Augmentations 2
by AKA
As I drove us to my home through the dark, wet night, I couldn’t help but think about how quickly things change when change is forced.
My car was powered by a hydrogen cell, and emitted only water vapor into the atmosphere. “They’ll never make them work,” it was said, only a few years ago. But then it became clear that there was no other choice, and miraculously now everyone drives a hydrogen car because everyone has to.
“Prostitution will never be legalized.” Until the economy collapsed and the governments needed cash to upgrade the infrastructure, so of course they turned to sex and drugs, legalizing and taxing it all. Now I go to the corner coffee shop and pick up a bag of weed, and go online to peruse the sex partners available on a nightly basis. All fully licensed, all fully legal.
New miracles were occurring all the time. Scientific, economic, mechanical, technical, pharmaceutical.
It’s amazing how quickly things change when there’s no other choice.
I thought about all that for a while as I sat in the left-hand seat and let my car find its way home. Magnetic channels embedded in the road surface were guiding the vehicle to my appointed destination. My eyes were closed and the machine’s soft hum was lulling my alcohol-hazed brain to a state of relaxation.
My sex partner sat next to me, his hand on my crotch, his expert touch massaging and petting and caressing my happy cock, pulled free from my jeans in the dark interior. He leaned down to kiss and lick me, and pried my balls free and sucked one and then the other inside his warm, wet mouth. I prayed we wouldn’t hit a bump, before I remembered that the hydraulics would compensate.
I moaned, deep and satisfying, as he pulled me to the edge of ejaculation before pulling away, seeming to sense my feelings before I felt them myself. Probably one of his augmentations. Or was that considered an amplification? Perhaps we all had his innate powers of psychic awareness and just didn’t know it. Or maybe it was too late for me, and it was something they had to do in the womb.
I really couldn’t have cared less. God, he was good. His hands and his mouth were working in concert to deliver waves of quicksilver tingles that throbbed all along my inches. My balls were wet with his spit and warmed by his breath. He held me in his hand and gently, slowly caressed me. My dick surged and bobbed with grateful glee.
“Fuck, that feels good.”
I felt his face near mine and he whispered into my ear. “You taste so good.”
I smiled, keeping my eyes closed. “Help yourself to more,” I offered.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, and a moment later his mouth was on my prick, his tongue wrapping around the shaft and head, and his hand pleasuring me like no one ever had before.
I didn’t even know his name. Not that it mattered. I could call him whatever I wanted to, and he would answer. He would do what I wished of him, gratefully and eagerly, and only want to do more. I set my hand on the back of his head. His hair was soft and fine, a full rich mane of midnight waves. It bobbed up and down as he sucked on my prick. The sound of his slurping and sucking filled the cabin, accompanied only by the swish of the windscreen wipers and the steady tap of rain on the glass roof.
“Two minutes,” my car said in her gentle feminine tone. We were arriving home momentarily, and I opened my eyes and said, “Almost home.” I was looking across his broad and muscular back, watching the bulges of brawn twist and flex as he moved.
His head lifted from my groin and placed his lips on mine and kissed me soundly. “I hope you have a strong bedframe,” he said. “Because I’m going to fuck you hard enough to break it.”
I laughed gently at the joke, but looking into his eyes it almost seemed as if he was serious. “Maybe we’ll use the kitchen table instead,” I suggested. “Or the floor.”
“Or all three.” He kissed my mouth again, eagerly and with passion.
“Arriving,” my car told us, and we turned up the circular drive and slowed to a halt. The doors swung upward on their pivots and the smell of rain, earthy and clean, entered the car.
“Should I put my clothes on?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “Never.” But I tucked my own hard-on back into my pants before climbing from the cabin. He was already standing beside the car in his naked glory as the rain fell on his skin and made his tall, muscled frame glisten like dark copper. He was smiling and seemed to enjoy the sensation of rain on his body. It made him look slick and radiant, and his cock was still at attention as I had requested, standing thick and majestic from between his powerful legs. He was slowly stroking himself as he looked at me, and I knew that I was still the reason for his arousal.
“You have a nice home,” he said. But his eyes were glued on my face, worshipfully.
“Thank you,” I responded. My dick hurt. My balls were full. His continual manipulation of my privates had made me painfully aroused and made them almost impossible to calm. The rain was plastering my clothes against my skin, but I still felt warm and decidedly horny. Looking at him helped, of course.
