This is a work of fiction. All characters are over 18 years old.
You know the type of guy that walks into a room and all eyes are instantly on him? Everyone staring at him, men and women alike, out of respect, admiration or, more often than not, out of sheer lust? Well, Jason was just like that. And it wasn’t just because of his looks - sure, blond hair, blue eyes, and a chiseled jaw will get you far in life - but because of his a-type personality. Confident and affable, loud and good-natured, he was a guy everybody felt they could trust but at the same time only dared admire from afar; he was too good, in a league of his own.
At eighteen, we had been friends for over a decade, all throughout primary, secondary and now high school. He was my best friend you could say, which frankly surprised many people. I wasn’t wildly unpopular or a freak or anything, but the truth was that while Jason was the all-American jock, the athlete, the ladies man, the 6 foot 5 muscleman, I was - well - completely average. Average height, average grades, and average penis, if you must know. I had a fairly forgettable face, a monotonic voice, and the tendency to fade into the background and watch the action unfold; always an observer, never the main character. I made it through school with barely anyone noticing me. Except for Jason, I guess. For as long as I could remember, he was there for me. Always hanging out after school, studying together, playing video games, talking about girls, listening each other yap about our dreams and aspirations for the future. I knew him better than anyone, and I’m sure he would say the same thing about me. If I had to explain why he picked me to be his best friend over the popular kids, the jocks, the freaking child actor that was in our school, I’d say it was because I genuinely cared about him, and he knew that. But maybe that is only half the truth. Because, I didn’t just care about him. I was madly in love with him.
For the longest time, I was in a state of denial. Whether I caught myself stealing glances at Jason while he changed out of his shorts or I felt my heart rate rising when he playfully smacked my ass when I walked past him, I just blocked it all out, buried it deep in my subconscious, hoping it would go away, like some virus my body would eventually expel. But by the summer before college, I was done lying to myself. Maybe it was the realisation that we would soon be going our separate ways - different colleges, different states, different lives - or maybe it was that after years of suppressing my feelings, something inside me broke, my capacity for self-denial and self-deception completely exhausted. So I started looking at him. Really, actually, watching him. His indigo blue eyes, his pink lips, his light blond hair, a bit curly, always messy, and, of course, his body. My God. His body. His huge, smooth pecs topped with his hard, pink nipples, the chiselled abs, the sculpted back, the perfect bubble butt, always draped with loose-fitted basketball shorts, the big, round bulge between his legs. My God.
And soon, I found myself doing things I wasn’t particularly proud of. It started innocent enough, like stealing glances while Jason changed after basketball practice. I remember him shirtless in the locker rooms, his chest shiny with sweat, talking loudly, playfully bragging about outperforming everyone else on the team. He dropped his shorts and tossed them aside, standing there in his underwear. I could see the outline of his dick through his boxer shorts. Even though I had always avoided looking at his dick, I had caught fleeting glimpses of it, a flash of smooth pink skin with the slightest dusting of blond hairs. I knew it was big, because he often talked about it. How girls struggled to take it, how if basketball didn’t pan out he could always start an OnlyFans. Jokes of course, but still, there was never any doubt about it. And yet, nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when he dropped his underwear and stood in front of me butt naked, completely oblivious that his best friend was devouring him with his eyes. It was big. It was huge. A heavy, meaty dick that hung maybe 6 inches flaccid and a pair of balls that were round and big and completely hairless. His pubes were light and blond, and I could tell they were drenched in sweat. I was instantly hard. The lightest stroke and I’m pretty sure I would’ve shot my load right there and then in front of the entire basketball team. When Jason finished his figurative dick swinging about his performance at the court, he grabbed his towel and headed to the showers. “Next time aim the ball at the basket, Micky,” he told one of the betas with a grin. “Quit being an ass, man,” the beta shouted after him. Without turning around, Jason smacked his own asscheek and laughed. I watched his muscular ass bounce with every step he took, until he disappeared into the showers. I replayed the scene in my head later that day and every day for the rest of the week. I jerked off frantically, like a mad man. Each time, I blew a huge load all over my stomach, thick and sticky, and for a minute I’d just lay there and let it drip down my side, imagining that it wasn’t mine, but Jason’s.
