Big Richard

[greedycigarson]

This is not my normal kind of scene, and it is not quite muscle growth either. But I don't know where better to post it (other than perhaps CYOC). It's definitely strongly inspired by other work-- I cannot recall the names or where I saw it (I bet O' can shed some light) but there's another story with a similar main character... Apologies to them.

And I'm not sure it'll be very sexy? But it has always seemed that way when writing, rather than reading.

It came to me last night as I tried to get to sleep.. and again this morning as I woke up. Never posted a story before. Please be gentle.

Big Richard

"And this is Richard's room, our newest patient at the facility," said Dr. Gilroy. His voice was suddenly hesitant. "He'll be your assignment while you get acclimated."

"Yes sir!" I answered. I was eager to get to work, to get started at this place. The job was too good to be true. $3800 weekly with no hard labor and no experience required. I was still a little unsure about the title, "Patient Companion," but as long as Gilroy wasn't worried about it, I was determined not to be, either.

There was a lull in our conversation that I was only becoming aware of. He had raised his hand to a curtain hung across the window of the room he'd brought me to. It was very strange to see a curtain on the outside, not for privacy but to hide the occupant. Still, he hesitated.

Once I was sufficiently uncomfortable, he finally said, "Before you see this, I'd like to remind you that you have committed to complete non-disclosure of anything you see here, particularly our patients'.. conditions. This may be a little shocking to see, but I assure you, this is as real as you and I."

I nodded silently, the nervousness suddenly at the forefront. How sick was this person going to be?

He nodded back, steeled himself, and pulled back the curtain. "This is Richard."

While this hapened in a mere second, I can remember it still as though it were in slow motion, and I was watching it in third person: I didn't see Richard. What I saw wasn't human, although it was. But, intent on finding the person inside, what I saw didn't register at first, my eyes expecting a person in the normal shape, arms, legs, head. There was a moment of confusion, and then a moment of revulsion, and then just...

Stunned.

A long table, converted into a sort of bed, lie in the center of the room. Though it was adjustable in height, judging from the knobs and levers, it was currently only a couple feet off the ground. Richard (the name was a horrible pun, I would later complain, but nobody would listen) was resting on this table. He was uncovered. He was naked, though the word suddenly seemed to lack definition.

His testicles were large. I estimated about two and a half feet across each, not like bean bag chairs, but together, in their sack, probably about the size of a lumpy one. A fuzzy coating of short, thin, pale brown hairs covered the gargantuan sack. I realized that short was only in comparison, in scale to the mammoth himself; objectively, the hairs were about a half inch long.

The balls rested in their pouch at the foot of the bed. I wondered vaguely if it would be more comfortable to let them hang off the edge, but considered that the weight of them might be prohibitive.

The sack stretched up and over his shaft, which presently was soft, or at least mostly soft. The skin was stretched taut at the point where it attached, confirmation that his junk had weight to be reckoned with.

The shaft was about a foot and a half wide, and managed to be the size of furniture while still looking somewhat small compared to the monsters below it. It rested on its back, sretching upward about half the remaining length of the eight foot long bed. (By its back, I mean its top.. or what I would consider the top side of my own.)

It pulsed. Importantly, this shook me from my daze of measurement, and brought home the single fact that made 'Richard' more than just severely overendowed.

There was no Richard. There were no legs, arms, hands. No chest. No head. He was nothing more than genitals.

How the fuck? How did he eat? How did he breathe? Did he breathe? He pulsed every second or so, apparently to a heartbeat, but I couldn't imagine where a heart big enough could be.

I staggered a couple feet back. Richard's visage had inspired questions, but rendered me speechless at the same time.

Gilroy spoke, "You're taking it better than most." I wheezed out a syllable, gesturing wildly at the window: "How?"

Gilroy chuckled. His nervousness had evaporated. He seemed more comfortable now that the deed was done. "We don't know," he replied. "That's why he's here."

I had resumed staring at the beast behind the glass, mesmerized. My own equipment twitched briefly, but was perhaps too intimidated to really come out to play.

"Harry will be making his rounds here any minute now. He'll.. introduce you, and show you your duties. I'll just let you get adjusted," offered the doctor. I nodded numbly, but he had already begun his retreat.

I stared. I couldn't wrap my head around it. Nor my hand. Nor one arm.

