in order not to obstruct everyone else’s view. That meant he sat between the isle and another sizedivergent man, although one who seemed shorter and less buff than he was. Eduardo tried to pay full attention to what the members of the Student Committee were saying, but he had been horny since his encounter with Augusto in the bus and hadn’t found an opportunity to alleviate his needs since he left home, almost three hours before. Now, he was also tortured with having to sit in a line with eight other large muscular man, while looking down on several cute freshmen, and particularly the two obscenely large senior classmen who were in the Student Council’s Welcoming Committee, alongside the handsome sizetypical dude he had met on the bus before.
“Stop thinking about him, already, you idiot!” he chastised himself, as he felt his dick trembling around his balls. He shouldn’t have an erection now or his team would be at a disadvantage in the game later on. He couldn’t avoid getting wet, however, as he looked down at those two hunky upperclassmen, especially the largest one who seemed more than 3 meters tall, and whose dick had its own leg in his pants!
“I imagine he is close to Augusto, as they are standing next to each other,” he thought to himself. “… hmmm… imagine him between me and that other guy, our two cocks rubbing on each other and Augusto in the middle, trying to compete with our dicks and stretching himself to reach my mouth with his… No! Don’t imagine it!” he continued, his dick starting to drip and then rain precum on the wooden floor below him. He sighed—he needed to take care of his horniness soon, or he would explode and literally paint his colleagues white. Which, if nothing else, would be a waste.
“It’s hard, isn’t it dude? I’m almost exploding here,” said his colleague sitting right next to him—a large muscular monster in any situation, except maybe in comparison to himself and that large upperclassman in the Student Council. He was moving his large right hand on top of his balls now, and slowly caressing his dick, which was resting on top of them, covered by some thin fabric.
“Yeah, hmmm. I didn’t want to wet my clothes before the game or waste any fluid,” responded Eduardo, still trying to contain his instincts.
“Sure,” the other freshman agreed, now adjusting his large package which, although uncapable of filling the equivalent area to two seats on top of his lap that Eduardo’s balls filled, were larger than a 20l gallon of water. “Did you see that Luísa of the Student Committee? Her tits look like they are as big my head,” he completed, then adjusting his cock, which was getting a visible semi and oozing some clear liquid.
“I didn’t, actually,” Eduardo confessed, now looking at the three girls in the Student Committee and noticing that one of them was also sizedivergent. As expected, that made little to no difference to him.
“Oh? So, you are not into large girls?” he asked, a bit cheeky. Eduardo shrugged.
“Large guys?” he asked with a smile, also flexing his right hand which caressed his dick a little bit—or so it seemed to Eduardo. He received no response other than a long glance towards the large muscular student who was now giving some tips on how to avoid the worst professors, who had previously introduced himself as Hugo. “I see, then you are in for a tough ride as well. We all think we are the big fish in our ponds until we get to college.”
Eduardo frowned a little and looked at his colleague.
“Really?” he asked, trying to flex his lower muscles to prevent his dick from continuing to elongate as he imagined Augusto, him and the large senior dude making out. It didn’t do enough and he had to readjust his balls and legs a little to further their comfort.
“I don’t know,” his colleague laughed, “it’s what my brother told me!” he completed, and then he extended his right hand to Eduardo: “Nice to meet you, by the way. The name is Paulo.”
“Eduardo,” he said, shaking his colleague’s hand.
“You have a strong grip, although you seem like a rather chill dude,” Paulo said, after he pulled his hand back. Eduardo only laughed.
After team Hayek had won the first competition (which was basically a modified version of tag), all the students were outdoors, preparing for the second game in the large lawn in front of the Faculty’s building. This second activity organized each one of the two teams in 5 groups of four—each group consisting of one sizedivergent male and seven other teammates of both genders. Because the freshmen class only had eight sizedivergent males, Mateus and Hugo agreed to complete the numbers necessary to form ten teams, with one entering team Hayek and another one joining the opposing team Marx. They undressed and lined up twenty-five meters away from 200l blue tanks that the Student Committee had brough, in the main large open lawn; around them the other 70 freshmen and 5 members of the WelCo were gathered, talking enthusiastically.
The sight alone was impressive: a line of naked, hugely endowed and muscular prime specimens of the male gender, each larger than the next. The smallest of them was about 2,3 meters tall, and had balls the size of jackfruits; the larger ones, undoubtedly Eduardo (team Hayek) and Hugo (team Marx), were clearly over 3 meters tall each, and had cocks which were touching the floor at rest, and balls which would look oversized even next to tractor tires. They were also all fantastically muscular, with a particularly privileged underclassmen having a hard time removing his clothes due to the movement restrictions caused by his oversized pecs and arms—luckily, his upperclassman Augusto was willing to help him undress without further issues. That led to a small internalized feeling of envy from Eduardo, who for once in his life wondered whether it would be beneficial to have even larger muscles.
Around them, all other underclassmen waited: about half of them were women, about half a dozen of which were sizedivergent. The other 40 or so were sizetypical men, who were sweaty because of the previous game where they had to run around a lot, and at least five of whom had removed their shirts due to the heat, showing their boastful young bodies. They were all, regardless of gender, paying almost full attention to the sight in front of them—a roll of large muscleman standing at attention, expecting instructions.
There was for a second of sober silence before Luisa, from the WelCo, explained the rules of the next game: the groups were to retrieve the iron balls, and the team which had all its groups retrieve balls sooner would win; the only major rule was that each one of the groups formed by subdividing the teams could only touch their own members—all the rest was “fair game.”
The rules having been explained, Augusto was pushed by his colleagues to set up the game: “We need one person so the arm length is consistent”—they had said. “You agreed to it a month back, when we were planning it”—they argued. And so, he accepted he’d have to do it, since he didn’t want to start an argument in front of his underclassmen. He quickly moved to fulfil his role, not without a large amount of embarrassment and an even larger sum of horniness. Carrying a bucket full of fist-sized cold metal balls he squatted in front of the cock of the first person in the line of exceptional male bodies ahead of him: his friend Hugo. The large, muscular example of condensed masculinity, Hugo.
Hugo smiled at Augusto, and he sighed. Augusto had been tempted by his mate’s body and face even before it had transformed beyond human standards, but now it was impossible to even approach him without getting hard. In complete contrast to Augusto’s hidden cock, Hugo’s dick seemed unfazed by Augusto’s and everyone else’s gaze, lazily spreading over his large balls and the ground bellow, like it owned their attention.
Trying to focus on his duty, Augusto took one of the iron balls in his right hand, and held it with his fist—it was cold, unlike the large sexual tube in front of him. Then he held his breath, took the head of his friend’s cock with his left hand and—as his dick shook in excitement—buried his right fist past his friend’s foreskin into his humongous one-eyed anaconda. The anaconda seemed unfazed by the intruder, as its sheer mass exerted pressure on it from every side.
Almost immediately it felt warm and moist, and while the meaty flesh pressed against Augusto’s hand and arm generating an almost cozy feeling, he noticed the urethra of his colleague was surprisingly more than large and flexible enough to accommodate his arm. “Maybe I could get my whole body inside…” he thought for a second, before pushing the thought away from his mind. Slowly, Augusto buried his arm deeper and deeper inside the seemingly endless flesh tube, slowing his speed as he reached farther and farther in, like a cautious explorer—until his elbow was buried in the large floppy cock, which now leaked pre copiously on Augusto’s clothes.
“Go deeper,” said Hugo, with a low solid voice, apparently undisturbed by Augusto’s arm half buried in his cock. All the more than 100 eyes of their colleagues were on them and, suddenly, Augusto remembered he’d have to do this very same thing nine other times before the underclassmen could play the game—so he had to do it fast, he decided.
In a swift movement, he buried his arms to the shoulders in his friend’s cock, causing him to hum ever so softly. Now Augusto’s clothes were definitely getting soaked in Hugo’s sticky precum, which was bountiful like the waters of the Amazon. He turned his arm around about 90 degrees inside his friend’s warm flesh, making him emit a loud grunt and a much less noticeable moan. Finally, he let go of that iron ball, deeply nested in his friend’s cock, kept in place by the walls of meat of his penis, but still small enough that precum could flow bountifully around it down the organ. Although Augusto could have gone much deeper, had he a longer arm, he still felt a little powerful exploring deep into Hugo’s penis. In another swift movement, he removed his now wet arm from Hugo’s appendage, stood up, moved to the next man in line, and, grabbing another iron ball in his hands, quickly buried his arm in his underclassman’s cock.
It was another large cock, Augusto thought, although his precum smelled different from Hugo’s, more bitter and, of course, less plentiful. As his arm travelled deeper inside the large man’s organ, the cock’s owner grunted a little and his male liquids inundated his urethra. Apparently less used to this sort of attention than Hugo’s cock, this one was becoming a bit heavier, a bit longer, and also a bit harder, as Augusto’s shoulders meet the cock’s eye. When he left the iron ball, impossibly deep inside the new student’s penis, Augusto felt confident enough to make a snarky comment, for some reason:
“Now hold it there tight,” he ordered, with an ironic but appealing smile, and his underclassman bulged with tension, making his semi-hard cock throb up a little. That movement from the large organ forced Augusto’s arm to move up too, making him to stand up and almost fall with his face on the underclassman’s wet cockhead.
The next cock was a bit smaller, maybe a little more than a meter long soft, and its owner was a far less muscular but healthy 2.5 meters tall angry-looking, brown-eyed and dark-brown-skinned man. He eyed the underclassmen and thought to himself, almost as a challenge: “If I try, maybe I can push this ball almost all the base of his cock.” Almost without noticing, he smiled with this thought, which surprisingly led to his angry-looking underclassman to visibly relax.
For some reason, Augusto caressed the lad’s balls a little before pushing his way in through his cock’s mouth, suddenly like a Soviet missile. Acting so suddenly led the lad to gasp, as his cock was not as wide as the two Augusto had handled before, and so the senior student’s rather muscular arm generated strong jolts caused by electric pulses in the impressive freshman’s body. Augusto liked the sense of control he had over this large muscleman, until he felt the pressure on his arm increase as the flesh walls around it thickened, and the length of the cock-cave also increased.
Losing his mind, the freshman pushed his hips forwards once, and then a second time—effectively fucking his upperclassman’s arm, albeit only for a second. When he noticed what he was doing by instinct, he blushed.
“I’m sorry, dude. I lost my mind for a second there,” he said to an Augusto who had been completely caught by surprise, but whose arm was now also buried exactly as deep into the lad’s cock as it had to, anyway. So he simply left the ball there and pulled, causing the underclassman to jolt again in pleasure, and responding: “It’s okay, I guess.”
In less than two minutes, as if he had a lot of experience burring his body parts in the large dick of his colleagues, Augusto had nested all of the iron balls in his pals’ long cocks, except for the last two: Mateus’s and, the largest one in team Hayek, Eduardo’s.
He grabbed another one of the iron balls and, after being so focused on the mission at hand in the last 6 attempts, he looked towards the face of his next two “victims.” Mateus seemed a little bored, like he thought little of having a man push his arm deep into his hugeness; Eduardo, on the other hand, seemed a little flustered and in fact looked away when he noticed Augusto’s eyes travelling towards him. Eduardo was also more than half hard already, which meant his dick was looking bigger even than Hugo’s at that point in time, and in fact the fat red head was resting solidly in the ground while sending out so much precum that a large puddle had already formed in the green grass where it was laying—the wet grass now sticking to the large flesh mushroom, emanating a smell that reminded Augusto of an early spring morning in a fishing harbor, as the fishermen went to sea; salty, wet plants, with a surrounding strong masculine stench.
With the cold iron ball in his hand, Augusto kneeled in front of Mateus’s cock and balls. They were not as large as Eduardo’s or Hugo’s, and as such Mateus’s balls didn’t lay resting on the floor, and his cock—which remained completely soft and mostly dry—didn’t reach lower than his knees (including, of course, the extra length of having to bulge around his cum-makers).
His penis was tightly wrapped by his foreskin, like a birthday present. Augusto used his left hand to pull back the skin, revealing a strong-scented pointy head. The musk was so strong that Augusto actually breathed deeply once, with the masculine odor filling his lungs and mouth, leaving his tongue wanting to feel more of it directly. As he thought about it, a voice called down to him:
“It feels kind of cold now,” said Mateus, laughing, with his cockhead uncovered now feeling directly all gusts of wind, including those caused by Augusto’s breath.
That offhanded comment brought Augusto back to reality, and he started pushing his right hand (which held the sizeable iron ball), inside his WelCo colleague’s cock. Luckily, his hand (and indeed most of his body) was already more than sufficiently lubricated by the precum of eight other deliciously large-cocked men, but still Augusto felt that Mateus’s cock was tighter and less welcoming than the other cocks he had ventured into in that eventful morning. Nonetheless, he continued, pushing into all the way to his elbow.
By that point, Mateus started to moan a little more loudly, so that even Augusto could hear him. As his cock was invaded by that foreign arm holding a cold iron ball, Mateus felt his will vanishing and his cock lengthening, and then gaining poise—slowly but surely becoming harder and harder, until Augusto couldn’t avoid but distance himself a little from his mate’s balls, as his cock had become basically semi-hard and was no longer bent as easily as before. Surprised by this development, since Mateus seemed so collected and the other students had managed to mostly keep their hardons mostly at bay, Augusto looked up to his friend, while his arm was still halfway into his cock.
What he saw was a red face, a mouth slightly open pushing air in and out of his lungs, and his eyes closed. He was so incredibly obviously enjoying it that Augusto wanted to actually play a little longer. But, as they were being observed by 70-odd other people, Augusto had no time to do anything with that information then.
He simple pushed his arm further in, which had three consequences: one, Mateus moaned loudly in guilty pleasure; second, his cock started releasing precum like a fountain, adding to Augusto’s wetness; and thirdly, it finally caused Mateus’s dick to swallow, forcing Augusto to stand up with his arm deeply buried in his friend’s now rising cock. As soon as that happened, he released the iron ball deep inside his friend’s cock and pulled his arm all the way out, making him moan again—this time his dick rising fully at attention, in accord with Mateus’s guttural calls.
Rising with the force of a rocket, Mateus’s cock hit his meaty pecs, making them bounce like drums, and making his precum splash all around—including on Augusto’s hair and face, and a little even in Mateus’s lip. That last bit of messiness was quickly cleaned by the large man’s voluptuous tongue, almost involuntarily. Even after being comfortably nested just below the large man’s neck, his snake continued spitting precum all over his body, making Mateus’s pectorals and abs start to shine under the morning sun like an Olympian flag carrier.
Surprised by what he was seeing, Augusto’s dick remained at full attention and was now even hurting him. The only comfort he had was that the mess that his own fluids made under his pants was completely overshadowed by the precum bath he was taking from his underclassmen and colleagues. Overall, the last few minutes had been a Via Crucis of temptations to him, both painful and delightful. Now, more than ever before in his life, he just wanted to touch himself and let his fluids run wild, the blood in his veins and his cum out of his cock. Yet, there was a last ball to place. Remembering that, while all other people present still looked at Mateus’s dick throbbing and spitting clear honey close to his mouth (oh, so temptingly close), Augusto looked towards Eduardo. And Eduardo looked back at him.
Augusto took the last iron ball in his hand and dragged his thumb over it, as if he were caressing or cleaning the cold metal sphere.
“Please be quick,” Eduardo said, a bit flustered, clearly afraid of embarrassing himself in front of everybody in his first day. Although sizedivergent people like him were not expected to be modest and mores were very different for them than they were for other folks—and Eduardo was definitely not ashamed of his body -, there was fear in physically showing that which was metaphysical.