But then, fantasies weren’t enough. I started craving the real thing. To touch, to smell, to taste. One day, I was chilling in Jason’s bedroom, playing a game on his Xbox while he lay on his bed smoking weed and texting with this girl he was seeing, some Jen. I remember her name because he often complained that she wouldn’t touch his dick, never mind suck it or let him fuck her. Imagine having the option to play with Jason’s dick and saying no. Can’t relate. After a while, he got up to go to the bathroom. I was alone in his bedroom. There was a faint smell of musk lingering in the air, from his unchanged sheets maybe or Jason’s own body - I had noticed his pits were a bit sweaty that afternoon. I normally hate body odour. It disgusts me. But with Jason, it was different. Something about his natural smell turned me on and, equally, unsettled me. Like smelling his body made it even more real, more tangible, and therefore I could, maybe one day, touch it. In the few minutes he was gone - I could hear him pissing in the bathroom next door - my eyes fell on a small pile of clothes that lay on the foot of his bed. A pair of jeans. A couple of worn t-shirts, basketball shorts. And then, a pair of boxer shorts. Black, loosened, worn. My heart rate shot up. I could hear the toilet flushing inside. Could I do it? It felt like a step too far.
When I got home, I locked my bedroom door, pulled out Jason’s dirty underwear from my pocket and lay it on my bed. I buried my face in it and groaned. The salty smell of his balls assaulted my nostrils, fucked with my brain, made me dizzy. I started licking, and for a second there, I fully believed that I wasn’t licking a piece of fabric, but Jason’s big round balls that were bathed in his sweat from basketball practice, his horse dick, veiny, and rock hard, his hairless taint, and, finally, his asshole, which I could bet you anything was pink, and, sure, it was clean, but I now knew it was musky and sweaty. The ass of a man.
I jerked off with his boxers draped over my face. I slipped a finger in my ass, and then, even though it hurt, I added two more. I pictured Jason walking in and grabbing me by the hair, spitting in my mouth, then making me worship his body, from his size 10 feet to his smelly pits. I pictured him pinning me down, spitting on his monster cock just once, and then shoving it in my virgin hole and splitting me open. I fantasised about him pounding into me with no mercy, ruining my hole, making me cry, his hand holding me by the throat, his blue eyes staring gleefully into mine, a sadistic grin on his face. He’d cum inside me, coating my insides with his thick sperm. “Take my cum, pussy boy,” he’d say. “Please,” I’d say, “please.” Destroy me.
There was one time when I thought I almost had him. We were in my house, watching TV. My parents were out of town that weekend, and Jen was at home sick, so it was just the two of us. Jason was smoking one blunt after the other, and I could tell from his bloodshot eyes and slurred voice that he was high as a kite. He was very mellow when he was stoned. He’d sit back, watch the dumbest thing imaginable, from Adam Sandler movies to cat videos, and just giggle like an idiot. But, I had also noticed that he talked about sex a lot more than usual. Inevitably, when we smoked, at some point he’d start narrating to me his steamy encounters with various girls in graphic detail, which one blew him where, how that one girl sucked the tip of his dick and tickled his balls, how this other girl nearly choked because he shot a huge load down her throat. Always about him, though, and his big cock, never about the girls. As if he knew exactly what I wanted to hear. That evening was no different. Jason suggested we watch some porn on my laptop and unashamedly searched Pornhub for “BBC”, “Latina”, “petite”, “anal”, so comfortable in his heterosexuality, he never thought searching for big dick porn would raise any alarms. “Who watches porn with small dicks,” he once said casually after I randomly came across “monster cock” in his browser history. So we sat there in the dark and watched women getting destroyed by massive dicks. Chocking on it, taking it up the ass, thong pulled to the side, a muscly man treating them like shit. At some point, I noticed Jason’s hand had moved to his crotch. He was staring at the screen, his mouth hanging open, a tiny bit of saliva pooling at the corner of his lips, and he was rubbing his boner. I could see the outline of his huge cock, a beer-can thick pipe extending sideways all the way up to his stomach. It throbbed. Fuck. I felt my mouth go dry. Jason, rock hard, rubbing his boner, only a few inches away from me. I could just reach out and grab it if I wanted to. I could tell him that I was just doing him a favour. Helping a buddy out. Other guys do it. We’ve all heard the stories. But I didn’t. I waited for the right moment, and then I waited some more, and then - as I was beginning to think that I could actually find the balls to do it - my laptop died. “Ah fuck,” Jason said, “and they were getting to the good part.” I mumbled that I could go get my charger, but Jason said he had to get going. He was meeting Jen the next morning, and who knows, maybe this time she’d finally put out. I barely slept that night, and when I did, my hazy brain forced me to rewatch Jason feeling his massive dick right there next to me, while I sat there frozen, unable to reach out and take what I wanted the most.