I was revived from my reverie by a younger man, early to mid twenties. He was introducing himself. Harry.

"And this is your access badge, make sure you don't lose it, there's spots in this building you can't get out of without it. You're gay?"

I blinked, suddenly snapping to attention. "Uh," I began, but he interrupted me quickly. "Of course you are. They don't hire anything else to work with Richard. He turned and walked to the door, unlocking it with his card. I was still standing where the doctor had left me, with my new badge in my hand.

He turned and ordered with a smile, "Get over here, you need to meet him." He pulled the door open and entered, I followed close behind, my heart thumping.

"Good morning Richard," Harry announced to the room.

Suddenly finding my voice, I asked, "Can he hear you?"

Harry had moved to the sink in the corner of the room and was washing his hands. "Yes, he can hear us. When he's awake that is. He's sleeping now, as if you couldn't tell." Harry chuckled.

I approached the giant cock slowly, tentatively. Harry chided me, "He's not any more dangerous than yours. Also, he can't see you. No eyes."

Chastened, I slunk over to his side and looked at him. Despite my initial fixation, there really was not a lot to Richard. Balls, ballsack, shaft. There was a head, I was sure, but it was currently nestled within the wrinkly folds of his sheath.

Harry had been doing something with a large, rectangular bucket, about half a foot tall. It was about half filled with what looked like water, but smelled..

"It's mostly sugar water, with some additives for protein and other junk. Made from a powder," he said, correctly interpreting my expression. "He's lucky we'd figured it out before he starved.

I looked at Harry questioningly. "He eats?"

"Sort of. He absorbs." Harry had set the bucket at the foot of the table, below Richard's balls. As I watched, suddenly bemused, he wrapped his arms around Richard's.. midsection? ..and lifted/rolled his sack off the table and into the bucket with a small splash.

"He eats eight times a day," Harry explained, wiping his hands clean. The stuff can be sticky when it dries, so try not to spill it all over, it's really a mess to clean up."

"When does he, uh..." I made a gesture.

Harry answered plainly. "Piss? Once every week or two, but it's never much, real easy to deal with."

I blinked. "Every week or two? But he's drinking, er eating, every--"

Harry interrupted me, "Ah, he's done." To my surprise, it was true. The bucket had only a thin sheen of water remaining, the rest apparently absorbed soundlessly.

"That's fast," I murmured. I had been expecting something more like a plant, for some reason, but I didn't say as much.

"That's about normal. I'd call him a glutton, but he only eats when he's sleeping, so I don't think it's really on purpose." Harry had bent over to grip the bucket. "Alright, pull him back up onto the bed," he said.

Called into action, I bent over and, tenderly, carefully, put one arm under Richard's midsection. I lifted, but couldn't get any purchase, the flesh of the sack sliding off my own. "From the shaft," Harry called, and I repositioned myself. This time I used two arms, and I had to dig a bit to get fully under him. I lifted and slid him up the table, his sack stretching over the edge. With an audible sound, his testes were pulled over onto the bed, and the rest of his sack crawled up to follow.

"Great job," congratulated Harry, as he returned the bucket to the sink. As my gaze followed, I began to notice that the room was, well, rather well equipped for a giant penis.

It's not that I'm usually unobservant. It's just that I had a lot to observe.

The sink was part of a very small, compact kitchen. there was a stainless steel fridge and a microwave, and even what might be a dishwasher. There were chairs and a sofa facing the far wall, and a small television.

Odd for a man with no eyes.

Harry had gone to the front wall, the one with the long window that I had first seen Richard through, and pulled blinds across it. "It looks like he's waking up," he said over his shoulder to me, as he moved about the room, straightening up.

I turned to look at Richard, whose head, larger than mine, was beginning to peek out of his sheath. He'd grown wider and longer in the few moments since I'd last looked, the shaft now about five feet long and closer to two across.

"He's growing," I gawked, narrating the obvious.

"Yup," said Harry, standing at my side. "He's a growing boy. Three inches so far this month." He reached a hand out and patted Richard affectionately. "Isn't that right big boy?"

I stammered, "You mean he's really growing? Three inches? This month? But that's..."

Harry nodded, grinning. "At this rate, he'll hit ten feet around December." He continued to pat Richard, and Richard pulsed again, his skin growing taught as he strethed and swelled.

