Project William 8
by AKA
If you ever have the opportunity to do someone in the teacher's lounge, let me recommend that you take advantage of it.
We started on the couch. They had this leatherette thing, it was entirely cheap and Calvin Klein ad material. Tears had been repaired with electrical tape. The thing smelled of coffee and cigarettes. I could smell someone on it, some teacher had left behind his unique sex smell and even without him there, I could smell him. Brian had his own smell, it was sort of woodsy, mossy. Made me think of him as a tree, actually. It was weird what my body was doing, becoming attuned to guys that weren't even there one moment, turning all its attention to the hunk of fuck stud under me the next.
He was on his knees on that couch and I was coming in from behind, filling up his beautiful butt with my fat prick. I was going in quick and hard, like he liked it. I split his ass wide open, slamming him harder than I ever slammed anyone. I had reserves of power for this, I had muscles primed to deliver, built to thrust and thrust solid and full and fast. I fucked the hell out of that boy's ass and he cried from pain and pleasure and satisfaction. I folded my arms behind my head, my biceps bulging, and called him a fucking pansy ass, called him a faggot, called him a pussy little baby and then fucked him even harder. I climbed down over him and whispered in his ear, plugging
my foot-long monster all the way inside and promised him he'd feel me there forever, feel my big prick buried up his ass when he was sitting in algebra, feel my strength and power and the pain of my huge cock when he was walking to his car, when he was watching a movie, even if someone else was fucking his asshole he'd only feel me, only me, wherever he was he'd feel me, and remember me. And he nodded, and said yes, yes he would. Forever.
Then I made him suck my big dick and clean me off. I made him lick me and kiss me and take me in his mouth to taste his ass on my prick. Because that was what he wanted most of all, what he wanted more than anything from me. And I knew that, and I gave it to him.
And how was this conquest? Was it as good as William? Of course it couldn't be. Fucking William or being fucked by William was like experiencing your fantasies. The guy was a sex dream on two well- muscled and incredibly flexible legs. Who could compare with that? And since Larry had been upgraded, the boy knew his way around a dick like no one you ever met.
I'll bet that if you asked Brian, he'd say it was the best sex he ever had. I was spectacular -- for him. Because when I was with him, I was 100% with him. He became my focal point, my reason for being, my all and everything. No one else existed and I could feel what he wanted, know what he wanted, when I was with him. The rhythm, the power, the pressure, the release were all perfect for him. And while I was with him, he was perfect for me. The fuck was all. The fuck was everything.
And then bell rang, and as I stood there over him with his mouth on my dick, my gorgeous and perfect body slick with sweat and rank with the smell of our sex all over us, the hunky new gym teacher opened the door and stopped dead in his tracks.
I came in Brian's mouth and nearly choked him with my load. I pumped so hard and full it nearly came out his nose. "Hello," I said to Coach Landers without turning. I could feel the heat of the man's eyes on my smooth, round ass, crawling up my muscled back, across my shoulders. I could feel arousal coming off him like his own stink, and then I could smell him.
I could smell him. It was the smell off the couch. Not woodsy at all, but spicy and dark and masculine. The scent of experience and self- confidence. It came off him in waves, off his sweat-drenched gray T- shirt and his cotton shorts and the rank and straining jockstrap I knew instinctively he was wearing underneath. "Hello," he answered. "Am I interrupting something?" His voice was low and deep and smooth.
"As a matter of fact," I replied calmly, "you're just in time." I looked him up and down, and could feel his gaze warming my skin. "Shut the door."
Mr. Landers, or Coach Landers (let me make sure you understand that I played some baseball and football but I never thought of Mr. Landers as "Coach," because mostly what I wanted to do was fuck his sweet, firm ass and I didn't need any coaching where that was concerned) looked like some clean Marine, but you could see fag painted all over his macho exterior. He had this flat-top buzzcut and small, intense eyes and a mouth that almost always looked a second away from shouting. He wore a thick but trimmed mustache and his neck was almost as big as his head. When he smiled, which he rarely did, it looked like he was thinking of something extremely dirty. I mean, the man was one sexy motherfucker.
His body was tight and big. He didn't have a beer gut, but it would have fit right in on him. I had the feeling he wouldn't let himself have one, if that makes sense. The melons of his man tits hung full and firm behind his sweaty T, and the nipples poked against the material and pointed almost straight down. He wasn't as tall as I was, but he was big. Meaty arms hung out of his sleeves, and he had a thick coat of dark hair on them. His skin was dark and looked oily, almost shiny, under that fur. His legs were like tree trunks, fat with brawn, and more of that heavy fur all the way down.