In some ways, I wish the story ended there. I wish these were the only memories I had of Jason. The beautiful hung jock I could never have, who remained my straight best friend and went on to marry a beautiful woman, have kids, live the American dream, while I secretly lusted after him from a safe distance. But as luck would have it, things took an unexpected turn.
You see, there were three of us. While Jason and I had been best friends for as long as I could remember, in the last year of high school, we started hanging out with Miguel, who’d transferred from a private school. He was a rich kid who drove a Benz to school, wore expensive brands, bragged about his dad’s business, the size of his “mansion”. He was a bit obnoxious, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but want to impress him. His snobby attitude, his dismissive remarks about people he’d met, places he’d travelled to - “New York is so overrated” - dazzled us, amused us. He quickly became very popular, and there was always an empty seat waiting for him at the cool kids’ table. I remember being surprised by his meteoric rise in the school hierarchy. He was impressive sure, but at the same time, he was clearly, well, gay. He wasn’t out, and no one asked, but I could just tell: his pouty smile, the flick of his wrist, his bitchy comments, the occasional “honey” he used in conversation, the tight jeans, obviously intended to showcase his big ass. There was something effeminate about him, which I had to admit at the time really annoyed me. I was obsessed with Jason, sure, and I was gay, sure, but I never rubbed it in other people’s faces. The first time I met him, I remember I was stunned to see him dab his lips with vaseline - the fruitiest thing I’d ever seen - before leering at me with this sleazy smile. I remember stammering a bit, going red. Then these guys from the football team walked past us and I could’ve sworn I heard him hum, like I’d seen creeps do when trying to get the attention of the hot girls. He looked over his shoulder and watched them go, checking out their ripped bodies like they were pieces of meat.
He disturbed me. But at the same time, I felt drawn to him. I didn’t find him attractive. He was shorter than me, and while he wasn’t fat, he had a very big, round ass, that bounced comically in his tight jeans. There was also a certain softness to him, like his stomach wasn’t quite flat, and his arms were pillowy, his hands manicured. Despite that, something about his gay voice, his pouty lips, and his effort to accentuate his curves, made me want him, in a resentful, unhealthy way. I fantasised about him occasionally. Those were angry, stressful jerk-off sessions. Whereas in my fantasies about Jason, I was the one being dominated, with Miguel, I fantasised about humiliating him. Shoving my cock down his throat. Spitting on him. Spanking his huge ass, then sticking my cock all the way in while he sobbed. Whenever I fantasised about him I blew my load quickly, then tried to erase the fantasises from my memory, my face red with shame.
For reasons I couldn’t quite understand but could only suspect, Jason had taken a liking to him. It was the expensive car, the big house, and probably the arrogance, but also, I’m afraid, Miguel’s manipulative efforts, that had earned him a place at my hangouts with Jason. We would be chilling at Jason’s house in the evening or going to a burger joint and Jason would look up from his phone and say “Miguel is coming” or “Miguel wants to hang.” After a while, there was no prior warning, and Miguel would just show up unannounced in some trendy new outfit. “Hey guys,” he’d say in his gay voice “what did I miss?”. Eventually, to my dismay, I’d walk into Jason’s bedroom one afternoon to find Miguel already there, laying on the carpet like some queen, laughing at his own joke, while Jason smoked weed and giggled like a moron. Miguel turned to me and smiled like a snake.