"Uh, you're.. he's.." I began, nervously realizing what was going on.

"Yeah, he needs help. No hands. Twice an hour while he's awake, which is usually about two and a half hours. Then he'll sleep for about thirty minutes, and you'll need to feed him then."

"Twice.. twice an hour!?"

Harry removed his hand, but the monster was growing of its own volition now. Harry turned to me. "With balls like that, you'd need to shoot pretty often too. And look at him, it's not like he can help himself."

I was just shaking my head. "But.."

"And listen, really, we don't have a choice. If he doesn't get it regularly, he'll shoot several times a day anyway, and then it's.. in a quantity that's difficult to manage," he added cryptically.

"Waht kind of quantity are we talking about?" I asked abruptly.

He pointed toward the kitchen. "There's buckets there, you can use any of those, they rinse real easy. You can also use a large plastic bag. It's easier to catch it all, but then you have a pretty heavy bag, and if the load's too big, well. And of course, there's towels. Lots and lots of towels. You'll need them anyway for the spillage, but it's not a big deal if you just want to soak it all up rather than bothering with the tools."

I had mostly stopped listening. Richard was throbbing. The table vibrated slightly with each pulse. Waves of warmth rose from him. There was a smell. A musky, sweaty smell. And then a different smell on top of it, one a little like bleach. There was a sound, a wet, sloshing, pouring sound.

"Oh yeah. You'll need to make sure this doesn't overflow." Harry explained, pointing to the floor next to the head of Richard's bed. I had seen this bucket before, but it had been empty and so I hadn't thought about it. I walked around to gt a closer look. Richard's head was now poking over the edge of his bed, and all at once I saw what I had heard, and smelled.

It was pre. It wasn't possible, I tried to tell myself, but I was looking at it.

It did not ooze. It did not spurt. It poured, more than a trickle, more than a leak, like a faucet. A garden hose turned on low, but a constant, steady stream. It was not in fact a bucket, but was attached to the floor, and had a drain in the bottom.

Richard was pissing his own lube. I couldn't restrain myself, I put my hand under the stream and let it run down my fingers.

Slick. Warm. Slimy. Perfect lube. You could bottle this stuff. I brought my hand to my face and smelled it.

Harry said from the door, "I'm going to leave you two to get acquainted. Remember, every thirty minutes or so or he'll make a HUGE mess. Oh and.. that stuff's ok, won't hurt you, but when the real load comes.. make sure you don't get any in your mouth."

I was wiping my hand off on Richard's neck, caressing the chin of his head. He throbbed and almost squirmed a bit. I answered absently, "Uh huh." If only I had been truly listening, but..

My dick was harder than it had ever been, and I'd only just met Dick.

[martinp13]

Now THAT is a different story. So far so good!

[13 of Spades]

That definitely was a different story. But I can't wait for the next part!

[greedycigarson]

Preponderance of Texas in this thread. Guess we like em big?

[chocomus]

OMG!
I was wondering what would it be to be just cock and balls.
Anyway, I liked it. I'd like to read more. I imagine what would be the effect of drinking his cum

[13 of Spades]

Originally Posted by greedycigarson

Preponderance of Texas in this thread. Guess we like em big?

Or the thought of all that meat.

[omelissokomos]

Originally Posted by greedycigarson

(I bet O' can shed some light)

The first thing that came to my mind was the transformation sequence I drew called What a Dick since I played around with the Richard/Dick doublet as well.

In any case, please keep up with the story as the answer may come to me one of these days.

[greedycigarson]

Originally Posted by omelissokomos

The first thing that came to my mind was the transformation sequence I drew called What a Dick since I played around with the Richard/Dick doublet as well.

Whoops. Have to admit that's a favorite of mine, so I might have been influenced there as well! Especially with what i'm thinking for the next part..

[Bull]

I've always felt that men are just life-support systems for penises. You've eliminated the middleman!

[greedycigarson]

The other day I was describing this story to a friend, and trying to remember who had wrote it.

Turned out it was me.

So maybe I need to go ahead and write one more chapter to this, five years later. Is there anyone, even one person, who would want to read it?