He granted me one of his pornographic smiles as he scratched his chin. I watched his bicep twist and bulge. There was one thick vein winding over the head. The muscle balled up and showed off its fibers, thinning his dark skin so the vein sat there against the muscle in stark relief. He closed the door without turning, and it began to look like he was looking forward to a little private time in the room because his cock was straining the capabilities of his supporter to hold it inside. I thought about the heavy scent on the couch and realized that maybe this was a daily routine for him.
He got off on something about the room, just like I was. Maybe it was its cheap, porno furnishings. Maybe that he could be caught beating off in here, and that turned him on, too. But he and that couch were definitely bosom buddies. I thought about his naked butt sliding against the fake leather as he spat into his hand to juice up his warm prick, rubbing his thumb on the helmet, leaning back and closing his eyes as his jerked off, cumming all over his heavy, round tits with several deep, hard spurts.
"You're Jackson, right?" He glanced down at the guy with his mouth on my pump. "And Brian?" The smile was still on his lips. "You about done sucking his boner there, Brian?"
Brian pulled his lips off my piece and sat back on his haunches, suddenly scared and embarrassed. Me, I was getting hot and bothered by both the situation and the sight of the man, and the smell of him, the rank stink filling the room, the smell of his sweat and his sex. This was definitely not a fan of deoderant. Nope, he let the body do as it needed to, probably glorying in his own masculine perfume. I was staying hard, and my long dong was pulsing with my heartbeat and glistening with spit and cum. "He's done," I said.
"I think you boys better get your clothes on and get back to class." Those were the words that came out, but that smile was still on his lips, and he was staring at my rod. I had over twelve inches of hard, hot meat between my legs. My balls hung low and full. I had a body to die for and stood not three feet away from the guy, naked and perfect and hungry for him.
"Yes, sir," I said. I turned toward him, took two steps to him. "Whatever you say, sir." I stood next to him, taller than him but not wider, and reached around him to the back of the couch where my shorts hung. He was watching me like a predator, his small dark eyes glued to my body. I was afraid his eyes would dry out if he didn't blink soon. I was allowing my hard on to diminish, because I knew what he wanted, and this wasn't it.
Not yet, anyway.
"Get dressed, Brian," I instructed my slave. He dutifully rose to his feet (I missed watching his leg muscles bulge and flare -- Mr. Landry didn't miss a thing) and bent to retrieve his things. If he bent over to display his ass for Landry or me I wasn't sure. He seemed to be getting over his fear and was starting to enjoy the situation on his own. Pleasure was like electricity to me, I fed off it and could feel it grow.
I stepped into my shorts and pulled them up my body. They stuck to the sweat on my legs, growing dark and clinging to my skin as I pulled them up. I paused and looked into Landry's eyes as I folded my inches into the crotch and adjusted myself, then pulled the shorts up so they sat so low on my hips that most of my pubes showed and my huge prick, now limp but full and long, cradled into a fold. The cotton was soaked with my sweat and the material suctioned itself to me like a second skin. I could feel Landry's desire like a flood. Man, that dude wanted me so bad.
But he was getting more pleasure from the anticipation, from the holding back, from standing there so rigid and unmoving and watching me tease him mercilessly with all the weapons at my disposal. Brian was having less success looking sultry and sexy, pulling his clothes on sort of awkwardly and dashing from the room with nothing more than a short nod of thanks to me and a mumbled apology to the coach.
So then it was just me and him in the teacher's lounge. "I haven't seen you in class for a week, Jackson," he said.
"No, sir." My reply was soft and quiet. I almost whispered it.
"It doesn't appear that you've been sick."
I looked down at my improved body, something he surely could not avoid seeing either. I looked so much better than I had a week ago, so much bigger and stronger and healthier, I was almost a different man. I bent my arm and watched my own bicep swell. A thick ball of muscle flared under my gleaming skin. A lock of hair hung in front of my eyes when I looked into his again. "No sir."
He swallowed thickly. "Can I expect to be seeing you soon, then?"
I smiled. It held the same pornographic quality as his had done, because now I was on his wavelength and had become everything he dreamed of having, standing right there an inch away. "Yes sir." Then I took the initiative and leaned down and kissed him. I brushed my soft lips against his unyielding ones, wetting his lips with my spit, tasting his salty sweat, pushing my mouth against his and forcing his mouth open with my tongue. He didn't want this as much as he did. It was an exquisite torture for him, denying and accepting at the same time. His supporter sagged a little deeper as blood flooded into his prick. "Thank you sir," I said softly.