A few days later, I was walking home from basketball practice, when Miguel’s Benz pulled up next to me, and he offered me a ride. He looked at me smugly, that shit-eating grin always there, but I wasn’t proud enough to say no, so I got in. He rambled absently while he drove, about his rich parents, his equally spoilt sister, celebrities, school gossip. He was so self-centred and arrogant, so mean and bitchy, I almost wanted to punch him. After a while, I zoned out, his annoying voice background noise blending with the shitty pop music blasting from the radio. It was only when he pulled up outside my house that he dropped a bombshell that made my heart sink.
“So Jason is pretty cute, huh.”
I froze. “What do you mean?”
“Come on,” he said with that sleazy smile, “I’ve seen you staring. I don’t blame you. I’ve been trying to get my hands on that hot stud ever since I saw him take his shirt off.”
I felt like I was going to throw up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He laughed mockingly. “Don’t be like that. I knew you were gay since day one. Typical closet case. No offence,” he said and playfully patted my knee. I flinched, and I tried to say something in protest, but I just stammered.
“I don’t see what the big deal is. You’re just a gay guy in love with his best friend,” he said in a tone that he probably intended to sound comforting, “it’s the oldest gay cliche.” I just sat there silently, my face red, my ears buzzing.
“Jason doesn’t know, right?” He asked softly.
“No,” I shook my head urgently and, if possible, turned even more red, realising I had just admitted to everything he had said.
“Well, it’ll be our little secret,” he said and that sickening smile was back, bigger, sleazier than ever.
After that incident, Miguel started treating me like his confidant, his underling, his best frenemy. He started sending me gay jokes he found on some ridiculous Tumblr pages, always mean and cutting, always about “turning” straight guys. He sent me photos of hot shirtless men, smooth and handsome like Jason, and even sent me links to porn videos, with titles like “Hunk takes monster cock” or “White boi gangbanged.” I watched them all, and I jerked off to them, but always with a pit in my stomach, as if watching them meant I was letting Miguel into my head.
The worst thing by far, though, was when he talked about Jason. I remember Miguel laying face down on my bed, his big ass sticking out ridiculously like two giant pillows, while he leafed through a fashion magazine. Out of nowhere, he let out a giggle. He picked up the magazine and showed me a photo of some famous pop star dressed in a dominatrix costume. She stood posing with a whip in her hand, while a male model was pictured sitting on a metal chair next to her. He was only wearing tight briefs, and I noticed his arms and legs were bound. He had a gag on.
“This is me and Jason when I manage to turn him,” he said gleefully, “I’m going to make him squirm.” He then licked his finger and continued leafing through the magazine. The next photo showed the same pop star, now with her high heel placed dangerously close to the man’s bulge. He looked at her pleadingly.
“That’s not going to happen,” I said. I was irritated, that familiar feeling in my stomach.
“But it is. I’m very close, actually.”
“Jason is straight. He’s not into you.”
“He’s dumb, and he’s horny.”
“It’s not gonna happen,” I said with an air of finality. His bitchy arrogance was really getting on my nerves.
“Well, want a bet? Give me a couple more weeks and that dumb straight boy is going to become my new sex toy.” he said with a perverted smile. I hated him so much.
From the beginning, I thought there was something disturbing about the way Miguel spoke about Jason. While my obsession was one of adoration and admiration - I wanted to worship Jason - Miguel’s harboured something darker, more sinister. He talked about “using” Jason, “riding him like a stallion”, “smothering him” with his big ass, “torturing his balls and dick” with denial, making him “beg”. The idea of that gay sleaze getting his hands on Jason, and using him to satisfy his perverted fantasies was sickening. Disgusting. But I always dismissed it. There was no way Jason would ever let that freak touch him. If anything, it seemed more likely that Miguel would be dumb enough to make a move, and then Jason would beat his ass. I had fantasies about that too.
