jwood Posted July 24, 2023 Share Posted July 24, 2023 "Soon, I wouldn't fit in those rooms at all." What a statement, thinking this as a possibility, whether or not Nile actually wants it. Juxtaposed with Krakatoa's discouragement, you can't help to think something really dramatic is about to happen! 1 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Popular Post TQuintA Posted July 24, 2023 Author Popular Post Share Posted July 24, 2023 Chapter 28 Especially now that I was driving towards a goal, the daily routines of the house were becoming enjoyable again. My crew would catch me humming to myself during meals, a song they didn’t recognize (because I was one of only two people who had ever heard it). Onyx was shocked how frequently he found fresh zinnias in my bedroom. Slate went out of his way to make me laugh—something I rarely did while I was on mute. One day at second lunch, Slate remarked how much food I was packing away at every meal. “Just getting big for my man,” I said with a smile. “I’ll say,” Onyx commented, rubbing his ass. “He started taking dimefidone again.” Slate responded, “I knew your cannon was hanging bigger.” “Checking out my package there, straight boy?” I asked, suggestively. “Checking out my competition,” he corrected. I shrugged. “My tips are skyrocketing now that I’m myself and having fun with my clients again. Besides, I want to win this thing. Adam and Edward want me to win this thing. Most importantly, Gavin wants me to win this thing.” “I’m gonna get bigger than you,” Slate threatened. “You’re going to try,” I replied confidently. Krakatoa, I had noticed was saying less and less since his meeting with Dr. Mowbray. All that week, at our workouts, he pushed himself as hard as I’d ever seen, but he was making minimal improvement. I even saw him struggle with a couple of weights he had managed to bench the week prior. He remained steadfastly undaunted, but from time to time I saw his eyes betray that he was not his affable self. Slate, Onyx, and I kept blossoming with more muscle. At our weigh-in at the end of week one of the third round, Slate had climbed to 287 pounds, Onyx to 335.5, and I had achieved 387. I was 100 pounds more than Slate, and he was one of the biggest guys in the house. Between the three of us, we were a half ton of muscle, and we looked it. Our arms and chests bulged, our thighs took up more and more space, our shoulders were broader. Our bodies were covered with muscle and sinew. Krakatoa, surprisingly, weighed himself in last. 227. He’d lost weight. He lied and said it was 237, but I’d read the digital display before he stepped off the scale. Slate then dragooned us into his room so we could whip out our dicks to compare them with the fabric ruler he’d stolen (inspired by me). His cock, already erect, red, and throbbing, was 10.5 inches. Onyx had crept up to 9 and three quarters. I was a turgid, stultifying 11.5. Slate’s cock was impressively huge, and I had a whole inch on top of him. Krakatoa, clenching his ass as hard as he could, forced his cock to eke out 8 inches. The exact same it had been a week prior. He lied and said it had grown a quarter of an inch, but it hadn’t. “Now get out of here,” Slate barked. “And let’s measure alone pre weigh-in next week. If we keep our cocks out like this too much, Nile will get drool on my floor. Or something worse.” He punched me on the shoulder endearingly, letting me know it was intended as a joke. I barely noticed because I was worried about Krakatoa. I followed him out of Slate’s room and cornered him in the hallway. I was so much bigger than him (by 150 pounds) that he couldn’t have escaped me if he wanted to. “You alright?” I asked, genuinely concerned for my friend. “Fine, bro. I just need to shake up my stack.” “Want some advice?” “All of it,” he said. I told him everything I knew and everything I’d learned from Dr. Mowbray, and he ran off to the pharmacy. That next week, we all redoubled our efforts. Onyx was laser-focused on muscle building, rarely saying anything or expressing a thought or opinion. Slate was bound and determined to keep his place as one of the big boys. I was lifting harder, pushing myself further, destroying weights that were impossibly heavier, visions of Gavin’s awestruck face at our wedding dancing in front of me. Krakatoa was continuing to struggle, but less so. At our weigh-in that week, Slate looked like a grotesquely muscle-inflated version of himself. “294.5,” he crowed, rubbing his abs (still deeply taut with sharp obliques and more impressive ridges than mine had ever had). As he had upped his testosterone levels, his body hair was thickening, he had a fuller beard, his jaw was increasingly more prominent, and his shoulders and neck were broader. “I’m almost in the 300-club. And my cock is a ripe 11 inches.” We didn’t need him to tell us that. His continuous erection announced