lost1 Posted September 29, 2021 Share Posted September 29, 2021 i've never wanted two fictional characters to get married as badly as i do now. 4 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
jwood Posted October 1, 2021 Share Posted October 1, 2021 The thought that he could permanently be over 500 pounds someday has to be a bit frightening to him. 1 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TQuintA Posted October 1, 2021 Author Share Posted October 1, 2021 Part 5 – The Wedding and the Honeymoon Chapter 5 Shafe and Marietta’s wedding was two weeks later. The rumor that Jason and I were getting married still circulated, but other than that, my life wasn’t much different at 400 than it was at 370. I took up more space and my chest had more of an intimate relationship with my chin, but once you’re humongous, it takes larger changes to mark extreme differences. I’m not going to lie; I quickly grew to delight in being a 400-pound Hercules. If I had known it felt this intensely satisfying, I would’ve stopped fighting it decades earlier. Soon enough, the wedding had arrived. Naturally, Shafe and Marietta had seen to the details of that, so I had been entirely out of planning the wedding ceremony itself. I had no idea what sort of new age, crystals-and-cymbals, incense-fumed rite it was going to be, but I was bracing myself for anything. Much to my complete surprise, they planned a civil ceremony at city hall, a perfunctory ceremony at that. Shafe didn’t want a religious service, just in case he picked the wrong deity and pissed off a god. It was only witnessed by me and Marietta’s maid of honor, a friend who’d flown down from Canada. Both Marietta’s dress and Shafe’s suit showed off just how buff this couple was. I, thankfully, had thought to request some stretch in my tux (in case I had any fun ideas for the reception). My tux was snug, but it still looked like it was tailored for a man of my size. All in all, it was just a simple and sweet ceremony. The reception afterwards, however, was garish, raucous, and lively. It was a huge party with a lot of dancing, rollicking, and noise. Thankfully, Marietta had done most of the planning for that, so I just got to show up and be a guest, though I did have to march in the processional with Shafe’s groomsmen. I was worried Jason was going to be in hell surrounded by such a crowd of people, but, for the most part, he had a pretty damn good time. He thought I looked hot in my tight tux and yellow bow tie, and it had been ages since we’d been out dancing. The food was excellent. The venue was resplendent. My best man’s speech went flawlessly. Everyone was so focused on the newlyweds that no one congratulated us on our non-existent engagement once. It looked like we were going to get out of the day unscathed. That is, until it was time to toss the bouquet. Marietta called all the unmarried women to the floor. Jason and I stayed seated in our chairs, as neither Jason nor I was an unmarried woman. Then, two of Marietta’s more muscular bridesmaids came over, picked Jason up, and carried him over to the pool of excited single ladies while he kicked and fought the whole way. Marietta insisted that Jason and I both had to participate too. When five of Shafe’s bodybuilder buddies came over to carry me, I went quietly rather than make a scene. From the stage, Marietta surveyed the crowd of unmarried women (and two gay men). She memorized exactly where Jason was standing, and when she turned her back, she threw the bouquet over her shoulder with precision accuracy right into Jason’s face. He caught it more out of reflex than a desire to catch it. The single ladies all screamed in a high-pitch squeal that dreamy Hollywood star Jason Prentiss had caught the bouquet, and the throng crushed in around us to revel in congratulations. It was like the Beatles being mobbed by a horde of teenage fans. Jason and I barely got back to our chairs alive. Once Jason had escaped the crowd, we turned to each other and said, “We’re never getting married,” in unison. “Never,” Jason added emphatically. “Never,” I repeated. “This is not who we are.” “Not even a little.” “We are not these people.” The rest of the reception was lovely, if overlong and overproduced. When we got home and I gave Jason back his deposit, we went almost immediately to bed to crash and decompress. We were just lying there, scrolling through our phones with the bedside table lamp on, enjoying the quiet of the night. After a few minutes, Jason spoke up, admitting, “There is one thing I’ll miss now that we’re never getting married.” “Let me have it,” I said. “Hold nothing back.” “The honeymoon. I heard that Shafe and Marietta are spending one week in the mountains of St. Moritz and one week on the beaches of Bora Bora. I don’t even like skiing, and it made me jealous. And the beach? An island with