"You're welcome, Jackson," he rumbled. Then he grinned. Shit, that man had a filthy mind and it all came through in his smile.
I wondered how long it would be before he looked up my record and came knocking at my door.
------
I'd managed to fuck three guys and prick tease a teacher and it wasn't even noon. My body, which was built for pleasure, wasn't satisfied and I went looking for someone new to play with.
This was so much fucking fun, I can't even tell you. I felt free. I wanted to just strip naked and walk around and fuck dudes, have them fuck me, push their primed teenage bodies against the wall and shove my tongue in their mouth, suck their dicks dry, feel their tight, firm muscle and drive myself into their waiting buttholes.
As I walked down the halls, I realized that my senses were starting to grow more and more acute to the desires of the guys in each room I passed. They say men think about sex once every six minutes or something, but I guess when you're young and the hormones are flowing and you're stuck in school surrounded by physical beauty almost everywhere you look, that goes up to about six times a minute. I felt energized and fucking horny as hell.
I wanted to walk into Mrs. Jenkin's social studies class and pull Tom Maples out. What a fucking little hottie! Golden brown hair, deep brown eyes, the shadow of a beard on his cute little face. He was lean and mean and hard as iron. I looked through the little glass window at him seated inside there and it was like he could hear me calling his name. His eyes met mine and I wiggled my eyebrows -- he couldn't see anything but the upper half of my face, he had no fucking clue I was standing out there mostly naked with a body to die for, a wet dream body, a body lifted straight from a porn mag with sexual powers he could only imagine -- but he was out of that seat and telling that bitch he had to take a piss and out there in my arms in nothing flat. He sucked my nipples and kissed my chest and belly and pulled out my colossal cock and started to slurp me down his warm throat like a man possessed. And maybe he was.
He sucked me hard and licked my inches and I twisted him around and threw him against the wall. He was unbuckling his belt as I kissed the nape of his neck, shoving his Calvins and his Levi's off his hips as I licked his ear, and I shoved him over and plugged myself in and fucked his beautiful ass until he begged for mercy. I plunged in deeper and deeper, my full and hard prick ripping him wide until he came all over the lockers and his Nikes.
I sucked him clean, we kissed each other goodbye, I buckled him up, he arranged his hair and he went back to class.
I went to the boy's room because someone in there wanted me and found Mike Wong in the middle of taking a sad little piss. He was so fucking smart, that dude was scary smart. Knew fucking everything. He had a smooth, thin body with very small nipples. I used to watch him getting dressed, wondering whether a guy that smart made him a better lover.
I stood next to him at the urinals and took out the monster and let loose a torrent of hot yellow piss, because this was what he wanted to see. He wanted to see a big dude with a big dick pissing a hot stream so full and hard and hot that he could smell it, feel it, and hear it. My foot-long was thick and fat and I held it in both hands and stood back and pissed. He was in heaven. His own fantasy had just walked through the doors, whipped out his cock and started pissing a river. I said, "Strip," in my deepest tone. I kept pissing as he practically ripped his shirt off and dropped to his knees and I turned my hose on him, raining hot acid gold on his smooth, white skin, splattering against his chest until he was soaking in my piss. It dripped off him to the tile, down his belly, his pants were sopping. Then I stuck my dick in his mouth and he sucked me to orgasm and I creamed in his mouth and he drank every drop.
I was tucking myself back in as I left the bathroom when I literally bumped into Gary Newhart. Gary was in my science class, he sat two rows over nearer the front than me. Gary had long dirty blonde hair that hung to his shoulders. Gary had style, that's what stood out about him. The guy fucking wore leather pants to school. When he was born somebody splashed his body with cool. It dripped off him like my piss was dripping off Mike. He had clear blue eyes and a nose that had been broken in a fight he'd had when someone called him faggot. He beat the shit out of the guy and then said, "Now you can tell all your pussy boyfriends you got your ass whooped by a faggot!" Then he pushed his wealth of gold off his bloodied face, spit on the guy and walked away.
"I've been looking for you," he said. Gary and I weren't close friends, he was in the art crowd and I was a jock. He smoked not because it looked cool but because he was cool. I looked in his eyes and he looked down my body. My snake was lying inside my shorts, coiled and ready to strike. Gary had another smell entirely to him. He used some cologne, something sort of citrus, but I was now made to sort of smell past that and breathe in the essence of whoever I was with. I was cataloging these guys in my head. I was forming some fucking database of who they were, what they smelled like, what they wanted from me, what I could give them.