its size, no matter what he wore. Please with his results, Slate jumped down from the scale, and his chest rebounded from its fight with gravity as his thighs rippled, absorbing the thunderous shock of the impact. He finished with, “You two better watch out,” pointing at Onyx and me. Onyx was more muscle than man at this point with pecs and traps so big they were starting to swallow his face even when he was standing. Each of his arms was its own side of beef, the bicep split and decorated with a prominent vein, his forearms and shoulders completing the thickness. He stepped on the scale and reported, “347. And just under 10 inches.” There was a hollow, robotic detachment to his voice. “Tony will be pleased.” He stepped down and offered the scale to Krakatoa. He shook his head. “No need. Did it this morning before breakfast. 244. 7 more pounds than last week. And my dick is up to 8 and a quarter.” He flicked his cock, which while looking heavy, was not erect. Confused by Krakatoa’s display, I stepped on the scale, ready to put Slate in his place. “399,” I said. “Looks like I’m leaving the 300-club,” I said to Slate, “and starting the 400-club.” I alighted from the scale. “Oh, and the cock is 11 and three quarters. I’ll be a full foot by next week,” I bragged. “Gavin insisted I get too big to fuck him, and I’m complying.” Slate rolled his eyes—as he did every time I mentioned the man I loved. I apparently did it too often for his tastes. After the weigh-in, Krakatoa whispered in my ear. “Can we talk in private in your room?” “Sure,” I said. When we got to my room, he stopped to sniff the zinnias, only to learn they had no scent. Then, he sat on my bed. “I lied about my progress.” “I know,” I responded, sitting on the bed next to him. “What are the real measurements?” “224 and still just 8.” “You’ve plateaued.” “I’ve stopped.” Then, he added, “I’m going backwards.” “Must be frustrating,” I replied, putting a hand on his knee to show my compassion. “I knew it,” he said, relief shining through in his voice. “I knew you wouldn’t make fun of me like Slate would.” “Onyx wouldn’t either.” “Onyx isn’t home right now,” Krakatoa said. “Hasn’t been for a while. He’s taking the maximum dosage of that green shit.” “Have you talked to anyone else about your struggle?” I asked. “Dr. Mowbray came back to talk to me about it yesterday. He talked to me about my growth potential, but I didn’t understand any of it. So, I snagged his tablet while he was in the john.” “What?” “I still have it,” he said, handing it to me. “Can you explain what these numbers mean?” I read the write-up quickly. I didn’t want to get caught with contraband and give Tony a reason to dismiss me. “According to this,” I explained, “a growth potential is written out like a fraction. It’s not a fraction. It’s a percentage over a percentage as a visual array of unrelated ratios. The numerator is how much of your muscular potential you’ve achieved. The denominator is how much of you genital potential you’ve achieved. It’s not easy to convert growth potential into pounds and inches because of uncontrollable, unalterable, and untestable epigenetic factors, but that’s the gist of it.” “Come again?” “The number on top is how much of your possible muscle growth you’ve already achieved. The closer to 100, the less you can grow. The number on bottom is the same, but for your cock.” “What do you want the numbers to be?” Krakatoa asked, better grasping the concept. “According to this,” I pointed to Dr. Mowbray’s notes, “a man who’s been through puberty but has done no muscle training or anything like that will have an average growth potential of 30 over 25. Much lower than a 30 on top is for coma patients and people who are starving to death. And, interestingly, your top number will almost never go over 60 without taking some heavy duty drugs and becoming obsessively devoted to muscle growth.” Krakatoa nodded, encouraging me to continue. “Dr. Mowbray posits that considering how much muscle and cock we’ve all already grown, to be competitive in this category, you want a potential close to an 80 over 80—he mentions Onyx as having that exact potential in his report for Tony.” “Can you look up Slate’s potential?” Krakatoa asked, a tremor in his voice. “Sure,” I said. I whizzed through the menus and found it. “88 over 50.” I inhaled sharply. “His cock is gonna get huge.” I stretched out the “oo” in “huge.” “That’s what I thought,” he said somberly. “The doc told me my potential.” He looked down at the floor, embarrassed. “102 over 99.” “Ouch,” I said. “Yeah. I can’t get more muscular without gene therapy and surgeries I can’t afford, and even then he can only promise me another 10 or 15 pounds. Another half an inch.” “Sorry, man.” I was shocked. Krakatoa was an athlete before the competition, so I expected the young man had a lot of growth left in him. “Before the competition, I