Measuring Up

I creep softly, barely daring to breathe, my heart like thunder, listening to his broad chest breathing in and out so close to me: the prominent mounds of his pecs rising and falling above his ribcage--that beautifully-curved ridge before his stomach descends to his tight waist. And he's got his hulking legs spread out so that bulge between them is impossible to miss: a massive mound, slightly pointed--he must have a semi in his sleep. Maybe he's dreaming, too. Maybe if I keep watching, that cock will rear up, stretching out his undies, finally springing free in the dark.

I've just put my hand on the drawer's handle when I become aware his breath has stopped, and there's a voice from the bed, groggy and rough:

"Took you long enough."

Instantly I clap my hands over my crotch, but I can tell it's not going to hide my cock for long; it's already at half-mast, and inflating by the second. "Fuck, sorry Nate. I--I just had to get something out of my drawers, is all--from the dresser, I mean. Clothes from the dresser. I'll go. I'm so sorry."

But I've barely turned to leave when I hear his voice behind me. "No," he says. "Jackson. Don't go."

His voice is gentle, and I turn back to him, amazed as he sits up and looks at me, so close in my small bedroom. I think he's just an arm length away--and he proves it: he reaches out, brushes my hands away from my manhood, ignoring their pathetic attempt to hide my hardening cock, and he wraps his fingers around me there and pulls me toward him.

"Nate, I--" He shushes me, starts tugging my semi with lingering movements, filling it with heat and passion. My eyes roll back, my back arches; a subterranean anguish builds below my cock, tingling its way over my scrotum as I feel myself twitch upwards with each beat of my heart, lengthening and thickening, growing against his palm, my cockhead rubbing against his lumpy forearm. And suddenly my dream comes back to me, how a molten buzz of pleasure radiated up and down my enormous phallus as I looked at myself in the mirror. I feel that big now in his hand, that powerful.

But, "Wait," I say. "Wait. Nate, are you sure?"

He doesn't stop stroking. "I knew I wanted you a year ago," he says. "And I wanted tonight to be the night. I thought I was so clever, setting it up. But then I got here and I couldn't make the first move--not after barging my way into your place. I know I scare people. I can be intimidating. I wanted to know it was coming from you, that I wasn't forcing myself on you. But you weren't biting. I thought I'd gotten the wrong idea."

"No. No, I'll bite," I gasp. "Whatever you want. Wherever you want. I've wanted this for so long. Been dreaming about it. Wishing... Oh, fuck! Ahh...." He laughs as he changes his grip, lifts my cock and starts stroking with swift vertical strokes, making me unsteady as I'm standing on trembling feet by the bed. I'm not going to last long at this rate. I've come too close to blowing my load already tonight, and his hand feels so good, strong and assured, and he's looking into my eyes, watching my reactions, enjoying it. I want to make him feel good first, show him what a fucking bull he is, how he makes me boil with passion and rage with lust. He deserves it. I want to give it to him.

So I put my hand on his, gently stop the stroking, and I bend down and press my lips to his mouth, feel his hot breath flow into me, feel our pulses race together as our tongues meet and grapple. I push him back on the bed, lean over him and work my way down his jaw, his throat, kissing his sinewy flesh, hearing him murmur in response.

I climb onto the bed beside him, lick and suck his pecs, his nipples, follow that dive off his ribcage into his ripped abs, his navel, kissing and licking and all the time working my way further south, down the vein-scrawled hard lower abs till I'm right above the straining bulge in his shorts.

"I'm going to pull off your briefs," I tell him, and he lifts his ass obediently, I grip the waist and pull them down. It's a struggle to slide the thin, sweat-soaked fabric over his bulge, over his quads as they widen out so much thicker than his waist, but finally I see his freed cock spring up nine inches long and throbbingly erect. But I can't get to it like this, not well enough. "Spread your legs a little," I tell him, and climb into the space between him, kneel in front of his crotch, looking up the whole mountainous length of him to his face.

He gives a nod of approval, and I finally take his cock in my hands, as I've dreamed about doing ever since he set it loose in the gym. It fills my hands, a girthy fucking snake, already slick with sweat from being stuffed against his balls in those tight briefs, just as muscular as the rest of his body, ridged with puffy veins. I never want to let go, never want to stop feeling the gut-deep pleasure of having a man between my fingers, knowing I can make him gasp and groan and fidget with maddening lust.

"Fuck," he sighs. "Yeah, fuck. Stroke my cock, Jackson. It feels good. I'm so hard. Don't stop."