I circled the sedan as the doors closed themselves and walked toward the entryway. The lights came on at our approach, and the house recognized me and unlocked the front door. He followed a couple of steps behind me, and as I entered my place his arms surrounded my body and his lips were on my neck. He pressed his muscular form against mine and for the first time I could feel how hard he was, but also how alive all the muscle felt beneath his wet skin. His hand was making its way down my belly toward my crotch, again, and his fingers worked their way under my waistband and plunged hungrily for my erection. I was still rock-hard, and so was he.
“Fuck, I need you so bad,” he whispered. Then he licked my ear and sucked my lobe into his mouth, playfully biting. “I want to fuck you.”
The thought of that huge tool pushing itself into my little hole made me cringe, but at the same time I was wildly excited by the idea. “You’re so big,” I said, leaning my head back onto his shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll take care of you.”
What that meant, exactly, I didn’t know. Was it a promise or advice? Could he use his wealth of talents to somehow make me accommodate his girth? Could he make his colossus magically conform to my asshole? Or did he have something else in mind?
“Dim,” I told my house, “fifty percent,” and the lights obeyed. He was stripping me from my clothes, the nimble fingers of one hand managing to unbutton my shirt as his other hand continued its manipulations of my cock. He was kissing my neck, and I could feel the rain that had gathered in his thick, dark mane drain down my back and soak into my shirt. His prick was pressing against my spine, and it felt hot and hard like a steel rod fresh from some smoking forge.
He extracted his hand from my happy hard-on and pulled the sodden shirt from my body. Dropping it to the marble foyer floor with a wet slap, he circled around me, keeping his hands on my body, and then stood before me, a head taller than me, and looked at my body. “Fuck,” he said deeply, and moved his fingertips across my chest and belly. “You’re beautiful,” he said.
I had the decency to blush for him, since the man standing naked before me was certainly more beautiful than any other man, let alone me. He pressed himself toward me, his enormous prick like a hot glass tube between us, and bent his lips to mine and kissed me again. His tongue pushed playfully into my mouth and I opened to allow him entry, wrestling for domination of the space and happily yielding dominion to his more talented appendage.
I wanted suddenly to taste his cock again, and realized that it was because his mouth tasted like his prick. He tasted good. Salty, perfumed like spice, and funky like a man should taste. Was that designed into him, too?
I swooned. I couldn’t help myself. I very nearly passed out from the sheer magical and overwhelming passion and sexual heat in that moment. He caught me in his powerful embrace and crushed me against his body. The kiss lingered and then he pulled away and scooped me into his arms as if I needed saving, and maybe I did.
“Bedroom,” he said, “or kitchen table?”
I laughed slightly and managed to recover myself. “Bedroom,” I instructed, and nodded toward the door to my lair.
I was not a small man by any stretch. I worked out with a religious fervor. I took the supplements that added inches to my arms and chest. I had a right to be proud of my body, though it paled in comparison to his. I weighed 200 pounds, easy, and he was carrying me as if I weighed nothing. Here, again, his dominance of the situation was made manifest, and the thought of his power made my libido jump. There was no doubt that he was going to fuck the living daylights out of my well-trained and insatiable ass. My hole tingled with anticipation. I wanted him to fill me up. I wanted to feel him slamming into me, driving his massive tool deep into my guts and coming his multiple blasts of cum until it was flooding out of me.
“Nice,” he said, upon encountering my bed. I had it custom-made, larger than a California King and sturdy enough for augments. As I think I mentioned, I’d had bigger men than him. Much bigger, in fact, but none so… beautiful. It was piled with pillows at one end, artfully arranged by my cleaning staff and fully plumped, like he was. The sheets were some absurd thread count, but not so high that they felt like satin. I couldn’t abide that nonsense, and I like the feel of cotton against my skin.
I thought he was going to set me down, but I found myself suddenly lifted up and physically thrown onto the bed. I gasped and bounced and landed on my back, somewhere near the center of the mattress. “What…?”