Augusto nodded. Again, he kneeled in front of a huge man with a large pair of balls, although this time both his dick and his stomach felt a bit off, a bit nervous, as if somehow he could fail Eduardo in this. He carefully took Eduardo’s huge, wide hose of a cock from the floor where it rested in a puddle of precum which slowly flowered from the lad’s cockhead. Doing that, he noticed how heave the flesh tube was, although most of its weight was still being supported by the lad’s large cum orbs. Using his left hand Augusto then pushed Eduardo’s foreskin all the way to the back of his oversized spearhead, revealing a large and growing red and hungry cockhole. As precum increasingly flowed out of it, it was like it asked to be impaled by Augusto’s arm.
Augusto was surprised by Eduardo’s growing cock, which now forced everyone around to recognize its place as second only to Hugo’s amongst those ten naked supermen, maybe even larger than that when comparing hard sizes. In trying to fulfill Eduardo’s express desire, and his cockeye’s mute one, Augusto quickly pushed his way in, all the way to the shoulder. Soon, he was fighting against a true current of precum which was so great that it was completely covering his body and even his hair was now sticky and wet. The amount of pre coming out of the lad’s cock was indeed so great that it was bathing all of Augusto’s body bellow his shoulder, completely overwhelming and almost washing over the precum of all other participants which had covered him.
“Try not to cum, or it will be harder in the next game,” warned Mateus, who was standing right next to Eduardo, but his voice was barely heard by the giant whose attention was completely centered on containing his moans.
“Quick, please, please, quick,” he just repeated slowly, but loud enough for Augusto to hear it.
As such, mercifully, before Eduardo’s dick completely hardened, Augusto removed his arm and stood up.
“There, it’s all prepared!” he announced to the crowd, and the freshmen ran towards the ubermensch of each of their respective groups.
“Wait for my call to start!” screamed Luísa, meanwhile. Some students who didn’t want to participate also went to talk to other members of the WelCo, but their numbers were not overly high as to disrupt the game, as even those who didn’t have much experience with sizedivergent culture were definitely very curious about it.
Augusto, while this happened, was a bit tired from all of this cave exploring, physically, emotionally and even psychologically. It was like this event was about toying with his sexuality and self-control, and it was tiring to deal with his desire, confusion and also the lack of knowledge about how to behave in this situation. It was like all this had been designed by some drunk desire of his, and now his sober self had to live through this part curse, part blessing. In a way it felt like being in the closet all over again. He was so tired that he almost didn’t hear Eduardo call him, as soon as he stood up and moved to join his fellow WelCo members.
Because Augusto didn’t hear Eduardo call him, he was going to leave to the back, to join the other members of the WelCo who weren’t partaking in the game. But Eduardo didn’t want to lose him just yet, and so he lifted his powerful arm and held his upperclassman’s shoulder, making Augusto’s impulse forward lead in fact to a 180-degree turn which caused them to face each other once again.
“Thanks for being quick,” he said, and Augusto just nodded. “I hope we can talk after the game again,” Eduardo completed. Augusto smiled a little, his cock suddenly throbbing (probably because his eyes were once again bashing on Eduardo’s incredible body, his olive skin hardly containing his thick muscles which seemed tense with angst as he talked to Augusto).
“Of course. You’ll probably be seeing all of us from the Welcoming Committee a lot this first week,” he responded, trying to contain his desire to say something a lot more capricious, but also too tired to think of something less impersonal.
“Oh, yeah, of course. That’s great, yeah, that’s nice of y’all,” said Eduardo, a little saddened and immediately releasing Augusto from his strong hand’s grip. Augusto didn’t really notice his colleague’s expression, though, because as soon as he was released by Eduardo’s large hand he just turned the other way and went away, hiding his completely hard dick from the view of the younger man.
As he walked away, Augusto’s cockhead brushed into his precum-moistened pants with every step, enticing him even more. An image crossed his mind: his and Eduardo’s cum mixing, if only in his own clothing. Thankfully he had his back to the younger lad when he thought that, his dick throbbing visibly under his clothes, and his face getting a little blushed.
At this very same time, Eduardo’s team members got around him, and a second later Luísa screamed: “Everyone ready? Start… now!” and dozens of pairs of hands started using different strategies to remove the small deeply nested iron balls from their deep flesh prisons as fast as possible. It was quite a sight, and indeed there was a small crowd of students of other courses and even passers-by which was gathering around the game, to watch the amusing and enticing competition.
A few seconds later, when Augusto joined his fellow WelCo members a few meters apart from the main action, he noticed they were all observing the incredibly sexy game, except Mariana, who looked at him.
“Is something the matter?” he asked her, feeling a bit fazed by her gaze. She shrugged.
“No, it’s just that you really seem weird today. I don’t know what it is, if you are just as infatuated with this freshman as he seems to be with you, or what, but you are acting different, like you don’t know how to act around us anymore,” she said, before adding: “If you have anything going on you know you can count on us, right?” He nodded.
“Of course, thanks…” and before he could complete his sentence his cellphone rang. Luckly it was on the pocket on the side of him that had been less completely covered in cum.
Augusto took his phone out of his pocket and took a look at it: he had missed a WhatsApp call from someone called Carlos uber/warlock. When he opened his phone he noticed he had also received seven messages from this very same number on this WhatsApp since Sunday night. The first one read: “It’s me, Carlos,” and it was from Friday night, probably to record his number in my phone and vice-versa. The others were: “Dude, what you have done is wild! Are you sure you want to change so much at once?” then, a few hours later “Well, I guess giving it a try won’t hurt. Still, call me before you make any more changes, all right? I want to explain you a bit more about the app,” “Is everything all right?” “I can’t believe you also changed regular life so much! You won’t believe me if I tell you how many times I had to wash my car today!” “I like this new paradigm, but let’s be more conservative next time, all right? Please answer me asap,” and finally, just a few hours before, “I’ll try to call as soon as I’m free, please answer!”
Reading this a bit of Augusto’s Uber drive home last Friday night flashed on his mind, and his eyes bulged in surprise and left-over embarrassment—especially when he remembered vomiting out of the car’s door. On the other hand, his brain also worked at 1000 km/h, jumping between different hypothesis that linked the (partial) memories he had of that Uber ride and his current situation.
“Damn,” he said, and then looked towards Mariana, “Uh… I have to make a call, excuse me for a second.” She nodded, a bit worried, but then simply moved her attention to the groups trying to masturbate or dig into the large increasingly hard cocks in front of her. A great wall of men, is the image that came to her mind. She had never been to China, but doubted their overview was as appealing to the eye as this one.
Meanwhile, Augusto went back into the building and called Carlos, the warlock-slash-Uber driver.
My personal phone rang, and at the same immediate time I got a new ride a few minutes away in my professional phone. I accepted both without looking well at either, and replied to the call using the car’s smart system:
“Hello, Carlos here. Who is it over there?” I ask, as I also start the car, to go pick up the new costumer.
“Huh, hmm, it’s me. The dude from the uber ride… I mean, it’s Augusto, the dude you’ve been texting and who didn’t pick up when you called. Sorry by the way,” he said, and I immediately remembered him from when he almost vomited in my car. The image of that which appeared in my mind was half disgusting, and half endearing.
“Duuuude, do you have any idea how complicated it has been to get a hold of you?” I complained, with an amused tone. “It’s almost like you have been ignoring me these last two days,” I complete, half aware we hardly know each other, and half serious because of the seriousness of the situation in which we found ourselves.
“Sorry?” he replied, kind of apologetically, “I have been offline this weekend, after what happened on Friday. Speaking of which remember all that much from that night, so I don’t think I fully realize what is going on either that can be so important.” While hearing that I almost laugh.
“Are you seriously telling me you did not notice all the huge hunks you created thanks to my app?” I ask, and receive no reply from the other side. I frown a little, wondering for a second. “I mean, you did that after you were already sober, right? You’d not mess up with my magical app while drunk, would you?” I asked, half making fun and half actually concerned, as I drove the car across a corner and into a major avenue.
“Oh. Sorry, not really. I mean, yes, I was drunk when I used it, I think. Actually, I don’t remember having used it, but I guess I did? I also don’t think I have really read up the instructions either so it’d be great if you gave me an update on that front too,” he said, and I sighed, suddenly overtaking another car on the road.
As I listened to him my blood started to boil a little, and I hardened my grip on the steering wheel out of sheer rage. “How can anyone be this inconsequential?!” I thought to myself. But then I breathed in and out and recovered self-control. A part of this was on me too, I guess, as I had given him the app without that many instructions and he was, after all, drunk. Drunk people are famous for having no or very little sense of consequence, “and that’s not his fault,” I told myself. Also, this situation was not that playing out in a bad way for me either, and I could get a hold of it. I just had to disable the app when I had time until we had a deeper and more serious talk about its usage. When I got back home, of course, I’d also redesign it so it couldn’t knock me off for a weekend like it had this once. Satisfied with these decisions, I smiled a little to myself, lifted my right hand and held it open to the side. A water bottle appeared in my grasp, already open, and I had a sip. Then I made it vanish.
“Okay, dude, that’s very uncool,” I respond. “I specifically asked you to be careful, this shit is powerful,” I completed, dead seriously. “Unfortunately, I can’t tell you much about this new world you created either, as the user and I are the two people the app is set not to retcon when permanent changes are done, but I can give you a basic summary of the situation if you want,” I suggest.
“Oh, that’d be a great helper. The basic facts I guess I can google later or something, but just what the fuck is going on, like, how is this even possible? I am, like, so lost I don’t even realize how lost I am,” he asked. I sighed and now, looking at my professional phone and the Uber app open on it, I saw I was only 3 minutes away from my customer.
“Look, I think it would be better to talk about it later on with more calm, maybe over lunch?” I suggest.
“Sure, what about meeting today at 12h, in front of USP’s Faculty of Economics? You know where that is, right? You used to study here, I remember that much,” he suggests, and I smile. I nod and then, realizing he can’t see me, I respond:
“Sure, it’s a date. I’ll pick you up and we can find somewhere more comfortable to eat and talk outside the campus,” I say, and then there’s a momentary silence in the other side, before a confirmation.
“Okay, that works for me. I have to be back for the afternoon classes though,” he says.
“Perfect! I’m kind of in the middle of work right now, you know, hard life and labor, so I’ll try to give you a brief summary for now,” I start.
“Thanks, I’m also in the middle of… stuff … right now,” he points out with a mysterious tone, interrupting my train of thought. Hearing his tone made me open a huge smile as I turned left to leave the main avenue for a small side road.
As I did that I also had to stop at a red light, an opportunity which I used to grab my personal phone and disable the use of the app for Augusto until today, 1PM, after our lunch. I also create a memo for myself saying “redesign app’s functionality: power use amount,” for when I get home. As the light was about to turn green, I threw the phone back onto the passenger’s seat and, when it did turn green, I accelerated.
“Oh? Nice stuff, or bad stuff? Exploring this brave new world, aren’t we?” I joke. He chokes a little on his side of the line.
“Didn’t you say, cough cough, you were busy?” he changes the subject, and my smile gets even wider.
“Ah, yes, time is of the essence. Let’s get down to business,” I joke, and then sigh again, “So I guess you remember I’m a warlock and created this app to be able to share magic with my ex-boyf… I mean, with magicless people like you. There are rules for us which make it highly irregular to just share magic with magicless people, but I there are ways to get around those rules… technicalities, let’s say. And I managed to find one by the use of this app…”
“Which is quite amazing if you ask me,” he interjected, interrupting me. I actually laugh.
“Flattery will lead you nowhere,” I responded humorously, and then continued, “But the problem is that there are other limits on magic use, such as scope and form, which I have to follow but you don’t, as a magicless person, even if the app uses my power to work. As such, when you used the app, whatever it was that you did, I supposed you made something so general and unspecific that it led to all of my power being channeled to change the whole of human history. Unfortunately, although I’m quite powerful…”
“And modest,” he says, I laugh again.
“Yes, and also honest, but the thing is, I basically fainted when you used the app and didn’t wake up for one and a half days afterwards, as the app rewrote the whole of human history. Thankfully I was already back home then, and not driving, but your spell completely consumed me, and that’s not surprising when you changed the entire fucking make-up of the human species and the history of the whole world.”
“Fuck off! How is that even possible?”
“A loophole in the magic laws, I guess, and access to a pretty large source of power also known as myself, although from what I researched it does seem that the changes were not unlimited. There were more sweeping effects here in Brazil and South America than in the rest of the world, and it seems that in some places like Russia there were hardly any effects,” I explain.
“I see,” he slowly interjects.
“Yeah, so there’s that. Problem is, now the Brazilian Magic Federation got suspicious. They don’t know exactly how and what changed yet, and they don’t suspect of me, but they are onto something. So, I need you to not to use the app to do such large abstract changes anymore, all right? I have also disabled it just now, so you don’t do anything stupid until lunch,” I complete.
“Sounds like you don’t trust me,” he joked, and I laughed once again. A deep heartfelt laugh.
“No wonder! I asked you to read the fucking instructions and not use it while drunk and you did it anyway, and in a fucking way that knocked me out for days! You should be thanking me I’m not just disabling it forever,” I say, and there’s silence for a moment.
“That’s actually a good point. Why aren’t you just disabling it and forgetting about me? It’s not like we really know each other,” he says. I park the car in front of the meeting point and wait for a second before replying. The customer isn’t there yet, so I have to wait a little.
“On one hand, I don’t know. I just felt like we have a similar vibe and I’d like to share magic, it always felt unfair to me that only us warlocks and witches have access to it,” I said, carefully.
“That’s kind of you,” he said, a bit suspiciously.
“Yes, humble, kind and powerful. That’s me. But also a bit self-serving. It’s as I told you before, there are limits that apply to me that don’t apply to you using the app, and since I don’t have my boyfriend anymore, I guess you are as good as anybody to test those functionalities,” I admit.
“I see. So, you have your own agenda then,” Augusto states, sounding half-amused and half-tantalizing.
“Don’t we all?” I ask.
“True. I hope to match your expectations,” he says. I roll my eyes and look out of the window. Theres a huge 2.4m tall man with a hard cock poking out of his t-shirt in between his pecs looking at me right there.
“You already have, in a way. Your debut was so impressive I have high expectations for your next work, though,” I said a bit cheekily. The huge man outside of my car then had his cock throb a little and thus jolt up and down. As it jumped it brushed on my passenger’s front seat window, painting it ever so slightly in clear precum. and then completed: “But worry not, great minds think alike,” I completed.
“Good to know you have such a high opinion of me,” he pointed out ironically. My eyes are still ogling my handsome and well-hung customer.
“I judge the work, not the man,” I said, and then I saw him tapping on my window right where his cock had rubbed “I have to go now, though. Work calls.”
“See you at lunch,” he says.
“I hope so,” I reply and turn my personal phone off, then immediately opening the right-side’s window. My car is suddenly invaded by that strong scent of cock in the air. “João Pedro?” I ask.
“Yes, that’s me. Thank you,” says the bulkier man. I unlock the car and he open and he moves to the back, sitting in the middle seat and occupying almost all of the space back there with his body; his dick is mostly restrained by his t-shirt but it still pushes up all the way to the car’s ceiling when he is sat down.
I look towards the back seat; my head really close to his cock’s own mushroom head at that point. I breathe in its musk, and open a wide smile, unable to really see his face behind his gargantuan cock.
“Please make yourself comfortable. We are going to the Mercado Municipal, is that right?” I ask. He smiles and replied affirmatively. I look towards the front again and start moving.
“I also have large wipes here in the front if you have a need for those,” I suggest, while also closing the window I had opened before, which makes his stench stronger and stronger in the car by the second.
“No, I’m fine, I just went to a milking plant this morning,” he responds, and his comment picks up my interest, making me raise an eyebrow.
“Oh, you have? How was it?” I asked, curiously, while thinking this new world never ceases to amaze me. All hail the horniness and creativity of drunk gay men!
The large man laughed at my question, which I swear shook my large moving vehicle.
“Same as always, pump out, dick in, you cum and leave, you know?”