It was getting easier and easier. He came through in waves. "Damn," he said, putting his hand on my chest. His skin was soft and warm on mine. "How'd you get so fucking big?"
"Clean living," I growled, and sucked his tongue into my mouth. I cold feel his hand move down my body, feeling my muscles, glorying in the feel of me, my power and strength and beauty. I could feel his pleasure through his touch. He moved down my body, feeling the rippled contours of my abdominals, dug his fingers into the dark depth of my pubic hair, the curling softness erupting across my groin and then he was pushing his hand under those tight shorts (they had been feeling tighter and tighter all morning, riding up the crack of my ass, gripping onto my huge prick, making me extremely aware of my body as it moved, as I grew) and his hand was fondling me, his fingers curling under the thick shaft, burrowing into the moist heat of my groin in those shorts, in William's shorts.
He was a beauty whore. He wanted to drink in the male beauty of me, feel my size and strength and power. Feel how big I was, how my muscles bulged and flexed. I was the pictures he downloaded off the Web, but in the flesh. I was a dream to look at and feel, to worship and caress. I was those beautiful perfect air-brushed boys with the bulging chest and the bulging crotch, but I was here in his arms, here with him, living and breathing and wanted nothing but to please him.
For Gary it wasn't the fuck, it was the fantasy. It wasn't who I was, but how I looked. And I was beautiful. Perfect. Silky skin and bulging muscle. Piercing eyes and sculptured face. Not something to possess or love, but something to worship. His hands drank me in, his eyes memorized me.
But I knew that wouldn't be enough, that he'd want more. So my hands found his zipper and I undid his pants and reached inside and grabbed his cock. I pulled it out of his pants. His palm was coated with my precum, he had a slickness of my spicy scent on his hand and he put his hand on his throbbing cock and spread it on his helmet. He started to slowly stroke himself and I joined him, helped him, slid my grip on his hot cock along with his own hand, both of us part of his dream. I kissed his lips, kissed his mouth over and over, pumping him until he came a hot load over both our hands.
I wiped his cream on my broad, hard chest and he licked himself off. His tongue tickled my nipple to hardness, made them grow and swell with sexual energy. I didn't cum, but a lacquer of precum was soaking my shorts. I wanted to cum, but he didn't want me too. He wanted me like this. The picture of male perfection, a man of such awesome beauty and obvious strength and overwhelming sexuality that I am always erect, but never show it.
Look, it's not like I understood everyone's ultimate fantasy, I could just fulfill it.
He licked his load off my chest and hand and then watched my fine ass as I walked away. My shorts were now so small on me that the crack of my round and beautiful ass rose above the waistband. I owned two round moons that moved against each other as I walked. I think he came again before I turned the corner.
For the first time in a long time I was all alone. I looked down to see if what I felt was happening was physically happening, and it certainly looked like I had in fact grown even bigger in the few hours I'd been at school. The shorts were straining to hold my fat prick inside. My legs were bursting with power. My belly was so tightly muscled I could have grated cheese on it. My chest was like two globes of brawn, bulging with power. How big was I now? Why had I grown so much bigger so fast? Was this going to keep happening, or would I reach some ultimate size? Was this because all the guys I'd been with wanted me like this, and if I met some guy who wanted me smaller, would I become smaller?
The lunch bell rang. I was sure hungry, but not exactly for food. Still, I could feel the school population moving toward the cafeteria, and I could feel all the guys that wanted me moving there, too... including that strong pulse of Brett Summers that was pulling at me like a magnet to the steel of my dick. Even among all the other mingled feelings of desire and lust and need, entering my enhanced awareness like some spectrum of colors or musical blend of tones and melodies, I could feel him. That's what he was, a feeling. Something that went deeper and more profound than a sense.
I was wondering what would happen if I sauntered my super sexual self over that way when I heard my name being called and turned to see Larry running toward me down the hallway. The only way I knew it was Larry was by that voice, because the guy I saw coming in my direction looked like Larry Plus. Larry Version Two. Super Larry.
Like me, he was shirtless. His upper torso was fat with muscle. His chest muscles bounced, they had grown so large. I could see the heavy fibers of strength shift and settle as he jogged to me. The heavy tool between his leg was similarly shifting, swinging in the pouch of his shorts like eggs in a pocket. I imagine the head was rubbing itself against the... it looked like nylon... material giving him a little extra oomph with every stride. He had a broad, clean smile on his face and his pace and speed suggested that his muscles weren't just for looks.
