Description Timothy decides to use his favorite website’s new read aloud feature so he can concentrate on his jerkoff session and really get into the story. Instead, the story gets into him.
|Updated||30 May 2020|
He wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe it was that friendly blond guy from the Montreal office he’d been videoconferencing with all morning, the one in the orange henley whose arms filled out his straining sleeves in that really distracting way; or maybe that cute new neighbor that had just moved in and given him an obvious once-over. Anyway, Timothy had been feeling kind of chubbed and horny all day, and by the time he was signing out and officially done with work stuff he’d decided that dinner could wait. He needed to feel his dick in the gentle, loving grip of his left hand, and he didn’t want to wait any longer.
Once he’d confirmed he was completely disconnected from any possible work cams and mics, because, hey, that’s the kind of thing you want to be sure of, he shucked the sweats he was wearing, his wide, thickening cock flopping out onto the seat of his chair, and kicked them aside. He loved being half-naked—he’d left on his thick navy-blue tee shirt, and his big feet had of course been bare the whole time—and took a moment just to enjoy the sight of his long, toned, lightly hairy legs and fat porn-star cock completely exposed, nude, bare as anything. Legs and cock were amazing. His torso looked good, too, in and out of shirts; he worked out, and his bad-boy smile and mane of deluxe back, Seventies-Billy-Batson hair was actually a good mix with his rangy, lightly hairy physique; but getting attention with a grin and a hot, sculpted bare torso was tame. Pantsless was a whole different level of exhibition. Back in high school he’d spent 98 percent of his time in the locker room before and after soccer matches exactly like this: shirt on up top, nothing on down below. He’d have gone to classes that way if there was even the remotest chance of getting away with it. His buddies rolled their eyes and started calling him Bare Ass. He always joked his butt wasn’t that hairy; and they’d always answer back, “We know!” He was teased all the time, though he noticed that Trey Cooper, shorter than Timothy but with legs, butt, and cock very much in his league, had started doing the same thing by senior year.
It hadn’t gone away in the six years since. Every day was get home, pull off his pants, and revel in being butt naked for the rest of the night while he cooked, ate, read or watched TV on his tablet, paid bills, and, of course, jerked off. Now that he was working from home for the foreseeable future he was constantly tempted to make it an all-day thing, just not wear anything while he was on camera, but he knew all it would take would be that one moment where he stood up, momentarily forgetting his state of undress, and Andrea, his boss, would get an eyefull and a half, and that would be it. Instead he contented himself with going commando in his sweats. Freeballing had always felt a little like being secretly half-naked anyway. And with sweats it was an easy conversion to bottom-half nudity.
He smiled down at his nether regions with a sigh. “I think about you guys a little too much,” he said wryly to his legs and cock. He pumped a bit of lube into his hand and palmed his dick, wrapping his fingers and thumb lovingly around its girth, and felt it swelling in his hand, happily expressing its gratitude for his appreciation.
With his free hand he reached over to his laptop and pulled up his favorite erotica website—the one that seemed exactly on his wavelength when it came to appreciating long, well-defined, utterly masculine legs and thick, bigger-than-average cock. He went to a random story, nodding as it turned out to be a nice slow-burner he’d gotten off to before, and clicked on the read-aloud feature the website had recently involved. He wanted to ignore the screen and just immerse himself in the story.
A calm, measured voice started reading the story, and its warm, masculine tone tingled something pleasant and primal in the back of Timothy’s head. He was absolutely rigid now, his wide, flat, steel-hard cock pointing straight toward his face, and Timothy felt a flutter at the thought that this might be one of those nights where it would be spitting its spunk right into his mouth. Just the thought of it made a pearl of precum well up at his slit and roll off into his fist.
He leaned back, letting himself fall into the pleasure of his familiar hand and the sight of legs and cock before him as the voice from the story filled the space around him.
“It’s such a relief being able to stroke, you think,” the voice was saying. Briefly, it occurred to him to wonder in some stray under-process in his head whether this had been a second-person story the last time he’d read it. He hadn’t thought it had been. But the thought soon went away, ephemerating into nothing as the story turned his mind thick and warm with lustful anticipation.
“It feels so good to stroke,” the calm, sexy baritone said. “The way your cock fills your hand like that, your fist sliding slowly up and down that sensitive shaft. Pausing every few strokes to swirl lazily around the head—yeah, like that,” it added, as Timothy mimicked the narration and twisted his hand around his cockhead a few times. “It feels so good, you couldn’t possibly stop. You can’t look away—your big cock, framed by your strong, toned, beautiful legs.” He grinned. This story was right—there was no looking away from a view this hot.