“It’s better when they also milk my pecs, to be honest. They are actually feeling a little full now but the staff there said it’d be better to milk them tomorrow,” he naively spitted that nonchalant comment as if it were meaningless, while also raising his hand and stroking his right pec, which bounced as he touched it, as if measuring its weigh and shape. My dick, however, jumped up at the idea, forcing me to correct my sitting posture. My mind screams three times in chorus:
All hail Emperor Augusto. Viva! Viva! Viva!
I bit my lips trying to control myself when Augusto pushed his muscular arm inside my cock, with that cold metal ball he held making its way deep inside my flesh. I had played recover-the-ball several times before, of course, but never had it been so hard to contain myself during the set up of the game. Obviously, the fact that I woke up late and didn’t have time to jerk off before leaving home today didn’t help, but I blamed 90% of it (okay, maybe 70%… at least 50% for sure!) on that handsome and tight senior student I met on the bus. As his arm penetrated me, most of my mind told me to try to contain my precum and keep it for the next game, but there was that 1% that lured me in, repeating that what I really wanted was to let it flow, to cover his cute ass with my fluids. I just couldn’t control it too much, but I have to admit that the fact that my precum had basically been plentiful enough to wash over the liquids of all other contestants from Augusto made me a little proud.
Unfortunately, he seemed uninterested in me. I was unlucky enough that I was used to that—my crushes were all straight or plain uninterested in larger men in general, or at least in me in particular. Augusto clearly tried to be kind to me and he was sweet and all, but I could see he was always thinking about something else and sometimes even uncomfortable when he talked to me, which is an evidence that he I have little to no change, I guess. Well, that’s that.
Before I could even dwell more on my commiseration, one of the seniors yelled that the game had started and soon I saw myself surrounded by my seven group members—they were three women and four men, all of whom were sizetypical except one of the ladies.
“I’ve played this game a lot,” she said. “The best strategy would be to make him cum, but I think we’ll have to fill those large 200l tanks in the next round, so I think the best way is to just stroke the ball out of his cock. It shouldn’t be too hard if we stroke his dick tightly from the root up,” she completed. It made sense to me, and I also had a lot of experience with this game, although I thought it would be easier to play if my dick weren’t slowly getting harder.
Maybe what I could do to help was to think less about Augusto, but even as I mentally told myself that I was imagining him hugging my hard cock and stroking it with his well-defined arms using his whole body to hug my manliness. My dick bulged again, as it hardened more and more.
“Why don’t we just dig our arms into his cock like that senior student did to put the ball in there in the first place? We can simply grab it and pull it out,” said one of the sizetypical guys, making a gesture with his arm up like he was pretending to thrust it up into an imaginary cock. He was about 1.80m tall, dark haired and dark eyed, with a strong enough upper body that I guess I could call him a jock, although his well-defined biceps appeared to be more a product of working out at a gym than practicing sports.
I trembled a little, imagining this rather physically pleasing specimen pushing his arm into my hardening cock, before I responded:
“No, that’s a noob’s mistake. Because of my precum, the ball inside will be slippery, and because I’m becoming harder it’s probably deeper now than any of y’all’s arms can reach easily. The best thing to do is definitely to stroke it out or to make me cum. Don’t worry about the tank, I think I can easily help to fill them even after I came once,” I reply and the sizediverse woman nods, while the other students look to each other rather skeptically.
“Are you sure, dude? Those tanks seem quite large,” says the jock.
“I’m pretty sure,” I say, giving a small slap on my right nut, which is soundly resting on the ground and might as well be itself almost the size of one of those blue tanks. The jock sees my balls move as I slap them and he then scratches his head.
“Okay, if you say so,” he says, then taking off his shirt to reveal his nice pectorals and sculptured adds. He is almost ready to jump on my cock when the sizedivergent woman asks:
“So… are you gay or straight?”
“Oh, yes, gay. So it’s probably better for the men to work closer to my field of vision too, I guess,” I respond, she nods. After that the jock smiles and takes a step closer to me, eventually standing right next to my balls and lowering his wide shoulders to match the height of my thickening cock. He then hugged my shaft tightly almost at the root with his two muscular arms, and looked up towards me:
“Is this how I should do it?” he asks, and I nod. He starts to laboriously stroke the base of my cock with his interlocked arms, always making sure to have a tight grip when making the first movement up, but then having a loose grip when moving back towards my body—in order push the ball back up and not back down. His movement was so smooth that it reminded me of rowing.
As he started moving, he quickly was joined by the sizedivergent woman, who was making basically the same movement but around my cockhead, and another of the women who then joined her. Two of our male colleagues looked around and, in seeing most of the freshmen joining their team, joined in as well: one was relatively short (maybe 1.70-ish) and wore glasses; he pulled up his sleeves and then jumped on my cock and started helping to stroke it as well. The other one was of average height (about 1.75-ish), but very slim and sporting a big afro hair; and seeing my cock being occupied almost at capacity, he asked me:
“Should I join them?” and then he heard the sizedivergent woman’s commanding response.
“There’s plenty of people working on his cock, already, and we have to coordinate our movement; go work his muscles,” she said, and he nodded and went behind him.
“Is that okay?” he asked, putting his hands up and trying to reach my pecs, which were much above his head, while standing behind my back. He caressed them, and my dick twitched.
“It’s perfect!” the sizedivergent woman shouted, having felt my reaction, and I nodded.
“It’s fine,” I said, a bit embarrassed, but focused on the game—which meant focusing on the pleasure. In order to make my dick more and more moist and help them get the iron ball out, I also looked at the jock’s powerful strokes which sent shivers up my spine. But for some reason I kept imagining Augusto being the one doing it.
Two of our teammates, however, hadn’t moved to help us:
“Do we really have to participate in that?” says one of the guys, and another one of our female colleagues stayed back with him, seemingly unwilling to join.
“Of course, not,” says Luísa, one of the members of the WelCo who is walking from group to group. “No-one is forced to participate in any activity, even because these games are designed to include sizedivergent folks, but we understand everyone has different standards on what they want or not to do; you can just wait with us on the side for the afternoon activities. We’ll have some more lectures, conversations on student representation, a talent show and also the body painting to send you guys to get donations in the streets to finance our parties. If you want to join that as well, of course.”
I nod, partly because of course that’s the case, and partly because the jock’s grip and the afro-dude’s touch are getting to me and as such I don’t care if those two leave us to play the gay by ourselves. My dick is rising more and more, and suddenly the sizedivergent girl yells:
“You two,” she pointed towards the glasses-wearer and the jock, “get over his dick to weight it down or it will go vertical and the ball won’t come out until he cums.” They nodded and complied, “And you,” she called the afro-guy, “come help us stroke his dick,” she commanded, and he also did that, running to my front and moving from caressing my muscles to stroking the middle of my shaft. For a relatively thin nerd-looking guy, his touch was rather strong.
With all this movement I curiously looked down, which allowed me to see the origin of the touch I felt in my balls: the jock was trying to grasp them and climb over my balls, which moved under him as he tried to get a solid footing. He then managed to get over them and sit over my cock, with one leg on each side like he was riding a horse. This made his face come closer to my own than ever before, although he was actually facing my meaty pecs; his powerful legs were now the ones hugging my wide flesh tube, not his arms.
The jock smiled, and said in a very hushed voice:
“I never knew college would be this fun,” and then he hugged my torso tight with his arms to keep as much stability as he could. Smiling cheekily, he proceeded to bury his head into my meaty pecs and started licking them, while his legs pressed tight against my cock and his feet pressured against my balls. His licking soon found my large, hard, right nipple. He looked up at me: “May I?” he asked.
“Of course, the only thing beyond reach in this game is the ass,” I replied, matter-of-factly. His face, and all the attention my cock was receiving, was making me closer and closer to cuming.
“Oh, really? And why is that?” he asked, with a curious and also feline intonation, almost like a flirt.
“Because in our culture the ass is very private,” I replied, and he moved his head to the right, giving my nipple a suck and then rubbing his teeth on it. I moaned.
“I see, let’s stay public for now,” he said, and then started sucking on my nipple. He also played with it using his tongue, and sometimes his teeth, just to tease me. Soon I was lactating a little, and he seemed a bit surprised, but not enough to stop suckling—he even looked up towards me with his eyes wide open, even if not letting go of my nipple for a single moment.
While this delightful little exchange was taking place, my cock had mostly hardened and was now approaching its full 2 and a half meters-long full size. It was also trying to become vertical, but the weight of the jock and glasses-guy, and apparently also one of the women closer to my head, was enough to keep it relatively parallel to the ground. Glasses-guy had also moved to ride my cock, like jock, but he was more in the middle of my powerful shaft, hugging it with his whole body and using all his frame to stoke it. Meanwhile afro-dude was near the head, licking my cockhead and getting wet with the growing amounts of precum I was releasing. By then his hair had in fact become wet and heavy, and was starting to seem more and more straight.
“Guys, I’m close,” I said, as all this action was taking place, and jock started suckling my nipple even harder. I was so stoked now that I started thrusting my hips a little, which would have made jock and glass-guy lose their balance if they weren’t hugging my torso and cock, respectively, so closely and with so much passion.
“WE DID IT!” yelled another group, in the Marx team, the first to recover the iron ball. I looked at them and noticed it was Hugo’s group, and since apparently Hugo hadn’t cum I suppose they used the stroking strategy.
Hugo was a member of the WelCo with Augusto, and he was hellishly sexy. He was maybe the only guy there as big as I, probably even a bit bigger, and he conducted himself as if he owned the world, which was very appealing to me because it’s how I wish I behaved. I always felt a little out of place due to my size, and Hugo seemed to behave as if the world were designed for us—which it wasn’t. As if reality was always ripe for the taking—although more often than not it seemed too green for me. I already admired him for that, but I was also feeling a bit competitive.
“Guys, please, harder. Our team also needs a point,” I asked, between a soft moan, and a grunt, followed by a thrust.
“Yes, sir!” responded the jock, the glasses-guy and the “former” afro-dude, in a laugh, followed by a redoubling of their efforts, in which they were also joined by the two women.
Soon, I was almost there. The jock suckling my nipple drove me mad, the glasses-guy hugging and stroking my shaft made me fly to another dimension, and the afro-dude licking my head made me want to cover him in my liquid even further. Even the large sizedivergent woman manhandling my cockhead like a sumo-wrestler was getting to me at his point.
“It’s coming,” she said, with the experience of someone raised in a sizedivergent community, as my dick throbbed like crazy, wanting to leave their grasp and rise up like an Imperial palm tree.
“Yes, yes,” I said between gasps. And then the floodgates of paradise were opened. My balls, still in the ground, pressured against my body, started pumping up a river of male juice; a river of cum travelled all through my cock, and certainly the glasses-guy felt it as he hugged my manmeat tightly in his arms and legs. It exploded out of my slit, covering afro-dude completely and with such a force that the sizedivergent woman actually fell down on her back, pushed by my liquid explosion. As more and more of my cum left my dick, I was burried in pleasure, and only heard them screaming:
“Where’s the ball where’s the ball?!” they voiced, as the two women, afro-dude and glasses-guy leave me to go run around looking for the iron projectile which my orgasm had thrown all the way to the other side of the lawn, almost to the building of the Education Faculty, more than 200 meters from us. As such, my still hard and cum-shooting cock—suddenly with a lot less weight over itself—quickly rose, sandwiching the jock between my torso and pecs, and my taller-than-myself cock, which now pointed up and as such made cum rain over us as I continued to shoot.
“That’s quite a sight,” said one of the sizetypical men in one of the other groups.
“It’s as if the 9 of July monument were erupting,” said another male voice, with an Argentine accent.
While most members of my group searched for our temporarily lost iron ball, which my cum had propelled far from my loose cannon, other two groups recovered their iron balls: Mateus’s group, also using the cuming strategy, but with less, let’s say, explosive force than us; and one of my fellow freshmen’s group at team Marx, using the same stroking strategy that Hugo had used, and therefore without cuming. Finally, the sizedivergent woman from my group found our ball and delivered it to the WelCo, so team Hayek and team Marx were tied once again, 2 vs 2. While all this happened my dick continued to erupt and I still had the jock suckling on my large, sensitive, right nipple.
The man sexy man riding my cock was completely drenched in my cum and his own sweat when my dick started getting softer and the river of cum reduced to a dribble. My softening rod fell back on us and thus on his face and then on my shoulder, dangling behind my back—the leftover cum now flowing though my back and ass all the way to my legs and then nourishing the green grass under us. The jock then decided to remove his mouth from my nipple, making a “pop” sound, his eyes and skin shining in sweat and amazement.
“How much cum do you still have in there?” he asked, and I looked down.
“Plenty,” I replied, and he moved his legs and feet, which were hugging the base of my cock where he was sitting, to caress my balls. It felt nice enough, and I could already fill my cum-factories working at full speed.
“It seems you are not lying, stallion,” he said.
Then one of the members of the WelCo came our way.
“You can get down from there already,” she said to the jock, referring to his position sitting on my cock.
“Ah, yes, of course,” he said, forgetful, and then turned to me, “what’s your name, again?” he asked, before completing: “Mine is André.” I answered him and he replied, “very nice to meet you, Eduardo,” or something similar, and then jumped from his position in-between my torso and cock to the ground, covered in my cum and precum, landing with a splash.
“Nature is really full of wonders,” he said to himself after he noticed just how much his bare upper body was sticky with my liquids, and that even the area around us seemed to have been transformed into a cum-covered swamp. I smiled a little, and desired for a second it had been Augusto, and not my new colleague André, who had said such kind words—but one doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, and so I allowed to feel a little bit warm inside with having overheard his compliment.
After a few more minutes both teams had recovered 4 out of the 5 iron balls, and it was between the last two teams to decide a winner. Non-coincidentally, as it happened often with this game, it was the smaller dicks that made it harder to remove the iron ball, and as such it was the relatively smallest freshmen from each team which were still pumping their cocks to get the balls out. The crowd of freshmen was cheering for their teams, and looking around I noticed a large entourage of random people had also gathered to observe the spectacle.
Out of the two still struggling freshmen, the guy in the opposing team—team Hayek—who still had the ball inside him had a longer dick, but not a very thick one. The members of his group were trying to get the ball out directly with their hands, by asking the tallest of their members to insert his arm deep in the sizedivergent dude’s cock—but that seemed hard to achieve, with the iron orb buried so deep in that rather tight urethra. In our own team Marx the situation seemed a little easier, since the cock in which the ball was lodged was not as long, although even slimmer and therefore tighter. Our teammates in that group were also going with the superior strategy of stroking the ball out, instead of grabbing it and pulling it—which hardly ever worked.
As the teams chanted songs of encouragement for their players, I saw Augusto return from inside the faculty and join the group of WelCo members, a bit away from the center of the agitation. I wondered why he had left the festivities, as before he used to be so interested and even excited about sizedivergent culture, especially as it related to sports and other physical activities.
I smiled to myself, thinking, “Of course he was excited about it. He is so plain to read, almost like a book.” Or so he used to be, at least—I completed mentally.
At this exact moment one of the freshmen who had worked on my cock to help remove the ball, an eager and athletic Japanese-looking dude called Rafael, laid his hand in my hardening penis to call my attention.
“Presida, presida! I think we are going to win! I can already see the dark ball peeking out of our guy’s slit!” he exclaimed, calling my attention to the smaller sizedivergent in team Marx. He was almost screaming in pleasure, the in his slit so large that it deformed its usually oval tightness to a round shape. The ball filled his urethra so completely, I noticed, that it was blocking his orgasm and even the natural flow of precum. His balls, between his wide-open legs, were moving up and down naturally, trying to push their contents out, but uncapable of doing so due to the tightness of his cock, filled by the iron tap.
“Lucky chap, he’s going to explode like a bottle of coke once that is out of him,” I commented, and Rafael’s eyes widened as he heard my comment.
“No way!” he said, and then moved away from me and closer to the edging lad, full of curiosity.