a tropic beach? I was beyond jealous of that.” “We can have a honeymoon without a wedding,” I said. “It’s called a vacation.” “Can we call our next vacation our honeymoon?” “Sure,” I said. “Can it be over-the-top and as unnecessarily lavish as Shafe and Marietta’s wedding? But just for the two of us?” Then, for emphasis, he added, “Alone? No crowds?” “Of course,” I said. “When’s your next hiatus? We can have our honeymoon then.” “My next big chunk of time off,” he said, consulting the schedule on his phone, “isn’t until April. One good thing I can say for this media storm: my show got a second season. We were on the bubble, and then I suddenly became the only celebrity anyone was talking about. The producers are using those two weeks for pre-production. I’ll get three months off at the end of filming the season, but that might as well be the other side of the moon.” “April when?” “Last two weeks,” he answered, double checking his calendar. “Perfect,” I said, putting it into my phone. “But that’s two months away,” he complained in an exaggerated voice. “Months of people asking when we’re going to get married. I was sort of hoping the honeymoon would be a vacation from that, too” “It’s just more time for me to plan,” I chuckled. “Wait, the last two weeks of April?” I asked to clarify. “Your birthday is the 23rd. I know you’re not a fan of birthdays. Are you still cool with late April?” “Absolutely. It happened to be my birthday. That’s not why we’re going.” “Excellent.” Offhandedly, he added, “Besides, I probably should celebrate my 30th.” I sat up in bed. “30th?” “Yeah,” he said, joining me. “I’m turning 30 in April.” That made not a lick of sense. “You had a film career for eight years before I knew you, and we’ve been together for two years.” “Your math is unimpeachable. I went to my first audition when I was 20. My then-boyfriend dragged me to an open call. When I got the part, I dropped out of college.” “You’ve been in your 20s this whole time we’ve been dating? I’ve been living with a man in his 20s?” “You thought I was older?” He seemed genuinely confused. “Should I be offended?” “I guessed you were in your mid-30s. Maybe late 30s at the most. Movie stars all look younger than they’re supposed to. I assumed you just looked like you were in your twenties.” “No, I’m in my twenties,” Jason confirmed. “For another two months, at least.” “The day we did the photo shoot in your studio, and I took ‘Krixby #1’…” I started. “I turned 28 that night,” Jason finished. “Yeah. You never asked me, so I assumed you already knew.” “It’s impolite to ask people’s ages,” I insisted. “I have a Wikipedia page. You could’ve Googled me.” “I’ve been living with a man in his 20s,” I said, still not believing it. “This isn’t going to be a thing for you, is it?” I shook my head. “Nope. It was just shocking and took a moment to process.” I kissed him on the forehead. “All processed now.” After a moment, he tentatively said, “How old are you? Because until you reacted like this, I thought you were about the same age as me.” “How old do you think I am?” I asked, intensely curious. “When we started dating, I thought you were 25 or 26.” “You thought I was younger than you?” “Yeah, but not by much. Not with muscles that big. When I found out you were The Repository, it made sense that you’d be that big so young.” “But…” This was so weird. “All of our friends are in their late 30s or their 40s. Did that not seem weird to you?” “I didn’t know they were that old. But, my friends have always been older than me,” Jason said, shrugging. “You’ve met Jonah. He and I went to high school together. Did you think he was younger than you too?” “Yes,” Jason said flatly. “I guess I suck at guessing people’s ages.” After a moment, he added, “Are H. K. and Paula really in their 40s?” “They, in fact, are.” Jason nodded, impressed. “They look damn good for their 40s. I’m going to ask for Paula’s skin care regime.” I nodded, then added, “So, until I freaked out, you thought I was 27 or 28?” “I did at that.” After a pause, he repeated, “How old are you?” “38,” I told him. “Cool,” Jason said. “I just aged a decade in your eyes, and your response is, ‘Cool’?” “It’s not really important. For a second I was worried you were much older than me and being The Repository made you look impossibly young. 38 is nothing.” Then, mirroring my gesture of affection, he kissed me on the forehead. “And you look really good for your age too. You could easily get cast as a bodybuilder in his late 20s.” “How have we never discussed this in two years?” “I don’t like birthdays, and we were too busy. Too busy discussing important stuff.” Moving on from my forehead, he kissed the right side of my neck where my traps rose up in an attempt to swallow it. “Too busy living.” He kissed the other side of my neck in the hollow valley formed by my impossible mass. “And too busy enjoying each other’s company,” he finished, grabbing my dick and giving it a few strokes. “Fair enough,” I said, turning out the light. 