[The Pecman]

Absolutely, go for a new chapter. I say, maybe our Narrator is the first person to have a real conversation with Richard. Perhaps Richard subjected himself to an experimented, which badly failed. Maybe there's... I dunno, a way for the Narrator and Richard to merge as one person, who finds a way to grow the rest of his body to match his groin.

[vga518]

Motion Seconded! I'd love another chapter and see what happens! I want to know why he was given that warning, and also want to see what happens to them both. So many ideas that can come from this. Please write on Sir.

[Mass Driver]

Yeah.
I mean you did have the character say
"If only I had listened."
You must have had an idea of where you wanted to go with this
and i think we want to go along too.

Keep Writing.

MD

[hardmuscl4life]

Please continue. It's always great to get a taste from someone else's... Uh, imagination

[philat99]

I agree with the rest - YES! Please keep going!

[greedycigarson]

Well, this turned out weirder than I thought it would. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea. I'm not even sure it's mine. But here it is..

---

Richard was an easy-going guy, all things considered. I had learned a lot about him in the last week.

My duties really came down to two things- making sure Richard got off on schedule, and making sure everything that came out of him got down the drains in a timely manner. The first was easy. I had worried, at first, that it would be hard coax a fourth or fifth orgasm in a row out of him, but there had been no reason to worry. He NEEDED to get off that often, and it rarely took more than a few long, slow strokes from his base to his head to get him to open up, as it were.

I had learned that I could make it last a little longer with shorter strokes, or by kneading just the head, or by running my hands very, very slowly over his shaft. I thought he liked that, but it was hard to be sure how he was feeling, other than horny.

The second part of my duties took up more of my time. I had to guide and sometimes transport the fluid he produced into drains where it could go. Most of the time he stayed still, laying on his table, pissing a non-stop stream of goo into the trough below, where it would drain out just as fast. Occasionally he would move- a sort of lurching motion that had him flop on the table awkwardly. That was usually a sign that I was behind schedule, and it wasn't hard to reposition him.

When he came, it was a different story. I'd given up on the bags after the first time one spilled. It fell in a huge pile on the floor and began oozing outward. Mopping that up had taken hours, hours I needed to be spending handling his NEXT load. So whenever it was time for him to cum, I'd roll over the big bucket- really like one of those large garbage cans on wheels- and let him fill that up.

He DID fill that up, every time. I didn't know how many gallons that was. More than should have been possible to come out of even his balls. When he was done, I rolled it back to the corner and emptied it out into a much, much bigger trough with three wide drains at the bottom. As thick as it was, it'd take several minutes to ooze away. If it got behind, or if the top layer started to get crusty, I'd run water over it to thin it out.

It was fucking strange to be dealing with cum, to be dealing with the product of sex, as though it was some industrial byproduct of a factory, just something to be collected and poured and, once a day, measured and recorded.

It wasn't like I didn't like it, though.

I had also learned that Richard had at least a little ability to hear. That threw me off because it was very apparent he had no ears. In the hours while he was sleeping, and I had time to admire his perfect form and wonder about how he got there, I realized the bigger issue than ears was brain- where did he keep it? Did he have one? Harry just shrugged and said he didn't know.

He COULD hear though, I was sure of that.

I was rubbing his shaft down the urethra with three fingers, cooing at him. "You like that, don't you," I asked, and he throbbed approvingly on the table. I cupped my palm over the tube and stroked back and forth, treating it like a dick on its own. "How about that?" I asked, and he throbbed again.

At that moment, something clicked. It couldn't be possible, I thought, but of course it was no more impossible than the mancock himself. I took two fingers and jabbed directly into the side of his cock, hard, digging my fingers in. "How about that?" I asked. He shivered back- no, he didn't like that- but then he throbbed, once, twice. Two for no.

I talked to him more often, after that. Truth be told, I talked to him a lot. I didn't see Harry more than a couple times a day, and he was always too busy to stay and chat. Phones were prohibited, but of course I could go home when my shift was over. Thing was, I was going home less and less often. I'd started keeping clothes here. The couch was comfortable enough. I never knew who took over Richard's care when I did go home, either. When I stayed overnight, nobody came, and I got into the habit of waking frequenty to make sure Richard still did.

