jwood Posted August 17, 2023 Share Posted August 17, 2023 8 hours ago, TQuintA said: “I don’t think I can get a boner today. There’s too much on my mind.” Same, Fred. Same 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Mdlftr Posted August 17, 2023 Share Posted August 17, 2023 Comes the revolution- one influential client at a time!! 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Louis24689383 Posted August 17, 2023 Share Posted August 17, 2023 I do not know why, but it has a very 1900 turn of the century feel. Either you were extremely wealthy or dirt poor. Nothing much in between. 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
jwood Posted August 17, 2023 Share Posted August 17, 2023 Now I can't shake the nagging thought that Tony will cancel the competition because of the bad press and no plastic surgeries. Good news: everyone gets to stay and grow at whatever rate they want. Bad news: Canceled competition means no winner, and no winner means no double pension for Nile. 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TQuintA Posted August 17, 2023 Author Share Posted August 17, 2023 Chapter 44 The following morning at breakfast, Onyx leaned over to whisper to me. “I know how we can spot the secret shoppers.” As soon as he had said it, Slate slammed his tray down on the table, and conspiratorially told us, “Tony told me how we can spot the secret shoppers.” “That’s what I was just saying,” Onyx said with a smile. “Aw, shit,” Slate said as he sat. “I thought I had gotten some primo secret info.” “Don’t just tell me,” I said. “Tell everyone.” “No,” Slate insisted. “Onyx and I need an advantage. Five of us aren’t making it through the fourth round, and there are only 15 of us left. We don’t have your guarantees.” “He has a point,” Onyx said. His tone indicated that, until Slate had protested, he was going to comply with me. “Then you can’t tell me,” I said. “All of us have to help each other, or no one will. If either one of you tells me, I tell the rest of the guys.” “Really?” Onyx sounded confused. “We’re being spied on by our customers now,” I explained. “The rules for this round are insidious. I’m trying to make them as fair as I can. Tell everyone, or don’t tell me.” “Your loss,” Slate said, and began eating. It was my own fault for giving him a choice. I had really only meant, “tell everyone.” I made a dumbfounded face at Slate, genuinely surprised he wasn’t going to share his info. He made a face of intransigence back. “Nile has a point, too,” Onyx said to Slate, trying to make peace. “None of us like this secret shopper plan, so if the two of us know, everyone should know.” Slate shook his head. “I don’t even want to tell Nile anymore. He’s being a self-righteous ass.” Slate was being impossible. Why was he keeping this to himself? Worrying he’d hurt my feelings, he threw me a pacifying look and tried to explain himself. “I get it. You’re being all noble. In your position, I’d do the same thing. But I’m not in your position. I still have to survive the fourth round. I can’t afford to be noble.” I pleaded with my eyes one last time, but Slate remain unmoved. “I’d rather it had been your choice, but I can force your hand,” I informed Slate. “I’ll tell everyone you know who the secret shoppers are, and they’ll wheedle it out of you.” I shrugged. “You wouldn’t,” Slate said nervously. With a mischievous melody worthy of a self-righteous ass in my voice, I asked, “Wouldn’t I?” Seeing he was defeated, Slate slumped in his chair in a signal of acquiescence. Onyx stood up and banged his metal bottle on the table, “Attention, everyone. Slate and I have info on how to spot the secret shoppers.” “Not so loud,” Slate seethed, standing up too. “Tony could hear.” “I can see the door from here,” Onyx said, pointing. “If he comes, I abruptly change subjects.” “Why is he always here?” I asked. “Vera wasn’t here this often. Tina wasn’t here this often. He has other pleasure houses to run.” Onyx cleared his throat. “Right,” I said. “You’re here. He’s running his other houses remotely so he can be close to his Nixie.” Slate moved to the other side of the table so, like Onyx, he could see Tony coming. “Quickly.” Onyx began the speech, announcing, “No one has been visited by the secret shoppers yet. Tony just hired them yesterday.” Slate nodded, explaining, “There are three different secret shoppers. I don’t know their ages.” Onyx chimed in, “We don’t know their ages. Slate smiled bemusedly and carried on. “We don’t know their heights