“Just testing,” he said. “It does seem sturdy. That’s good.” His cock was throbbing and now it was drooling again, as if he’d turned some inner spigot and started the flow of precum from his nozzle. “We’re going to need that.” His deep, masculine voice sounded majestic echoing off the vaulted ceiling. He was still slick with rain and his skin was a ruddy bronze. It seemed like the crevasses formed by the wedges of muscle were a deeper mahogany, but perhaps it was just the depth of his definition and the room’s lighting.
His face was incredibly handsome. I had thought, in the darkened bar, that his features were a tad soft, bordering on a kind of beauty that was almost feminine. But now, here, he looked nothing but powerfully male, with a strong jawline and a dark dusting of whiskers enhancing the lines of his face. His lips were so full, and I flashed on them applied to my hard-on in the car, and the feeling of them pressed against my prick and their softness as they slid up and down.
I scanned his body and it made my heart beat harder in my chest, as if it wanted to escape. The most prominent feature was still that huge dick of his, hard and red and fully engorged, ready to push its way inside any hole it wanted to. Even with the size of his body and his awesome muscular development, it was his enormous cock, long and thick and encircled with veins, that screamed of the level of his strength and power.
I swallowed hard, looking at it pointing at me, as if it were hungry to get started ripping me open. “I’m not sure…”
He grinned and folded his powerful arms across his bulging chest. The two heavy globes of his pectoral shelf gathered toward each other and created an inches-deep fold between the muscle. “Scared?”
Who wouldn’t be? “Admittedly, yes.” I leaned up onto my elbows and tilted my head as I considered his incredible phallus. “I’ve had my share of big men, but you’re…”
“Something special,” he said, finishing my thought. “I know, but like I said, I’ll take care of you.” He stepped closer, and his prick seemed to magnify to even larger extents. “I’m very well equipped.”
“That goes without saying.”
He laughed gently. “I meant… here, let me give you an example.”
Nothing about him changed, to my eye. His stature was as impressive, his demeanor as dominating, his face as handsome. He did not close his eyes or furrow his brow or make any physical indication that he was doing anything at all, but I felt a strong and sudden urge to be fucked by him. That is the only way to describe it. I wanted it very badly. The fear was gone. The trepidation and doubt vanished. I knew that nothing else would satisfy me except to feel the man before me fucking my ass as hard as he could, driving himself and his amazing, glorious, beautiful and perfect cock deep into me. I could imagine nothing that would feel as good, or satisfy as deeply, or fulfill my desires and bring me to a state of bliss only gods could know.
I started to speak. I wanted to beg him to fuck me. I wanted him to rip my jeans open and expose my asshole and slick up his monster and push himself - every thick and overwhelming inch of himself - up my bum. And fuck like a V12 internal combustion engine until I creamed so hard I went blind.
And then it was gone. The feelings, the desire, the need, all vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. And then I did speak, and I asked him, “What did you do?”
His arms still folded across his chest, he shrugged the mountain range that pretended to be his shoulders and said, “Merely a suggestion.”
“A suggestion?”
“And not a particularly strong one. You already wanted it, I just… help you to realize it.” He blinked slowly as if considering something, and added, “You’re quite passionate.”
“Is that unusual?”
“It’s… surprising.” His smile was both pleasant and dirty. “May I try something?”
“Something like what just happened?”
He nodded. “Variation on a theme, so to speak.” Did I trust him? Did he need to ask if he could intrude so intimately? How deep could he go? He seemed to realize my doubts and he said, “You can trust me, I’m incapable of making you do anything you don’t want to do.”
“But those feelings…”
He let his arms drop, using his delicate but powerful hands to help his words. “I can only amplify the emotions you already feel. I can’t… insert anything. Your mind is your own. Think of it like a food.”
“My brain is like food?”
“Your mind. For example, a Porterhouse steak is a Porterhouse steak. But if one adds spices to it, salt or pepper, if one grills it in a certain way, it’s still steak, but isn’t it more than that? You recognize it as the same thing, but now it is more… delicious.”
I wasn’t sure that I liked having my brain compared to meat, but considering the cost of an ounce of beef I thought he was being generous. “I think I understand.”
“You do,” he said. Could he read me so easily? Did he always know what I was thinking? “And all I am doing is turning up the volume. Pumping up the flavor. Making you feel what you already feel, but adding my own… spices.”
I considered what he was saying and asked, “Does it hurt?”
He smiled. “Only if that would also bring you pleasure.”