Then, a few weeks later, on a hot summer day, I was chilling with Jason at his place, playing video games, eating ice cream, talking shit. I realised it was the first time in a while that it was just the two of us. Ever since Miguel had forced himself in the picture, I felt like my friendship with Jason had changed, like there was more distance between us. But that afternoon, as we sat there and killed time, it felt like it was just the two of us in the entire world. I remember getting a bit emotional. Summer would be gone soon and we would be starting new lives separately. Sure, we would stay friends, but we would never be so close ever again. He opened up a lot to me that day. He told me that his relationship with Jen was confusing and frustrating - apparently, they had gotten into an argument because she felt like he was pressuring her to have sex, while she wasn’t ready. “I’m being nice to her and everything,” he said, “but I still need to cum, you know?” He said it in the matter-of-factly way typical of straight guys. I nodded and said it was a shame because she was so hot, doing my best imitation of a good straight friend. He sighed. “Wanna go get some weed?” he asked and got up. “You’ve been sitting on the floor for like an hour,” he said and playfully ruffled my hair as he passed by. “Keeps my ass tough,” I said and he laughed. What I didn’t tell him was that I sat on the floor because it gave me a great view of his bulge, which was so prominent the way he sat on the couch. So big. So fucking big.
The weed was strong, and we smoked a lot. Jason always had a higher tolerance than me and smoked through blunts like there was no tomorrow, but what with school being over and with so little to do during the day, he was overdoing it, and I stupidly tried to keep up. By late afternoon, I was a mess. My head hurt, my stomach was spinning. I felt like I was lost in a sickening haze somewhere strange and foreign. Jason meanwhile was sprawled on the couch, watching one stupid TikTok after the other, giggling like an idiot, smoking non-stop. It was a hot day, and Jason had taken his shirt off. His forehead was dotted with sweat, as was his chest. The light blond hair under his pits also looked completely wet. But not even the sight of him sitting there half-naked was enough to bring me back to life. I stood up, and the whole room span around me. I steadied myself on the couch. “Oh buddy,” he laughed. “Go sleep it off, I’ll text you later.” I mumbled something and left his house. When I got home, I dropped into bed and shut my eyes. Everything was spinning, and I kept seeing flashes of Jason’s naked torso, his sweaty pits, his stoned eyes. Somehow, images of Miguel’s pervy smile started creeping in. I saw him running his tongue over his lips, then blowing a kiss at me. “This is me and Jason when I manage to turn him,” I remembered him saying. “I’m going to make him squirm.” His effeminate giggles rebounded in my brain. I got up and threw up.
When I woke up, I was covered in sweat. My head was heavy, and I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. I drank about a gallon of water, then cracked open a red bull and downed it. I was sitting on the couch, starting to feel like human again, when I thought to check my phone. The first thing I noticed was that Jason had texted me a couple of times while I was passed out. “Are you alive?” Was his first message. “Helloooo?” Was the second. Then, when I scrolled down, my eyes widened, and that familiar feeling gripped my stomach again. “Miguel is on his way. Come hang.” Was the third message. Then, finally: “He’s bringing some good stuff.” No more texts from Jason.
I began to panic. I got up and started pacing the house. I thought of calling Jason or even running over to his house, but then I told myself that I was being paranoid, so I sat myself on the couch. But then I got up again. What if I wasn’t? What if that creep got what he wanted? What if he seduced him? What if Jason was too stoned? What if? What if? I tried to calm myself down. I tried to block out the image of Miguel’s ugly face leering at Jason, to forget the twisted things he had said about him, the things he wanted to do to him. But I couldn’t. And it was while that sickening feeling was reaching its climax, as it was consuming me altogether, that I noticed another notification on my phone. This one was from Miguel. It said: “Guess what,” with a drooling face emoji next to it. Below it, there was a disappearing video. I opened it.