23 1 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Popular Post TQuintA Posted October 1, 2021 Author Popular Post Share Posted October 1, 2021 Part 5 – The Wedding and the Honeymoon Chapter 6 By the time April came, the fury over our wedding had died down to twice-a-week updates from one media outlet or another about our supposed nuptial plans. They somehow still hadn’t discovered that Miles Uhler was just a pen name—I suspect Margaret had pulled off that coup. But, my unmasking was an inevitability we’d deal with later. I wasn’t planning a wedding, but I had planned our honeymoon. There were a lot of moving pieces, but I was pleased with what I’d put together. And I was pretty sure Jason would be too. The whole car ride to the airport, Jason tried to wheedle details out of me. “You know I’m not thrilled by surprises,” Jason said the morning of the honeymoon. “I would’ve helped.” “Ah, but when it comes to The Repository, I always take the reins,” I replied. “It’s going to be that kind of honeymoon?” Jason said, bumping his knee into mine playfully. “Of course, it is.” “I’m still nervous. You packed my bags for me. You made all the arrangements.” “Lacey helped a lot,” I confessed. “Yeah, but she wouldn’t tell me anything,” Jason said. “Believe me. I tried. I even threatened to fire her unless she spilled, but she knew that was an empty threat.” “You’re going to love it,” I teased. “Will you at least tell me where we’re going?” he begged. “The airport,” I answered honestly. To my absolute pleasure, there were no paparazzi waiting for us, and we boarded the plane without incident. I’d chartered us a private plane with tinted windows, so as soon as the cabin was sealed, I gave Jason back his deposit. Because we’d been out in public, Jason had chosen to wear clothes for his 185-pound size: a comfortable long-sleeve black T and his travel jeans. Watching him swell into clothes too small for his size, I was enraptured. His shoulders pushed the shirt broader, his muscles stretching the collar, showing a hint of his pecs, which became all the more noticeable as they pressed out further into his shirt, nipples first, rounding out the front and pulling up the hem, which revealed his 6-pack hardening into a solid 8-pack. His hips and ass pushed out the back of his jeans, threatening the rear seam with its full, powerful glory. His legs thickened too, his thighs swelling out curved lines of muscular perfection. His jeans now looked painfully tight. How nothing tore or ripped is beyond me. Jason looked at me with slight panic in his eyes. “But the flight crew! They’ll see me!” “The one flight attendant and the small number of people we’ll bump into on our honeymoon have all been paid well for their silence, and if they try to spill the beans, who will believe them about this?” A male flight attendant, lithe and muscular with a prodigiously bulging pouch, came out from the cockpit, locking it behind him. His nametag said “Tanner.” “Can I help you gentlemen to your seats? Or with your bags?” Relaxing a little, Jason handed over his bag. As he did, the muscles in his biceps and forearm flexed and contracted, threatening the sleeve of his shirt. It was wrapped around him so tightly, I could see the bulges his veins made in the fabric. The flight attendant saw to our bags, and Jason turned to me, “You could’ve told me so I would’ve worn more comfortable clothing.” “And deprive myself of seeing you overstuff your clothes? Why?” I took my seat—specially designed to be wide enough to fit me comfortably; I’d paid extra for it to be installed. “Is this a long flight?” Jason said, gingerly sitting down, trying not to blow the ass out of his pants, his shirt fighting to contain him as the hem rode up even higher, revealing four of his abs. Tanner returned. “If the gentleman is uncomfortable in his clothes, there are a few minutes until take-off. You could change. Or, if the gentleman would prefer, I can pull this curtain and you can fly to your destination unencumbered by clothing." Tanner pointed to a thick black curtain that separated the front of the cabin from the rest of it. “I will remain behind this curtain for your privacy if the gentlemen so desire.” "What?" Jason said, surprised by that suggestion. I explained. “The company who charters these flights, they made it pretty clear that people have sex in these planes all the time. They didn’t say it explicitly, but they did ask if I wanted a king-sized bed installed. The flight attendants are used to turning a blind eye.” “We’ll call you if we need you,” Jason said, shooing Tanner back to his hiding spot behind the black curtain. When it closed, Jason tore off his shirt—literally. It split in half over the hills