was a middle of the road earner. There are only 30 pleasure boys left. Middle of the road is bottom of the barrel now. My growth potential sucks. Everyone’s getting bigger than me. Even if I was the hottest motherfucker in this house, which I’m not, I’m not making it through the third round.” “I’m sorry, man,” I repeated, putting the tablet down on the bed between us. “Don’t be,” he said, sniffling; seemingly, this was more so out of wounded pride than any other emotion. “I’ve known something was up since the doc inspected me.” He stopped sniffling and looked like the normal Krakatoa. “Before he left, Sebastian—you know him as Pelée—told me he was going to find a less intense pleasure house and set up shop there. Once I’m out of here, I’m gonna track him down and join him.” He looked down at his impressive body and huge dick. “With this rockin’ bod, I’ll easily be one of the biggest guys at my new house, not the smallest.” He smiled his personable smile. “And, hey, maybe I’ll get to bang chicks again at the next house.” “Here’s hoping.” I crossed my fingers for him. “Tell the other guys so I don’t have to?” he asked, picking up Dr. Mowbray’s tablet. “I would’ve left after breakfast, but I wanted one more workout as the four of us.” “No problem,” I said. “And feel free to take a zinnia on your way out.” “Sweet,” he said. We stood up and hugged goodbye. “Oh, I thought you should know. My name’s Paul.” “It was a pleasure to know you, Paul.” “You too, Nile.” He bowed a little, and then asked, “Don’t you want to know your growth potential?” He offered me the tablet again. “Of course I do,” I said. I scrolled through the menus and found my file. When I saw it, my jaw dropped. “Don’t tell me what it is,” Paul said. “I’m sure it’s impressive, and I don’t want to get bummed out again.” He took the tablet back and turned it off without looking at it. “I’ll confess to borrowing this on my way out.” With that, Paul left my room, and I never saw him again. But I felt happy for him. Once I was convinced that Paul was out of earshot, I screamed in exultation. My growth potential was listed as 65 over 75. “I’m gonna be a freak,” I said delightedly. 30 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Ro20316 Posted July 24, 2023 Share Posted July 24, 2023 1 hour ago, TQuintA said: With that, Paul left my room, and I never saw him again. But I felt happy for him. Here i was hoping to see some of this guys again but their friendship is purely for work. It's sad but it happens 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Louis24689383 Posted July 24, 2023 Share Posted July 24, 2023 According to my quick and dirty maths that should make him nearly 600 pounds. So lucky that I don't have to convey this message via words because my jaw is in pieces on the floor. 600 pounds, they better remodel the shower area cause he's not going to fit. Also, maybe it's just me, but the "yellow stuff" has a certain trenbolone feel to it. Then again what kind of engineered super growth stimulant might the future hold? And where could I get it? I'm loving this story very much, I dread the twists and turns up ahead the proverbial stream, but if your previous stories are any indication, Gavin likely will be a very happy man indeed, but should never lie underneath his loved one. That mere one should count as 3, maybe four or five very anemic ones. Oh vey, my heads spinning again. 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Wrestlejock646 Posted July 25, 2023 Share Posted July 25, 2023 4 hours ago, Ro20316 said: Here i was hoping to see some of this guys again but their friendship is purely for work. It's sad but it happens Yeah, agreed. I was hoping Paul would join Gavin and Nile in their post- pleasure house double pension lives. Assuming things go as they appear to be heading, which isn't a wise assumption. 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
jwood Posted July 25, 2023 Share Posted July 25, 2023 5 hours ago, Ro20316 said: Here i was hoping to see some of this guys again but their friendship is purely for work. It's sad but it happens I'm hoping the repeated "Never saw him again" just means within the pleasure house and that they might possibly cross paths again in the outside world. That is, if Nile can actually walk a path after the final round... 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