The video had been taken inside Jason’s living room. It showed the couch from a weird side-angle and the frame was partly obscured, as if the camera was hidden inside a bag. But that didn’t stop me from seeing Jason clearly, front and centre. He was sitting on the couch, shirtless, just like I left him the night before. There was a stupefied look on his face, and he must have been even more stoned than when I left him. And fuck - my eyes widened - he was rubbing his dick over his shorts. Even from afar, I could tell that his boner was huge and throbbing in his underwear. It didn’t take long for me to put two and two together and realise that he was watching porn. It was his usual routine, after all, to smoke and watch porn, like all those nights ago, when he nearly rubbed one out next to me. Before I could realise exactly what was happening, Miguel walked into the frame. My heart started pounding in my chest. He sat on the couch next to Jason and took a puff from a blunt, which he held with two extended fingers, like a lady.
“Want some more?” He said to Jason, and before he could even respond, Miguel had placed the roach on his lips. Jason inhaled, smoking straight from Miguel’s fingers. I felt sick.
“It’s good, huh?” Miguel said with his trademark grin.
“Yeah,” Jason said dumbly, which he followed with a guttural hum. He was so out of it.
There was silence for a moment. Nothing but the fuck noises from the porn that was playing in the background. Jason and Miguel just sat there quietly, watching some porn star getting railed, when I noticed Miguel slowly turning and facing Jason. He was so close to him, obviously invading his personal space, but Jason seemed completely oblivious.
“Oh,” Miguel said with mock surprise, “what’s going on here? Someone’s horny.” He pointed a finger at Jason’s crotch, only inches away from his dick, and smirked.
Jason laughed. “Yeah,” he said again, his voice hoarse from smoking. He absently readjusted his boner in his shorts.
“Have some more,” Miguel said and held out the blunt once more. Without thinking, Jason took one long drag, held the smoke in, and blew out a cloud, which scattered over their heads.
Miguel put the blunt down. Maybe it was my impression, but somehow it looked like he had managed to move even closer to Jason, their knees now practically touching.
The woman in the porn they were watching was now moaning loudly, while the noise of sweaty bodies slamming together dominated the room.
Jason’s breathing had quickened. I watched him as he swallowed hard and moved uneasily in his seat, then squeezed his dick over his shorts again.
And Miguel watched him too. Because then, he turned to Jason once again and with his effeminate, bitchy voice said: “You need help with this, baby?”
Before Jason could say anything, I watched in rapt horror as Miguel reached out and grabbed Jason’s cock. He squeezed.
Jason let out a startled moan. He looked at Miguel stunned, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open, his expression mirroring my own. And then Miguel started rubbing Jason’s dick, his small hand running the length of his big bulge, cupping his balls, squeezing hard, probing, like it was just a toy.
Jason kept looking at Miguel with the same shocked expression, mouth agape, speechless, but I was now beginning to hear something coming out of his lips. It was low and guttural, emerging from deep inside his body, but the harder Miguel played with this dick, the louder it got. He was moaning.
Miguel looked down on him, an ironic look on his face, his lips twisted in a big, triumphant smile.
“Wanna cum?” Miguel asked. There was something derisive in the way he said it, like he was taunting him. He tightened his grip around Jason’s hard dick and continued jerking him. Even though it was still inside his shorts, I could tell it was impossibly hard. It looked like it was about to explode.
In the silence that followed, I waited and I hoped that Jason would finally push him away, that he would get up and storm out. That he would tell him to fuck off or brush it all off like a bad joke. But none of that happened. Instead, faintly at first, then more and more surely, Jason nodded.
“Well, let’s get these off, then,” Miguel got up on his feet, grabbed Jordan’s loose shorts and yanked them off. Jason’s big dick landed heavy on his stomach, a pearl of precum already glistening at the top.
It felt like I had just been punched in the gut. It was the first time I was seeing Jason’s dick hard, and it was exactly as I imagined it, what people mean when they say ten inches. It was the long and beer-can-thick cock I had been fantasising about sucking, licking, worshipping. And right now it was throbbing.
Miguel put a hand on Jason’s shoulder and pushed him back on the couch. “Relax, baby. You’re gonna love this.”