of his pecs. He lowered his pants as far as he could. His sleeves were trapped on his shoulders and arms, but his chest was free and heaving. His pants had only gotten as far down as his thighs. “Help me out?” he asked me. I pulled him out of his clothes, admiring the way his body looked so massive and muscular in this small, private plane. The ceiling was only two inches above Jason’s head, making him look practically gigantic. “I think I’ll join you,” I said, whipping off my shirt and taking off my own pants. “Let’s save our underwear until we’re in the air,” Jason said. “Good call,” I said, strapping myself into the chair, the seatbelt cutting between my massive, furry pecs, splitting them apart. The seatbelt did something very similar to Jason’s own pecs. Takeoff was smooth as cream, and as soon as the plane was airborne, Jason physically relaxed more thoroughly than I’d seen in months. About three seconds later, an announcement told us we could take off our seatbelts, and Jason was immediately on his knees in front of me, lowering my briefs. “Why so eager?” I asked. He stroked my cock with his hand, bringing it to erection. At the same time, he said, “I have never been this big outside our house without a disguise; you have. I have never had sex in public; you have. However, one thing I know neither of us has ever done is have sex in an airplane. What better way to start our honeymoon?” He took my cock in his mouth and began delighting my head with his togue, stroking the shaft with his hands and lips, and being attentive to my entire cock. He had a lot of practice deep throating me, and he brought me to orgasm so quickly, I was blindsided by it—so blindsided that, mid-roar, I almost hit the button to summon Tanner. Thankfully, Jason knocked my hand aside, stopping me at the last second. As soon as I had come, he looked up at me ravenously. I knew that look well. He leaned back onto the flats of his palms while lowering his underwear and pushing his hips up and out, giving me full access to his cock. Smiling, I joined him on the floor and reciprocated his generous blow job. I loved having Jason’s cock in my mouth. It was rigid and firm, thick and long, salty but not musty. It was just a beautiful cock. Every now and then, even two years into our relationship, I’d have moments of cognitive dissonance and remember that I had a Hollywood movie star’s cock in my mouth, and it would make things exciting all over again. While I blew him on the plane, and he was on his hands and feet, back arched, moaning as I blew him, I had that cognitive dissonance again. I was on a plane blowing a Hollywood movie star, a celebrity marveled at by millions and lusted after by hundreds of thousands, was allowing me to suck his cock. I re-focused my attention on his cock, and seconds later, he was coming hard down my throat. He swore so profusely I was sure Tanner would come back in out of sheer curiosity if not concern, but he didn’t. When Jason had finished, he relaxed onto the floor, panting. I was still between his thighs, watching the last few drops of cum dribble out of his cock. As I sat there, Jason chuckled. "Why are you laughing?" I asked. “It just occurred to me that the author of my favorite book series, a New York Times bestseller with over a dozen novels on his résumé, was giving me a blow job on a private plane, and suddenly I felt a little surreal.” “We are so well-matched,” I said. We lay there on the plane in the altogether like that for an hour. I watched his muscular chest rise and fall, admiring just how ripe and juicy it looked, and he stroked my chest lovingly, his fingers getting caught in the thicket of my chest hair. Without opening the curtain, Tanner announced that lunch would soon be served. “How long is this flight?” Jason asked. “About eight hours,” I answered honestly. “We should get dressed for lunch, then,” he sighed. “Or,” I said, getting up and leaving Jason there. Completely naked, I walked over to the curtain separating us from the flight attendant’s section and opened it. Unfazed, he looked at me and asked, “Is there anything I can help you gentlemen with?” “My traveling companion and I would like to have lunch now but would like to remain nude,” I said flatly. “Very good,” Tanner said. “I’ll wheel it out myself in just two minutes.” I returned to Jason, and he was bright red, but smiling wildly. “He has no problem with us just being naked?” “He’s doing his job,” I said dismissively. “His job involves serving food to naked men?” Jason replied, unconvinced. I explained. “First of all, we’re fucking hot, so he’s probably enjoying the show. Secondly, the people I chartered this plane from implied heavily that for another hundred dollars, Tanner would spend the entire flight naked himself. Thirdly, I get the impression that for another couple of hundred dollars, he’d fuck