arpeejay Posted July 25, 2023 Share Posted July 25, 2023 "I’m gonna be a freak,” I said delightedly. Why, yes, Nile, yes you are! And I will be (almost) as delighted! Also: Nile is now twice the size of Adam! 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Popular Post TQuintA Posted July 25, 2023 Author Popular Post Share Posted July 25, 2023 Chapter 29 Slate and Onyx took Paul’s departure surprisingly well. Well, Onyx took everything well since he started pressing mute even harder than I ever had. Slate, though, his lack of reaction was downright shocking. “It’s not like we were blood brothers or anything,” Slate said. “I’m gonna miss the fourth to our workout squad and I’m thrilled he got us our growth potentials, but Onyx and I could tell he was winding down.” Onyx nodded wordlessly. Slate continued, “Before he left, he told me he was only fighting so hard because he needs someone to follow. A coach, a captain, a boss, a mentor. He looked up to you, and his buddy-boss Pelée was gone, so he fell in line behind you. The man needs to grow a spine.” I was stunned, almost into speechlessness, but then I found my words. “So what if he likes taking orders? I hope he finds a dominant woman who loves him and proposes marriage—because we know he’ll never propose to her.” “She’ll just lead him by the short and curlies,” Slate replied. “Does Gavin lead me by the short and curlies?” I asked. “I’m only competing in the third and fourth rounds because he told me to.” “Totally different,” Slate said. “He asked you to get really big. If you didn’t want to, you would’ve told him no. You’re your own man. If you did everything Gavin told you to do, you would’ve left here after serving your 25.” Onyx nodded. “Besides,” Slate added, “now that your memory is coming back. Some of the stories you’ve told us about the days when Gavin was Colorado… you were a rebel as a young man.” “Gavin was the rebel,” I corrected. “I was in love.” “A rebel in love is still a rebel,” Slate said as he shrugged, bringing his gigantic shoulders up until they kissed his ears. The week then continued as expected: lifting, fucking, eating, medicating. Tony had begun making changes to accommodate his boys’ growing size. Most notably, he had begun widening all the doorways and showers in the pleasure suites. He saw my difficulty fitting and knew more of us would be following suit. He also once again restocked the gym with equipment befitting our increased sizes, removing the smaller, less challenging materials. There were actually weights (that looked like heavy industrial machine parts) that were challenging me again, but I was bound and determined to dominate my way through all of them before the competition was over. Since I stopped pressing mute, sex had become fun again. I was thrilling all my clients—laughing, playing, being more present. Whatever role they wanted, be it dominating and brutal beast or terrified and powerless prisoner, I could more fully embody the role than I had in years. Since I stopped taking the green stuff, my appetite was back, and I began enjoying food again. Granted, it was mostly bland, healthy, unappetizing fare, but a well-cooked piece of fish, the nutty undertones in brown rice, a properly steamed piece of broccoli—they were joys to eat. Even the creamy thickness of the protein shakes or the refreshing chill of a bottle of water were simple delights being on mute had denied me. Especially when I had to tank up for the regular who wanted me to have a fully stuffed gut, I was eating with gusto, not just to fuel my muscles. Since I shook up my stack, incorporating Dr. Mowbray’s advice, I felt alive and healthy. I did not realize the myriad minor maladies I’d been ignoring until they went away. Maybe one of the reasons my age had bothered me so was the number of tiny ways it had crept silently into my everyday life. Not anymore. I felt so vivacious and jaunty, and I was horny and hungry all the time. And, with Dr. Mowbray’s adjustments, I wasn’t getting any of the muscle crazies Gavin and I used to get when we were medicating blind. Additionally, with my upped testosterone doses, my body hair was thickening, my jaw was becoming more prominent, and my balls were getting bigger. I felt youthful and exhilarated. In short, the house was no longer just a job, especially since I had an end date in sight, and a plan for afterwards. At the weigh-in for the third week, Slate ascended the scale first. He’d been pushing himself especially hard since he saw my renewed vigor. As his pecs and biceps burgeoned larger, he’d end nearly every workout with a red, sweaty face, having given more energy than he had stored up, often needing a few minutes to catch his breath and let his pulse return to normal. Personally, I was most surprised he had enough blood to circulate while his permanent boner surged larger by the day. As his massive bulk settled on the scale, he roared, “302.5!” He was officially part of the 300-club and the third largest boy in the house, right behind Onyx and me. He turned around, his cock tenting his workout shorts something fierce, pointed to it, and announced, “11.5 inches, Nile. Even if I can’t outgrow your freakish muscles, I’m gonna outgrow your cock.” Onyx and Slate switched positions so Onyx could weigh himself. Onyx, muted into near silence, had retreated into a semi-hypnotic trance every time we interacted. He glazed