“Your dick looks so huge,” the voice went on, slowly creeping into Timothy through every pre and sizzling up every vein and artery. “It’s deliciously big, the biggest and best-looking cock you’ve ever seen. It belongs in your hand. You love how your fingers and thumb can barely meet as you slowly tight-fist it, up and down, up and down. If your rigid, thick, sexy cock were any bigger it would almost be too big for one hand.”
Timothy nodded. He started to wonder if it he needed to keep to one hand. After all, with the site reading the story to him, he had a hand free… Even as he was thinking this, the story continued, “As you stroke, your fist traveling the impressive length of your fat shaft from base all the way to head, you realize there’s room for a whole ‘nother fist above the one that can barely grip your abnormally fat cock. You think, ‘hey, might as well’.” Timothy nodded, smiling down at his leg-framed monster. He reached to pump some lube into his right hand without looking, curled it happily around his giant cock, directly above his other fist, and started slowly double-fisting himself. He let out a tiny moan as the story went on.
“Yes, using both hands on your pleasure-slut of a monster cock feels so much better,” the voice purred. “It feels like bliss, like the shuddering euphoria of flying, and you resolve never to stroke yourself with only one hand again. A cock this mighty, a cock so big you can’t even wrap a fists all the way around it, a cock with balls just as big as impressive, deserves as many hands as you can give it.” It certainly did, Timothy thought. Two almost wasn’t enough, his rigid pillar of a boner was so big. He almost wished he had more hands to stroke it with, or more cock to stroke with his extra hands, or something like that. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted, he only knew this felt impossibly good.
He stroked himself two-handed as he listened for more of the story, quickening his pace just a little. It felt so right stroking this way. “Your legs frame the vision of your big-enough-for-two-hands cock perfectly,” the measured baritone voice intoned. “They’re amazing to look at, too. Your thighs and calves are exquisitely muscled like the most sculpted and perfect gymnast, just like the rest of your body—but it’s your legs and your ass that really hold everyone’s attention. Especially your own.”
It was true. He loved looking at his legs and showing them off, and he knew other people loved looking at them too. “You get hard just looking at your legs. They’re so arresting, so good to look at, to feel with your hands when they aren’t busy stroking your giant cock, that you almost wish you had more of them. You feel like they’re so beautiful two isn’t enough. You want three of these boner-inducing, long, sculpted, incredible legs.”
“Yes,” Timothy whispered, stroking himself harder. He could almost picture it. Two legs had him getting hard anytime he looked down, speeding up his pulse and heating his blood. If his vision were filled with three of them…
“You’re so turned on now,” said the voice that seeped into every particle of him. “You’re so impossibly turned on that your imagination is reshaping reality. You’re seeing those three amazing legs in your mind, and the image is so real, so vivid, that the difference between your image and the reality before you falls away and is gone. You’re looking at them, now, for real. Three beautiful, sexy, work-of-art legs. And between each of them, of course, is a cock too big even for two hands to manage. Your legs, and your cocks, turn you on like nothing you have ever known before.”
Timothy’s heart was pounding loud and hard in his chest. All three of his legs stretched before him, each with sculpted thighs and diamond calves more perfect than any athlete’s. His three big feet rested on the floor in front of him. He had to look at the cocks he was stroking, one in each inadequate hand, but he took a moment to stare in wonder at his bare feet. They looked big, bigger than he remembered. And—he blinked, focusing on the toes. He was definitely seeing seven toes on each. His dicks seemed to harden even more in his hands.
He turned his attention to them at last. “Your cocks are magnificent,” the voice told him, confirming what he already knew. “Thick and massive cylinders of hard, sensitive flesh, each stroke sending waves of raw pleasure through you. Your fingers aren’t even close to touching. Sure, you have more fingers now, but it only helps a little. Your cocks are massive, majestic, and needy. Cock towers like these, they deserve better than just two hands.”
Timothy nodded, stroking his cocks with his seven-fingered hands. He did want more hands. But the need to look normal on webcams had already imprinted itself on him. He’d conditioned himself to surrender to his growing needs… only below the level of his chest. “You need more arms, more hands, to satisfy your mighty cocks,” the voice said. “You just have to imagine how you want it to happen… how to give yourself the hands you need…”
For a moment it seemed to Timothy as though he closed his eyes and yet still saw as clearly and intensely as before. His body… his three luscious legs spread out before him, long enough the heels of his extra-large feet were resting on the floor some distance away. His cocks looked enormous, too big for just one hand each. His tight balls were still massive, too, the size of tennis balls at least and taut against his crotch. His cocks needed more. He just needed to keep the top of his body webcammable. That was all. Below that, he could do what he needed to do. Below that, between his swollen, magnificent gymast pecs pushing out his navy blue tee and his giant stone-hard wangs, he could… he could see the solution. A smile played at his lips. A little run of abs, just for the bottom of the cam image. A little four-pack. And then—
“You know how to do it now,” the voice told him. “Your cocks deserve it, and you’ll love how it feels. You open your eyes to see what you’ve already seen.” Timothy opened his eyes, and sure enough, the new set of gorgeously shoulders, pecs, abs, and, most importantly, arms he’d pictured so exactly in his mind were there in the hard, sweat-damp flesh. The bottom of his tee shirt now pooled onto shoulders even wider than the ones he had above, and since he’d needed more hands for his cocks, lots more hands, he’d pictured those new shoulders having four arms, then six… yeah, that works. Six powerful arms, each of them hewn so masterfully, like the ones he already had above, that their strength and aesthetic beauty would have made him immutably hard in seconds if he were not already colossally boned and most of the way to a stupefying, world-breaking orgasm. He now looked down from well above where he’d been before, his legs and cocks seeming further away. His chair looked tiny, especially as his wonderful legs stretched out before him with all the length of his new torso, making it look like he was a gint sitting in a normal person’s chair. But then, he kind of was.