one or both us.” “Tanner’s a prostitute?” Jason asked as the flight attendant came back in. “I’m a flight attendant,” he said, wheeling in the cart with our lunches. “But, yes, I would definitely have sex with either or both of you gentlemen.” He winked. “At no additional charge.” “Good to know,” Jason said as he got up and went over to our seats to eat. Lunch was an opulent meal, replete with champagne and caviar. “You did say lavish,” I reminded him. “It’s sumptuous,” Jason said. “There’s only one thing I’d add, but it’s so childish.” “Who cares if it’s childish?” I asked, leadingly. “The one thing that would make it perfect is…” Before Jason could finish his sentence, Tanner pulled a small silver tray off the cart and pulled off the cloche. Sitting on the tray was a single Boston cream doughnut. “I shouldn’t,” Jason said. “It’s so much sugar.” “We’re on vacation,” I reminded him. “Besides, look at you,” I said, pointing to his 8-pack. “A doughnut isn’t going to kill you.” Jason still wavered. “And if makes you feel better, we’ll go on a strict diet and workout regimen as soon as we get back to LA.” “You promise?” he asked. “My career kind of depends on this,” he rubbed his abs. “I’ll call Curtis myself if I have to,” I said, crossing my heart. “He owes you.” “Would the gentleman care to indulge?” Tanner asked, lowering the tray so it was under Jason’s nose. “Oh, yes, please,” Jason said, taking the doughnut and cramming it into his mouth, biting half of it off. “Slow down,” I said. “Savor it.” “This is the only way to eat a doughnut,” Jason answered, his mouth full. He swallowed and said, “If you can’t finish it in two bites, it wasn’t a very good doughnut.” He shoved the rest of it in one bite. “I guess I’ve never seen you eat a doughnut,” I said. “I’ve snuck you doughnuts onto movie sets and the like. But I don’t think I’ve actually ever seen you eat one.” “I’ve never let anyone see me eat one. They’re my shameful secret. I must really love you.” Then, we both laughed. After lunch, Jason asked me again where we were going. “We’re far enough along that I can answer that now. I rented us a private island. It’s a tiny little thing, near French Polynesia, but not technically part of French Polynesia. It’s such a small island, we could literally take ten steps from our bed and be on the beach. The weather promises to be sublime. There is only one other person who will be there, and even then, only to cook our meals and to do some light housekeeping. She boats in and boats out. She’ll be there less than an hour each day, and I’ve been assured that if we time our swims just right, we can go the entire two weeks without seeing her.” “You got us a cook/maid for the vacation? Are we that bougie?” “I don’t want to spend our honeymoon cooking, and you burn toast.” “Fair. That’s fair.” We lightly dozed in each other’s arms for the rest of the flight until Tanner woke us up by announcing that we would be landing shortly. “We should get dressed,” Jason said as he got into his seat to land. “There will be people at the airport. Maybe I should give you my standard deposit.” All the relaxation he had enjoyed in the air seemed gone as he became a little panicked. “Jason,” I soothed. “These private islands are expensive for a reason. Did you not notice our plane was equipped to land on water?” “We’re landing right at the island?” He did not believe me. “We did have to land at an airport in Hawaii to refuel,” I acknowledged, “but I guess we slept through that.” “So, no people, no airport.” “Just the island,” I said. “Tanner will take what little luggage we have into our cabin, and the rest of the two weeks is just us two.” “I love it,” Jason said, throwing his arms around me. Then, after a pause, he broke the embrace and added, “Wait? What little we have?” “The island is well stocked. And I didn’t pack much clothes,” I admitted. “Who wants tan lines?” The plane landed smoothly. Tanner helped us out of the plane and then saw to our luggage. The island was gorgeous. There was a dark brown pier that extended into the ocean, but most of the island was unspoiled beach. The sand was a pale beige, almost white, and felt as smooth as talcum powder. The water was so blue that it was turquoise. Our five-room cabin was deluxe. The main room, a sitting room or living room of sorts, opened up on to the beach. The exterior wall was actually a sliding door. We could slide the wall in and remove any barrier between the room and the beach. The furniture was plush and cushiony, the floors a hard wood the same color as the dock. The room beyond that was a dining area. It had an intimate table, with both a chandelier and candlesticks in case we wanted romantic ambience. It also had a well-stocked bar right there in the dining area. The dining area was separated from the kitchen by a partition—that way, while the cook was in