- Messages
- 281
- Reaction score
- 161
- Sexual Orientation
-
Bi
Part 20
Andy awoke feeling very thirsty, and very groggy. For a moment, he wondered whose sticky arm was on his chest.
Oh, he thought. Right.
It wasn't an arm, though it rivaled the length of one. Flaccid (more or less), it lay heavily on his torso, a telltale smear leaving a snail's trail all over the tummy -- and up over his pecs.
It took a moment for the memories to flood back into his mind. No, memories wasn't quite the word. The echoes of sensations, of stimulation. Of helplessly fucking and being fucked for hours. Of being VIOLATED and made into some kind of spectacle...
He looked around his darkened room, lit only by the bathroom vanity through the open door. The room smelled of sex, of sweat, and of vanilla and milk, but he couldn't see much. A sheen of dried cum flaked as he wearily sat up, though, if we're being fair, the machines had been quite efficient; this was from after he was removed from the demonic machine. He must have had a wet dream, because he'd showered before Jason left.
Andy pulled himself to his feet, his massive dick lazily flopping over his thigh as he staggered to the bathroom. He couldn't stop staring at the stranger in the mirror. He looked haunted and gaunt, but also ...well, ripped and swole, as they say. Ordinarily, Andy was in okay shape, but he'd somehow bulked up and slimmed down, likely the result of whatever was in that shake they'd fed him. God knows how much of that stuff he'd had, but the effect of doing nothing but fucking and being fucked for several days was not so bad.
But even as he had that though, the tug on his midsection and weight in his groin reminded him that the experience had left other, lasting, effects. The ridiculously huge dick he was now saddled with was chubbing up at the sight of the tousle-haired fit young guy in the mirror.
No longer under the direct influence of the hi-tech fucktoys, and no longer being fed the strange shake, he felt clearer of mind than he had in ages -- but he could tell that wouldn't last too long, given his rapidly hardening dick and its demands for blood that might otherwise sustain his brain. So he quickly inventoried things.
One: he'd gone from okay to pretty hot, body-wise. Same innocent face and ferocious bed-head, but damn.
Two: his libido was seriously overloaded, to get that worked up over his own body.
Three: holy shit, that was a big dick, and it showed no signs of slowing down.
It filled out pretty quickly, thickening by half again as it got longer and longer. Even soft, it had been double his normal size, but as it passed 18 inches, his awareness was drawn to it (along with much of his blood). And still it kept extending and forcing itself more and more upright, and Andy couldn't help but be fascinated. So much cock, and more piling on, until it was cresting two solid feet of dick, and the fist-sized head was a hand's-breadth from his own chin.
Jesus, it felt like he wasn't even all the way hard yet.
Andy awoke feeling very thirsty, and very groggy. For a moment, he wondered whose sticky arm was on his chest.
Oh, he thought. Right.
It wasn't an arm, though it rivaled the length of one. Flaccid (more or less), it lay heavily on his torso, a telltale smear leaving a snail's trail all over the tummy -- and up over his pecs.
It took a moment for the memories to flood back into his mind. No, memories wasn't quite the word. The echoes of sensations, of stimulation. Of helplessly fucking and being fucked for hours. Of being VIOLATED and made into some kind of spectacle...
He looked around his darkened room, lit only by the bathroom vanity through the open door. The room smelled of sex, of sweat, and of vanilla and milk, but he couldn't see much. A sheen of dried cum flaked as he wearily sat up, though, if we're being fair, the machines had been quite efficient; this was from after he was removed from the demonic machine. He must have had a wet dream, because he'd showered before Jason left.
Andy pulled himself to his feet, his massive dick lazily flopping over his thigh as he staggered to the bathroom. He couldn't stop staring at the stranger in the mirror. He looked haunted and gaunt, but also ...well, ripped and swole, as they say. Ordinarily, Andy was in okay shape, but he'd somehow bulked up and slimmed down, likely the result of whatever was in that shake they'd fed him. God knows how much of that stuff he'd had, but the effect of doing nothing but fucking and being fucked for several days was not so bad.
But even as he had that though, the tug on his midsection and weight in his groin reminded him that the experience had left other, lasting, effects. The ridiculously huge dick he was now saddled with was chubbing up at the sight of the tousle-haired fit young guy in the mirror.
No longer under the direct influence of the hi-tech fucktoys, and no longer being fed the strange shake, he felt clearer of mind than he had in ages -- but he could tell that wouldn't last too long, given his rapidly hardening dick and its demands for blood that might otherwise sustain his brain. So he quickly inventoried things.
One: he'd gone from okay to pretty hot, body-wise. Same innocent face and ferocious bed-head, but damn.
Two: his libido was seriously overloaded, to get that worked up over his own body.
Three: holy shit, that was a big dick, and it showed no signs of slowing down.
It filled out pretty quickly, thickening by half again as it got longer and longer. Even soft, it had been double his normal size, but as it passed 18 inches, his awareness was drawn to it (along with much of his blood). And still it kept extending and forcing itself more and more upright, and Andy couldn't help but be fascinated. So much cock, and more piling on, until it was cresting two solid feet of dick, and the fist-sized head was a hand's-breadth from his own chin.
Jesus, it felt like he wasn't even all the way hard yet.