And while I keep stroking him, I get my face in close, smell his moist manhood, nuzzle his balls. We've got ample proof right here the Colossinth doesn't shrink your testicles: if anything, they look like they've grown to store up all that spunk I know he can shoot. I lick his sack, take his balls into my mouth one at a time, roll them over my tongue while he groans and arches his back, my nose in his sweaty man-meat, my fingers gliding up and over his swollen glans.

"Fuck! Oh fuck, yes!"

And I lick my way up, enjoy the feel of his entire hard length against my lips till I finally reach his juicy cockhead, kiss the tender underside. He's so hard I can't bend his dick down enough to get it in my mouth like this, so I lean over his waist, brace myself with my hand on the bed, above his hip, and now I can bend it enough to push that cockhead into my mouth, so big, the sensation of tight flesh on my tongue, the saline taste of his desire. I get it in as far as I can, feel him rub against the roof of my mouth, while I lick as much of his shaft as I can fit. I wish I could take all of him, but there's no way--I'd need practice, hours of practice, and he doesn't match the curve of my throat like this. So instead, I use my hand to stroke the rest of him, up and down, twisting right and left, feeling the churning need all the way through his manhood, from deep in his balls, his flooded prostate.

"Shit! Aw, fuck." His voice is low and intense, egging me on. "Fuck, Jackson, you're gonna make me nut if this keeps up, make me fuckin' nut. You suck so good! Don't stop. Suck my dick. Make me cum. Yeah, make me cum."

He starts thrusting gently, his hips flexing, moist abs tightening, and puts his hand on the back of my head: gentle, encouraging. I moan around his organ, suck harder and faster, feel him swell and shake and thrust. I want him to cum, want him to feel like the manly musclegod I know he is, filled to bursting with protein and manjuice. I get him closer, closer to the edge, feel the tightening all through him, smell his sweat, see it shine on his rippled body in the light from the moon outside our window, everything pulsing, throbbing, humming with desire, the pressure boiling through his entire body, like a quake before the earth splits and a geyser blasts out.

"You're gonna make me cum, Jackson, make me fucking cum. Fuck! You want the load? You want this fucking load?"

I do. So much. I'm also scared; I've seen how this cannon shoots. But I murmur my assent around that fat dick in my mouth, "Mm. Mmhmm," thinking, "Choke me with your fat wad, you pumped-up muscle-jock. Make me drown in it." And he moans, he squirms on the bed, his entire body tensing, fist suddenly clenching in the hair at the back of my head, balls tightening against the base of his shaft, and he's saying, "Yeah, here it comes, I'm gonna cum, oh fuck, oh shit, get ready--!"

And his cock twitches once, twice, and I've at least got the presence of mind to point his fat dickhead towards the roof of my mouth, not the back of my throat, before he gives a mighty third wrench and a spray of hot semen straight from his balls pounds into my palate, making my eyes water and instantly flooding my mouth with his funky marine taste--

And he groans and bucks again, sprays another blast of sperm, and I'm struggling to swallow as the cum's leaking out of my mouth down the length of his veiny shaft, staining the bed; he convulses again and again, faster now, filling my mouth, my throat till I've got no choice but to spit out that luscious glans so I won't choke---but it's still spitting, the ropes popping up to land on his chest, between his abs as I lick him, pump him with my hand, smell him all over me as his thick cream gets in my hair, on my face. "Yeah, cum for me, give me that fucking load!" and--

"Fuck! Oh fuck, yes!" he's roaring, thrusting against me, writhing on the bed till I suck his cock back in and lap up the last few shots, feel the quivery tremors running through his fuckpole, and I don't want to stop, never want to take him out of my mouth as my tongue probes his cumslit, runs all over his glans, the smooth bulbous top, the hard ridge, the tender place where his foreskin connects between the pillowy ass-like cheeks, loving every bit of him.

He sighs in contentment, his body relaxing, and his hand is gentle again on the back of my head, lightly stroking the fine hairs on my neck as I polish his rod, clean it off. "Damn," he says with the lazy drawl of satisfaction. "Most people freak out when I cum like that, but you swallowed like a champ. You're a real greedy cocksucker, aren't you? Fuck, Jackson, you look so good with my jizz on your face. Come here. Give me a taste."