Wow. He really did know me. “Let’s keep things a little vanilla before we start adding in the chocolate syrup and sprinkles.”
“I would love to be covered in chocolate,” he said, “and feel you licking it off every inch of me.”
My cock jerked, and this time I knew it was all me. “Or vice versa.”
“You’d like that?”
I nodded. “I don’t suppose your tongue has been enhanced, too?”
His right eyebrow arched and his smile was lecherous. “As I said, I got the works.”
My cock twitched again. “We have all night.”
“And the clock is ticking.”
“All right. Do… whatever it is you’re proposing.”
“Thank you,” he responded.
Have you ever done heroin? Not the legal variant they market on the shelves, I mean the kind you used to go to prison for. Or Vicadin? Some form of opiate, at any rate, whether you smoke it or shoot it or pour it into your morning caffeine. I ask this not for prurient reasons or to set the constabulary on you, but for comparison’s sake.
An opiate, for me, sends this sort of cascade of pleasure through my body. That’s the best way to describe it. I can even feel it coming, like the rush of water over a dam. Then it’s there, and it floods every particle of my being and I feel relaxed, but more than that, as if I have been dunked inside a pool of perfect bliss.
That is the kind of thing I suddenly felt. He had unlocked something in me and everything suddenly felt very, very good. It wasn’t a dramatic or jolting change, but it was certainly noticeable. If I didn’t know it was his doing, I’d have thought someone had slipped something to me in the very air I was breathing.
And then I noticed that my cock felt very, very hard. More than that, it felt very, very good. I closed my eyes and sank into this sensation. My cock felt huge and powerful. It felt thick and fat and heavy. It throbbed with pleasure and tingled with sex and surged with masculine power. It was the center of my being, physically and otherwise, the essence of me, and it was glowing and growing and heating up.
I heard him make a noise, something feral and wordless. I felt his hands on my belt buckle. I felt him opening the fly of my jeans. I felt him moving his soft, strong hand along the swollen inches of my mammoth prick. I felt his breath, moist and warm, coating the slick, tight skin that stretched over my hugeness. I felt his lips pressed to the blossoming helmet, and felt his mouth surround and suck it inside. I felt his tongue slurping wetly against the gaping mouth of my incredibly huge, unnaturally hard, overwhelmingly sensitive cock head.
I could smell him. He smelled like power. He smelled like balls. He smelled like ass. He smelled like sweat. He smelled like sex. He smelled like raw, overwhelming, cock-hard, ball-filled masculine power. His scent filled my head with the sensation of sex. I felt his mouth, his lips, his tongue moving up my body. I felt his hand gripping my dick, stroking it, rubbing it, teasing it. I felt a surge of precum erupt up the thick inches of my powerful prick and flow across its head, coating it in a warm, wet, slick of honey. He spread my warm release of male purity around the glossy, fat bulb. He pulled my nipple between his teeth and nibbled on the rubbery nub, making it grow thick and hard. He licked my chest, he licked my neck, he kissed my chin, my cheek, my lips. He crawled atop me, all the immeasurable power and size and heaviness of his incredible body pressing down on mine. I could feel his cock, his powerful hard hot cock, pressed between us.
And he kissed me and kissed me. Hands everywhere. The feeling of opiate bliss cascading across every sensation. He was my new favorite drug, and I was an addict for him.
“Please,” I managed to say, between his ministrations to my mouth, “please fuck me.”
“Yes,” he answered.
He moved back down my body. My cock grew painful, it was so engorged with blood and desire. My balls felt heavy and ponderous. Every inch of my enormous prick tingled and throbbed with sexual power. I gasped when I felt him lift my legs. My knees bent and he pushed them over his shoulders. His hands explored my ass. My cock surged another fresh flow of precum. It poured hotly over my belly.
He ripped my jeans open. With his bare hand, and a suddenness that nearly shocked me back from the blissful state he had placed me in, he tore the ass of my pants apart to get at my ripe, rosy asshole.
The air struck my wet, hungry hole and cooled its heat momentarily, then his mouth and his tongue were there and I was hotter and wetter than before. His tongue pushed inside like some enormous prehensile dick. It shoved and grew and shrank, its wet heat mingling with mine and lubing my tight tunnel for the penetration of his own hugeness.