or what their faces look like. They will use different names, change their facial hair and hair color between sessions with different boys.” “They may even wear wigs, make-up, and costumes,” Onyx added. “But, each has an identifying mark that they can’t disguise.” Onyx interjected, “They can cover it with clothes or make-up, but they can’t get rid of it.” “Fair point, Onyx,” Slate said. “Thank you.” Slate continued. “One has a red mark shaped like a strawberry on his right butt cheek—he’s had it his whole life.” Onyx followed with, “One has the number 17 tattooed on his left bicep—his number from college volleyball.” Slate finished the list, saying, “One has a hook-shaped scar near his bellybutton.” “How’d he get a scar like that?” I asked. “He was shot,” Onyx and Slate said simultaneously. “So, to spot the secret shoppers is kinda easy,” Slate explained. “Check the bellybutton, bicep, and ass.” “Even if they don’t seem to have these marks, double check. Maybe lick those places,” Onyx suggested, “to reveal if they’re covered in make-up.” “What if they’re clothed and won’t let us see their asses or stomachs?” Triton asked. “I have a regular who never undresses. He just fishes out his cock and has me suck it. He stays fully clothed.” “If they won’t let you see one of those three body parts,” I replied, “assume they’re a secret shopper.” Then, I stood up and added, “If Tony told both Onyx and Slate, then he had to know that one or the other would tell me.” I checked to make sure Tony hadn’t shown up behind me and said, “So, I’m a little bit suspicious about this info. He had to have guessed I’d tell you guys too.” “No, he didn’t,” Slate and Onyx said simultaneously. “Tell Nile if you must,” Onyx said, imitating Tony’s self-important voice. “But only Nile,” Slate said, also imitating Tony’s voice. “I’m still dubious,” I said. With that, we all went back to our breakfasts and our previously scheduled lifting, fucking, eating, medicating. In the cafeteria, gyms, and hallways, though, we wouldn’t stop debating whether the intel on the three secret shoppers was accurate. We even nicknamed them Strawberry, 17, and Hook. The following morning at breakfast, Shark (the pledge class from two years ago had been deadly animals) reported an important discovery. Shark is a bundle of energy who never stops moving. Even putting on over 100 pounds of muscle didn’t slow him down. “Gentlemen,” he said in his typical frenetic pace while bouncing around the room, “I can confirm Strawberry exists. I repeat, Strawberry exists. And the birthmark is so big it was peeking out of his boxers. I didn’t even have to pull them down. I did, to make certain. But it was a real birthmark. He was my last session at midnight last night.” “What did he want at the session?” Slate asked. “He told me to use my imagination,” Shark answered. The rest of the morning, the gossip mill spread every detail about Strawberry’s appearance, even speculating on details he might change between sessions. We went back to lifting, fucking, eating, medicating. The next day at second lunch, Tiger announced, “17 is real, and he is tall.” “If Tiger is saying that,” Etna joked, “that means something.” At 6’6”, Tiger had been the tallest among us even when there were 105 of us. Etna was the shortest among of the remaining boys at 5’9”, but that height made his mass look extra thick. Tiger continued, “He also asked me to use my imagination.” The rest of the day, the gossip mill spread every detail about 17’s appearance, even speculating on details he might change between sessions. We went back to lifting, fucking, eating, medicating. Soon enough, it was Sunday, the end of the third week of the fourth round. Onyx tipped the scales at 463 staggering pounds with an 11.5 inch dick. Slate had bulked up to 378 pounds (still with an impressive 8-pack and extremely low body fat) and a 15.5 inch dick, which was even now permanently erect. I had just revealed my gargantuan 555 pounds and announced my 14.75 inch dick, when Hornet came storming into the room. Hornet got his name for having the largest “stinger” of his pledge class. After weeks of dimefidone, only Slate and I were more well-endowed. “Hook is real,” he said loudly, a little short of breath. “He booked a session with me in the new gym this morning, and pushed me hard. He is mean and critical, and he also asked me to use my imagination.” “It’s official,” I said to everyone. “Those are the secret shoppers. Be on the lookout for Strawberry, 17, and Hook.” The