I climb up his massive body lying on my bed, straddle his torso, my knees on either side of his slim, muscular abdomen, and I lean over his face, look deep into his eyes, the unflinching dark depths of them, press my hand to his cheek, feel the rough rasp of his stubbled jaw, and we kiss; his tongue explores for the taste of his seed in my mouth as I'm trembling with lust, thrusting my cock instinctively against the muscled slick ridges of his abs.

"Did you know?" I can't help asking when our lips part. "How wild you were driving me that day I came to your gym?"

"You mean, when I was standing there with my dick hanging out?" He laughs, and I feel silly. "Of course. Did you think you were being subtle? Seeing that cock-hungry look on your face made me push myself even more, show off for you. I don't regularly blow a load at the gym, you know; that'd cause all kinds of problems. No, I flexed my cock and squeezed till it burst right in the middle of my lift. I kept expecting you to drop to your knees, you looked so thirsty. But you were a good boy. Polite. Cute, standing there in your little suit, with your hair messed up and the sweat dripping into your eyes. A nice guy. Clean. Like I used to be. But I can tell you're tired of living clean, too. So--" he kisses me again, "--let's get juiced together."

Fuck, I want him so much. We breathe in each other, taste his semen in our mouths. Then I draw my lips down his neck, bury my face in his chest, sticky from the shots of spunk I let escape my mouth. I feel his heart pounding and his heat surging through those titanic mounds he's built up over the past year, all that flesh pressed against my cheeks, my lips, and an electric quiver runs through their dense heavy mass as he flexes: they jump and harden and ripple with thick cords of muscle fiber. "Fuck, oh fuck, you're so fucking hot," I moan, my words smothered by brawn.

"You like how big my pecs have gotten, huh?" he teases. "All those extra pounds of meat, just like I always wanted. Let's see how your own meat looks against them."

My heart stutters and I look up at him. "You mean--?"

"Come here."

And he pulls me forward so now I'm sitting with my dick sticking up right between his pecs, like round bronzed pillows on either side, the nipples hard and dark. My erection's so firm it naturally curves away from that tantalizing flesh, but thankfully not to the degree Nate's does: I just lean forward with my hands planted on either side of his head, and my cock settles into his muscled cleft, each side rippled with sinew, the skin looking like it can barely contain the bulging manmeat. And that spot's already wet with his cum and my spit, now getting even slipperier and shinier as the gobs of precum drip steadily from my agonized cock. I thrust my hips slowly forward and I slide smoothly, feeling his hardness massage the underside of my dick.

"That's it, lean into me," he coaxes, and with his left hand he cradles my lower back with a tenderness that makes me all the more aroused, if that's possible. I pull back, thrust forward again. It's hard to brace myself, hard to ensure my dick stays pressed flat into that muscled ravine, but it gets easier, my meat-pole glistening, squelching, my balls getting wet from all the manly lube in that crevice.

Then he turns his head and spits into his right hand. "Hold still a sec," he says, and he reaches under my ass, probes for my hole, which clenches against him then relaxes as he shoves two spit-slicked fingers inside. I groan as he bends them and probes the inner wall, searching with expert assurance till he finds the swell of my prostate behind my cock; and when he hits it, the pleasure's sharp at first and I gasp, but he chuckles knowingly, starts to gently massage me, rubbing up and down, round and round, and that piercing pleasure melts and starts to throb like a deep bass line in pounding music, resonating with his rubbing strong fingers, filling the base of my cock and balls.

And when he flexes, his pecs rise and harden along the whole rigid length of my shaft, the sensitive thin skin of my cockhead tingling as it pushes against his flexed muscle cords, spitting more nectar into that slicked-up cleavage, my dick squishing, twitching, sliding as he makes those pecs dance, as he fingerfucks me and says, "Yeah, feel that, I'm gonna make you cum with my pecs, wring that spunk right out of you. You're just leaking all over the fucking place, aren't you? And you've got a tight hot ass. You like how it feels when I milk your big fucking cock? You've never seen pecs like mine, felt something so hard and big and warm, have you?

"No, you're a god, a fucking musclegod. Oh, fuck. When you were working on your chest today, at the gym, lifting those weights--"

"The chest fly? You liked the way I squeezed my pecs together, huh? Really got off on that. You want to see it?"

"Please, please. Oh fuck, Nate. Make me cum."