I looked back towards the WelCo, and noticed Augusto searching something on his phone while this whole scene unveiled in front of him, which was very uncharacteristic. I sighed, making a mental note of talking to Augusto later on, and then I heard a collective gasp and an exasperated desperate moan: team Marx had won, and what an explosive victory it was!
The smaller lad’s dick had finally sent the ball flying away, ejecting the foreign object from his cockslit with the force of his orgasm alone, and our group members went out to look for it. Meanwhile, he was still ejecting his cumtents far and wide, showering even my underclassman Rafael, which had come closer to better appreciate the views and smells. The lad’s balls worked had to pump out his seed, but I worried a little that this would be adversary for his performance in the last game. Although he had nice, full, watermelon-sized balls, I doubted he could cum this much again so soon, unlike me or, I suspected, Eduardo.
My eyes moved then back to that which was the largest and most muscular of our freshmen this year. His eyes, surprisingly, didn’t follow so much his exasperated orgasmic teammate, but my mate Augusto farther away. “Interesting,” I thought, but then I shrugged those thoughts away as I looked further at Eduardo. What a specimen! What a body! He was the definition of a sizedivergent God! He’d have a crowd of worshipers under his fingers if he so desired—I can say with definite certainty from experience.
With the last iron ball of team Marx recovered, Luísa moved with a great magnet towards the last sizedivergent man who still hadn’t expelled the iron orb from his tubular appendage. Swiftly, she used the magnet to retrieve the last iron ball, and proclaimed team Marx the victors to much general cheering. Luísa and the other WelCo members then started distributing the buckets we had brought to the freshmen (barred, of course, those who were sizedivergent males), and explaining the next game:
“Congratulations to team Marx for winning the second game! I guess our competition is now tied, how exciting!” she said, looking around. “The next activity will also be a traditional sizedivergent game: bucket filling. We brought 10 200l tanks, and have placed them in a line 25 meters ahead from our sizedivergent mates here, as you can see. The task we offer your groups now is simple: each team has to fill 5 of those tanks with cum and precum from the members of their team. We’ll give you guys half an hour and the team that manages to produce more liquid in this time, or first to fill all of their tanks, will win. Just remember that the sizedivergent guys have to stay where they are, and the other teammembers are responsible for filling the tanks using their buckets…”
“Or their aim!” screamed and onlooker, interrupting her. She smiled.
“Yes, or their aims. As long as the feet of the sizedivergent males doesn’t leave the ground and the tanks aren’t moved closer, all is acceptable,” she finished. “And please try hard, all right? We will sell the proceedings from this game to CUMSA and the funds will be used to fund our end-of-welcoming-week beer-heavy pizza-party!” she announced, and everybody cheered once more.
At that moment I was spotting a semi, which was growing more and more after the last game. My balls also felt excruciatingly heavy, although I had emptied them earlier today before coming to university. The five freshmen from my team who had joined in the fun had worked hard to successfully remove the ball from inside my cock, and now I was feeling bloated: I really needed to cum. That was not a problem, however, considering the next game.
“Are you ready guys?” Luísa asked, and all of our freshmen yelled affirmatively, “Then start already!” she commanded, and suddenly my team members were back closer to me, all carrying those translucid buckets we had brough, quickly reassuming the positions they had had during the previous game.
“No guys,” I say, “what we need is two of you stimulating my cock and balls to deliver as much as possible, while three more run back and forth loading and unloading the buckets with my precum. Then when I get close to cuming, you guys pick an empty 200l tank and I’ll try to aim at it. That’s the fastest way for us to win,” I instructed. They nodded.
“So, who should stay here, and who should do the running?” Rafael eagerly asked. I thought to myself with a smirk, “What a privileged position I am at right now.”
“I think it’s better if Carolina, Ana and Laura are the ones doing the running,” I said, looking at the three girls in our team. The choices made sense both in order to increase my output, and because Ana, being a sizedivergent woman, was probably the fastest of all our mobile members.
“I see!” said a glowing Rafael, and immediately a nod came from our other team member, a shorter, green-eyed and blond-curly-haired guy called Ângelo. The only thing about him that didn’t look quite like a baroque painting was the large bulge up from his cotch, which was only hidden by his oversized t-shirt—but which I most certainly had felt rubbing on me while he took care of my own hardening rod in the earlier game.
“So let’s go, now!” said Carolina, then almost filling her bucket with the liquid flowing out of the tip of my cock in about 10 or 15 seconds, and immediately proceeding to run the necessary 25m to one of our team’s 200l tanks. She was swiftly followed in that by the other two girls, while the boys attacked my body with their own.
Rafael, the most eager of the two, reassumed his position hugging my cock from the right with his two arms, and using all his body’s muscles and power to deliver long, thigh strokes, one after the other. I admired as the smaller man tirelessly worked to please my long fucking rod, sometimes opening his mouth and licking my sweat from my cock as he slid his muscular hug over a sizeable portion of my length—he seemed to think that his licks were not noticeable to me, due to his greedy motion up and down, and that naivety was quite endearing and cute, to be honest.
The other of my teammates who joined in the action, Ângelo, first lifted his sleeves, showing off his nice compact and yet muscular swimmer arms. He then hugged my large cockhead with his body, using all his torso, shoulders, arms and hands to dominate it. I also felt the volume of his surprisingly large cock under his shirt touching my soft and delicate glans—however large it was, however, and I couldn’t yet estimate it precisely, it paled in comparison to mine.
Indeed, my cockhead was large enough that Ângelo could embrace it when extending his arms as long as he physically could around it, but he couldn’t really reach the shaft which extended further down—at least not as soon as I was fully hard. Since his body covered my cockhead, Ângelo had to focus on pleasuring this most sensitive part of my body, but also on getting out of the way when the girls came to refill the buckets and on controlling my cockhead so that the slid would be as close as possible to the buckets.
He was a competent multitasker, this one.
And as such the boys divided my cock in two areas of influence: Rafael got the shaft where he was stoking and licking my hardness; while Ângelo got the head where he used all of his body to rub and control my cock. Although the girls came fast filling their recipients with my precum, I was producing more than enough to cover Ângelo, as well as much of the ground where he was standing with my liquids, on top of filling those meager buckets. As the Student Council’s president I was known, after all, for my high productivity.
Surprisingly, though, I heard cheering from the other side as they celebrated filling their first 200l tank before us. I looked to their five large, muscular sizedivergent guys and it soon became clear why: Eduardo, that big freshman who seemed suspiciously interested in my colleague Augusto, was chugging huge amounts of slimy precum from his slit, and his teammates were managing to fill their buckets faster than our own.
A grin then covered my face, “It’s nice to see young men you can pass the mantle to’, I thought to myself, while also getting a stronger resolve not to lose to him. Not yet, at any rate.
“Rafael, Ângelo,” I called the two of them, who stopped what they were doing to give my resounding voice their full attention. Complete obedience, is what I saw in their faces in that very second, “I need you guys to try harder. Let’s show them what we’ve got. Let’s empty these beauties,” I say, then giving my giant right ball a soft slap with my right hand.
“Yes, presida! Let’s do it!” said Rafael, now climbing onto my cock, so he could mount on it and use all his four members to pleasure it more fully. Ângelo was far less loud in his agreement, simply nodding and doing something which I didn’t expect: removing his completely precum-soaked t-shirt and revealing a huge hard towering cock, maybe 40 or 50 centimeters long, and as wide as a bottle of coke.
“Holy shit,” I said, and he seemed pleased at getting my attention and surprise. His large cock throbbed a little and I could also see a grin in his face.
“I am mixed, my grandpa was sizegivergent,” he said, as he used his hands to lower his monster and aim it towards me—more specifically, towards my third and largest eye. He moved back towards my large productive cockhead, burying his half a meter inside my two-and-a-half meters. And then, as fast as he pushed in, he pulled out—but moving only his hips, since his arms had now returned to hugging my cockhead and his hands to pleasing the soft skin on the back of my glans. To make me focus even further on his power over my sensations, Ângelo also lowered his mouth on my cockhead as he fucked my slit, licking it wildly.
“Damn,” I moaned softly, adding to myself in my thoughts: “This lad surely has experience with sizedivergent men.”
He was indeed so skilled that he even managed to time his hammering into my cock with the girls bringing the buckets for refilling, strategically use his cock as a sort of lid to save more cum inside me when there was no one there, and pulling out to increase the outflow when they came. And that’s when I noticed he has probably played this game before several times, probably with his larger family members, with whom he could have perfected this strategy which took full advantage of his dick’s nice size.
He pulled out of me and then pushed all the way back in again, forcing me to moan. The sensation of being cockfucked was extraordinary and having my cockeye filled by Ângelo’s non-insignificant size was more pleasure than I had expected to get at once while playing this game with the freshmen. I bit my lips, swearing never to underestimate my underclassmen again.
“Yeahhh!!! We did it, two filled, three to go!” celebrated some of the voices on our side. And that’s when I noticed not only that we were ahead, but that I in my pleasure I had missed the celebration for our filling our first 200l tank. Being ahead is nice, of course, but I still wanted to play a larger role in our victory and my balls were increasingly feeling too heavy for my mental stability.
I wanted to cum, and had finally settled in cuming for the team. Might as well show them what their seniors can do now, rather than later on.
“Ângelo,” I say between panting and grunting, “Give it your best,” I command. He doesn’t even respond, but his pounding into my cock becomes faster, harder. He even allows his right hand to stop caressing my glans just to slap it hard a few times, as if my slit’s resistance to his entry was a negative behavior that needed fixing. Between slaps and caresses, several points on my cockhead where he was focusing his attention were so sensitive that his licking was almost sufficient to make me cum.
Besides Ângelo’s more well-designed efforts in the cockhead front, I also had to contend with Rafael’s less structured but far more passionate and eager efforts on the shaft front. I can only say his sweat and labor in stroking the majority of my cock was not going to waste—even if my outsized manhood overshadowed his whole body in both size and weight, his twin tight embraces (with his legs and arms) and fast movements were doing their job.
By then I was fully hard, and thus my full 259cm cock was exposed to the elements and the sight of all onlookers. Letting my eyes travel around a little I noticed that large freshman, Eduardo, had a similarly sized hard cock to mine, although I might have him beat by 5 or 10 centimeters. His young virile cock was being tended by three enthusiastic teammates (which kind of made me a little envious of the lad), and the amount of precum he was producing was second to only to myself. One thing he seemed decidedly ahead, however, was in the loudness of his moaning, the length of his grunts, and just the sheer scale of his shaking in pleasure as his mates pleased him—he seemed, in all sense, to be having the most fun.
Not that I was having a terrible time: as my team worked, my cock shook in pleasure, trying to rise vertically. If it were not for Rafael’s full weight on my manhood, Ângelo’s careful hugging down and managing of my hardness, and my own hands pressing down on the beast’s root, my long rod would most certainly have turned into a proud marble obelisk by this point. The lads were working so hard to keep my precum flowing, and our team ahead, that eventually I lost my composure and let out a loud groan—leading several spectators to direct their eyes towards me.
“Three to three!” I heard Luíza announce, updating us on the state of the game—which now entered its final stages. We were all edging, me and the other lads giving it out best, and definitely the last two tanks would be filled much faster than the first two.
As Ângelo’s nice 50cm rod pounds into my slit once more, I feel an urge to respond, and, with my powerful legs supporting my body strongly connected to the ground I warn him:
One would expect he’d need more warning than that, but he was clearly an experienced sportsman—he immediately stopped caressing my cockhead with his hands and sunk his feet as deep as he could in the cum-made mud under him, trying to get as much balance and support as possible against my cockhead lying over it in an angle. As he struggled against my size, I bounced and thrusted my hips once. He held, showing that his muscles were more capable than they appeared. I hammered his entire body again with my cock, forcing his entire penis inside me while at the same time obliging Ângelo to resist against my thrust with all his force. Again, he held, like a skinny but able Yokozuna.
“Send me your best,” taunted Ângelo, using the time between my thrusts to pound his length in and out of my much larger organ, effectually continuing to fuck my cock’s eye. I smile and decided that he was right—that I didn’t need to treat him with such caution, that he seemed more than able to take what I could throw at him. I proceeded to pound my huge size on his body several times, and each time he took it expertly, only moving to tighten his embrace of my cockhead or to hammer his cock into mine, hardly even sliding backwards when my manhood pressed against him with my thrusts.
It was sexy to feel the powerful effect that this much smaller man was having on me. So powerful indeed that both my nipples had started lactating by themselves, dropping small amounts of precious male milk mostly because of the pressure exerted against them by my large arms, which pressed on my pecs as they were busy keeping my dick from rising up vertically. I moaned again, as I felt my milk running down over my skin, until it reached my balls. Then I saw Rafael looking up, noticing what was happening, and crawling with each stroke from the middle of my shaft closer towards my abs and balls where the milk cascaded.
Soon his head met my hands, which were holding down my dick near the root—but that’s not what he was looking for. What he wanted, thirstily, what he was looking for was the milk flowing downwards from my pecs and accumulating in a small lake in the valley between my large eggs, which were resting just in front of my legs and bellow my dick. Unwilling to let go of my rod and its warmness, Rafael kept hugging it tight and just moved his head outwards as much as he could, trying to reach my immense balls with his mouth. He did succeed, and yearningly started licking them to ingest all milk he could.
Trying to help my teammate’s pursuit of satiating his thirst, I made my arms press further against my pecs by pulling them closer together as they continued to hold my cock down, which massively increased the outflow of milk. Rafael seemed overjoyed, and soon he started to rub his hips on my cock, as if he were shagging it as he continued from slurp from the milk puddle above my balls. Being that he was still fully clothed I didn’t really feel his humble dick as he shagged my shaft, but I did feel the nice harsh fabric of his denin pants dragging against my cock’s sensitive skin. It was actually a maddening and delightful sensation.
“Four to four!” announced Luísa, when team Hayek finished filling their fourth 200l tank with male sexual fluids. Our team was slightly ahead, but our edge was not decisive yet. We needed a final show of force to decide the game once and for all.
I groaned loudly, as my pounding Ângelo’s body timed perfectly with one of Rafael’s thrusts of his deliciously rough pants against my sensitive skin.
“I’m close!” I announced, almost biting my lips, and then Ângelo repeated it out loud for the rest of our team: “He’s close, guys, prepare one of the tanks for him to aim at!”
As these words were heard by everyone, the girls started running around to position and point out to me which was the fifth tank we had yet to fill. All spectators also moved their dispersed gaze towards me, as did even some of the other sizedivergent players.
“Damn, he’s going to cum,” I heard one say, while Rafael’s pants rubbed on my shaft like crazy.
“That’s going to be quite a show,” noted one of the onlookers, while I felt Ângelo’s cock fucking my slit.
“Do you think he’s going to fill the tank by himself?” commented another a member of our team—who, I did not mind to take notice, as that’s when my pecmilk went from a dribble almost to a geyser, as I readied to explode.
“Please, look at his balls! Look at his cock! He brought a tank to a fight with bayonets. He’s going to overflow that small tupperware easily,” responded another voice, as my balls started to hurriedly move, like trains bringing troops to the frontlines, making Rafael’s little milk lake tremble as if shaken by an earthquake.
“Well, one of our members also brought on quite a tank,” argued a member of team Hayek, probably referring to Eduardo, just as my whole body started to shake in pleasure, and while divine Ângelo pulled his cock from my cockhead and moved away from it.
“Sure, he has a powerful weapon there, but not as much experience handling it,” responded another one, laughing, as I felt my soul urging. I looked hurriedly for the tank: where is it? There it is!
My hands went from holding my dick down to pulling it up, at an 87 degrees angle, more or less. Still hugging my hardness, that made Rafael get upside down, butt up, and a little bit agitated by his new position.
“Hold on tight, bud, there’s no time for you to get down now!” I warned him, and he doubled down on his hug, his whole body now back to complete closeness to my hugeness, almost as if trying to merge with it.