rest of the day, the gossip mill spread every detail about Hook’s appearance, even speculating on details he might change between sessions. Over the course of the next seven days, every reported sighting of Strawberry, 17, or Hook was shared among the group as we kept lifting, fucking, eating, medicating. True to the intel, the secret shoppers used contacts to switch up their eye color, dyes and wigs to change their hair color, had different levels of body hair at each session, and even used make-up to disguise their distinguishing features. As the week went on, I was a little hurt I hadn’t seen a single one of them. Everyone had had a session with at least one of them. Most had had a session with two of them. Triton and Tiger had had a session with all three. “Don’t freak out,” Slate reassured me after he had his session with 17, “you just have too many regulars. You’re overbooked. They’ll find time to see you.” “Or, maybe,” Onyx posited between sets, “Tony decided to never let them see you.” A crash of weights punctuated that hypothesis. “That way, he can make up their recommendations about you and deny you a double pension.” “It would explain why he let us tell you,” Slate said. “Entrapment.” Another crash of weights. “If you protest that you never slept with the secret shoppers, you’ll have to fess up that you had inside information.” Another crash. “Then he can dismiss you with cause for cheating.” “That sounds too diabolical,” Onyx declared, starting his next set, “even for Tony. There’s still a month left in the fourth round. They’ll get around to you.” Before I knew it, it was Sunday again, time for our weigh-ins. Slate was feeling particularly heavy and particularly thick—and he looked it too. Bulbous, gravity-defying pecs; corded, muscular, veiny biceps; a taut, shredded 8-pack; burgeoning, powerful, bulging thighs. He’d leveled off his testosterone intake, and his ever-thickening neck and jawline were impressive, as was his hair-covering. Every part of him, from ass to elbow, was massive and masculine. Especially that mighty, pendulous cock with low-hanging bull balls. He stepped onto the scale. 385.5. “I’m coming for the 400-club,” he said, stepping off. “Just in time for me to invent the 600-club,” I reminded him, flexing my pecs to make them billow outwards. “Whatever, old man. Get as big as you want,” he flicked the tip of his mind-altering erection. “This beauty is 16 inches, and I know you find me impossibly hot.” “I don’t deny it,” I admitted. Onyx stepped onto the scale. He was even thicker and more impressive than Slate. His biceps, especially, had piled on so much mass that they looked big enough to have lesser objects orbit them. His legs and ass had recently packed on especial mass, causing all his shorts and pants to bulge thickly, threatening every seam, button, and zipper. All that lower mass had pushed his crotch bulge front and center. He had a lot of cock and balls in there, and his meaty legs made his basket look even more full. He was thick, swollen with inhuman brawn. Like me, he could no longer ride the elevators with another passenger. Like me, all his clothes had to be bespoke. Like me, he was covered in fur. He did have one noteworthy difference: his youth. His youthful vitality made his muscles twitch and swell thicker and harder, like living granite. “474.5,” he said. “I’m bound and determined to end up 100 pounds more than you,” he said to Slate. “And how big is that piddling little willy of yours?” Slate taunted. “11 and three quarters.” “Boast about your size when you break the footlong barrier.” I cleared my throat, and the two muscle beasts parted to let the massive freak through. My legs, each by itself, was a marvel of muscle. Each pec was more massive than a man’s had ever been, bigger than that maybe. My arms and lats constantly fought each other for space, forcing my bulging arms always up and away from my body. My pecs had engorged so large that a deep breath made them the hair on my chest tickle my cheeks. My shoulders were so wide I exceeded the width of almost all the doors in the pleasure house. My ass was so behemoth that it looked and felt like two wrecking balls attached to my body. I was dripping with raw virility and covered with thick, dense, white fur. My face took my breath away with its harsh lines and sharp beauty whenever I saw it in a reflection. Gavin was going to bust a nut when he saw me. “570,” I said. “Almost 200 more than you, little boy,” I said condescendingly, patting Slate on the head. “I’ve got an inch on your cock, easy,” he fired back. “It’s true,” I confessed. “I’m 15 inches.” Then, I cooed, “but I got the straight boy to fuck me.” “That was a professional evaluation,” he insisted. “Call it what you will. I call it bi-curious with shades of hot-for-daddy.” 