“Your new hands reach for your cocks, grateful to fulfill the reason for their existence,” the voice continued. “Your cocks are so big they accommodate them all.” As he wrapped his many-fingered hands around his cocks he found it was true—both of his cocks were big enough he could get four hands around each. He jacked himself with all his hands, each pistoning move of his stacked fists making his cocks feel amazing and huge, like his was subtly growing them with every stroke. “But you also want to feel your tight, heavy balls. The feeling grows in you. You want to caress your balls, and stroke your beautiful thighs, and caress your thick, maulable pecs. That would take you close. That would bring you to the edge.”
Timothy smiled. That was easy enough. Arms were simple. He looked down at the lower of his two torsos, and saw its already broader shoulders and thicker pecs double. Six more of his extra-long, gorgeously muscled arms, six more of his big hands with the eight extra-long fingers and thumbs on either side. He reached for his balls, and his thighs, and his big, stacked lower pecs.
“You are close now. Everything feels like a direct infusion of hot euphoria as to touch yourself, jack yourself, feel yourself. Your body is climaxing along with your orgasm, becoming everything you want it to be. Everything you crave. You know you must let your body free. You gladly, gratefully do so, releasing yourself, freeing your body as you rocket into release…”
Timothy was flogging all his cocks hard and fast now, not just the two he’d started with but the two more enormous cocks he’d found behind them, each as wide as his perfectly shaped, divinely muscled upper arms and reaching as high as the top row of gigantic three-tiered pecs on his lower torso. He was touching himself everywhere—his monolithic cocks… his thick, hairy grapefruit-sized nuts… those ponderous, jutting beautiful lower-torso pecs, and their damp, super-sensitive thumb-sized nipples, and the more demure super-gymnast pecs above… his three wonderful thighs and the second set of thighs he’d just discovered under them, with their own set of four enormous cocks poking through that, despite starting lower down than the others, towered even higher, almost up to his top-torso pecs… his tight-carved six pack above and his even harder and deeper-cut twelve-pack below. Everything was pushing him toward a massive, ragged release. He stroked himself frantically—he couldn’t hold back much longer.
“You’re going to cum,” said the voice. “It’s building to an explosive release. Your climax is coming, the most powerful you’ve ever had. And as you cum, you will remember… What you’ve done, the strength of your imagination, is now fixed within you…”
It seemed to Timothy as though eight powerful orgasms hit him at once. Gushers of cum pounded onto his chests, his abs, his face, and who knew where else. It didn’t matter. Timothy broke free of reality as he floated in all-pervading euphoria for what felt like forever.
“The end,” the voice said, sounding placid and satisfied, but Timothy didn’t even hear it.
Timothy lay in his bed, freshly showered. He’d quailed when he first tried to stand up, covered in a thick coating of sticky jizz and needing to shower, and had found he couldn’t come close to standing up anymore—he couldn’t even stand on his knees inside his own flat. Desperately, he tried the imagining trick. His pulse accelerating, he pictured clearly in his mind his apartment ceilings being a couple feet above however tall he was now, and…
Okay, that worked. And all that empty wall space looked really weird.
In the bathroom he’d had to adjust the fixtures in the shower stall so the spray-head wasn’t at crotch-height, and he’d made everything generally a bit bigger so he could clean himself without smacking all his elbows into things. The towels needed to made much larger too. And of course the bed, which required adjusting the size of the bedroom, then the bed, then the sheets. Finally he flopped onto his newly immense mattress and stared up at the ceiling, letting the pure, comfortable, low-grade arousal that came with just being like this and being aware of what he looked like wash through him like the new background of his existence.
This was nice.
He pondered getting himself off again. It occurred to him, though, that for all his newfound ability to touch himself in all kinds of places at once, it might be fun to get some help. Perhaps that cute new neighbor would be willing to assist…