The Prom King and The Size Queens

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School stud scores a threesome for prom.
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Rubirosa
Rubirosa
815 Followers

NOTE: For those of you joining us for the first time, this story is a vignette from Rubirosa's series "Cock Star." The chronicle focuses upon the private life of a public figure.

As the most accomplished porn star of modern times, Samson lives out popular male sex fantasies on a daily basis. This story focuses on our hero's early adventures when he was just an everyday high school gigolo and championship bodybuilder by the name of 'Lance Leo.'

Lance has just turned 18. Like many seniors at Peoria Tech, he plays football, smokes pot, and dates cheerleaders. He listens to hip-hop but prefers heavy metal bands. He scored in the 38th percentile on his SAT's. His GPA hovers just below a 2.3. Lance wears Magnum XL condoms and has slept with five of his teachers and all but two members of the cheerleading team. He enjoys his prolific love life but is eager to dabble in threesomes. This is his story.

The school bell rang. Teens flooded the hallway. Students had five minutes to get to their next class. Lance dialed the combination to his locker. There were no textbooks inside. In fact, the shelves were empty except for an empty box of condoms that contained a dime bag of weed. Lance shut the door to reveal Carrie standing just a couple feet away. The upperclassman looked good. She wore a bright red, low-cut crop top that spelled out SAVAGE in gold letters. Turning the big 1-8 that summer, the blonde acquired D-cup cleavage, a supple bottom, and added three inches of height to her hourglass figure.

"Hello there," she beamed.

"You stalking me again?" he joked. "I thought I gave you my phone number."

"I texted you three times this week. You never wrote me back."

Lance pulled out his mobile and scrolled the touchscreen. Since that morning, he had 57 unanswered text messages, 19 missed calls, and 4 voicemails. He didn't recognize all the numbers but the list included a lot of previous hookups and a couple prospects.

"Sorry, babe. I sort of got a backlog here."

"Well, let's cut to the chase. What are you doing for Prom?"

"Nothing. I hate that shit."

Lance found the dance to be a sore subject. Despite all the hoopla about the prom, he felt a bit weird about asking out one of his friends with benefits. Lance was not the sort of guy that girls took home to their parents. Of course, he wasn't the only student that felt left out at Peoria Tech that week. Carrie might have looked hot but her status as the 'school slut' made the fox an untouchable for certain social events. She was not popular so much as notorious.

"Aw, c'mon," she coaxed him "I'll make it worth your while."

"I don't need a fucking limo and corsage to get laid."

"Well, you sort of would be going on a double-date."

"I ain't sharing a limo with some dude."

"Who said anything about a dude. I meant that Casey also needs a date to the prom. You know her?"

"Not as well as I'd like," he smiled. With a stunning 34-22-34 figure at nearly six feet, the Goth chick had a side career as a model and had not been around Peoria Tech much that semester.

"Between you and me, Casey is looking for a friend with a large benefit package" Carrie whispered in his ear as her hand traveled down his thigh. "A really large one." She grabbed Lance's junk through his sweatpants and gave it a firm squeeze. He had gone commando that day. Jane had Tuesdays off so Lance made love to her all morning. With just ten minutes before first period, he had to dress, hop on his Harley, and speed off to class. Lance knew the risks. Like any teen, he experienced spontaneous erections but his tool grew a lot bigger and harder than other guys. He had nowhere to hide it.

"FYI, Casey's parents are going to be out of town next weekend," she continued. "We'll have her place to ourselves."

"I'll think about it," he said.

"I can tell you're thinking about it already," smiled Carrie. Lance played it cool but his excitement was palpable below the belt. His tool jutted out of his crotch with the subtlety of a lead pipe. Lance had wanted to up his game to threesomes since the beginning of fall semester. However, he hadn't found an opportunity to pull it off yet. Instead, the opportunity seemed to have found him.

The school bell rang.

"Gotta go," she told him and walked off. Fuck! Carrie left him high and dry. Lance shuffled into the bathroom with his prick tenting his sweats. He ducked into a stall to readjust his bulge. The teen stud yanked down his pants. Dayum! His cock looked like it had grown since last time he checked. Last month, Lance measured ten-and-a-half inches. Today, his erection probably cracked eleven at full-mast. The doctors warned him he might still grow but no one knew for sure. Well, now he knew.