He slowed to a stop and stood in front of me breathing a little hard. His smile stayed on his kissable lips and his eyes twinkled with some joy he held inside. His body glistened with sweat, which made me consider for a second that maybe that was why I thought he looked even bigger and better than he had about four hours ago. The sheen made the definition of his muscular size stand out even more starkly, but no, he was definitely bigger. His chest expanded with each breath, his abs swelling and contracting. He almost laughed at my astonishment and obvious lust. "Hey," he said. Then he kissed me hello, pressing his hot, slick skin against mine. Our prominent cocks met in another sort of kiss from behind their concealments. His felt hot and firm.
"Shit, Larry, look at you!"
"Look at me? Look at you! You're fucking bigger! What have you been... never mind."
I did laugh then. I asked, "Where's William?"
He shrugged. His shoulders were like mountains. "Said he had somewhere to go. Suggested I meet up with you and see... what's up." My eyebrow arched. It occurred to me it was exactly a week ago today that William had disappeared the first time, after our marathon fuck weekend. I started to say just that but Larry said, "So, what's it been like?"
I hung my arm across his shoulder. Damn, the boy was hot. And I mean to the touch. "Damn, why are you so hot?"
"Clean living," he said. Now, where had I heard that before?
"No, I mean hot hot. You're all sweaty."
"Oh. I ran here."
"From my place?" He nodded proudly. "That's like ten miles!"
"Something like that."
"You ran all the way?"
"Full out, baby. Made it here in 35 minutes."
"God damn! That's better than a four-minute mile!"
"William said I'd be amazed at what my body will do now." He put his hand to his chest. "My heartbeat's already back to normal."
"And you're breathing regular already." I felt giddy thinking about that power and speed, and that I had it, too.
"But enough about how amazing I am, tell me about your morning."
"Let's see.... I fucked two guys from the parking lot when I got here. I fucked Brian in the teacher's lounge..."
"Shut the fuck up!"
I nodded proudly. "Then Mr. Landry walks in..."
"You fucked Landry? What was he like?"
"Stop interrupting for a fucking second and I'll tell you." He grinned and kept his mouth shut. Damn, he was cute. "Landry and I have a date for later. Keep your mouth shut, dude. He was hot for my bod, true enough, but he was into something else. He likes the anticipation or something, likes to deny himself. What the fuck do I know, I just do what I'm told. Sort of. Whatever. Oh! Brian's into domination."
"Big fucking surprise, the guy's a big, brawny top if ever I saw one."
"No, bro. I dominated him. Liked to be called names and fucked hard. Fucked him up the ass and made him lick me clean. Uh, then I called Tom Maples out of class and we had a quickie up against the wall. He came all over the lockers. Pretty impressive load. Then I felt like going to the men's room and found out it was because Mike Wong -- that smart Asian dude? Lean little body? Tiny ass? He needed a golden shower from a muscular fucker with a big cock and I was happy to oblige. He gave me a blow job and as I was tucking myself in on the way out of the john up comes Gary Newhart in his fucking leather pants for a little muscle worship and mutual hand jobbing. He came on my hand, I wipe in on my chest, he licks it off. Dude knows his way around a nipple, you might want to remember that. I just finished up with him and was going off to the cafeteria when your fine ass came running out of nowhere." I looked him up and down. "And damn if I don't want to fuck you raw."
He smiled. "My, what a full schedule."
"Oh, there was this weird thing with Brett Summers."
"The fucking football captain gorgeous face beautiful body let me just kiss that perfect ass Brett Summers?" I nodded, and winked. "You're shitting me."
"I shit you not."
"You fucked Brett Summers?"
"No. But..."
"Shit, getting me all excited over nothing."
"Shut up and listen! I was standing in the hallway and getting this great feeling like..."
"Gentlemen!" And I didn't even smell him coming. But now that he was standing behind us, I realized that the feeling I was feeling wasn't just a memory of earlier in the hall, it was Landry's eyes scanning my body with that feeling of need in every glance. "May I ask what you two are doing?"
Larry looked over to me and smiled. He could feel it, too. I wiggled my brow and said, "Waiting for you, sir." Larry's eyebrows simply rose, to accompany the smile on his lips. We both turned around. I knew why I was standing at attention, chest out, shoulders back, feet wide, arms at my side. It wasn't a surprise that Larry was, too. We were both instantly there for Coach Landry's pleasure. That was what we were. We glowed under his scrutiny. He was looking at two of the most beautiful, most powerful, most sexual young men walking the planet. We were growing bigger and better while he looked at us. We were becoming his fantasy. I could feel my dick swelling.