over during workouts, pushing himself harder than I thought a half-unconscious man could. He almost never talked during meals anymore. He spent the whole time shoveling food into his face and occasionally contributing a syllable of approval. I felt delighted when we got a complete sentence out of him. When we fucked, it no longer seemed like he was enjoying it; it seemed mechanical and biologically necessary rather than something pleasurable. “I have to fake fun for my clients,” Onyx told me one morning when I pointed it out. “I have to fake love for Tony.” He stroked the silver hair on my chest, pinching the nipple. “With you, I can just dump a load and go on with my day. You have Gavin to look forward to. You don’t need me.” I would’ve pushed it further, but that was the most I’d heard him say in days. When Onyx read out his weight, there was no emotion in his voice. “359.” I was proud for him, and he looked like a mighty behemoth. His arms had continued to swell larger than proportionate, so even though every inch of him was covered in beef, his arms were always the first thing you saw. Sure, he was drop dead gorgeous, his furry pecs entered a room before he did, and he was having trouble with shirts with collars and buttons like me because of how impossibly wide his shoulders were, but his bulging arms—seemingly larger than the chests of our scrawniest clients—were the part of him that stood out the most. “And?” Slate asked, pointing to Onyx’s erection. “10 even,” he said emotionlessly. “You’re up,” Slate said, ushering Onyx off and sweeping me towards the scale. I was getting seriously thick. I thought I knew what huge was when I crossed the 300-pound threshold, but these days, I felt mammoth. My pecs and shoulders were omnipresent in my peripheral vision, my arms were impossibly thicker than Onyx’s, my thighs pressed together no matter how wide my stance was. I was a juggernaut. I could lift Onyx one-handed. “412,” I beamed, thinking at how pleased Gavin would be. “You just had to stay 100 pounds bigger than me,” Slate snarked. “Naturally,” I said. “You’re a little boy, and I plan on keeping you in your place, which is worshipping at my feet,” I teased. “Of course, everyone’s little compared to me.” “And the damage there?” he asked, pointing to my crotch. “12 full inches this morning, and especially girthy,” I said. “Still got a half inch on you.” “Bullshit,” he said. “Let’s see it hard.” “Take off your shirt,” I said. “Let your luscious abs inspire one.” “Never mind,” Slate replied. As I stepped off the scale, he asked me, “How come you don’t have a permanent erection?” “I respond well to dimefidone. I don’t have to overdose,” I said. “Unless you really want me to. I’m sure I could talk my regulars into…” Slate cut me off. “Enough of that.” That evening was my weekly appointment with Adam and Edward. When they saw me, Edward fainted. “Are you finally twice as big as me?” Adam asked, flexing his impressive arms. As he adjusted to maintenance, not growth, his weight had oozed up to 193.5 “I’ve been twice as big as you for weeks. It’s more like 210% as big as you now,” I said, inflating my pecs to their full circumference. “I meant your cock,” Adam replied, pointing to my bulge. “Then, yes. I have 12 inches to your 6.” Adam grabbed my massive, meaty ass as if his hands were magnetically drawn. “Oh, fuck me,” he said, his voice trembling. “If I still fit,” I taunted. I unzipped my pants—which were getting tighter by the day with all of my parts growing. Once it flopped free, I let Adam’s beautifully bulging muscles encourage me to an erection. As soon as I was hard as a girder, I reminded him, “You’re looking at a full foot of meat.” In a flash, Adam was naked on the bed and all lubed up, his muscular ass thrust in the air. “You’ll fit.” “You sure you want me on top of you?” I asked. “I might crush you.” “Endeavor to do so,” he replied. As I got into position behind Adam, I pointed to the unconscious form of his husband on the floor. “Should we do something about him before we start?” I asked. “I’m fine down here,” Edward said. “If I look directly at you right now, I may ejaculate to death.” “You deserve something for your money,” I insisted. “Trust me, I get more than I’m paying for at home. Adam’s a different man, a practical sex fiend.” “You sure?” I asked. “If there’s time at the end, I might blindfold myself and touch your erection, but even that might be too much for me. You’re three times as big as me, in every way.” With that, I preceded to ignore Edward and enter Adam. He was a tight fit. My bulbous cockhead had to persuade his sphincter to open, and as soon as it had passed that muscular ring, his asshole clamped down on my shaft, essentially trapping my cock in his passage. I slowly began working my full length in. “I’m not made of glass,” Adam cried out, his face pressed into the pillows. Despite