there, we could close the partition and still have uninterrupted privacy. Also, the cook could open the door to the dining area even if her hands were full. The kitchen was full of a number of appliances I couldn’t even name, but we’d only go in there for three reasons: the cold drinks in the fridge, the snacks in the cabinets, and the whipped cream if Jason wanted me for late night dessert. The bathroom was just as luxurious as the rest of the house. It had a tub big enough for the both of us (essentially a small swimming pool), a shower big enough for both of us (essentially its own room), and a fully stocked linen closet with the softest towels I had ever felt. The entire floor of the bathroom was tiled, and there was a sky light over the tub in case we wanted to bathe under the stars. The bedroom alone would have been enough to make me want to stay here. Like the living room, it had a wall that could be slid out to remove any separation between us and the beach. The bed was enormous—it practically took up one whole wall and was giant enough to fit both of us twice. The mattress itself was strong and supple, the pillows heavenly. The bedding was all in shades of red and black. There was a closet in the room as well, a walk-in with two doors that opened like barn doors. It would get little use from us. Next to the bed was a nightstand, which, upon my request, Tanner had well stocked with a variety of lubricants I’d packed. Jason and I had been monogamous for two years, so we didn’t bother with condoms anymore, but there was a whole world of lubes still to try. The remaining wall had an LED fireplace with a decadent rug in front of it. After touring the house at a run, Jason came back out on the beach, still naked, where I stood waiting for him. “I love it!” he shouted, throwing his arms out to the side. Enjoying his freedom, he spun around on the beach, his muscles flexing and bouncing from the exertion, his cock swinging in the sea air. “I knew you would,” I said. Tanner had just loaded our last piece of luggage inside, and before he got back on the plane, he said, “You gentlemen enjoy your stay,” and then handed me my cell phone and departed. It was now just Jason and me on the island. “I’m glad to hear you’re happy,” I said to Jason, wagging my phone as the plane took off behind me. “There’s an alarm set on both of our phones to give us a 15 minute warning when the housekeeper/cook is coming.” “Love it,” Jason said. “That way we won’t have to worry about being interrupted while we enjoy ourselves. But let’s not spend our vacations on our phones. Put yours away and come frolick with me.” “I’d be happy to. Before that, though, there is one call I have to make.” I held my cell phone next to my ear. 35 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
arpeejay Posted October 1, 2021 Share Posted October 1, 2021 I want to rent this island! A thousand bucks a week is fair, right? Right?!?! 2 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ploder4 Posted October 2, 2021 Share Posted October 2, 2021 So will there be a point where Jason has to bulk up for a role and actually go past his max size? 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
MadDog Posted October 2, 2021 Share Posted October 2, 2021 A crime to end that chapter there 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Popular Post TQuintA Posted October 5, 2021 Author Popular Post Share Posted October 5, 2021 Part 5 – The Wedding and the Honeymoon Chapter 7 I hung up the phone and tossed it gently through the open door so it landed on the couch. As it flew through the air, Jason asked, “Is The Repository taking a deposit?” “Could be,” I said, as I felt a tingling in my genitalia. “Could be that I know my man is a size queen, and I want to keep him happy.” “I’m happy with 9 inches,” Jason said as he stared at my cock expectantly. “I know you’re happy,” I responded, “but are you honeymoon happy? We’ve played with enough sex toys for me to know that 9 inches is not your max by a long shot.” “King Kong?” he asked, practically drooling. “Maybe,” I said as I felt the tingling intensify. The largest of our sex toys, so big that I don’t know how Jason can take it up his ass, King Kong, is 15 inches long and incredibly thick and impossibly rigid. And again, Jason can take it all. “Maybe I wanted to give you challenge.” My balls began to bulge and surge, rounding out, becoming heavier and fuller, pulling down on my pelvis deliciously insistently. Soon, each was the size of my fist, but still they kept swelling. Even though I had taken these deposits from a number of men who had had genital enlargement surgeries, in me, they were real testicles, and I could feel them roil and surge with semen and hormones. And still they swelled larger until each by itself was larger than my fist, twin ostrich eggs hanging from my body. As