23 2 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Louis24689383 Posted August 17, 2023 Share Posted August 17, 2023 I think Onyx should weigh 474.5 lbs at the most recent weigh-in. I'm really mistified in where the story is going, but am loving it, with every new instalment 4 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TQuintA Posted August 17, 2023 Author Share Posted August 17, 2023 8 minutes ago, Louis24689383 said: I think Onyx should weigh 474.5 lbs at the most recent weigh-in. You're right. That was a foolish typo. 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TQuintA Posted August 18, 2023 Author Share Posted August 18, 2023 Chapter 45 Since it was Sunday, I had my weekly appointment with Adam and Edward. And I was eager for it because Adam was looking bigger every time I saw him. Adam and Edward were already fucking when I came in. Edward was naked on all fours on the bed. Adam, shirtless with his pants and underwear around his ankles, was kneeling behind his husband, his hands grabbing Edward’s hips for leverage, and giving him a vigorous fucking. “Sorry, Nile,” Edward said as Adam plowed him. “But he’s a growing boy again and just needs more attention.” “It’s my own fault,” Adam puffed. “I tried to save up all of my loads today for you,” he added, huffing large breaths, “but we got here a half hour early, and I was about to explode.” He said “explode” like it was a three syllable word. Grinning at me, he flexed his right bicep. With a patina of sweat sheening his muscles, he looked big. Granted, working in this pleasure house had skewed my definition of “big,” but he was easily as big as I’d been at the start of the competition. Maybe even a little bigger. His pecs were thick and dense, his shoulders impressively broad, his back rippled with corded muscle, his ass swollen with sinew and strength. He could be a big daddy himself. “You’re staring,” Adam said, still fucking his husband. “Sorry,” I replied. “Don’t be,” he assured me. “I’m flattered. A Hercules like you staring at me? It makes a guy feel big and manly.” The whole time he was flexing vainly, but he never broke stride while fucking Edward. “How big are you?” I asked. “215 pounds,” he crowed. “That’s 55 more than I was when I started this journey, and a heck of a lot more shredded.” “214.5,” Edward said pedantically, his syllables punctuated by Adam’s thrusts. “That’s bigger than I was a seven months ago,” I pointed out. At that information, Adam renewed his vigorous thrusting. Edward blanched. “Can you help me out here? He’s been on me two or three times a day, and my ass needs a break.” I tagged in, and Adam began fucking me while Edward sat there on the bed, contentedly watching, glad for the respite. “That’s more like it,” Adam said, bucking wildly and forcefully on top of me. “I have to hold back when I fuck Edward.” “He makes me sound like a wimp, when he’s the one who’s been trying to crush me. My ass is made of flesh,” Edward said. “Not whatever supernatural metal they used to forge Nile.” Adam began fucking even more powerfully. “I couldn’t hurt you if I tried.” “Go ahead and try,” I said, squeezing his cock in my ass. “Thank you, sir!” Adam screamed, and I felt his cock unleash its load inside me. As his breathing quickly returned to normal, I said, “Whenever you’re ready for the next round, just start.” “Okay,” Adam said, his sweaty head leaning on the broad, muscular expanse of my bulging back. I could feel he was still hard inside of me. He came three more times from fucking me before the session was over. My last session of the night was a pair of new clients. All I knew was that they were a married couple named Al and Matthew. But when I stepped into the room, I was shocked to find three men, not two. All three of them were incredibly young, the oldest looked 25. They had all already stripped down to their boxers. One of them was incredibly tall, at least 6’8”, and covered with lithe muscles. He had non-descript brown hair and equally brown eyes, but what really made him stand out was the number 17 tattooed on his left bicep. The shortest one was squat with thick muscles—a man who clearly lifted. He had blue eyes and was blond with a few days’ worth of stubble on his face and torso. He also had a bit of a gut—a solid, muscle gut, but a gut nonetheless. He had a scar that looked like a fishhook just above his navel. The one who’s height was in the middle—roughly my height—had no discernible muscle mass and looked a little underfed. But he was gorgeous. He looked like a man whose face would grace the covers of magazines—dynamically symmetrical with mysterious green eyes and reddish-brown hair, impeccably styled. “You’re fucking massive,” 17 said. “They told us you were big, but you’re the size of a planet.” “We expect you know who we are,” Hook grunted. Strawberry turned around and flashed me his ass. A large birthmark, shaped exactly like his eponymous fruit, stood out in sharp relief from the rest of his ass. “Just in case,” he said meekly. “I know who you are,” I replied. I then flexed both of my biceps to their full peaks and allowed my cock to harden to its full majesty. “And I heard you liked big.” “You heard right,” Strawberry said, practically drooling at my size. “So big,” 17 said, a little foggy from my beauty. “Good start,” Hook remarked. “It’s your job to impress us.” With an emphatic pause, he added, “So, impress us.” Unintimidated, I asked, “Does one of you have a tie you don’t mind getting ruined?” “Matt does,” 17 said, running over to a pile of clothes and picking up a tie. “Did one of you bring a phone or tablet?” I asked. “I have one of those too,” Strawberry said, running to fetch it from the same pile of clothes. “Make it set off an alarm every two minutes.” Strawberry nodded. “What is this?” Hook growled. “We’re going to play Cock Potato,” I said. “Never heard of it,” Hook complained. “It’s a game I invented when I once had to entertain 6 men at the same time,” I informed him. “In a pinch, it can be played with just the three of you.” “Cock Potato?” Hook still sounded unconvinced. “It’s like Hot Potato, but with my cock.” I explained the rules as I stripped naked. “Before we start, you tie my hands behind my back so I can’t cheat. Then, you take turns at different positions. One of you gets tip and shaft. One of you gets ass and nuts. One of you gets lips and nips. You all try to speed up or slow down my orgasm. Every time the alarm goes off, you switch positions. Tip goes to lips, lips goes to balls, balls goes to tip. Whoever gets the faceful of jizz when I orgasm is the winner and gets a blow job from me.” “If your cock is in my mouth when you cum, I’ll just swallow,” 17 assured me. “No need for a facial.” I pointed to my cock, “Try as you might, this won’t fit in your mouth.” His eyes grew wide as he stared at my cock. He was satisfied with my answer. “If the winner gets a blow job, what do the losers get?” Hook asked. “I have two hands,” I answered. “Two very skillful hands. Not as skillful as my mouth, mind you.” “What happens if you blow your load while we’re switching positions?” 17 asked. “Whoever was moving to my tip wins,” I said. I put my hands behind my back for one of them to tie them. “Time management will be crucial if you want to win.” “What about the body parts you didn’t mention?” Strawberry asked, staring down towards the floor. “Like, who gets your feet?” He eyed my bare feet lustfully. “Any part unassigned is fair game at any time,” I said, wriggling my toes. “But don’t overextend yourselves. There’s a lot of real estate to cover with just those assigned areas. Daddy’s a big fuck.” 17 went behind me to tie my hands. He had difficulty maneuvering my thick biceps and wide lats to allow my arms to meet in the back. In fact, I could tell that there were a few inches still between my hands. “I’m gonna need another tie,” 17 complained. “He’s just too wide and big.” “I have one,” Hook relented, giving 17 the other strip of fabric, and 17 resumed trying to incapacitate me as my muscles twitched and flexed at the exertion. “Tighter than that,” I instructed. “Those knots will never hold my strength, and I don’t want you to claim I wasn’t playing fair.” He complied. “Pick your starting positions,” I ordered. “When the alarm goes off, the game starts.” Before the alarm went off, Hook took the men’s third tie and blindfolded me. “Fun improvisation,” I said, smirking. 