I positioned my hands higher in my penis, above where Rafael’s legs hugged my shaft, and started to furiously masturbate. My purple cockhead was releasing so much precum that it coated my whole cock, Rafael—who was attached to it -, both my balls—mixing with my pristine milk lake on top of them -, and even my pecs. My powerful cock was close enough to my head that, keeping it locked in aim, I just needed to incline my face forward a little to be able to taste increasing amounts of my overflowing pre as I masturbated furiously.
And then, pleasure overtook me. The first release, a huge shot of cum that took upwards of fifteen second, flew into the sky. At that time, all other players in the game stopped working—be it sucking, stroking, rubbing or just running around carrying buckets of precum. Some of the other sizedivergent man like me took their rods back into their own hands and started stroking themselves, while others just appreciated the view of what they knew was like a great athlete scoring a beautiful goal. Everyone’s eyes, previously focused on me, now followed my rising cum—except mine and, I feel in the back of my mind, Eduardo’s, who was probably less impressed and more envious of my release.
Before my first shot even came down, the second one followed, and then the third and fourth, all in the same direction. When my first shot of cum rained on the last of our team’s empty 200l tanks, it shook it as it filled it more than a third of the way up, with the second and third shots finishing the job with a good safety margin. The subsequent fourth shot basically in vain, being wasted on the ground and the surrounding freshmen—the ones who had stopped to appreciate the sight of me near the tanks.
I then looked down, identifying the other empty tank—this one belonging to team Hayek—and changing my aim towards it. My fifth shot then went into the air and served to fill it more than 25%, with the following three shots making it overflow. The other ten or so shots after that, of decreasing strength and volume, basically covered the rest of the 25m between me and the tanks in sweet bright white cum.
No wonder the grass here was the greenest of all the campus.
Except for my panting and groaning, and the sound of my shots hitting the large plastic tanks and later on splashing on the ground, nothing was heard for the almost five minutes that my orgasm lasted. After I ended and my cock started to soften a little, but while cum was still dribbling from it, that’s when the amazed murmurs started.
“Con… congratulations team Marx! This one is a definite victory for you!” Luisa proclaimed, and all of our team-members started cheering at once, releasing their own pent-up energy. She then came near me and chastised, in a lower but still pretty audible voice, “Although it would be better if next time members of the Welcoming Committee decided to take a less keen participation in our welcoming games.”
I just smiled back at her and, seeing as my softening rod still had plenty of cum to deliver, I brough its head to my mouth and started drinking from it. That is, until I heard a grumbling sound from between my dick and my abs, and remembered Rafael was still clinging to my meat log, now surrounded in four sides by my body.
“Oh, sorry there, dude,” I said, distancing my cockhead from my mouth to give him space to release my rod and get down. He shook his head violently, and when he released his legs from my rod—almost like he had lost all his vigor and balance—he fell exactly on top of my right ball, splashing the milk lake which had settled there and from which he had been drinking.
“Not at all, not at all,” he repeated, excitedly, head laying on my thick cock, butt on my balls, feet off the ground, “it was the most amazing experience ever. University rocks!”
I bring my cockhead back to my mouth, calmly sucking its dribble in, and laugh at his reaction. Ângelo gets close to us, compliments me for my aim, and helps his colleague down from my ball.
Next, as I still suckle on my cockhead, I notice a strong pat in my back.
“Fucking ‘nice guy’, my ass. What a fucking showman,” says Mateus, laughingly, and then he grabbed my cockhead from my hands, brought it to his mouth, and slurped in some of my dribble, “You clearly just didn’t want to lose to this large new guy. Feeling threatened much?”
“No way, I just wanted to push our freshmen and incentivize them to go further,” I respond, enjoying the feeling of his warm lips on my cockhead, and his tongue licking my slit.
“You can fool them but you don’t fool any of us seniors,” says Mateus, after a final suckle, “there, he is coming to talk to you,” he said, and then let go of my cockhead, which fell to the ground with a splash onto what had become a lake of my juices.
Eduardo was indeed coming my way, with a huge hardon almost hiding his face from view.
“Hi, I’m Eduardo, you are the president of the Welcoming Committee, right?” he asked me, from behind his large rod. Not quite as large as mine, but gigantic, precum still erupting from it. I licked my lips.
“Yes, and of the Student Council too. Welcome to USP. I hope you’ll come to our afternoon meeting about student representation, you’d be a great addition to our sizedivergent collective,” I say, with a smile. His rod shakes as he nods.
“Yes, yes, sure. I just wanted to ask you something,” he says, and I extend my hand, touching his cock and forcing it to the left, as his cock throbs with my touch, so I can actually see his face. He is also very handsome.
“Whatever you like,” I reply, kindly, still holding his hard log to the left. He bites his lip.
“Oh, sorry for that where are my manners?” he asks, stumbling on his words, and then using his powerful hands to force his throbbing dick even further to the left, away from our sight. “But actually, I wanted to ask you if you can give me the contact of that other senior… Augusto. He told me he is also in the Welcoming Committee, but I don’t see him here…” he said, and he started blushing. I smiled large, and laughed internally.
“I knew it!” I said to myself, but didn’t voice such words out loud. Instead, I looked around and sighed, “Yeah, he is in the Welcoming Committee and indeed in the Student Council as well. He very much should be here right now. Where could he have gone?”
“I don’t know,” says Mateus shrugging, “I mean I was too busy to notice who was and wasn’t here during the game, of course. I’m impressed you had the presence of spirit to even realize Augusto wasn’t here while your teammates were working your cock so diligently,” he completed, looking to Eduardo, who blushed a little while his rod—which he kept pressuring down, our of our sight, hurled. After hearing Mateus’s comment I gave him an ugly look.
“Stop teasing our freshman, he is one of us,” I said. “And yes, I’ll give you Augusto’s number, I’m sure he would give it to you himself if he were here, as he should. He is very dedicated to his functions in the Welcoming Committee,” I said.
“Oh, yes, of course he is,” said a slightly gloomy Eduardo. Mateus looked at me knowingly.
“And yet you call me a provocateur,” he said, before slapping me in the ass and going talk to someone else. I rolled my eyes, but still with a smile stamped on my face—the only thing I like provoke, after all, is amusement. No harm intended.
“Okay, then!” I say to Eduardo, “Let’s go get your dick down, relieve your balls, get dressed and pick up our phones, and I’ll give you his number. If you want you can also come eat with us, he usually eats with us at the university restaurant,” I complete. My underclassman’s face suddenly becomes much brighter, and he lowers his head a little, to thank me.
“Oh, that would be wonderful! I’d love joining you guys for lunch,” he says, and then he pulls his hard rod up again, looking a little flustered, “But where is the milking room around here? I only came once today and I really need to get off.”
I nod, about to give him some tips on how to survive as a large sizedivergent man on campus. While I speak, however, I notice his hard cock slowly dribbling more and more significant amounts of precum, while he furtively looks around as if looking for someone.
“Kind of reminds me of my first day in university,” I think to myself, and then I sigh. “Maybe I should just take him under my wing,” I conclude silently.
“Oh, yes, don’t worry. Our campus is fully adapted to us sizedivergent folks, you know. Thank the National Sizedivergent Inclusion Fund and the student movement for that! Here, I’ll take you to the milking station,” I say, hugging his shoulders with my muscular arms and then pulling him where I want. His cock bobs as I pull him, and gets really close to me, its smell tantalizingly sweet and salty.
Eduardo nods and thanks me again, as he follows me and I continue to give him tips and useful information. Kind of a shame he is so into Augusto, he is quite cute, after all.
I was walking downtown looking down towards the screen of my phone, fidgety. I hadn’t really been able to contact my best friend, Augusto, since Friday, and I was starting to hear a really negative small voice in my head telling me that I had screwed up and that he was ignoring me for it. “Of course he is, you idiot!” the voice told me, “Would you not be pissed if your friends sent you off alone and drunk—especially after your so-called best friend kissed you while you both were wasted, just to later tell you that he’s not into guys although he cockblocked you during the whole night and even followed you to the bathroom?”
“Yeah, I fucked up,” I thought to myself. And that’s why I had tried to contact him in every way I could, safe for appearing at his door for a surprise visit—and yet, Augusto didn’t reply and neither did he pick up any of my calls. He didn’t even visualize my messages—all of which was driving me insane.
At this point in time, as I walked in the crowded streets of downtown São Paulo, I was mostly being comforted by Fernando and Enzo over Whatsapp—two of the other members of our small friend group who had been there on Friday, and who were adamant that everything was going to be OK with Augusto. Suddenly, Hugo—who hadn’t gone bar-hopping with us last time because he was busy with family stuff—logged in our group to tell me that it wasn’t just me that Augusto had been ghosting since Friday, but everyone—including their precious Student Council. As such, according to him, I shouldn’t be too worried because Augusto probably just wanted some time off-line and felt as bad about whatever had happened as I did. Mateus, who entered the chat around that very moment, agreed and said that they’d gauge how Augusto was doing during their morning activities welcoming the freshmen.
That made me feel better, I guess, but the problem is they were all biased and didn’t know what they were talking about at all: Hugo hadn’t been there and so he didn’t know how much I had screwed up, not really; and Mateus—although he had been there, kind of—spent most of the evening trying to woo some women and as such only witnesses the events after the turning point had been crossed. Fernando and Enzo had seen most of the issue develop live, but I think they were just tricking themselves in order to excuse their drunken behavior—particularly that the three of us finally to just throw our friend in an uber, while he was completely wasted, and left him to fend from himself in his way home.
Damnit! None of this would have happened if I hadn’t kissed him in the first place, or if I hadn’t subsequently followed him into the bathroom while drunk! Of course he’d think I was toying with him, of course! What other reason would a straight male have to kiss his gay friend and later follow him to the toilet? But I swear my reasons were pure! I only kissed him because I was really drunk at the time, which led me to being a tiny little bit confused about my feelings, momentarily—due to being wasted, as I said. Then, I became really worried about him going to the bathroom alone when he was the one who couldn’t walk straight, especially because he had almost fallen to the ground and hit his head on the way there. So I followed him to see if he needed help, that’s all.
Fuck! I know I’m completely wrong but I just hope he finds it in him to forgive me, and that we can go back to being friends as always. I will assure him that my drunk confusion will be completely locked in a box deep inside my head, and that I’ll never make him feel like he has to be physical against me again. I just have to fix this small mistake internally, I guess, before I can sort out my relationship with Augusto. I have to simply unroot this weird drunken confusion which created the mirage of a fake, completely spurious feeling I have never really had, and ask him to go back to our friendship as it has always been. After all, I’m straight and all I feel towards my male friends can only be called friendly love, and that’s final.
I am so busy typing on my phone and commiserating that I end up hitting a passer-by with my huge junk as I walk. I only really feel a bump as this suit-wearing man around his 20s pressures my balls and dick against each other, between his body and mine—apparently, he had also been walking while starring at his phone, and so we both apologize profusely. After that I breathe in, trying to not get hard, and reminding myself that I’m soon getting relief at my part-time work at CUMSA.
I cross the viaduto do chá and in front of me I see a large brutalist building made mostly of cement and glass, with a big colorful sign saying “CUMSA—world leader in male products.” I enter, show my name tag and take the elevator to the 37th floor where I meet the receptionist—a small cute guy called Cauê.
“Hello, Luís,” he welcomes me, as I’m very much a regular, “I had room 37-4AP prepared for you.”
“Fancy,” I say, smiling at him. He smiles back at me, and I hand him my name tag so he can enter my data in the system.
“I do my best,” he replies, with his fast fingers working on his computer.
“So, what are the prices today?” I ask, and he clicks in a few places and soon raises his head towards mine.
“Cum and precum for 6,51 the liter, deducting taxes and the National Sizedivergent Inclusion Fund contribution we are paying you 4,30 per liter. Tit milk is going for 82,94 per liter, or 54,74 after deductions,” he says, “and that’s a special price for grade-A producers like yourself.”
“Nice, I will supply both today, then. I am pretty full, actually,” I reply, feeling both my balls and pecs pretty heavy. Cauê nods.
“Great! So, what will you be needing today? Toys, movies, maybe an assistant for a change?” he gives me an exaggerated wink, and I laugh.
“No, I like doing it solo, you know. Just me and the pump,” I answer, “But please send me extra towels and some food after I’m done.”
“As always, then,” he confirmed, typing more on his computer and then returning me my name tag, “Done, you have 2 hours. Room 37-4AP. As per company policy, I have to thank you for being a CUMSA supplier, and please enjoy your time with us.”
“You too,” I reply, taking my name tag from his hand and going down towards hallway A.
At CUMSA everything is system and hierarchy: they pay us depending on the quantity and quality of our products, and they award us rooms accordingly as well. As a grade-A supplier I was allowed certain privileges, including choosing the time of my milking at my convenience, and using the large A-type rooms. Going down hallway A I could see a row of doors to my left and another one to my right. The doors to my left were of the so-called T rooms, or traditional-milking rooms—where one is emptied by the use of traditional systems such as solo masturbation and assisted-milking, as they called it. The rooms to the right, however, are the so-called P rooms, or pump-milking rooms—where one is emptied with the use of large industrial-scale pumps. I preferred the latter because they were much less messy and more professional, but—and I’ll admit it only to you—also because the pumping machines are always harsh and unyielding. Also, you can be as ruthless to them as you want and they won’t break.
I found my room, the fourth door right coming down the hallway from the reception, and used my name tag to open it up. I close he door behind me and the lights turned on automatically, revealing the space ahead.
A-type rooms are comprised of three environments: the first one, right after you enter, is officially called ‘cleaning station’, but I call it the locker room because that’s where they have a locker where we can keep our stuff. It also has a large industrial shower where we get cleaned from any impurities which can contaminate our production. This particular shower’s main difference in comparison to the regular industrial shower you see our there is that is has a huge hose specially designed to clean inside your cockslit.
After I got naked and quickly showered myself, I entered the main environment—completely naked, of course. Traditional-milking rooms have various different types of decoration, but pump-milking ones are more minimalistic—they usually have a large bed on the side where you can rest, or pull to the center and lay on while being drained. They also have a sturdy—but flexible—chair, for those who prefer to be drained while seating. There is a large television and media set, a table with one small bench, a refrigerator filled with goodies, a filter with lots of water, and a basket where they put toys if you ask for them and they are small enough to fit there (you’d not believe what they have here, trust me).
There is also a door on the right—leading to the third environment, the bathroom where there’s also a big tub for relaxation—, and another one on the left—which is for the assistants and staff, and as such was too small for sizedivergent people like myself.
Obviously, however, the room is dominated by the large mobile pump placed at its center, which is an extremely versatile and sturdy machine. The one in this room can be adjusted for different sizes, but, since they knew I was coming, it was pretty much already adjusted with my specifications.
I get close to it, water from the shower still dripping from my muscles and soft cock, and take a look at the screen on the side of the machine: it shows my name, picture, and other relevant information like the bak account where I’d be receiving my payment and the prices that will be paid per liter produced. I click on a big bright green “accept” button at the end, and the machine is now just waiting for me to start the draining process.
As I like to be drained while standing, the setup is easy: first, I get the pec sucking devices and lock them around my two nipples. As they are positioned there, I turn them on, and almost immediately I start feeling the smaller nipple-pumps working and sucking and joggling and turning to get my white male milk to start flowing. I am so full up there that soon my pecs start giving in, and the machine’s front screen is showing me my growing production and how much I’ll be earning, updating the values as my milk flows.
As the mini-suckers work on my male tits, I turn towards the large main draining-sucker which is the body of the machine itself. In order to prepare to insert my manliness therein, I start stroking it until its reasonably hard and moist. I then point my 170cms of cock towards the machine’s large soft opening, and start pushing in. Wisely, it is adjusted just a bit too small for my girth, and as such electricity runs through me as I shove my large rod into the pump, which tightly welcomes my size. When I am buried deep in it, it makes a confirmation noise, and I extend my hands to hold the side controls which I’ll be using to regulate the machine’s functioning during the hard and strenuous process of draining.