they grew, Jason walked over and was now hefting one in his hand. “It’s so heavy and warm,” Jason cooed. He tried to palm it, but it was just too big for his hand. “And it’s just beginning,” I said as my cock tingled further. The weight pulling down on my pelvis increased further as my flaccid cock became longer and thicker, inching out and unspooling to a new impossible length. Hanging solidly over my impossibly large balls, it crawled further down until it was approaching my knee. The head swelled larger, ripening, and the shaft thickened. Even in this state, there was a visible vein running down its length. When the weight pulling from my crotch felt that it had more than doubled, the tingling stopped, and I had a whopper of a cock. “Miles, this is beautiful,” he said, kneeling down to nuzzle it. “It’s simply beautiful. But it’s not bigger than King Kong.” As he took it in his hands, he realized everything. “It’s soft!” He cried. “It’s giant, but it’s still soft!” “If you keep at that, it won’t be soft for much longer,” I responded. His attention and near horrified reaction at how impossibly large I’d grown was turning me on, and the maelstrom of hormones surging through me didn’t help much. The vein on my cock’s surface thickened, and I could feel it begin to swell and engorge and harden. It lengthened down even further than it already hung and started to swell thicker, the head reddening. Jason, instinctively, reached out to touch it, and the tentative but palpable feeling of his strong hands on my cock caused it to stiffen more, sticking out, lifting up. At my normal 9 inches, my cock sticks straight out, and my new ultra-cock was trying to do the same thing. But, as Jason was so close to me, when my cock engorged enough to lift up completely, it crashed into his chin, and he tumbled backwards, more out of surprise than the physical impact, but looking down at him over my colossal pecs, it sure looked like my cock was so powerful that it knocked him back. That image pushed me even further, and my cock thickened more lengthened just a bit more, and the head purpled, oozing a stream of pre-cum. Now fully erect, my cock was a deadly weapon jutting from my crotch, standing so strongly and so tight and full and hard that it practically pulled me forward. I had to clench my ass just to counterbalance its pull. “How big is it?” Jason asked from the ground. “How big are you? Length and circumference.” I asked, pointing to his erect cock, which was leaking like a broken faucet at the sight of my gargantuan cock. “8 inches long, 6 inches around,” Jason recited. He was proud of those measurements, so he said them often. “You know that.” “Just had to make you say it.” I put my hands behind my head, flexed my biceps to frame my face, and tilted my hips forward. “Because your husband is now twice as big as you are.” “16? 16 inches?” Jason asked, scurrying back to my cock. His hands and lips were all over it: kissing it, caressing it, fondling it, loving it. “If it’s twelve inches around, I’m never going to get this into my mouth,” Jason realized. “Sort of the point,” I taunted. “Your eyes were always bigger than your stomach. Or, in this case, mouth.” Undaunted, Jason bounded to his feet and grabbed the shaft of my cock and started walking into the cabin, leading me along like my cock was a leash. I followed, curious to see what would happen. When we got to the bedroom, he let go, grabbed a bottle of our go-to lube, and doused me with it. My cock was slippery and dripping. Then, he flung himself onto the bed with his legs into the air. After holding that position for a bit, he chirped, “Come on,” while smiling and inviting me over with his head. “Someone’s eager,” I teased. “Someone’s very eager,” he replied. “You’re already the largest man I’ve ever taken. Now I want you to be the biggest thing I’ve ever taken.” I got in between his legs and put each of his feet on my corresponding shoulder. Then, I lined myself up with his hole. I was further away than I’d ever been, so it kind of felt like I was trying to play pool with a baguette while standing a foot away from the table. Eventually, though, I lined everything up. Normally, on a night of regular sex, Jason didn’t need to be stretched out too much, but I figured this was no regular sex. So, I eased my head in bit by bit. I had never squeezed my cock into such a tight space. Or rather, my cock had never taken up so much room. As Jason opened up, the hole got more and more inviting, but it was still vicelike in its grip. Jason practically applauded as I stretched him wider. After a few minutes of gentle easing, my head was all the way, and Jason was already writhing. With just my head in, I was already stimulating his prostate. Encouraged, I eased my way in further. My cock felt constricted in the most pleasant way possible. All of my nerve endings