Looking down at himself, Lance could not resist touching himself. His heart began to race. Lance never had jacked himself off in a public place before. Sure, he had banged his gym teacher and a couple cheerleaders in the girls' locker room but those acts seemed less taboo. Masturbating at school felt downright perverted. Couldn't he keep it in his pants? As images of Casey and Carrie raced through his mind, he instinctively began to stroke his shaft with both hands...

A few minutes later, Lance left the bathroom and tiptoed into the back of his math class. To his dismay, his priapic pole began to grow erect with each step until it tented the front of his sweats once more. Ms. Lynn tried to ignore it but not a few girls began to snicker quietly. Normally, Lance would have been embarrassed but his mind had drifted elsewhere. Just the thought of them together got him hot and bothered. He didn't know how he could wait until Saturday for the dance.

A WEEK LATER

Back home, Jane helped Lance get dressed for the big night. The foxy cougar legally adopted him just before he turned 18. With both parents deceased, Lance had bounced from foster home to foster home and looked like a textbook case of an at-risk youth. Having been close to his father many years before, Jane signed up to become his guardian. She had served as a drill sergeant at Fort Dix so the veteran knew how to keep young men in line.

They stood before the large mirror mounted on top of her vanity. The bare-chested Adonis struck a pose. Lance looked strong and dominant with arms akimbo. The teen bodybuilder could have modeled for Calvin Klein had it not been for the obscene bulge in his underwear. A guy like him clearly required specialty apparel.

"I hope you're not jealous," he told Jane as she handed him the dress slacks for his tuxedo.

"Don't give yourself too much credit, kid," she laughed.

Ever since he moved in, Lance had enjoyed intimate relations with the cougar. Jane proved less of an authority figure than a big sister he got to fuck. They definitely shared a bond but Jane was nobody's fool. She knew better than to crowd him. Lance was a bad boy with a big cock. Not a soul mate. To her credit, Jane kept him from stealing cars and doing hard drugs. She re-directed his aggressive tendencies into productive pursuits like football and bodybuilding.

His audacious womanizing did not thrill her but what could she do? The MILF had even less of an excuse to sleep with the teen than girls his own age. After all, she was supposed to be the responsible one. But a woman wanted what a woman wanted. So she bought her charge a lifetime supply of Magnum XL condoms and warned him to behave discreetly.

Lance shimmied into his slacks. After struggling to secure the top button, he yanked up the zipper. It got caught halfway up.

"These pants don't fit," he complained.

"I ordered a 34 inch waist just as you requested."

"Well, I also got an eleven-inch cock."

"Ten," she countered.

"Eleven and counting. I measured it this morning. You know what the doctors said. I haven't stopped growing."

"Ten and a half."

"Eleven."

"Whatever," muttered Jane as she carefully lowered, then pulled his zipper all the way up. "Just needed a woman's touch."

"Sure does," he smiled seductively while reaching for his bow tie. "How does this thing work?" "Let me show you," answered Jane before tying it around his neck. "Of course, you probably want to wear a shirt with that. Lance admired himself in the mirror. For a moment, he pondered going shirtless to Prom.

"Don't even think about it," laughed Jane. "Put on your dress shirt. You look like a Chippendale with that stupid bow tie."

"Huh?"

"A male stripper."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

The doorbell rang.

"Oh, shit!" he muttered. "Carrie showed up on time for once."

As Carrie rang the doorbell over and over again, Lance quickly slipped on his dress shirt while Jane did his cuff links and fixed his tie. She ran downstairs to open the front door. Carrie looked great in her strapless black gown. It showed off her enviable curves and provided more than eyeful of cleavage. Lance bolted into the living room. The sight of her stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Jane, this is Carrie," Lance announced with a bit more excitement in his voice than normal.

Another figure emerged from the stretch limo in the driveway: "And this is...Casey."

The next few seconds unfolded like a slow-motion dream. Casey wore a form-fitting vintage dress that accentuated her slender frame. In heels, she stood six feet. Carrie's girlfriend glided to the door with the practiced walk of a genuine runway model. Lance had never seen her in person before. She had just come from Fashion Week in New York.

"Entrez," Jane told the girls with an amused expression. Lance hadn't told her about their "double-date" but it didn't surprise her. She found it curious when the ladykiller bought two corsages at the florist. Lance explained lamely that his date wanted to wear them on both wrists.

