Measuring Up

"Keep going! Keep fucking going! Fill me up. Make me take it!"

He obeys, and though the pain's intense, I force myself to hold on. I tell myself I can handle it; it's not like he's fisting me--though his cock feels like a fist, stretching me in ways I'm going to feel for a week. Hopefully longer, because I can tell I'm going to start savouring the impression of his giant fuckpole rammed up my ass. My heart's bounding, legs and stomach are quivering, sweat running into my eyes, and somehow my cock's hard again already, leaking against the bed.

"Aw, fuck. Fuck! You're so tight. It feels so good." He moans as I make myself push back onto him, show him how much I want him inside me, his whole hard length. He withdraws an inch, thrusts deeper, withdraws, thrusts deeper, stuffing more of himself inside me each time, till I feel his thighs against my ass, against my feet. And now he pulls back and starts exploring for that sweet spot he found earlier, rubbing his cockhead along the inner wall of my ass. It feels so close to my cock and balls, as if he's fucking my nutsack from the inside, and when he hits my prostate, that whole region rumbles and throbs and I let out a lingering moan.

"You like that, don't you? That's the fucking spot. Want me to ram you? Ram that fucking ass?"

I beg for it, beg for his cock, and I feel it begin, the steady pistoning of his ass, the force of his giant beefy glutes driving him into me, our bodies slippery and sweaty, slapping together and apart; and he thrusts deep, then just to that perfect spot halfway, one for him and one for me, alternating his strokes, making us hotter and wetter and tighter, both hands gripping me by my hips, then once he's got a firm rhythm going, reaching under me with his right hand to start stroking my dick in time.

I'm immersed in his strength: his firm grip on my cock, his huge heavy body bearing down on me, his cock fucking me not just for his own pleasure but to see how much he can maximize mine; and I know he's grinning that cocky grin of his every time I moan and hiss; he's getting off on handling me like the willing cock-bitch I am, seeing how much unbearable lust and ecstasy he can squeeze out of my cock, my prostate, his absolute power over me thrumming through his body, the obliterating manly excess that makes me howl and bite the pillow and yet thrust my ass up higher, pleading for more, drooling, Fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck me you musclegod, you fucking jacked hunk, pound me with that cock, cum in me, fill me with your jizz, don't stop, you're so fucking good, oh fuck yes!

And he's faster and stronger, our bodies slapping, squelching, rushing together toward the abyss, the pressure building higher and higher till it sings in my ears, mashes the breath from my lungs; I'm bucking against him, against his cock, his hand, his muscles, the wave building, the air thick with sex and sperm and sweat, my mouth drenched in the taste of him, my vision blurry with tears, everything pounding and throbbing and crushing me till I hear that gruff roar from deep in his chest, "Fuck! Oh fuck, here it comes! Get fucking ready!" and I want it so bad, need it--give me that fucking load, make me drown in it!

He pulls out of me, lays that fat spunk-pistol between my ass-cheeks and explodes with a groan from deep in his stomach. Violent rockets of hot warm cum shoot all over my back like a sprinkler, plaster my hair flat, the shots from this fucking beast actually building in strength as he presses his balls against me, hitting my shoulder, staining the sheets next to my head; he gives another moan and thrusts hard against my ass and there's an audible squirt--his fucking sperm overshoots the bed and splats into the far wall of my bedroom, oozes thickly down it--

It sends me over the edge, knowing what a fucking virile stud I'm being used by; the pleasure clamps down hard in my cock and I feel it erupt. I shoot my load deep into the mattress, and I lie there, pouring out my lust, bathed in my desires, my face in the pillow, ass against his cock as his muscled flesh pounds against me, as his fuckpole rocks and jerks, flinging gallons of fresh man-milk out on my naked body till there's nothing but drops left--drops that he shakes out of his dick by slapping it against my willing flesh.

For a moment we just breathe, exhausted, dazed, smelling each other, our sex, tasting it. He rubs my hips gently, making slow circles, his wet genitals still pressed against me, thrusting slightly through the sweat and the dripping jizz all down my backside as he finally starts to soften. "You okay, Jackson?"

I roll over, lie flat on the bed, looking up at the distant ceiling. "That was incredible. You're so fucking hot." This room's going to smell like us forever, I think. The bed's practically been impregnated with our sperm, wet stains all over it. I drag myself over to the right side of that spunked-up bed, make room for him beside me. And he lies there, a glossy titan, so much bigger and heavier than me that I'm pulled toward him and I go willingly, fall against his chest. He places his hand on my shoulder, looks deep into my eyes, and I know we're both thinking that there's nothing better than looking into the face of someone who not only understands your desires, but embraces them, shares them.

Our mouths meet; we feel each other's bodies with the tenderness that follows satisfaction. I can't get enough of him, his beautiful slicked-up brawny body and the look of honest pleasure in his eyes. I want to know more about him, spend all my time with him. I know he's grown a lot in the past year, and he's done it by being a man who faces his dreams head on and forces them to come true. That's what he's wanted, all along: to be honest with himself, to celebrate his desires, and it's brought him here, made him stronger in so many ways.

"You're beautiful. Perfect," I say.

He laughs. "Far from it. Not even close."

And here, in this moment of honesty, I can confront my dreams too, dare them to come true.

"I want to be like you," I say. "Look like you. Live like you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Will you help me? Help me grow?"

He studies me a moment, then nods. He rolls away and reaches for his duffel bag on the floor, grabs the bottle of Colossinth. "You sure?"

And when I say yes, he taps one out and slips it between my lips. I swallow. And beg for more.