his brave tone, I could hear his breath catch with the exertion of taking my battering ram of a cock. Still, the client gets what he wants, and I thrust myself the rest of the way in with one ungraceful push. When I bottomed out, Adam released a moan unlike one I’d ever heard a man make. It had the timbre of an orgasmic moan, the volume of a moan of pain, but the pitch of a moan of surprise. Adam was one of only a handful of clients who could still take my entirety. However, most of the clients who could still take the inhuman heft of my cock were mostly men who’d abused their assholes with depraved acts—some of them having done so with me. These men had spongy, ample passageways that made way for my invading conqueror. Adam’s ass, though, still put up a fight. Even more so than Onyx’s. He gripped, practically strangled, every last centimeter of my impossible log, causing my nerve endings to sing out in praise and joy as I thrust in and out. Every time I bottomed out, Adam made that mysterious moan. Every time I pulled out to where my cock head was trapped by his sphincter, Adam whimpered at the hollow, empty feeling I’d left inside. I fell into a rhythm as I ravaged him. In, out. In, out. My pace was methodical, practically metronomic, but inside was an entirely different story. I was reaching peaks of pleasure I had never reached with a client since my engorged, thick cock now just seemingly had more nerve endings along its length. I’d given no credence to the belief that a bigger cock experienced more pleasure, but as I had swelled from 7.5 to 12, I had to admit 12 was more intense—if you had someone who could take all of you. I was enjoying myself more than any session I’d ever had. Over Adam’s symphony of unusual sex vocalizations, I even heard myself making noises I hadn’t made with anyone since Gavin—mewls of delight and throaty pants of incipient orgasm. In fact, I was so thoroughly enjoying myself, that I stopped paying attention to Adam as anything more than a vessel to provide my gargantuan cock with pleasure. I assume Adam was orgasming, but I wasn’t keeping track. I had fallen into a selfish, mindless rut. Then, much to my chagrin, the door to the suite opened. “Time’s up, pal,” a voice said. I recognized it. It was Quentin’s. “I’m so sorry,” a second voice—Nathan’s—said. “We’ve just been so looking forward to our session…” Nathan’s voice then cut off and said, “Holy fuck! You can take all of him? And you’re not dead?” I pulled out of Adam all the way, with a slick, meaty pop, and got off the bed. Adam whimpered again, then, with his face still buried in the pillows, said, “I was so close to my fifth orgasm, and Nile hasn’t even cum once.” “You’ll get me next time, tiger,” I said, slapping Adam’s ass affectionately. “And you’re that muscular?” Nathan asked, taking in the hills and valleys of Adam’s thickly quilted back and ass. “I’m so sorry,” I said sincerely. “I lost track of time. I never have before, and I never will again. The two of us were just having such a good time.” “I tried to warn them, but they didn’t hear me,” Edward said. “Edward?” Nathan said, surprised. Then, he looked back at the man whose ass was still pointing towards the ceiling. He scurried over to the bed and coaxed the man to flip over. “Adam?” “Adam?” Quentin said, appalled. “Quentin!” Adam said, delighted and out of breath. “I see we have similar taste in pleasure boys.” “You guys know each other?” I asked. “He’s the governor,” Edward said, shocked. At the same time, Adam calmly replied, “Of course I know him.” Then, to Quentin, he added. “Finally got around to Nile, huh? Everyone knows you change pleasure boys as often as I change underwear.” “I’ve been a regular client of Nile’s for a month now,” Quentin said, his nostrils flaring. “I’ve been his regular for 30 years.” Strolling over to the bathroom, Adam said, “Just give Nile five minutes to get hosed off, and he’ll be in your suite right away, good to go.” Adam then looked at my pre-leaking cock and the mess he made on the bed. “Unless, that is, you’re comfortable with my sloppy seconds. Then, you can just finish off Nile for me right here.” 31 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
arpeejay Posted July 25, 2023 Share Posted July 25, 2023 Two responses: (1) (2) All.My.Buttons! 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Pumped Posted July 25, 2023 Share Posted July 25, 2023 Damn… let the slut games begin. Team Adam/Edward vs Team Quentin / Nathan. Political competition gets taken to a new level as the adversaries challenge each other on a new stage. I can’t wait to see this escalate. I love that the bigger Niles gets the more arrogant and cock proud he becomes and how he is unabashedly loving it. 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Recommended Posts
Join the conversation
You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.