The next few minutes passed awkwardly. Jane didn't exactly prohibit Lance from dating but he preferred to keep his affairs discreet. She seemed like the jealous type. To his relief, Jane proved a gracious hostess. The three of them posed for some PG-rated photographs.

"OK, smile," Jane told them before squeezing off a few snaps on her smartphone.

The playboy draped his arms over their shoulders and pulled them in close for a group shot. He bore a very mischievous grin. In a flash, the sexual tension in the room grew palpable. Every girl in that room wanted to fuck Lance. And while all of them knew that, protocol dictated that this elephant should be left unmentioned.

"Oh, darn," said Carrie at last after looking at her watch. "I think we're late."

The girls gave Jane a firm handshake and headed to the door with Lance.

"Don't forget," Jane told him. "Curfew is at ten."

"Eleven!" he retorted.

"Ten and a half."

"Whatever."

"What was that all about?" asked Carrie.

"Don't ask," he muttered.

The three of them piled into the limo. Carrie and Casey took one seat. Lance tried to wedge himself in between them but they pushed him away affectionately. He had to take the opposite seat.

"Not so fast," Casey told him. "You know the deal."

'The deal' was that Carrie and Casey secretly became an item that semester. They planned to use the prom as their 'coming out' party. However, the two of them wanted their date to be a surprise so both of them listed Lance as their companion when signing up for the dance. While the conservative school would have made a fuss about a lesbian couple, the administration had no rule regarding a guy escorting two girls to prom. It was an archaic and idiotic double standard but the girls preferred to circumvent the rule instead of challenge it head on. They didn't want a media circus.

"If you play your cards right," grinned Carrie as she pulled a big joint out of her purse. "You might get lucky tonight. Maybe."

Casey took out a silver-plated lighter lit up her girlfriend. They both took a toke and passed it across to Lance. He took a long drag and watched his companions lock lips. Their bodies melted together. They held their kiss for a long, luscious time. Lance's slacks felt uncomfortably tight. The garment had not been designed for a guy hung like him. He took a deep breath and counted to ten. Tonight's dance was going to redefine the meaning of eternity. He checked his watch. If the prom ended at midnight, Lance had to endure at least six more hours of teasing before he got a moment alone with these foxes.

"Your mom is hot," Carrie said out of the blue.

"She's not my mom."

"Your stepmom."

"She's not that either."

Casey and Carrie exchanged looks. Lance suspected he just knocked over a large pail of grist into the rumor mill. Then again, who cared? His companions for the night hardly seemed to have a problem with courting controversy. The girls exited the limo arm-in-arm as a couple flashbulbs popped. Lance trailed behind a couple paces and enjoyed the stunned reactions of the student body. Carrie seemed to be enjoying the attention. While nice girls called her a 'slut,' the jezebel wore the title proudly. She commanded a lot of influence in the high school pecking order by employing her forbidden sexuality as a form of power over men. In that regard, Carrie also staged her lesbian debut on her own terms. The girls ruled and the guys drooled. At the same time, the foxy teen's proud ownership of her identity had silenced the homophobes as well.

Lance couldn't help but admire Carrie as she led her companion on the dance floor. She didn't give a shit any more than he did. Casey also made a perfect companion for her. The Goth had dressed to kill: black dress, black gloves, black lace, black choker, black lipstick and a red rose in her hair to placate her parents. Casey seemed to play the femme to her butch as they glided gracefully across the dance floor. Dozens of flashbulbs lit up the room like a fireworks display. Instagram would soon be flooded with the hash tag #carrieandcaseyforever.

"Fuckin' lesbos," grumbled the captain of the football team to his lackeys. Steve Knight never liked Carrie since she refused to put out on a date with him. "Hey," he heckled the girls. "Why don't you chicks get a room?" Steve felt a firm hand on his shoulder. He turned around to see Lance: "They will get a room... with me." The moment grew tense. Steve's toadies backed off a couple paces. Even his friends knew the jock would be no match for the alpha thug. The two of them looked ready to rumble. Finally, Lance walked away. He made his point.

Lance headed toward the punch bowl. He checked his watch. The dance still had five hours left.

"Going stag?" asked a voice flirtatiously. Lance met eyes with Jen. He hooked up with the svelte rock chick all the time. She looked particularly hot that night in vintage Chanel.

"Nah. Not tonight, babe," he told her. Lance held up two fingers and pointed them directly toward Casey and Carrie.