Jason was now butt naked, sprawled on his couch, every inch of his ripped body on display and shiny from sweat, like some kind of doll, like an Action Man figure. He swallowed hard.
Miguel spread Jason’s legs and knelt in front of him.
I still couldn’t believe any of this was happening. How could Jason let him do this? What was he thinking? How could he -
And then Miguel started sucking Jason's cock. He sucked hungrily, greedily, wet noises coming out of his lips as he bobbed his head up and down, each time swallowing more and more of Jason’s shaft.
Jason moaned loudly. His eyes were wide open, watching as Miguel devoured his cock, spit and precum now running the length of his shaft and dripping down his smooth balls. There was something pathetic about the look on his face, his eyebrows arched, his mouth agape. He reminded me of the pleading look on the face of that male model in Miguel’s fashion magazine.
Miguel took one of Jason’s balls in his mouth and started sucking on it. And then the other one. Jason groaned, surprised, but didn’t do anything to stop Miguel from juggling his balls in his mouth like they were candy. Miguel let his balls fall out of his mouth with a wet pop.
“You like that, baby?” Miguel laughed, before grabbing Jason’s dick and jerking him off quickly and forcefully.
“Ahhhh - yeahhh,” Jason managed to say in between moans.
“You want me to make you cum?” Miguel said and ran his tongue over Jason’s piss slit. I saw a long string of precum stretching from Jason’s dick and disappearing inside Miguel’s mouth.
“Yeahhh,” Jason said again, though it sounded more like a groan.
“Yeah what, baby?”
“Wanna cum…,” Jason said weakly.
“Beg,” Miguel said.
“What?” Jason mumbled, confused.
“I said, beg,” Miguel said. It was the first time his voice sounded so harsh and commanding. Like his true self had risen to the surface. A total bitch.
Jason looked completely lost. His eyes glassy, drool pooling at the side of his mouth.
“Please,” he said finally.
Miguel grabbed Jason’s dick and started sucking on it, one hand jerking him off, the other squeezing his balls. It was wet and sloppy, and Jason lost it. A steady flow of moans came out of his mouth, and he just stared confused, mind-blown, as Miguel swallowed and sucked and spat on his dick like it was a toy. I’m pretty sure at some point I even saw Miguel scraping the tip of Jason’s cock with his teeth.
“Oh fuck,” Jason said.
“I know, baby,” Miguel said and stuffed his mouth with Jason’s dick.
“Oh fuck…I …,” Jason’s body tensed. I could tell that the base of his dick had gotten even bigger, if that was even physically possible, and the veins along the shaft were even more pronounced.
Miguel kept taking his cock in deeper, his mouth stretched impossibly wide to accommodate its insane girth. And despite the monster cock buried in his throat, not once did he break eye contact with the stunned Jason. Not even when the rest of Jason’s shaft disappeared inside Miguel’s mouth, his puffy lips now wrapped tightly around the base of his cock.
Jason’s entire body twitched. His toes curled.
“Fuck! Fuck! I’m gonna cuuum,” Jason shouted.
Miguel squeezed Jason’s balls and pulled them violently, stretching them, till they turned red.
“Ohhhh, fuuuuuck” Jason yelled, confused and in pain, and apparently incredibly turned on.
Suddenly, Miguel took Jason’s cock out of his mouth and aimed it at the jock’s handsome face. Before Jason could understand what was happening, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he started cumming. Thick ropes of white cum shot out of his cock, landing heavily all over his face, his hair, his nose, and - hell - even his half-open lips. He emptied his balls all over himself, his sculpted body completely glazed in his own cum.
“Good boy,” Miguel whispered and squeezed the tip of Jason’s cock, forcing one last drop of cum out of his piss slit. Jason shuddered. He lay there with his eyes closed, seemingly exhausted from his orgasm.
“My dumb straight boy,” Miguel said with a sickening gay voice, though I doubted Jason heard him, “get some rest”. “This is just the beginning,” Miguel added, and he giggled before flashing his sleazy grin at the camera. It might’ve been my impression, but I’m pretty sure he winked.