danced and lit up as I made my way further into him. Jason was breathing heavily, but giving me the go ahead. He was gesturing his arms like a ground crew steering an airplane to the terminal, and, essentially, I did have a jumbo jet. After 15 minutes of easing, I felt it—I’d bottomed out. Jason was red and vibrating with pleasure. “Did what I think happen happen?” he asked in stulted bursts. I looked down and saw that my impractical and impossible cock had bottomed out. “I’m all in.” I said. Jason threw his arms up in victory, then said, “Be gentle as you fuck me. I don’t want to get worn out on day one.” Tenderly, lovingly, gingerly, I began moving in and out. With all the friction between us, I was already getting close to orgasm, but this was as much about Jason as it was me. I continued pushing into him slowly and passionately. I essentially had to take two steps back to withdraw fully and take two steps forward to push back, and every time I did, my pendulous balls thudded into his ass, causing him to smile and pant. I could see Jason was getting close, so I picked up the pace. I pushed, I thrusted, I did everything in my power to please that ass, and in return, Jason was clenching and flexing his ass as best he could around the log of my cock. When he came, he let loose a torrent of jizz all over his chest and a waterfall of swear words at top volume. His whole body shook with the power of it. Spurred on by his orgasm, my own cock erupted. The power of my hose-like cock spraying cum out of its tip was so intense and powerful that entire galaxies of color flashed before my eyes. I don’t even know how much time passed between the start of my orgasm and its conclusion. My conscious mind was too blissed out. I leaned on the bed to catch my breath, and Jason pulled himself off me with a slippery pop. Then, giddily, he was on his feet cheering, “Race you to the ocean.” He was already waist-deep in the surf when I got there. “This seemed more fun than showering off the sex,” he said as he looked at me. My cock and balls were a leaden weight swinging back and forth in front of me. Between my increased genitals and my already massive thighs, I had to move deliberately as I walked, or I’d rack myself. It was exhilarating to fully realize that my junk was so large that I had to factor in my balls as I walked—nay, strutted—to the water. We splashed about for a minute, and, because the water was surprisingly still, I decided to really blow his mind. I looked at his wet, sparkling, gorgeous pecs, his buffed up muscles, and taut 8-pack, thinking about all the things we’ve done to each other to give myself an erection. Once that was achieved, I floated on my back, my 16-inch cock sticking straight up out of the water like the mast of a ship. When Jason saw it, he quickly ran inside, and came back out with his camera bag, which he’d seen I packed. He snapped a dozen photos of my towering erection in the surf. When that was done, he called me to the shore. He applied a coat of sunscreen to me, rubbing the lotion into my muscles tenderly, almost as a massage, taking especial attention to cover the tops of my pecs, the shelf of my ass, and the length of my cock. “Don’t want you to get burned and ruin the trip.” I applied a similar coat to him. “Don’t worry—it won’t sting your nether regions, and it’s waterproof.” And like that, we were back to splashing. I especially liked running in the water and feeling the current push my cock back between my legs like it was a rudder. When the alarm went off, we decided to stay in the water rather than get dressed. If we stayed in deep enough, there was no way of anyone telling if we were wearing bathing suits. The island was small enough that we could hear when the boat arrived and left, retroactively rendering my phone alarms kind of pointless, and so we decided to head in for dinner as soon as the coast was clear. The food was delicious, a wide variety of seafood, and we didn’t have to even clean up afterwards. That evening, we curled up together naked on the couch. I stroked Jason’s left arm with my fingertips, and he lazily stroked my cock with his right hand. We spent most of the night just holding each other and kissing passionately. 34 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Stovetop Posted October 5, 2021 Share Posted October 5, 2021 Is he going to have test rage after the package deposit? Hope there's a gym on the island. 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
arpeejay Posted October 5, 2021 Share Posted October 5, 2021 The pushy reader's contribution to this excellent post: Nearly deserted tropical island, no need to wear clothes. Surely it's time to see just how truly huge Vaughn can possibly get? 500, 600, 700 lbs.? 5 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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