Snafrahojet and the too-hung jock

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• Latest update: 17 October. Next update: 31 October. (Submissions welcome.)

• Latest from BRK: “Return of the cocksucking fleshsock”, Part 2.

 

It was a scary-looking little idol, no question. The wide, leering, blue-lipped mouth that didn’t quite hide a regiment of vicious, jagged teeth… the bony fingers of its raised hands that ended in lethal-looking little talons… even the creepy red and white painted-on eyes, round as saucers with tiny black centers in the scarlet pupils like primordial singularities. Gene could almost imagine the three-foot-high godlet was peering into him with ironic, inhuman derision. One side of Gene’s mouth tilted up. He could relate—he hated people sometimes too.

Gene glanced at the hand-lettered sign under the idol, which read: “Touch my belly and meet the real Snafrahojet! Legends promise a change in fortune to all who dare!” Well, Gene had wandered into this impromtu pop-up set of exhibits in the World Archaea Wing of the campus library tonight after his daily two-hour workout looking for a diversion, and “meeting” a pint-sized mahogany godlet would definitely qualify. At least that explained while the idol’s round tummy looked shinier than the rest of him. Gene wondered that it wasn’t worn away entirely after centuries of adoration in its homeland.

In a habitual gesture he rubbed his fingertips along the cleavage between his satisfyingly melon-like pecs through the thin fabric of his loose workout tank, unconsciously flexing his high-peaking biceps lightly against his forearms as he did so. Then, deciding he might as well, Gene reached forward and slid his thumb along the idol’s taut, wooden paunch…

In the blink of an eye reality shifted, and Gene froze as realized he was rubbing his hand across an actual dark, taut, fleshy pot-belly that was much bigger than before. His hand recoiled, and he looked up to see a living Snafrahojet looming ominously over him. Gasping, Gene glanced around quickly, long enough to see he was in a cave—a sea cave, if the roaring ocean not far away was any indication, lit with torches (of course) but with no other accoutrements of man or god: just him, in the same sweaty gym togs he’d been wearing (he showered at home most days he went to the gym), and an eight-foot god in living mahogany that sneered down at him in contempt. And it was a god, Gene was sure of it—he could feel the power pouring off it.

He smiled nervously up at it. “Uh… hello,” he said.

“Speak your humiliation,” intoned Snafrahojet in a room-shaking, sepulchral monotone.

“Er—what?” Gene asked, confused.

“Speak your humiliation,” the idol repeated, “and I will relieve you of it. Such is the boon I promise to all who dare.”

Gene blinked up at the fiercely painted face. “Humiliation? What, like boners in my gym shorts?” he joked. That would be a boon, truth be told. Gene was a grower, in a big way, and the only thing that turned him on more than his own expanding muscles was watching hot guys putting their all into swelling themselves in all the right places. Now that he was at college it only seemed to be getting worse. He couldn’t always control his sudden, flushed arousal at the sweaty, drool-worthy muscle hotties and blossoming twunks that adorned the school gym, and more than a few grins and glances at his swollen basket had forced a red-faced Gene to prematurely abandon his workout. Not having to worry about springing wood in his shorts would actually be—

“Done,” pronounced the mahogany god, with momentous finality.

Gene’s smile dropped. “Wait, what?”

“Done!” said Snafrahojet. “You may go.” And then Gene was back in the Archaea exhibit again, standing front of the weird, wooden idol as though nothing at all had happened.

His thumb was still pressed against the idol’s round, smooth belly. He snatched his hand back toward himself, just he had in the… what was that? Vision? Hallucination? Out-of-body experience?

“Weird little thing, isn’t he?” said a warm, friendly voice.

