Robert had never ingested anyone with clothing or jewelry for fear of this very thing; he had insisted Tommy strip down before getting in the water with him. That part was routine. Routine in a life that was nothing near normal.
A lull in the excruciating pain came. Taking full advantage of the momentary respite, Robert hurried to his room and dug out of hiding a huge
knackwurst and a square of plastic sheeting.
Tenderly, Robert reached a practiced hand to his crotch and felt around. The bracelet bulged through his flesh. The cuff was caught down there, clamping tender ducts. Only with himself expanded in lust and hunger could he cope. An ejaculation of the sort he was capable of would free it.
Doubled up as the bracelet shifted in his scrotum, Robert looked down at the bed. When he looked up again, the digital clock had advanced twenty minutes. He had not been aware of time passing. The need to hold on and stay lucid between pangs had played with his awareness.
Was there any way in hell he could inspire anything like an erection?
No, it was impossible.
Robert did the impossible.
The bending and straightening brought on more aches and pains, but he endured them. The knackwurst was shorter than his flaccid member, but just as thick. The idea that the length of sandwich meat looked like a giant medicine capsule was not lost on him. The deep hunger was difficult to spur artificially—-Robert’s system knew the difference between a living bolus and a dead one, but he had pulled off the phenomenon before and it had to work this time, it just had to.
No pair of hands in the world could have been trained to manipulate the titanic cockhead. Knowing this, Robert massaged the expanses of hot, yielding skin. Whether artful or clumsy, his fondling and stroking stimulated the partially-cleft glans into a throbbing beacon of lust. Robert’s clever fingertips slid into folds spacious enough to gulp air he hornily, playfully teased the slit. The skin features were so magnified, the meatus had actual lips, slack flesh that he could grip. Wider and wider he pried, exposing the pink lining to the cool air of his bedroom.
Male for all that, the long, giant lips were nearly vaginal in dimension.
The bulk of Robert’s organ grew heavy in his grip, threatening to pull away from his fingers and flop to the surface of the tarp that glistened on the bed.
The taut curtain of Robert’s belly muscles stretched, turning his generally horizontal navel into a vertical ellipse. All the while, beneath the neat carpet of his pubes, his bloated member burgeoned, taking on more tremendous mass, twitching in preparation, spewing globs of pre-cum in a splatter.
His spermy odor bloomed as he grew.
So potent, so full of juice. It was a dangerous partner to have.
Crammed with vital essence and roused into new life, his cock fought his grip, pushing out veins taking on a rich florid color for two feet of its length. Robert and his man-eating cock had reached the point where they were two separate but deliciously linked entities.
The penis seemed intent on reaching only a four foot length, but that was all right. Cold was bad for growth, and it was chilly in the house. The bubbling heat of the Jacuzzi was the best spur for the gargantuan size it could achieve when he yearned to eat something larger, livelier.
His balls didn’t grow evenly or rapidly. The effect of the trapped bracelet inhibited the process somehow. Strangled from the inside, his other digestive system sent out waves of unpleasantness into this belly. For a dreadful moment, the extended erection threatened to subside. Robert kneaded himself to new arousal.
Pain and pleasure nearly equal, Robert positioned the knackwurst lengthwise on the tarp with a free hand as long as he dared to spare it and braced himself, letting his monster feed.
With closed eyes, he felt its mighty tip search and stretch, encountering the big sausage. Reluctant at first, the failure of the initial swallow made him apprehensive. Inch by inch, the knackwurst was engulfed, much smaller in relation to Robert’s cock than it had been at first. With eyes batting and breath held, Robert watched the last of the knackwurst slip out of sight.
In a short, shrill bark of pain that rebounded off the bare walls, Robert felt his scrotum transform into a fully functional digestive organ.
He felt the sated feeling as the bolus entered there, forcing the walls outward.
The expansion of his scrotum forced his legs wider. Cool air wafted over his sweaty thighs. The night was colder than the previous one. More humid. Robert imagined he heard distant thunder.
Semen belched up soon after, but not the torrents he was praying for. Squirts of hot, pearly cum came down on the tarp in thin ribbons.
Congested, swollen, aching, the inner workings of his genitalia let Robert know that something was wrong, seriously wrong. He had force fed it, banking everything on an effect. An effect that had not paid off.
“Do it!” Robert’s legs gave up from under him and he reeled into the wall with a thump. The bulbous end of his outstretched organ remained on the tarp-covered bed, but just so. “Fuck! Come on, do it. DO IT! SHOOT IT OUT!”
Pinching, Skyboy’s bauble hooked and dug into one of the most sensitive areas within.
Drops of blood came.
Robert’s chest, heaving with the effort, dripped with sweat. He looked down at his pectoral muscles. His nipples, already raised from the chill, stood up bullet hard, rivaling a stripper’s.
The volcanic orgasm that was coming was going to be a killer, no matter what the amount he let go.
The dilemma of wanting to hold on, wanting to preserve the pleasurable soreness throughout his flesh kept him on the edge of release. His toes curled, digging into the rug.
It was going to happen.
He could feel it. His pelvic floor jumped like floorboards in an earthquake. His buttocks quivered. Robert gulped air, trying to stay conscious for when the climax arrived, stealing looks at his mammoth cock sprawled out before him and squeezing his eyes shut to erotic images that danced behind his eyelids.
All was still. As still and as black as the space behind stars.
Then, quarts of the hottest semen Robert could produce geysered up. Blasting out so fast as to be comical, the lodged bracelet tumbled out, trailing steamers of white fluid and hit the opposite wall with a furious ping, leaving a pit.
Vomiting on, his cock whipped and bucked, smearing what it had deposited on the tarp.
An hour later, shivering, dazed, his masculine equipment relaxed, Robert got to his feet and took the first few shaky efforts to clean up. He examined himself in the mirror, grinning at his nakedness. The gallons of semen clotting to a film on the tarp were a reminder that he was as resourceful as he imagined.
The memories of the envelope on the door came back to him. Reality had taken a back seat for a while. Too fast. It was all happening too fast.
But then, what could be normal to a boy like him? He shuffled back into his bedroom, his cock slapping on his legs.
He was amazed to see that another glow, a new one, cast a round spill of buttermilk yellow on the wall.
Skyboy’s bracelet. When would the blond hero realize what had happened? Would he return here and demand it? And would he show up alone?
I wont’ be here if he does, Robert thought, digging into the closet for a hidden backpack.
And I’ll have a surprise for anyone else.
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