I heard his eager and enthusiastic oral attentions and felt so, so good as he ate my ass. Here, too, he was an expert. I reached down and stroked my prick as he licked and slurped at my asshole, then my body was lifted up, higher, and I knew what was coming next.
A fresh, heavy dose of him, of his mental or psychic talents, washed over me in preparation for the introduction of his cock. Something enormous, something firm and hot, like a plum or a fist, pushed against me. I could feel him knocking, feel him position the arrow of his monstrous shaft at my backdoor and I tensed involuntarily, but he sent another, stronger wave of bliss into my head and I wanted him inside.
“Please,” I begged. “Please, fuck me.” I bit my lip and arched my neck and my whole body was open for him.
Then he pushed inside, roughly and all at once, plunging every fat inch of himself deep, deep into me. My body shifted from the power and force of him. I could feel him inside, the welcome intrusion of his massive cock, bigger than any cock in the world, bigger even than my own enormity. He pushed in and remained there, seated inside like he belonged there, like he owned it, and me.
Then, with aching slowness, he started to withdraw, and I wanted him back inside. I could feel the flaring ridge of his helmet moving out of me. I felt an emptiness where he had been. I wanted him back inside.
Then, again, roughly and all at once, he fucked his way into my ass again. “You feel so good,” he said softly, his deep voice soaked with desire. “Aw, fuck, you feel so good.”
“Fuck me,” I pleaded. “Fuck me hard.”
And he did. He started to pivot his hips to an increasing tempo until my body was being shoved across my huge bed like a ragdoll. Fuck, he felt so good. Was he getting bigger with every thrust? Was I cumming? Was he? It was a blur of passion and bliss. Whatever he was doing, to my head and my ass, the concert was a masterpiece.
I had never been fucked so well or so long in my life. Was he extending time, or contracting it? I groaned and screamed and came all over my own chest. He said, through gritted teeth, “I’m gonna cum. Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
I wanted this, too. I wanted to feel those floodgates open again and feel the hot, thick wetness intrude my guts. I wanted him to cum so hard that his cum came out of my dick. “Fuck,” I said. “cum.”
I could feel his thrusts turn wet and slick. I could feel his streams inside me like fountains of fire. I came with him, bring our fuck concerto to a mutual crescendo, by aching balls emptying themselves by pushing my load up the hard inches of my amazing prick and splattering all over me. I came on my belly and chest and neck and face. I could hear the sloppy, slick sounds of him forcefully fucking his way through the river of his sticky cream.
It was everything.
It was perfect.
He roared as he came, this time. Maybe he sensed that I wanted him to. I wanted an animal to fuck me. I wanted a beast inside, and he came and roared and exploded within me. Fuck, it was amazing.
And when it was over, and he was on the bed beside me, and I watched his chest rising and falling as he gasped for breath, and his cobblestone abdomen swelled and receded, and his cock, that beautiful, amazing, enormous shank of sex made flesh, beat a steady rhythm as it lay, still rigid, between the defined muscles that lined his belly. It was gleaming with the wealth of his ejaculation. A pool of his cream formed within the deep definitions between his muscles, draining off his erection. He wasn’t cumming, it was merely that he had cum so much that it coated his prick in a thick, glistening glaze.
I was covered in my own cum. It seemed that I would never have any more, I had cum so fully. The room smelled of it, and of him, and of our sex. I could still feel him inside me, like some amputated limb I would forever miss, as well as the absence of him like a vast emptiness only he could fill.
“Fuck,” I said. “I don’t think it can get better than that.”
His muscled arm rose off the bed and fell across my body with a loud slap. I was reminded again of his size, his strength, and his power. “Don’t bet on it,” he said before laughing deep and true and making the whole bed shake. It was a sound I could grow to love. Then he said, “Shower?”
I could still hear the downpour outside. The evening’s rain was growing in power. The storm was fast approaching. “I have a better idea.”
He leaned up and looked at me as I turned to look at him. God, his face - so handsome. His beard looked darker now, as if fucking me had increased his masculinity. He smiled and narrowed his eyes. “Outside?”
“Do you mind?”
He shook his head. “As a matter of fact, I prefer it.” He bit his bottom lip, looking very young for a moment, and then said, “I have something I want to show you.”
“You mean I haven’t seen all of you, yet?”
His smile was downright filthy. “Not by a mile.”