Gene turned with a start to find that a guy of similar height and build to himself had approached him during his little away moment and was now standing next to him in front of the idol, smiling at him like an old friend. Gene gulped. With a sinking sensation he did recognize the man. He didn’t know his name, but he knew that face, and that body. His hair, darker than Gene’s chestnut brown, was fine and lush and seemed to invite fingers to comb through it. His hazel eyes were bright and penetrating, his cheekbones high, his stubbled jawline firm, his dark-red lips inviting and insanely kissable. And below that…! Below that, he was even more attractive. Even in the heavy Bruins jersey the man was currently wearing Gene could trace the swell of his traps and the dip to round, hard delts, the sleeve-filling muscles of his upper arms, the protruding mounds of his chest that made his jersey hang loosely over tight, granite-hard abs, the corded thighs that made his jeans look painted on…

Gene’s breath turned shallow as he realized the same problem that had gotten him into the habit of avoiding this man whenever he caught sight of the handsome man and his tanned, sweat-slicked muscles at the free weights or pounding the elliptical was now hitting him with the force of a hurricane. He was getting turned on. Colossally turned on, like all the hard-ons he’d escaped having in front of the guy were multiplying full-tilt in a single moment of towering, uncontrollable arousal. He felt his cheeks flush, and he would have turned away, but just then… just then the object of his desire, the one man guaranteed to arrest his attention and make him hard as fuck, reached out and caught his bare, sculpted, jock-muscled upper arm in a firm grip, smiling a little wider a he did so.

“Gene, right? I’m Josh,” the guy said in that comforting, ball-churning baritone. “I’ve seen you at the gym a few times, and I want to… well, I wanted to say hi.”

Gene thought he might pass out. He was going to get a giant hard-on in his shorts, not in the weight room but right here in the middle of the library, and worst of all in front of his biggest crush. He was going to get hard, and—

Only he wasn’t getting hard. He looked down with a frown, and with terrifying clarity he realized that the only thing worse than the humiliation of uncontrollable boners around hot guys in public might very well be the prospect of not getting uncontrollable boners at all.

“Are you…?” he heard Josh start to ask. Then instead he said, “It’s okay if you don’t want to hang out or anything. I just wanted to say hi.” To Gene’s dismay he started to remove his hand from Gene’s upper arm.

Instinctively, without even thinking about it, Gene clapped his other hand over Josh’s, holding it there. He smiled tentatively at Josh, and Josh grinned, squeezing his thick biceps gently.

Through all of this Gene was so caught up in the mortification of possibly getting hard, the terror that he might not be getting hard, the feel of Josh’s hand under his own, and the tender beauty of Josh’s brilliant smile, that he completely failed to notice how strange his tongue was feeling.

Sure, he dimly sensed that it was feeling thick, and kind of weirdly turgid. But it wasn’t until his tongue was outgrowing his mouth, forcing his lips open, and Josh tilted his head slightly, eyeing Gene’s mouth with rapt curiosity, that he devoted his full, shocked attention to it.

As his tongue thrust out more and more, steadily increasing its firm length, pushing his lips apart more as it grew, Gene belatedly understood the feeling it was giving him. It was the unmistakable sensation of lips wrapped around hardening cock. Only this time, he could feel the lips, wrapped around his thickening shaft, and he could feel the shaft between his warm, delighted lips.

Gene’s pulse started racing as he pieced together just what was happening to him. He wasn’t getting a hard-on, just like Snafrahojet had promised. But that wasn’t what he’d said was his humiliation, which was what the mahogany god had promised to remove. He’d said boners in his gym shorts. Gym shorts, like the ones he was wearing now. His “boon” was exactly what he’d asked. No more boners in his shorts.

His unstoppable arousal at humpy, incredibly good-looking guys with nice smiles and bright eyes, an arousal that reached it apotheosis in this man, Josh, whose entire being flipped all of of Gene’s switches just from the merest proximity—that arousal, momentarily stymied at his currently off-limits cock, had found a new outlet. His necessary, monstrous erection was erupting from him regardless, and if it couldn’t use his actual dick, it was forcing itself into being using the next best thing.

It was still pushing out, growing past his lips centimeter after centimeter, spreading his lips wider and wider, and the waves of mind-bending pleasure he was getting in spades just from his lips dragging over the emerging tool left him no doubt whatsoever. He had a boner thrusting from his mouth, as defiantly as any rigid, enormous, stubborn hard-on he’d ever gotten. A mouthboner, and so big already Gene knew it wouldn’t stop until it was the too-big, too-thick, impossible to hide boner he always had whenever he was too aroused to hold back. Like now.

