Helping hands

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• Latest update: 9 November. Next update: 23 November. (Submissions welcome.)

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Miller’s cock was pretty damn big. Eleven inches easy, and thick as a tailpipe. We all knew about it because he was always jerking it two-handed right there in the barracks whenever he had off-time. He didn’t mind stroking it in front of us, and we didn’t mind watching, so it was cool all around.

It turned out that power-tool of his didn’t go down much, not even when we were working out or on patrol or scarfing down meals, and he loved the feel of his hands gripping that big, heavy, rock-hard prick more than just about anything. The passion was mesmerizing. Sometimes a few guys would jerk themselves in the bunks around him like an audience, all eyes on Miller’s grade A slab. A few times Knox even livestreamed him on his phone to his husband. Miller had fans he didn’t even know about.

One afternoon it was just Miller (languidly double-fisting his slippery pole) and me (hard just from being in there with him and considering doing something about it) when Boyd bounced in wearing just his regulation pants, like most of us did when we could. He was stringy but tight, almost as sexy in his way as Miller’s ultra-lean, hard-carved heavyweight wrester look. Boyd was a prankster, but no one minded even when they were the ones getting got.

He plopped down right next to Miller, who smiled at him without pausing in his ministrations. “‘Sup, Boydo?” he asked.

“Besides you?” Boyd said. Miller snorted. “It’s my birthday today, and I’ve decided to give you my birthday wish. I bet it’ll have to do with your dick,” he added slyly, leaning toward the larger man.

Miller shook his head. “I got all I’d ever want. All I could wish for was a dick for each hand,” he joked.

Boyd smiled at him, eyes glinting. “Just the dick?” he asked, playing along. “That’s a lotta pressure on your balls.”

“Yeah, balls too, I guess,” Miller said indifferently. Then he slowed a bit, thinking, before speeding up again. “Or ball capacity. Bigger balls would be less weird, right?”

Boyd was grinning now. “Totally. So my birthday wish should be for you to grow a new dick for each stroking-hand? With ball capacity to match?”

Miller’s expression grew distant as he imagined this. His stroking seemed to grow more earnest. “Fuck, I’d love that, actually,” he admitted, looking down at his two meaty hands as they pounded his pole together. He licked his lips, then seemed to remember that this was all a joke. “So, should we get you a birthday cake so you can blow out the candles?” he teased.

“No need,” Boyd said. And even as the words left his mouth, we all watched as his hands slip up around a thick, hard eleven-incher that somehow seemed to be suddenly getting thicker and harder. In the space of two or three seconds it bloated rapidly to a full double width, and then, astonishingly, awesomely, Miller’s slick fists were sliding back down, each filled with its own huge, hard, beautiful giant dick.

Miller gasped like his pleasure had just jumped up a notch or three, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. I jumped up from my bunk, my own boner straining hard at the fabric of my uniform trousers. Miller stroked up and down again slowly, clearly savoring the sensation of stroking twice as much cock, and let out a groan, closing his eyes and tilting his head back in sweet, carnal bliss.

“You like that?” Boyd asked, and when Miller nodded, grinning, he said, “Then you’ll love this.”

Because his eyes were closed, Miller didn’t see what Boyd did next, which was to reach out quickly with both hands and wrap his own fists around Miller’s shafts just when Miller hit the trough of a downstroke. Miller’s eyes shot open. “What are you—?” Miller started to say, looking at Boyd in shock, but he trailed off as Boyd slowly slid his hands up Miller’s two slabs of super-hard cock, all the way up to the heads, Miller’s fists following just below. Then Boyd started down again, and Miller groaned loud as four fat cockheads were revealed—one in each of Boyd’s and Miller’s fist.

Boyd’s eyes were still locked on Miller’s as he continued the long downstroke, exposing every inch of the two new dicks Boyd had made for himself directly in front of the pair Boyd was stroking in his own heftier fists. Without looking away from Miller’s dumbfounded, deeply aroused gaze, Boyd called out, “What are you waiting for, Kaminsky? Get over here!”

I had drifted closer without realizing it, and was now standing at the foot of the bunk. Miller looked up at me with a mix of trepidation and naked craving, and it was easy to see which was stronger. As for me, I was totally turned on from scalp to toenails. I wanted in on this, and my logic-brain was already figuring the best way of doing so with Boyd already there on his bunk with him. I’m always the go-to for logistics around here.