“Dick inserted, 75% according to measurement. Please select mode,” the mechanical voice asks, and I use my right hand to select the “total” mode.
“Total mode selected. Please select strength,” continues the mechanical voice. I now move my right hand to adjust the pumping strength to Maximum, and push my dick further in.
“Dick inserted, 95% according to measurement. Maximum strength selected,” the voice says, and then another announcement, “Maximum strength can be harsh on delicate penises and it can cause pain if used constantly, as a measure of security strength will be downgraded if at any time the user’s hands are not touching the controls or if system requirements on the user’s health measurements are not met. Knowing this, please, confirm the selection of mode, total; strength, maximum.”
“Confirmed!” I yell. Thank God these rooms have great sound insulation.
“Pumping starting,” the voice says, as the machine internal motion starts without it moving from where it is physically. The feeling of the machine’s internal pump moving against my dick, plus the vacuum, makes me bite my lips a little. “Thank you for being a CUMSA supplier, your presence is most important to us. CUMSA: pleasurable work for a better world,” the machine’s voice says, before speed is increased. I scream in pleasure, deafening the machine’s own noise.
I am not moving at all, but the machine’s insides are pumping my cock at incredible speeds. Honestly, it is too tight for me, but I fucking love that. Since I selected the “total” mode, the machine also produced two lower appendages which are now alternating their treatment of my balls between suction and a mechanical but delicious spanking.
As the suction increases, I start releasing precum in great amounts and the machine’s counter marking my production goes up at an accelerated rate. I feel so horny, so needy, that I start using my legs to pull my cock out of the machine and then push it back in. I start fucking the mechanical hole with my large meat, but it continues to move internally as well to massage and drain my cock non-stop—the pleasure and the stimulation is, therefore, doubled.
For some reason that I don’t really understand, however, an image crosses my mind: my large, person-sized cock slamming my best friend’s insides, and rearranging his organs. Of course, this would be deadly and impossible—he could never take me. And yet, as the mini-suckers worked my nipples and as I slammed my cock in the furious massage machine, that’s what the eye of my mind chose to show me. His legs, wide open; my hugeness, in his butt; his belly completely dysmorphic as I hammered my cock deep inside his being. And he screamed, in pleasure—except in reality those screams were mine.
“Oh my fucking loooord!!!” I yelled, as the machine’s pump and my slamming my dick in its tight hole seemed to drag my soul through the depths of hell, just to then emerge in paradise. My balls, heavy 100kg each, pounding the machine with a solid slap each time I thrusted, my hands holding the controls on the sides so tight I could’ve torn them apart.
“I… I can’t!” I realized, “I need to release!” I voiced in a hurried tone to myself. There was no one else there, after all. I slammed my cock in the machine, my mind imagining my friend. The machine shook as it received my size, as it was hit by my balls, and as it moved inside to pump my whole length, and to pressure it on all sides—to turn around it, and to exquisitely torture me.
And yet I imagined Augusto, deviously, trying to suck all my liquids with his deformed ass as I pounded his insides. Is this a curse, is this vengeance?
“I can’t, I can’t,” I scream again, this time helpless. “I need… I need. Connect to the reception, now!” I ordered. And the system did it almost immediately.
“Hello, Luís. Cauê here, how can I help you?” asked Cauê’s soothing voice.
“I neeeeeed, I neeed,” I said dragging the vowels as I slammed my cock in the machine. As my productivity numbers shot up and so did my lust, “I need help now,” I screamed, my balls hitting the machine and making a loud noise he could most definitely hear over the speaker.
“Are you already drain…” he was about to ask, but then my moaning and the sound a huge ballsack hitting metal answered his unfinished question, “… of course. I’m sorry, sir, but I… hmmm, there’s no accredited assistant that’s free right now. We weren’t expecting anyone else this morning so we are short on staff,” he completed. Each one of those words far too long—they tortured me. I had to think but I couldn’t, as the devious machine sucked my senses out from my cock while replacing them with pleasure and hunger—a hunger I didn’t know I had, as my mind’s eye showed me Augusto from angles I didn’t even now I had memorized so precisely. Torture, I call it!
For now, though, I needed to cum. But I couldn’t. So much need and yet I couldn’t—I felt helpless.
“Please, I need,” I said, panting between thrusts, between sucks, between throbs, between hits, “I need help, I need something.”
“There’s no one else,” he said, shortly and fast. It’s like he was embarrassed by listening to me in that situation. Honestly, if I weren’t so occupied being drained by a machine and fucking it, I might well have also been embarrassed.
With consistent fucking, with constant pleasure, however, came an inconsistent mind: as soon as the image moved from Augusto’s distorted ass being fucked by me to my best friend’s surprisingly large rod rubbing on my asshole, I bit my lips once more—almost to the meat.
“Come fucking now!” I ordered. “And bring me… bring me your toys. If you don’t, I’ll never come here again,” I vouched, “Just come, come to me. Come for me and let me cum. I, fuck, fuuuck,” I mumbled, angry, needy, hungry, empty. Commanding, begging. A boss, a bum.
There was silence on the other side of the line.
“Well, I could come if you need me so much. But you know it will cost you 10% of your earnings in this session as a commission, right?” he said, slowly. I panted, closing my eyes to better visualize my friend’s cock entering my ass; I even saw myself widening my legs, opening my butt for him—but his rod never came.
What did come was my milk: it flowed, and so flowed my precum, into the hungry machine. My sweat fell like rain, my balls bounced like the waves during an ocean storm—my rod, pressured by the machine, forced in there by my pounding, was feeling more and more raw. Better, and better. And yet I couldn’t… even as I opened my legs, as my but cheeks parted like the Red Sea, I couldn’t.
“Whatever the fuck you need! Just come already,” I pounded my burning cock in the machine, “and bring them, those toys. A big one, a large one, to fuck me,” I ordered, and the call was ended.
When I heard the sound of the interrupted call, I almost cried. I needed relief and this time pounding this machine furiously was not being sufficient. My burning balls, my burning cock, they were great—but I couldn’t climax by myself, for some reason.
I was lost in a state of bliss and helplessness, almost sobbing and almost exploding, and yet keeping it all it—until I heard the machine’s automatic voice informed: “Assistant Cauê registered. A 10% commission is charged for our assistant’s help in production—it goes straight to reward our assistants and none of it is kept by CUMSA. Say yes to accept.”
“Fuuuuuuuck yeeeeees,” I screamed, from the depths of my soul.
“Assistance accepted,” said the machine. And the staff door was unlocked, and then opened.
“I hope you don’t mind, I brough some toys and some lube,” said the small, kind, angelic Cauê, like he came from heavens to deliver my orgasm.
“Just fill me already!” I vociferate, between moans and during the long, delightful shoveling of my cock in the draining machine, which worked my shaft and cockhead raw.
“As you wish,” he said, and then I felt his cold hands on my butt cheeks.
One problem with having someone trying to play with your butt when you are furiously fucking a suction machine while standing is that your movements will harden your lower muscles and make it harder for the other person to please you. Or, as Cauê put it:
“This won’t work, I need you to stop hammering your cock in the machine so hard or your balls will end up hitting me and I’ll faint,” he said, and I grunted as I shoved my cock back fully into the machine, my balls striking against it another time. As soon as I was fully inside, the machine’s many systems turned and twisted against my sensitive, raw, burning skin—with my cockhead, particularly, which felt hot like flames, producing a fiery pleasure which burned my whole being.
“Ahhhhhwwwn… Okay, okay,” I say, panting, as I needed Cauê’s attention in my ass. As I stopped slamming the machine, my pleasure started to come more and more from its internal functions, which could be aptly described as massaging and almost skinning my cock raw.
Cauê then slapped my ass hard with both his hands.
“Great, now I’ll bring the chair, just a second,” he said, and then he took the room’s sturdy chair and unfolded it, changing it from a normal seat into one with a weird M shape which I could use to support myself mostly with my leg muscles. He forced the seat against me, and I lowered myself on it, but doing that forced my ass to spread and open up as my asshole found itself exactly in that deeper point in the middle of the M, with my legs on the sides in a similar shape to the rest of the letter.
“Hmmm,” I said, feeling a cold air reach my hungry exposed asshole, although most activity still came from the angry massage the machine gave my cock and from the suction on my hard-working nipples. Weirdly though, being “sit” I now felt a bit more passive, which was a change for these milking sessions as long as I was concerned.
“Nice ass,” Cauê says, caressing my butt while kneeled next to it, and then he presses his wet fingers against my butthole, “but damn, you are tight,” he notes. I moan a little as his fingers enter slightly inside me.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” I say, needlingly, concentrating more and more on my ass, even as my cock continued to be pleasured inventively by the incredible machine. My mind’s eye, weirdly, liked to show me an imagine of Augusto’s long fingers entering my muscular ass, even as I knew that the nice tingle was Cauê’s doing.
“More,” I ordered.
“As you command,” said Cauê, then pushing his fingers further in, and then a third and a fourth joining the first two. He fingerfucked me and I moaned. He seemed amused, “Tight, but not unwilling, I see.”
“Never; wiling, willing,” I said, without much sense or care, as the machine forced me to release my precum and the assistant helped me explore a new pleasure zone.
“Yes, let’s see then,” says Cauê, taking the large 30cm dildo he had brought with him, already completely covered in lube, “Tell me if you feel any discomfort.” He said, and then started pushing the toy inside my intestines.
Oh God, the sensation! Is this the forbidden fruit? I bit my lips to contain my ectasis, as the rod reached increasing depths inside me, but I just couldn’t. Sensing my first shot, the machine turned automatically from half sucking and half pleasuring to full draining mode. I came like the Iguaçu falls, in huge amounts and unendingly, and yet the modern machine could contain my cum fully.
“Oh, so soon?” said Cauê, taking the dildo from my ass and sounding a bit disappointed. That word, however, was the last in my mind, as I overflowed the machine with my seed, its counter crossing 150 and then 200 and then 250 and 300l. As it stopped rising, at almost 350l, it showed my new personal record.
Cauê stood up, went to the machine, read the number, and actually laughed.
“Wow, you really needed this one, huh?”
“I… ughhh,” I said, between grunts, as my balls still pumped up shots of my cum, “I think I am bisexual,” I admitted.
“Why? Because you came from playing with your ass? You can like buttplay and still be straight, you know?” he said, in a very fluid and conversational tone, while also looking at me and fully assimilating with his eyes the scene in front of him: a humongous muscular man with a 1,70m cock buried within a large draining machine, his pecs jutting out of his body with his nice plump nipples attached to suction-pods; this man’s skin completely drenched in sweat, his stench, overbearing.
“There’s… that,” I admit, “but no. I was thinking about a friend of mine the whole time. A male friend.”
“Oh yeah, that’s pretty gay,” he laughs, “Or bisexual I guess,” he shrugs, and then slaps my arm muscles.
“Well, I’ll get going already before João kills me for asking him to cover my shift…” he says, moving away. I grab his arm with my much stronger hand, and he looked towards my eyes, which still sparkled.
“Not so soon. I want more. Take another one of those toys, I want to do it again,” I say, and he looks again towards sweat-drenched me.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Why? Has my time ended?” I actually look around a bit confused, because my huge wave of pleasure actually fucked up my internal clock for a while.
“Oh, no… I just though you’d be tired after a record-breaking orgasm,” he commented, and I release his arm. I also stood up from the M-shaped chair, and pulled my cock from the machine. It was well designed enough not to spill a single drop of my cum—unfortunately or not, the same could not be said of my cock, which now free was releasing its leftovers on the floor of the room, until I pulled it up.
“No way. Unless you are that is. I think I’ll need more… help… in order to cum again. But I want more. I mean, it’s my first time doing this,” then I offered my cockhead to Cauê, he shook his head, and I started drinking from it, “I just need to rehydrate. I’ll drink this and then clear that filter, and the juices and vitamins they leave for us, and we can do it again. I want to do it in all fours now. Can we do that?” I said, suckling from my cock and walking towards the table, water and the fridge with goodies.
When I started, Cauê’s visage seemed pretty confusing, but as I continued talking it grew increasingly smiley, interested and even excited.
“Oh, yes, oh yes! We can definitely do that! I just need to change the pump’s location, adapt the bed a little, and it will be easy!” he voiced, looking around.
“Great! Then you do that while I refill a little for 4… no, make it 5 minutes,” I estimate. He nods furiously.
“Yeah! João is going to skin me alive but from the look of your cock that might be quite pleasing anyway,” he says, commenting on my cock looking pretty raw and red from the machine’s rough treatment of it.
Between gulps of water, I smile, and as I finish the first five liters, I reply to him: “I always say a cock is the most resistant part of a man’s body, if you have the right frame of mind not only will it easily take some harsh treatment but it will reward you for it.”
I panted on the bed, my ass pointing up and my cock deep inside the delicious machine which had been repositioned under the furniture by Cauê. As he inserted and removed that large 40cm vibrating dildo from my ass, I had the second orgasm of the day, reaching my third-ever largest production: a little bit more than 300l of cum and precum combined.
As I screamed in orgasmic pleasure, Cauê spanked by butt, and I collapsed on the sturdy bed, completely exhausted. He removed the dildo from my ass, which suddenly felt empty, and went to the toilet to wash it, leaving me to my dwell on the avalanche of sensations of my peak.
“My god!” I screamed as I finally calmed down, dick still deep inside the pump. He replied laughing from the bathroom.
“I’m glad you liked it,” he says, and returns to the main environment, “I’ll check in the system that you are done and we’re going to deposit your pay—just remember there was a commission for my help.”
“Best use of money ever,” I interrupt, he smiles.
“I’ll also bring you some food and more liquids, as you emptied everything before the second session and I suppose you are starving,” I nod eagerly, as he continues, “the extra towels should be in the cleaning station and since I added another hour to your appointment you can just take your time before leaving.”
“Thank you so much,” I say, starting to stand from the bed where I was collapsed, my dick still deeply entrenched in the machine holding me down and making me fall back on the bed.
He laughs at the scene, “Not at all. You just tripled my day’s pay, milk and cum combined it’s more than 350 reais in commission alone! You sizedivergent dudes must all be rich.”
“Most of it goes to food, and adapted furniture, clothes, it’s all very expensive. But yeah, it’s not bad,” I reply.
“I’m not judging,” he replied with a smile, slapping my ass again and leaving through the staff door.
While he is away, I pull my dick from the machine and disconnect the mini-suckers from my nipples. This time, because it was under me, the machine managed to collect pretty much all my cum and there’s almost no dribble, so I go straight to the locker room to clean myself while waiting for my food and drinks.
I enter the large industrial shower and turn it on—the water is warm and potent. I start cleaning myself, feeling my sore muscles which ache deliciously; my burning cock which hurts so nice; my ass which feels amazingly desecrated. I clean it well and deep, using the industrial hose to make my insides almost shine. Then I direct the water hose to my cockhead, and tremble in pleasure as the strong pressured water hits my smooth sensitive skin. I start pointing it towards my cockslit, and then inside it, to clean it oh-so-well.
Wouldn’t it be nice if Augusto were here helping me to clean? Maybe tending my cock, getting his hands inside my cockslit to make it spotless. My dick would reverence him, but honestly, he might not be the best alternative to make my log less tainted by precum. I sighed. “I guess I have to tell them,” I thought, a little bit depressed. “I just hope they won’t hate me for it.”
And then my thoughts were interrupted by Cauê calling me from the main environment and saying that he had resupplied the fridge, brought me my favorite items in the menu, and that he’d be returning to the reception desk before his colleague João decided to crucify him alive. I thanked him again from the shower, and apologized for how I talked to him while in stupor.
“It’s okay, we’ve all been there,” he says, and leaves.