The feeling was indescribably blissful just from the mouthboner even existing. Its weight and warmth was all Gene could concentrate on. He resisted an urge to mouth the flesh that was pushing his lips apart—escalating his arousal could only be a bad idea. He was fucked. He was in public, and he was boned in an even more visible way than usual, and he was fucked fuckedy fucked.

Gene looked at Josh with wide eyes, but Josh was staring in awe at the manifestation of thick, beautiful, utterly rigid cock that was still steadily shoving itself free into the air between them. All at once it was too much for Gene, and he was seized by an impulse to run away and hide, to never let anyone see him again. Gene tried to pull away from Josh’s grip, but Josh held him firmly in place—though his eyes remained fixed on Gene’s new oral cock.

“Look at it,” Josh said in his low, beautiful voice. “It’s so beautiful. It’s the most beautiful prick I’ve ever seen. The shape of it—fat and long and flaring just a bit in the middle. So beautiful, and so big,” he added wonderingly, hazel eyes scanning its length, even as the growth finally started tapering off. “There’s, like, six inches just on this side of your lips. And thick as a Red Bull.” His eyes finally met Gene’s. “I wish I’d said hello sooner,” his crush told him. His expression was serious and affectionate, though his rosy cheeks and darkened eyes betrayed his lust. “Now… fuck, I can’t imagine not knowing that you really were my dream man all this time, not just for your looks and your body, but in ways I could never have imagined.”

Gene tried to pull away again, though not very hard. Josh gripped his arms now with both hands. Gene looked around without turning his head. There was no one else in the exhibit at the moment, but that could change, and Gene had a half a foot of fat, rigid, (oh god) leaking monster-cock thrusting out of his face, in public, for anyone to see. He looked at Josh imploringly, and Josh, seeing the tinge of panic seeping through Gene’s immense desire, smiled softly at him.

“You’re worried about people seeing that thing,” he said. Gene nodded, causing a droplet of precum to fall from the end of his hot, throbbing mouthboner, to land gods knew where.

Josh licked his full, dark-red lips, and Gene’s heart skipped a beat. “Let me help you with that, then,” he said, and without further preamble he moved in for a kiss.

Gene melted into the sensation, barely aware of their powerful arms wrapping around each other, their strong bodies coming together in a tight, hard embrace. All of Gene’s sensations shaded into an all-devouring oubliette except for the utter euphoria of his current existence: his big, thick, sensitive prick being expertly, lovingly fellated, in wondrous simultaneity with a bruising, ferocious, soul-slaking snog. He wanted this feeling to endure, to be all he was until time ended and all matter degraded to shared, sensual energy, but all too soon Gene felt himself soaring toward climax, and then, almost without warning, orgasm rocked through him and he was cumming hard into Josh’s mouth as they kissed, Josh eagerly accepting Gene’s copious spend, swallowing again and again, only the tiniest amounts escaping his damp, swollen lips as he carried on kissing Gene’s mouth and his softening oral cock, his mouth and tongue now gentle and supple and everything Gene could ever want for his changed existence.

As Gene’s heart finally started to slow and his mouthcock receded, he at last became aware they were in a dark alcove near where they’d met in front of the idol. Somehow Josh had had the presence of mind to back them into a more private space, and that alone made him want this hunk for his own even beyond his being serendipitously copacetic with a certain unexpected, mahogany-god-given “boon”.

They continued holding each other, Josh’s forehead resting on Gene’s, for a long time, sharing their breath and kissing softly whenever they felt like it, both of them savoring the salty, bitter taste of Gene’s cum. The possibility of new arousal prickled at Gene’s id, and he was excited at the thought of it. A premonition of more and more mouthboners formed itself in his mind, an array of prickflesh stretching endlessly into the future, and though a shiver of fear struck him at the thought, Gene found the prospect wildly enticing. Especially if Josh were there to help him… hide the offending eruptions. When he trusted his tongue enough to speak, he said shyly, “I’d like to try that again sometime.”

Josh met his gaze and smiled. “Babe,” he said fondly, “make it ‘every time’, and you’ve got a deal.”


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