“Stand up, Mill,” I told him roughly. Miller complied, watching me warily, not slowing his stroking in the least, and Boyd eased up with him, diligently keeping pace. I motioned him toward me while stepping back into the aisle. Once Miller was clear of the bed I stepped around him and got in close, wrapping my arms around his bare torso. I’m a few inches taller than Miller and broad-shouldered, though not quite as built, so when Miller leaned back against me, shoulder-blades warm against my chest, he kinda fit.

I reached around, waited for a downstroke, then grabbed the nearer pair of cocks right around the middle of the shaft, just above Miller’s own paws. I’d never felt Miller’s cocks—okay, it had been “cock” up until that moment, but I’d never actually felt it in my hand, and now grasping these two wangs tight in my fists felt damn good. It was like they belonged in my hands somehow, or my hands belonged around them. Maybe the latter, because I can still feel those cocks against my palms and fingers no matter where I am, whether I’m in my spot behind Miller actively stroking them or a dozen miles away. My hands have felt the most amazing thing two hands can feel, and they’ll never forget it, not ever.

I fell completely into the moment, and as I rested my forehead against the back of Miller’s skull this deep, contented rumbling sound came out of me from somewhere low in my throat. Almost of its own accord my dick was pushing against the upper reaches of Miller’s ass, confounded for now by the thick fabric of the camo, and that round, tight ass of his was shoving back just as willing; but all my attention was on those giant pricks in my hands. They were huge, and hard, and hot with need. I could feel the power in them, like Miller had more sexual potency just in those two dicks than me and Boyd put together. His looming climax thrummed through me as much as it did him, and I wondered if Boyd felt it, too.

From beneath my grip Miller’s fists pressed up against mine, and I slid my hands up with his until my hands were twisting slightly around his pre-slicked cockheads. Incredibly, even as my hands reached the heads I felt them swell up suddenly to double width front to back, and then Boyd’s thumbs were jammed against my knuckles as we both grasped two thick cockheads each.

Overcome with intense arousal, as we all downstroked together I let my lips slide along the side of Miller’s shaved, sweat-dampened head until I was mouthing the salty skin just under his ear. Miller let out a low, sustained moan, and Boyd said, “Fuck yeah… I could watch this forever.”

There was a commotion somewhere toward the front of the bunkroom, and as our fists got to the base, our knuckles all crowding tight together so we couldn’t quite get all the way down now, I heard Grumpy Sanchez growl, “I must be fucking dreaming,” and Fun Sanchez, his twin brother, answer, “Dude, if you are, I’m dreaming it too!”

We were stroking up again, and I was kissing Miller’s neck, kind of in my own world, but Boyd was conscious of his surroundings enough to call out, “Hey, guys, the dream’s over here!”

Soon more hands joined ours. I’m not quite sure how many. You’d think I’d be able to tell by counting, but not everybody took two like Boyd and I did, and a few more guys have claimed a cock or two of their own since that afternoon we all made made Miller cum so hard we were all soaked in it, our faces and bare, sweaty chests and camo trousers and everything all covered in Miller’s hot, bitter spunk. Guerrero was cleaning cum out of his thick pelt of chest hair for days, and of course Knox almost ruined his phone.

I don’t care too much just how many of those beautiful hard-ons Miller has, ‘cause those two right in the back? Those are mine.

Miller doesn’t care much either. After we all helped him shower Boyd asked him if he was okay, though he was beaming cockily up sat him like he already knew the answer. “Okay?” Miller repeated, staring down at his dicks with wide eyes. “I’m fucking over the moon!” It sounded almost like he almost meant it literally, too, and we all chuckled. I was already back in my spot behind him, as hard as he always seemed to be even though I’d blasted the biggest load of my life just twenty minutes before, just like Miller and all the rest of us.

Miller was still staring down at just how much equipment he had, and after a second he added, “Hey, but give me a few more hands of my own next time!” We laughingly moved in to lend our own hands in place of the ones Miller needed but didn’t have for himself, and Boyd grinned as he claimed his own pair right in front.


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