"Yeah? Like this? You like it when I do this? Makes them look like tits, doesn't it? Like fucking muscle-tits." And he pulls his fingers out of my ass, extends his arms out wide on either side, then starts bringing them together till his arms are touching my shoulders, out and together, out and together, and each time his glorious pectorals balloon up and squeeze together, lifting my cock between them as I thrust, as I push myself against that split, try to get deep and wet and hot, squelching against his heaving, glistening brawn tipped with dark nipples, the skin stretched so tight. "Yeah, that's a man's chest for a man's cock. Feel me squeeze that fat sausage dick of yours, wring the juice out of you. Come on, faster, harder. Let's see you blow your load. Blow your fucking load against my pecs."

It's too much, too fucking much--too much muscle, too much pressure and slippery movement, too much heat and motion as I ride his body, watch him bulge and ripple, see the white flash of his cocky grin in the moonlight, knowing how much I like it, how I'm mad with desire--it's too hot, too fucking hot, I need to blow, need to fucking explode, I've been holding it back too long, can't do it anymore, "Fuck, Nate, I'm gonna cum, oh fuck, Nate. Nate--!"

Spasms race through my cock and I moan as it erupts, spraying jizz against his throat, against the pillow, against the head of the bed, exploding with forceful splats, fiercer and faster than it's ever been before, my entire body twitching and shuddering in its grip as my balls empty their load, as I keep thrusting and send more sperm-shots between his beach-ball mega-pecs, thrusting sloppily as my load runs between those muscle mounds, drenches my jerking cock, making it even wetter, slipperier, and he's laughing, "Fuck, man! Fuck!" and "Let it go! Come on, give it to me!" everything sloppy and wet and salty and smelly and warm--

Until it finally releases me, lets my cock finally loosen, lets me catch my breath. And I'm looking at his dripping cummed-up chest, his hard nipples, my thighs quivering under me, and I slap my dick against those pecs one last time, feel their weight, before I fall back onto his stomach, his blocky midsection under my ass quivering with laughter, and the wet knob of his cockhead prods me in the small of my back, rubs against my ass, as strong as ever, as lustful. He wants it. He's not done yet. And neither am I. Even though I've just shot the biggest load of my life, I'll never stop needing this.

"You want to fuck me, don't you?" I say, twisting one of his nipples between my fingers. "Want to shove that fucking monster up my ass." I start rubbing my ass against it, teasing the head. "How much of it do you think I can take? You're so fucking huge, so fucking hard. Put it in me. Let's see. See what a stallion you are."

He groans, eyes shut with desire, thrusting against my backside, and he whispers, "You sure, Jackson? You sure?"

"Do it! Stretch my fucking hole. I want to see how you fuck, how you stretch my insides. Make me howl, Nate. Wring me out. Fuck me however you want. On my back, with my legs wrapped around your tight ass? Or lying on my front with my ass in the air. Tell me, Nate."

"If you want it, then let's see you kneel," he says in a low growl. "Get on your hands and knees."

I give him a long, lingering kiss, pull his face towards mine, show him how much I want this. "I like the way you think," I whisper.

I climb off him, watch him get off the bed. For a glorious moment he's there with his rippled back to me, the light from the window settled on his curves, deepening the shadows in his back; and his rounded glutes are shiny with the sweat dripping between them, his legs flexed and taut; he turns back to me, his torso oily, jizz dripping over his pecs, over row after row of abdominal muscle, down to his crotch, where that goliath sticks out, where his balls dangle temptingly, and I know this man's going to fuck me, going to do it hard and deep. It makes me dizzy. It makes me shake.

There's a bottle of lube in my dresser just a few feet away, but we don't need it: he slides a hand up his midsection, gets it all slicked up and sloppy then rubs it into his meat, along its whole length, over the tip, enjoying the glide, the twist, slicking it up real nice so it's wet and creamy, quivering and eager, and I brace myself on the bed, on my hands and knees, ass pointed toward him.

"Put the pillow under your face," he says. "And tell me if it's too much. I'm serious, Jackson. I'll try to take it slow."

I feel his hands at first, lubing me up with our mingled man-juice, his fingers slipping in like before, giving me just a taste; then his fat cockhead's prodding me, shoving at my hole, hard and rubbery and insistent till it pushes inside. I gasp at the feel of him, the tip alone already so much. We adjust to each other, feel each other's warmth, the rank smell of our sex, before he inches forward, his strength pushing my face into the pillow, my body against the bed. "Oh fuck," I murmur. "You're so fucking big. Shit!"

"You good, Jackson?" I hear the strain in his voice. He's forcing himself to hold back, barely restraining the clamour of his manly urges. "You good?"