17 put his hands on my nipples to claim them as his own, and I felt his calloused fingers rub up against my sensitive nips. “You’ve done this before,” I purred. “What can I say?” he replied proudly. “I’m a tit man, and you’ve got a lot of tit.” Before Hook could claim his place, Strawberry was behind me with one hand on my nut sack (though he couldn’t fit even one nut in one hand—it overfilled his palm) and one hand on an ass cheek. “That leaves me front and center,” Hook said, kneeling in front of me, greedily hovering so close to my cock that I could feel his warm breath as he spoke. “Where the action is.” “When the alarm sounds, go for it.” When the alarm went off, they all, indeed, went for it, full force, like it was a race to get me to cum as fast as possible, not a strategic game of timing. I could distinguish each of the men from their different approaches. I could tell when it was 17’s attentions because he was the most athletic. His nipple play was the most inventive, tweaking and flicking with dexterous and practiced aplomb. I actually wished I’d gotten to see what he was doing to them; it felt like he had three hands and two mouths as he worked my nips over. His kisses involved the most tongue, as though he was giving me a dental exam and not just a kiss. When he played with my ass, he was reserved but unafraid. When he played with my balls, he could actually fit one in his mighty mitt, so he could pull on them with some force. When he stroked my shaft, it was like he was playing a musical instrument, and his attention to my tip felt like he was licking an ice cream cone. I could tell when it was Strawberry’s attention because he was the most affectionate, no matter what he was doing. He caressed my ass and balls lovingly, even nuzzling his face into them. When he was worshipping my shaft, he’d run his tongue up and down it, stippling it with feather-light kisses the whole length. When he was focusing on my tip, he covered every last inch of the head—not one square centimeter went unaddressed. When he played with my nipples, he stroked them endearingly, more enamored of my chest hair than the nipples themselves. When he kissed me, it was with an extreme intensity, as if I was his husband returning from war, or kissing a loved one goodbye for the last time. I could tell when it was Hook’s attention because he was the most aggressive. When he stroked my shaft, it was like he was wringing out a wet towel, and when he worked over my tip with his mouth, he was like a starved man being offered a meal, and unafraid to use teeth (deftly, I might add). When he handled my nipples, it crept up to torture, and then crossed the line, and then came back to playful twisting. When he kissed me, it was as though he was trying to suffocate me with his passion and lust, suck all the air from my lungs. He manhandled my balls, treating them like punching bags. And of the three of them, he was the only one who dared stick a finger up my ass. Their attentions drove me wild. Every part of me was on fire with delight and ecstasy. I don’t know how many times they switched positions. I couldn’t see, so I gave into their passions. I quickly ceased being a participant in this activity; I was their playground and their battlefield. When I felt my balls seize up, my anus clench, and the tip of my cock engorge in the seconds before orgasm, I heard them all start breathing heavily. Two of them were trying to slow me down; one was trying to urge me on. The dam broke, and I exploded heavily and at a high volume (both liquid measurement and decibel level). I felt all of them step away from me, but then felt Hook’s firm gut press into my abs as he removed my blindfold. All three were fully erect and leaking, but Hook, inches from my face was smiling victoriously, his face coated in a thick layer of my cream. “I win,” he gloated. “I’ll untie you,” 17 said. “No need,” I said, using my impressive strength to tear the restraints from my wrists with a quick, decisive tug. “Daddy lied about your knots being able to hold him.” I brough their ties in front of me. Rather than two ties, it was now a half-tie and a tie-and-a-half. “You ripped my tie,” Strawberry marveled. “Consider it a keepsake,” I said, handing all of the fabric to him. Hook pushed the other two men aside and stepped forward. He had wiped off his face on the bedding, and his dripping cock was pointing like a flagpole into the air. “I’m ready for my blow job.” “Of course,” I said, getting on my knees. I held my hands out to either side, and 17 and Strawberry took their designated spots. I took Hook’s cock entirely in my mouth—it was a decent 6 inches, but I had a large mouth and a lot of practice. I pistoned my head back and forth, running my tongue all around his circumference. With my left