Not long after I finished cleaning, and go eat naked in the main environment. My cock is soft and wet, my balls nicely emptied. I turn on the TV and eat on the table while drinking gallons of water and other liquids, watching one of those morning cooking shows.
“Now I just have to get in touch with Augusto,” I think, and then I almost stand up to grab my phone, until I stop and shove another sandwich in my mouth. “No, I can give myself some fine minutes of post-orgasmic calm before I start worrying about that.”
Not long after I am dressed and back to the reception. I meet Cauê there again, give him my name tag, and he finishes my appointment, designing room 37-4AP to a member of the cleaning staff. He then thanks me for having once again been an outstanding supplier for CUMSA, and asks:
“There is anything you’d like to change in your standard setting for your next milking session?”
I think about it a little, looking around a little embarrassed.
“Yes,” I reply. He waits for me to continue, “You can add there that I want an assistant and toys.”
“Okay, which toys, and what should be the gender of the assistant?” I think about it a little.
“All the toys you brought, but make them larger. As for the assistant, male for now, but I might change it later. Leave it like that.”
“I… don’t want to pressure you, but as it is my job I must ask: should I change your sexuality designation? It says here you classified yourself as straight when you enrolled as a supplier,” he tells me, slowly and carefully. I blush a strong red color.
“Yes, you can change it,” I say, and then lowering my large upper body over the reception desk almost to whisper to him, “You can put there that I’m bisexual.” He smiles, nods, and I move back and straighten my spine again.
“Done!” he proclaims, “Now I just need you to sign this receipt saying you received your pay: you produced a total of 679 liters of cum and precum, and 12,52 liters of male milk. Deducting taxes and the assistant’s commission, that is a total of 3244,54 reais,” he says, professionally, handing me a pen and a slip of paper; and then adds, more informally, “not bad at all for one day’s worth.”
I smile, sign the paper, and he gives me a copy of the receipt with his signature. I put it in my bag, thank him again, say goodbye and leave to go relax outside before I really need to go to university and face my friends, this afternoon.
After leaving my part-time work at CUMSA, I went to a coffee shop to buy something to drink and a cake, as a sweet reward for a nice, productive morning. I stared at my cellphone—still no response from Augusto, although I knew for a fact that he had shown up to the Welcoming Ceremony at university thanks to a few messages from both Mateus and Hugo. I sighed.
“Maybe he is just busy,” I hoped, and then took another bite of my cake. Sweet, sweet dark forest cake. Dark like my somber heart.
While I was still lost in self-pity, two people sat on the table just behind my back, and they started speaking to each other in a foreign language which I did not recognize. It sounded like German or Dutch, or maybe even a Nordic tongue. Regardless, my curiosity peaked, and my ears became alerted to their every noise, while I continued drinking my espresso and eating my cake.
Soon, the waiter came to their table, and they were having trouble communicating: the staffer didn’t speak any language other than Portuguese, and the two clients seemed to only know how to say “thank you” and “where’s the toilet” in our national language. I bit my tongue, wanting to intervene, but being too shy to do so. As I turned around ever so slightly, however, the waiter looked at me with pleading eyes.
“Excuse me,” I say in English, with my awfully thick accent, holding my breath, as I turn completely to the right, facing the waiter and the table behind me, “Maybe I can help, if you guys want?” I offer the foreigners, and they thank me for it. I then translate their order to the waiter, as well as the information about the menu to them. It was a little difficult, but not too much, as we only needed to use simple words relating to practical things—no debates on econometrics there. When the waiter left, I was about to turn back to my own table when the foreigners smiled at me and thanked me for helping.
“No problem at all. Where are you guys from?” I ask. Now that I am finally less nervous, I can fully appreciate the sight of the two foreigners: the one sitting next to me is a handsome, dark haired white guy, seemingly tall for a normal-sized man, whose most distinguishing feature were his hazel eyes and a small beard; the one sitting in front of him had straight pitch-black hair, and seemed to be half white and half Asian, his most distinctive feature being his surprisingly thick and red lips.
“I’m from Belgium and he is from the Netherlands,” responds the guy sitting further away. I voice some sort of nicety in response, and before we fall into an awkward silence, the Dutch man smiled and says:
“So, we just arrived today and we don’t really know how to find our way around here. We were looking for the National Museum of Sizedivergence. Would you know where that is?” he asked. I thought about it for a second and shook my head.
“Not really, but I can Google it for you guys,” I said, and then took my phone in my hands as they thanked me—still no message from Augusto—and looked it up. I hadn’t ever been to that Museum but seeing its address now I realized it was really close to where we were and proceeded to explain to them how they could easily walk there from the coffee shop.
“And do you have any recommendations on where we should go to, you know, explore more of sizedivergent culture?” asked the Belgian. I lifted my left eyebrow, then looked down, towards my large muscular chest which was almost bursting my stretched t-shirt, and then back to them, with a cheeky smile.
“Not really,” I responded, half amused by the question, “I don’t know much about places relating to sizedivergent culture in downtown São Paulo, I’m sorry. I live here but I am actually from another city. I am sure there’s plenty of information online, though,” I completed, before stopping for a second to think. “Except, maybe, Leite de Moço? Although that’s not really a cultural center or anything, it’s just a restaurant and coffee shop where they specialize in serving pecmilk-based drinks and food and where waiters are sizedivergent males. I only really know about it because I had a friend who used to work there…” I commented, and then had a sip of my own coffee.
“Oh, sorry,” responded the Dutch guy, apparently worried they might have offended with their line of questioning, and I shook my head.
“No problem at all. If you guys have any other questions, I’ll be right here,” I say, and then turn back to my table to enjoy the rest of my cake. The gringos continue talking in their native language behind my back (literally), until a few minutes later their food is brought. Somehow, they are hungry enough to eat it faster than me, and before long they are standing next to my table, getting ready to leave.
“Sorry to bother you again,” says the Belgian, calling my attention, “But could you please let us take a picture of the map showing the way to the Museum? We don’t have a Brazilian SIM card yet,” he asks. I look down at my almost-finished already-cold coffee and my empty plate dirty with leftover dark forest cake.
“Hmmm,” I say, then looking towards them—their height standing close to mine sitting down, they look at me expectantly, obviously ogling my muscles and then my crotch, before moving their gaze back up to my face. I smile and make a decision: “I can take you there, if you guys want. I just finished here and I don’t really have anything else to do for now,” I offer. They exchange looks, probably communicating between themselves without words.
The Dutch man clears his throat, while looking at the cleavage between by large pecs, probably thinking what things could fit in that muscle valley—yes, I knew that kind of flustered look well enough.
“We don’t want to bother you…” he starts, but I just take the last sip of my coffee and stand up, the volume of my balls and cock forcing the table forward as it moves upwards, generating more noise than I expected. Their eyes follow the rise of my sturdy pecs, while now stand taller than either of their heads—my nipples closer to their eye level, now.
“Not at all! Let me just pay for this and I’ll guide you guys there. It’s not that far from here and I can even show you the way to Leito de Sinhô, if you want,” I offer once more. They look at each other, now seemingly less awkward and more amused.
“Well, then we’ll be very thankful for your help!” says the Belgian, before completing, “By the way, my name is Luc, and he is Florian. Thank you again for your trouble.” As he speaks, I shake my head and move towards the counter.
“No, not at all, not at all! Actually, I wanted to take some time to walk around for a while, so I can empty my mind a bit, you guys just gave me an excuse to do what I wanted to do anyway. And the name is Luís,” I respond. As I move between the tables to get to the counter, a few people rub on me, but that’s normal. My large bulge does bump into one man who was sitting in my way as I passed—I unfortunately couldn’t see him well because of my enormous pecs blocking a part of my field of vision. I just apologized to him, and he accepted my apologies before complimenting my frame. I just thanked him for the comment and went to pay for my food.
Soon enough, we are all outside.
The gringos and I talk as I take them through the streets of downtown São Paulo to Leite de Moço, from where I can guide them to the museum. They tell me that they are actually a couple, which is a little surprising to me as I hadn’t really guessed that they were homosexuals. They tell me that they are interested in sizedivergent culture, but not in a “weird” way—apparently the Belgian guy had a minor in Sizedivergent people in European history, so his interest was at least partly academic. They also asked me a little about me, trying to stir the conversation towards my size, and I tried to satisfy their curiosity as much as I could.
“Well, a little,” I respond, as we cross a street; several other size-divergent people are walking around in the busy sidewalks of downtown São Paulo, “I personally don’t feel too out of place, but sometimes you get into a building and, you know, the ceiling is low and the doors can’t handle your width—but honestly, it isn’t that bad here. I don’t know what it’s like overseas, but in Brazil most places are accessible to size-divergent people.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s the case in Belgium, not at all,” responded Luc, and I just shrugged the issue. To be honest, I sometimes imagine it would be fun to travel overseas so I can feel larger than life, like I am too big for the world—but it must be a pain to live like that every day, for the size-divergent folk up there. I did feel relatively large in my daily life, especially when talking to people like Luc and Florian, but then there were the Hugos of the world.
“And what about clothes?” asked Florian, I looked funny at him.
“What about them? I just buy them for my size like anyone,” I respond, a bit confused by the question. He laughs.
“Oh, they sell sizedivergent sizes everywhere here? I hear that in Europe they are pretty rare to find,” he comments, as we turn the corner into a large square. As I hear him respond, I am sure I look positively surprised.
“Wow, really? I wouldn’t have expected from a developed country. Must be expensive to be size-divergent there, then,” I simply say, before we walk amongst a large crowd.
The two Europeans look a bit confused as they follow me: there are many street vendors around us, many people stopping to buy stuff from them, and the gringos seem a little overwhelmed. At first, I find that confusion a little funny, until I look towards the particular stall they are staring at: it has a relatively large size-divergent male naked from the waist up (except for his gloves) selling sugarcane juice mixed with pec milk.
“Do you guys want to try it? It’s very nice during summer,” I say, and their previous self-containment is bashed completely by my comment. They immediately approach the stand, and I serve as an interpreter as they buy two large cups of a 50/50 mix of sugar cane juice and pec milk. They eat the vendor with their eyes as he passes the sugarcane through the crusher to extrait it’s juice—his muscles bulging as he manages the machine—and then he takes some milk from the fridge and fills the rest of the glasses.
They ask me to ask him where he gets his milk from and he, of course, says it’s his own yield which he is selling, pure from the source. He also conveys that he is very mindful of his diet so that his pecmilk remains sweet and refreshing—the ideal match for sugarcane juice. As I relay this information to the gringos, I can see their mouths getting watery and their eyes move towards the vendor’s sizeable nipples, which at this moment are glistening with sweat. The vendor, ignoring their thirsty stares, then gives them their cups, and we continue our way across the square as Luc and Florian drink the juice and comment on it to each other in their native language.
“Is it any good?” I ask, feeling a little awkward for being excluded from the conversation. Luc’s eyes shine.
“It’s amazing. We do have pecmilk-based drinks in Europe, but I’ve never tasted something like this,” he says. Then Florian adds, “It’s so fresh!” before returning his attention to his cold beverage.
We continue down the square and pass through more stalls—some selling size-divergent clothing, which they took a look at—and even some living status—they really liked that one dude who was dressed as João da Silva Gomes, a famous size-divergent actor. They also seemed interested in the many signs and ads which showed size-divergent people, especially men. They seemed almost magnetically attracted, for example, to a large series of banners showing a car ad: the first banner showed a car crossing a desert, the second banner showed the same car crossing a city scape, the third, finally, showed four large rock-hard cocks entering the car, one from each door—the text read, “The world isn’t big enough for me, but my car must be.”
Above all, however, their attention was peaked when we passed by a newsstand, which had a large cooler in facing outwards, displaying several bottled drinks.
“What is that?” asked Luc, pointing towards a plastic bottle shaped like a penis. I laughed.
“You guys don’t have Porrada! in Europe? It’s basically an energy drink based on an extract of size-divergent precum; like, it’s not made of actual raw precum, it’s just an extract manufactured using precum. They say it’s really good after workouts, but I don’t really drink it. If precum is so good for health I’d rather just, you know, drink it from the source for free,” I explain, and they just look at me dumbfound.
“Oh, yeah, we have stuff like that in Europe but not sold in a bottle with this shape,” says Luc, slowly. I stare at him, inquisitively.
“Why? It’s just a penis,” and as I say it out loud, Luc and Florian look at each other inquisitively. Consequently, I also end up blushing and laughing. “Oh, I mean, of course, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive, it’s just that I tend to forget that in countries with less size-divergence people the culture can be more… restrictive with their attitudes towards the human body. You know, for us a cock is just a cock, it’s like a nipple or the abs, it’s just another part of the body. It’s not like we can hide it from sight,” I say, rather awkwardly. Luc looks at Florian funnily, and then responds:
“I guess you can’t,” he comments in a whisper, looking at my round muscular ass. Florian coughs.
“Well, some people in Belgium would say those parts of the body you mentioned are also pretty sexual, maybe even some size-divergent folks,” the Dutch commented, slowly, and I scratched my head as I didn’t know where to put my face, which certainly looked off out of first hand embarrassment.
“Ah yes, of course they can be sexual, I guess. But that doesn’t mean they can’t also be normal, right? Especially for us, due to our size and all, it’s not like we could keep it hidden even if we tried, and you know how the saying goes: close to the eye, close to the heart, or something,” I spew quickly, trying to end the subject, and then I clear my throat and point towards a large art-deco building a few meters away, at the other side of the street in the far end of the square:
“Look, there it is, it’s the Leite de Moço!” I exclaim, and their attention immediately shifts towards the large establishment a few dozen meters away from us. “I guess I can take you to the Museum now and then you guys can find your way back here from there later,” I say, they agree, and we go.
Looking at the Leite de Moço from afar made my mood collapse as I was reminded of the time I visited it with Augusto, which subsequently made me check my phone once again and forced me to contemplate the reality that my best friend was still ignoring my apologetic messages. I sighed, and as we passed right in front of the large art-deco restaurant, their wide windows showed the lively inside: lots of customers on the tables, talking to each other and enjoying themselves, about half of whom were size-divergent; the large muscular waiters were moving around in comfortably loose clothes, and at the back of the main hall there were several size-divergent men having their pecs stimulated in order to produce some fresh pecmilk—some of them are being milked by machines, others, by hand; a few, are being sucked on directly by their customers. The atmosphere inside apparently was the same as I remembered.
About four years ago, when we entered university and I first got to know Augusto, he invited me to come to this restaurant as we could get a sizeable discount there thanks to Mateus, who used to work there as a supplier. Augusto ended up becoming a regular there, for a while, but although I was impressed by the quality of their food I never really returned after that one time. When I wanted to cook some traditional sizedivergent dish, I either did it myself or I went back home for the weekend to eat my mother’s cooking. Still, I remember just entering their main hall already made me feel weird—not bad, but still different. It was warm and cozy, homely and yet strange and public.
“So their expertise is food based on pecmilk?” I remember asking Augusto, as we sat at our table. The chairs were large, designed to meet the needs of the thickest sizedivergent ass.
“Yes,” he said, and then looked towards the back of the hall, were all the suppliers were being milked. I followed his gaze and saw our colleague Mateus there, back when he was only 19 years old, but already looking like the muscular hunk he is now. His pectoral muscles were not being milked by the machines, but by hand, because they designated him to produce a special aged kind of pecmilk. Basically, the white liquid became thicker and its flavor became a lot stronger by decreasing the rate of milking, and also limiting orgasms to once every 3 days—yes, it made him almost go crazy, which is why he ended up giving up on the job less than a year later.
“It looks good,” I said, looking at the menu, surprised at the amount of traditional dishes I remembered from my childhood that I could find in their list. “It’s really authentic,” I comment.