"Not bad. Still care to dance?"

Lance looked over at his dates. They seemed quite enraptured with each other for the moment.

"Sure," he told her. "Lead the way."

Thankfully, the band had just struck up an up-tempo number. Lance didn't think he would have been able to control himself if they played a ballad with a slow dance. Even so, Jen hip-checked his crotch early and often as they swung about the floor. Lance felt his phone vibrate in his pocket over and over again. His surprise appearance at the prom had piqued the curiosity of his girlfriends and not a few amused texts were being sent his way. Everywhere he looked, Lance saw his many lovers dressed to the nines. Most of them met his leer with hungry looks of their own.

"Jesus, Lance!" she giggled. "Can't you keep it in your pants?" Technically, it was still in his pants but the bulge jutted out at an odd angle.

"I am what I am, babe," he replied coolly. Lance did not feel any embarrassment. He loved having a big cock. The well-hung Casanova owned a skeleton key to the pussy of any girl he desired. As the two of them spun around the dance floor, Lance counted off at least 40 conquests. While the other guys had to imagine what the popular girls looked like beneath their fancy dresses, Lance knew them intimately from memory. His girlfriends came in tall and short, zaftig and petite, blonde and brunette. He knew their birthmarks, if they shaved their pussies, and what their faces looked like when they came.

Chicks of every clique had shared his bed. He seduced cheerleaders, emo girls, scenesters, princesses, and any other female that excited him. Though the Midwestern school skewed white, Lance celebrated diversity with lovers of every race. The teenage Lothario lacked the inhibitions that restricted most students to their peer group. To him, a girl shed her social trappings as soon as he undressed her. Lance didn't care whether she hung out with the 'in' crowd, listened to boy bands, or made the school honor roll. Stripped of her clothing, she simply became a goddess to be worshipped with his tongue and cock.

"Hey," Jen whispered in his ear. "You want to go outside for a cigarette?"

"I don't smoke."

"I know that, silly."

"May I cut in?" asked a voice from behind. Lance turned around to find Carrie. She wasn't upset. Just amused. In the movies, the man usually chose to cut in but Carrie did not show much interest in convention. Lance bade Jen adieu.

The band played the opening chords of Berlin's "Take My Breath Away." Lance instinctively drew her body to close to his.

"Don't even think about it," she told him. "Casey and I are not letting you out of our sight so you can bang one of your groupies in the parking lot. Your cock belongs to us tonight."

Carrie gently ground her thighs against his crotch as they danced. Up close, he could smell her perfume and feel the heat of her body. Lance grinned and bore the sweet agony of deferred delight. Her cockteasing left him fit to be tied.

"May I cut in?" asked someone behind Lance.

"Hi, Morgan," said Carrie with barely disguised annoyance. "He's all yours." The tall blonde led the cheerleading team with the intensity of a drill sergeant. She also dated Steve Knight who looked none too amused with her dance partner.

"Are you sure Steve is OK with this?" he asked quietly.

"Of course, he's not. First of all, you're the star player on the team now, not him. Secondly, you're a transfer student with a ten-and-a-half inch cock that gets to bang all the varsity cheerleaders he lusted after for the past four years."

"That's simply not true," he interjected with mock indignation. "I measured eleven inches as of this week."

"Laaaaaance," she smiled flirtatiously. "Don't you think it's a bit childish to measure your dick?"

"Maybe someone else wanted to measure it. And she didn't call my tool 'childish' either."

Morgan suddenly stiffened. She could make out Steve's angry glare clear across the gymnasium. The party was over.

"Uh-oh, I better go," she told him.

"You want me to take care of that prick?"

"No, I want to take care of your prick," she smiled. "Don't waste your time on that loser."

Morgan left Lance standing alone on the dance floor. He slunk over to the punch table and poured a drink for himself. After a quick check for chaperones, he pulled a flask out of his tux and emptied it into his glass.

"Yo!" a peppy voice greeted him. "How's it hanging?"

It could be none other than Hilary, the head of the math club. Lance generally didn't hook up with nerds but the two of them had a comfortable arrangement. She taught the failing student remedial algebra so he could stay on the football team. Lance taught her sex. In private, Hilary turned out to be a closet hottie. Her thick horn rim glasses obscured a buxom figure. She had her sexy librarian look down cold.

Rubirosa
Rubirosa
815 Followers