hand, I grabbed 17’s 5 inches of cock; with my right, Strawberry’s 7. I was careful not to crush their delicate organs with my brawn, but I squeezed them hard enough so they knew I could. I varied the rhythms, moving each man faster or slower as he needed. When I felt one of them getting close, I eased off. When I felt one falling behind the other’s progress, I was a little more attentive. I breathed deeply through my nose to power my ministrations, never taking Hook out of my mouth or letting go of either 17 or Strawberry. While I took care of them, 17 and Strawberry were feeling up my powerful biceps and thick deltoids, awe-struck at how massive my arms were. While I took care of Hook, he leaned back, grunting loudly, his eyes squeezed tight as he did everything in his power not to climax. Then, I hit them with the coup de grace: I got all three of them to orgasm simultaneously. Hook gruffly and stridently shouted every curse word he knew. 17 breathed deeply and loudly, but no words escaped his mouth as his body spasmed. Strawberry’s whole body convulsed and his feet autonomically stamped on the floor as he said “yes” and “please” over and over again. I swallowed every drop Hook produced while my hands were coated in 17’s and Strawberry’s offerings. When they all finished climaxing, I licked my hands clean. “Delicious, every one of you,” I informed them. Then, I got up and strutted over to the bed. “We have ten minutes left, boys,” I said. I flopped down on the bed and forced myself to the middle. “Let’s say we make a love pile and you boys can do whatever you want to Daddy’s big ol’ body. Play with these huge muscles, tickle this massive cock.” I paused, then added, “Just use your imaginations.” 17 and Strawberry raced over to the bed without needing further enticement. 17 sat on my thick, quilted abs and began massaging my pecs, delighting in my fur and pushing as hard as he could without making a dent in my musculature. Strawberry cradled up to my feet and began caressing them, licking them, generally enjoying the brawn, thickness, and vascularity of my puppies. Hook dawdled. “Are you coming?” I asked him, leaning around 17 to be seen. When I saw his shoulders involuntarily spasming, I asked, “Or are you cumming?” “Aftershocks,” he said without turning around. “I’m still reeling with the aftershocks.” “Well, when you finish, don’t be shy. Come on over.” He turned around. “Get off those abs, Al,” he ordered. He stormed over to the bed and knocked 17 to the side. He then began to repeatedly punch my rock-hard 6-pack, accomplishing nothing but injuries to his knuckles. I flexed my abs harder to let him know he was doing me no harm. Undaunted by losing his seat, 17 cozied up to me and continued massaging my pecs. “These are gigantic,” 17 said. “The biggest I’ve ever seen, and I only fuck pleasure boys with grotesquely huge implants.” I flexed my pecs, inflating them to an even more impossible size. “No implants here, baby. These are all Daddy.” 17 climaxed again, and dove on my pec to suckle at my red, raw nip. Hook stopped punching me and switched to measuring his bulky arm against my cock. He teased it until it was hard, then placing his arm next to it, to see how it measured up against me. “You happy down there, boy?” I asked to Strawberry. “Mm-hm,” he answered, his mouth full of my toes. They went on like that until our time was up. 17 and Hook began to redress as Strawberry asked me, “Do you have any appointments free next week?” “Probably. Ask Tony.” “Can you wear dirty socks next time?” he asked eagerly. “Tell Tony you want me right after I come from the gym,” I informed him. At that promise, he came again. 22 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
arpeejay Posted August 18, 2023 Share Posted August 18, 2023 Best sex scene since Daddy finger fucked Fred, thanks! Also, a brief report from the Arpeejay Institute of Fantastical Measurements: At 570 lbs., Nile's pumped, fully flexed biceps are likely in the vicinity of 46 inches -- about as big as the chest of a quite muscular 200 lb. man. Likewise, his chest can be expected to tape at around 114 inches -- right at 9 1/2 feet, in other words, about half again as much as Nile is tall. 6 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
arpeejay Posted August 19, 2023 Share Posted August 19, 2023 Also: Ay-ex-plode? Ex-uh-plode? Ex-ploh-ode? Inquiring minds, doncha know! 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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