“Yes, see, ‘since 1924’,” I remember Augusto replying, pointing at the cover of the menu, but almost immediately glancing back at both of Mateus’s huge pecs being slowly milked. Soon, however, we discussed what we should eat and he made me some recommendations, such as “this is the chef’s specialty,” “this one is particularly good” and “Kevin’s pecmilk has a great flavor to mix with this one.” When we both had selected our choices, we called for the waiter. A fantastically immense man appeared—one so large he seemed to have trouble bringing his hands close together to take notes on the orders, as his pecs kept his arms so far apart. Due to sheer effort, though, he managed to squeeze his pecs and bring his hands close enough to take the necessary notes, even if that made his arm muscles bulge wildly.
After taking our orders, the waiter noticed Augusto looking towards the suppliers being milked at the back, and so he suggested that we add warm milk from the source as a desert. I really didn’t feel like paying to suck pecmilk from another size-divergent man’s pecs when I had so many ways to get it for free whenever I felt like it, but Augusto seemed to ponder the suggestion.
“And how much would it be to drink from that one?” he asked, pointing towards Mateus. The waiter looked and then cleared his throat.
“Oh, sir, that one produces special 3-days-aged hand-milked pecmilk. It is quite expensive. To drink from him we charge 275 reais a minute,” he informed. My jaw almost fell to the ground: that’s like the price of selling three liters of pecmilk at market-rates, and a normal person was unlikely to drink more than half a liter of pecmilk in a whole minute, let alone the thick slow-flowing variety Mateus produced.
“Oh, yeah, that’s too expensive,” responded a disappointed Augusto. I remember looking at him and then at Mateus, who seemed to finally see us and who winked at me when I looked at him—he couldn’t wave at us as moving his arms would affect the slow and steady milking, and also the quality of his milk.
“Don’t worry, we can ask him if he’ll allow you to drink from his muscle tits later one, and I’m sure he’ll be fine sharing a little bit of his milk with a friend,” I said, trying to make Augusto cheer up, and then turned to the waiter, “I mean, that’s fine, right? He can let us suck from his pecs himself, after work?” The waiter looked at us with a mix of awkwardness and condescension.
“Yes, he owns his body, he is just selling us his milk and getting a share of our profits for it. He can sell his milk to whomever he wants, but he is unlikely to do that for a discount and obviously we don’t share the contact information of our suppliers,” he explained. I pondered for a second and then smiled, explaining to him that we are colleagues at university and actually know each other personally. The water then looked at Mateus, who was still smiling towards us as we smiled back at him, and then said: “Oh, hmm, if that’s the case then I can ask him now and if he allows it, I’ll add it as a desert and I’ll only charge you half the restaurant’s cut, is that okay? In that case it will be only 27,50 a minute.” Augusto thought for a while, certainly balancing that with the option of just drinking from our mutual friend’s pecs later on, but finally he shrugged off his concern.
“For that price, sure. Thank you then, for the help,” answered Augusto, and the waiter thanked us and went directly to Mateus. They talked for a little while, then looked at us, and Mateus nodded. The waiter then came to our table once more.
“He accepted it, but he wanted the same offer to be extended to Luís as well,” the waiter informed, looking towards me. Augusto’s eyes soon joined his in staring at my face, pressuring me to answer.
“No, thanks, I’m fine, there’s no need,” I said, reminding myself that this was just pecmilk, and not wanting to suck directly from a colleague’s nipple that much—he had a broad and muscular frame, and his nipples looked beautiful and squishy, but I didn’t want to suckle on them and then look like I was enjoying it too much. However, the waiter cleared his throat and responded:
“He insisted, sir, and he also said that it will be his treat,” he said, and then I accepted defeat.
“Okay, then, but make it four minutes for each of us,” I said, with a smile, looking at Mateus in the far end of the hall, still having his pecs stroked kindly so they’d yield their juices to feed the clients who were hungry for his milk.
“Perfect,” said the waiter, making some final notes before he left us to ourselves—his arm bulged as he wrote our instructions down, and the muscles on his pecs danced as he had to force them in order to bring both his hands, notes and pen, together. When he finally left, he allowed his immense arms to rest on the sides of his body as he walked away—but they still looked absurdly thick, and would often rub on other waiters who were walking around.
Our food came quickly, and I remember commenting to Augusto that I liked it a lot more than I had expected I would. “Reminds me of my grandma’s cooking,” I said, or something like that—although, of course, the pecmilk they used tasted different than the flat flavor I was used to, due to the similar genetics of all the people in my family.
After we finished our meal, it was time for dessert, and we were escorted by the waiter to the back of the hall, towards Mateus. Our buddy, who was in the back of the hall being milked was, I could now see, actually sitting on a comfy chair naked from the waist up, while his cock and balls were hidden by a long fabric which touched the floor below, hiding all the goods.
“Is his cock just laying down there? I’d have thought he’d produce at least a little precum with his pecs being gently squeezed like that for hours, especially considering he has to limit his orgasms to produce better quality milk,” I asked the waiter as he took us to Mateus, he shook his head.
“Yes, you are right, of course,” he said, and then pointed out to the floor below the row of seats where Mateus and the other suppliers were being milked, “That’s why we have a tube down there where they can insert their penises, so they can also release their cum and precum comfortably as they are milked. If they get hard, having your cock locked at this downward angle can be awkward, but most of our suppliers actually find it exquisite, and it is the traditional milking position in the Iberian tradition, so we have preserved it this way,” the waiter explained, and I was reminded of my grandfather’s farm’s special barn where my cousins and I would go get milked and drained in the traditional way, like in the olden days—”dick down, pecs up, on your back,” as they said.
Soon we got close to where Mateus was and greeted our friend, who was moaning silently and biting his lips while being milked as he greeted us back. The man who was slowly milking him stopped, cleaned Mateus’s muscular pecs and nipples with a cloth and some alcohol-based product, and then left us to ourselves. The waiter then explained that he would clock the time we suckled, reminding us that we only had 240 seconds each, but that the clock would stop if we needed to take a breather or something.
“You can start whenever you wish. The chef recommends drinking it mixed with honey or with lime, which you can have either on the side or on the source,” the waiter said. I decided to drink the pecmilk as it came, but Augusto decided to pick some of the cut limes they had at our disposal and squeeze them on Mateus’s pecs, covering it on cold lemonade—and then he brough his mouth closer and closer to the large nipple sticking out of Mateus’s right pec, and suckled.
Taken aback by his willingness to suck, I finally decided to start doing so myself, and as such I took Mateus’s left nipple in my mouth—I licked it and sucked, forcing a small amount of thick and dense milk, almost with the density of honey, to come out. It tasted different—strong; sweet but also bitter; like a mix of honey, wine, rum and spices. It was delicious beyond believe—no wonder they were charging so much for a taste of this amazing elixir. It reminded me faintly of cousin’s Geraldo’s pecmilk back when he decided to stop milking himself for a week, except cousin Geraldo’s milk was not quite this heavy on fat and it didn’t have the honey-like undertones, instead being more rosé-ish.
“Damn, this is thick,” I said, taking a time from the sucking to complement the product. The waiter explained that this was partly due to Mateus’s special diet, which they complemented with food designed to make his milk even more “buttery” and “opulent,” whatever that meant. Mateus smiled at me and Augusto, while continuing to work on our friend’s nipple, looked up towards my face as I talked.
“Don’t worry too much about fancy pectology terms, just enjoy the flavor,” Mateus suggested, and I accepted his tip and started sucking him once more. As I licked his nipple with my tongue, he certainly felt my eagerness and moaned ever so softly.
Mateus’s sizable pecs made sucking his nipples even more comfortable: they emanated human warmth and were so large and sturdy that you could rest your face against them, which Augusto was doing, as he drank. Soon, however, he let go of Mateus’s nipple, just to squeeze more limes on top of our friend’s pecs.
“So refreshing! I think this would go wonderfully after being under the sun in a hot summer day, preferably at the beach,” he commented, before sinking back into sucking, swallowing more and more of that thick strong honey-like pecmilk. Mateus looked down at us and then did something surprising: he lifted his arms and hands, and then used his hands to pat our heads and force them further into his pecs—that, of course, meant his powerful arm muscles were pressing laterally against his pectorals, forcibly increasing the amount of milk gushing out of his nipples. The waiter was about to intervene and stop that, but Mateus looked at him sternly.
“Maybe one day we should all take a trip to Ubatuba and do something like that. But then I don’t want to be the only one providing the milk! I’m sure Hugo and Luís also taste nice in their own ways,” he commented, and I looked up while my head was still firmly pressed against his pecs -as it was held in place by Mateus’s strong hand -, and as my mouth filled by his nipple—which fed me his thick milk. I was about to try to respond to his remark, but in this situation, naturally, all I emitted was a deep moan.
Sooner rather than later, the waiter said Augusto only had ten seconds left, and then, five. Mateus finally lowered his arms once more, letting go of our heads, and when the waiter told Augusto to stop, despite not seeming to want to, he did just that—letting go of Mateus’s well-developed nipple, which was now wet in saliva and man-milk. I still had a few more seconds, but soon I had to let go of Mateus’s delicious nipple too.
“Great meal, thank you,” said Augusto to our friend, and I also thanked him for his kindness and for picking up the salty tab of our dessert. That was certainly a wonderful experience I would cherish for a while—remembering the taste of Mateus’s pecmilk even made me curious about pectology for a while, but I was too lazy to keep my orgasms and diet under control.
After walking a little bit further from Leite de Sinhô, we arrived at the square in front of the National Museum of Sizedivergence, which was occupied by a group of protestors holding signs and singing slogans against the construction code reform bill proposed in the state’s legislative assembly. I can’t say I know that much about the subject, but I had heard about it from my more politically active friends, like Hugo—apparently, they wanted to relax some sizedivergent accessibility laws by lowering the requirements imposed by the National Sizedivergent Inclusion Fund to access inclusivity subsidies.
Some of the signs read “if you can take our money, you can take us,” “I don’t fit in the new construction code” and “200 million more for political ads, 200 million less for sizedivergent abs,” but also more succinct “cock is king,” “my cum, my rules” and “I want to enter balls deep.” Meanwhile, the protestors, male and female, stood mostly thinly dressed, screaming their mottos and flags. A few of the men had chosen to keep their cocks erect and had painted their exposed body parts in the colors of the National Sizedivergency Movement, others had tied flags of the Unified Sizedivergent Front around their shafts, making those very visible from afar.
“What are they protesting for?” Florian asked me.
“Oh, it’s just this new construction code which they want to pass to change laws on accessibility for sizedivergents in the state, you know, door sizes, ceiling heights, special bathrooms and overall layout, things like that,” I explain, and Luc seems rather surprised. He glances at the protestors, specially those with their cocks exposed, painted, or being used as flagpoles. Some of them chose to thrust their rigid members towards the sky, as if they were a revolutionary’s fist—the sight of several hundred person-sized cocks being thrust up, some pre flying around as thanks to the inertia, and then being brought down is certainly quite a sight.
“Amazing,” said Luc, staring at a particularly well-endowed protestor who had his cock painted red, with the letters JCC in black—the acronym for the Communist Sizedivergent Youth. “I had seen pictures of Brazilian protests before, but I had never seen one up close,” he commented, and I laugh. At the same time, our attention turned towards two protestors, each on one side of the manifestation, who were having their sizeable softies stroked and groped by other people—when their cocks started to rise, I could finally tell why: they had tied a huge banner to their members, which was now rising as their cocks rose. It read: “The giants are awake: come to the streets!”
“You should have been here last year, we filled the Paulista Avenue to protest against the higher education reform bill, and I swear, it was crazy,” I comment, laughing, and then thinking a little, I add: “But my brother told me it was even worse in the 2013 protests; back then things sometimes got violent, you know? More than a few times things got physical, and people didn’t shy away from using their bodies in confrontations against the police. He used to joke that the police swallowed more cum during the manifestations than the protestors breathed in tear gas,” I say, smiling, as I remember him coming back home excited and completely damp in sweat and other liquids after the protests almost a decade back. He used to be one of the black blocks and he told me their strategy was using his sheer size to open a gap in the line of riot-control officers—like a giant elephant in the Roman army -, so his colleagues could then penetrate behind their shields.
“Damn, I’d pay to see that,” said Luc, almost drooling, and I pulled my cellphone from my pocket and started searching something on my Whatsapp. Augusto had not yet responded.
“Oh, they captured it in video, I’ll show you,” I said, and then the two of them came closer to me, one standing on the right side of my hugely prominent junk, and the other on the left side. I lowered my phone so Luc and Florian could both see the screen as the video played, and they came closer to try to get a better view of the video I was about to play. In doing so, both of them touched my balls with their legs and actually compressed them from the sides, making me grunt. They took a step back and apologized.
“No, no, it’s okay. You need to come close to see this,” I say, and I increase the screen brightness. “Don’t be shy, my brother is really proud of this,” I complete, and they take a step forth closer to me, just rubbing against my balls a little, but without pressing and forcing against them.
The video starts playing, and it shows a line of anti-riot police officers with their shields held high; there are also some officers mounted on horses on the sides, near their transports. Then half a dozen huge, hard and throbbing cocks appear in the frame—they are all naked and all painted with slogans and numbers; bellow them, the balls are also colorfully painted, and impressively large. The cocks seem to range between 1,80 and 2,3 meters—rather sizeable even amongst sizedivergent folks. After a few seconds, the large muscular bodies behind the cocks and balls revealed themselves—they were naked and also painted in colors and symbols; except their faces, which were covered by masks dripping with vinegar (which helped decrease the effects of the tear gas).
“This is my brother,” I said, pointing to a muscular man painted in green, red and yellow with a 2,15-meter-long cock and huge tight balls, “His balls are a bit empty because this was the third days of protests,” I explain.
Then, the half a dozen large men start hitting their cocks with their palms, making a large thumping noise to dominate over the officers. The smaller men responded quickly by throwing tear gas at the protesting crowd, but as soon as that happened the tank-like hunks ran forward—their erections wiggling and dropping precum all around, certainly making the agents of oppression feel, if not afraid, at least small and powerless. None of them ran away, but the crash of hard cock against the police shields turned out to be more favorable to the protestors—their muscles, which drove them forward, were certainly much more powerful than those of the average police officer, after all. Although the policemen had sturdy bats, their equipment could not compete with the much larger, more potent and majestic rods wielded by the sizedivergent protestors. As such, their line broke, and after the largest sizedivergent “elephants” came the other black blocks (mostly normal-sized, but with some smaller size-divergent dudes thrown in as well) to help continue pushing the police away and fracturing their operational unity.
The video ended with several of the large sizedivergent men making their cum rain on the police, which left their clothes damp and uncomfortable, made some of their weapons wet, sticky and unusable, and also affected the behavior of the horses and greatly lowered the morale of the police force. Basically, the protestors won that round, and there were celebratory hugs and cocks being bumped against one another.
“Fuck,” said Luc, adjusting the bulge in his pants. His size made his cock be at the perfect height to, at this position, press against my balls, and I definitely can tell when a man is hard by feeling their cock against my skin.
Florian responded to Luc by saying something in their language, and as I put my phone away, they both turned towards me.
“Do you think there’s a toilet around here?” Florian asks, a bit awkwardly. I nod and point at the museum, which was not more than a few dozen meters ahead of us, on the other size of the protest-occupied square.
“There in the Museum they most certainly have them,” I inform, and then smile, “Well, that’s it, then. I guess I’ll get going. I mean, wait, let me show you the map first so you guys can take a picture of it before I leave,” I complete, taking my phone back out of my pocket and doing just that, as I hear the crowd shouting their slogans.
After I explained the route we had previously taken to get to the National Museum of Sizedivergence, and also refreshed their memory on how to get from where we were back to the Leite de Moço restaurant, I let the gringo couple took a picture of my phone’s screen for future reference. They thanked me for everything, and asked me for my number, which I gave to them. We then said good-bye and parted our ways—I went back to USP, and they, I assume, went to watch an exposition on the wonders of sizedivergency in the National Museum; or, maybe, they went to the crowd to try to witness those wonders directly themselves.
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