Our conversations were obviously limited. One for yes, two for no, three for.. anything else. "I don't know," maybe. "Yes and no," sometimes. But mostly, I was pretty sure, it meant "I can't answer that question, I need to cum." Richard was single-minded sometimes.

Do you know how long you've been here? No. Do you like being here? Yes and no. Do you like when I do this? Yes. Are you hungry yet? No. Should I change the channel? Yes. His favorite was the wrestling channel.

Tougher questions were impossible. I asked how old he was, telling him to count out the throbs. He got to eight before I think he lost count and finished with an anxious flop on the table. With yes and no, I learned he was 29, maybe 30, since neither of us knew how long he'd been here.

I asked him how it had started, and he gave me three flops. Not a yes-no question. Do you know how it started? Yes. But he couldn't tell me how.

Other than being jealous, I didn't much care.

---

Three months had gone by, and I was fully adapted to my role. I think for a normal person- at least for a straight, non-pervy person- it would have been excruciatingly boring. But I had Richard for company, and he and I had developed a bond. That's what Harry called it. I called it a relationship, though I had nagging worries that it was all in my head.

The job had gotten easier, and more fun. Easier because months of dragging around heavy bins of leak and cum, and of lifting and masturbating an enormous cock-creature, had started to yield positive results on my body. I was strong, maybe even a little bulky. In better shape than I'd been in.. well, ever. And I owed it all to my lover.

At some point I had started masturbating a few times a day with Richard. Timing our loads together. Then Richard had suggested (or agreed to, I guess) that I climb up onto him to get him off. I straddled his dick- straddled him- and pressed my cock down into him, humping for all I was worth. He overflowed the bin that time, and I didn't have to ask if he'd liked that.

I'd asked him once if he was tired of laying on that table all the time, and he'd given me an emphatic throb of yes. We discovered that it didn't hurt him any to pull him off the table and drag him across the floor to the couch. I'd prop him up, shaft on the seat pointing upwards, balls resting on the floor, and we'd sit together, watching tv and masturbating. Sometimes he'd go somewhat soft and his shaft would fall over my shoulders, his head next to mine, still pissing precum down my chest. I'd jerk off in his pre. I throbbed back, yes, I liked that.

I tried to live in the moment with him. I didn't think he had much sense of future, of where things were going. I didn't ask him any questions about our relationship, about where this was going. I didn't really want to think about where things were going, though sometimes I couldn't help it. Especially in the shower, or getting dressed.

Harry had told me, that first day, not to get any of Richard's cum in my mouth. I had done a valiant job of preventing just that. What he hadn't told me was that, in this job, that was almost impossible. No matter how precisely I positioned the bins, there was always some spillage. After a cum, when I nuzzled his cockhead, there was always some drippage. Sometimes a particularly energetic shot would launch across the room, splattering on the kitchen counter. I was always careful to clean it up, but how careful can you be, day in, day out?

Sometimes I'd wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and taste salty, silky. Sometimes, making out with him, running my tongue over his folds and bulges, I'd catch a little crusty patch.

So on some level, I knew why my cock was 16 inches long, soft, almost as thick as my wrist. I had been careful to hide it from my employers, but at this point they had probably noticed the bulge in my pants. There weren't pants made to hide that. I didn't think there were cameras in here, but if there were they'd have seen me mounted on top of Richard, rubbing our cocks together. I even still felt a little inadequate in that department, but that was really just by comparison.

That, and Richard was of course still growing. He'd hit ten feet well ahead of schedule. If it weren't for the muscle I'd put on, I'd definitely be struggling to move him around.

I was starting to get worried about what was happening to me, but it was easy to distract myself. Richard was always ready, and more and more often, so was I. It helped that as my cock had grown, so had our options. I had always thought penetration would be out of the question, but my cock was thick and long enough now that I could get some real action through his slit. Richard definitely liked that. Our loads would usually coincide, and his load would blast around my cock and onto my groin, over my softball-size balls, onto my feet. It was worth the cleanup.

---

I only had myself to blame, I knew.

I'd been here for six months now, and we'd been moved, Richard and I, to another room. A little larger. More drains in the floor. Cameras in the corners. It didn't bother me much.

I had been a fool to think that they hadn't been watching, hadn't known what I was doing, and what was happening to me. Sometimes I thought they weren't even surprised, maybe they had expected it all along. They weren't mad at me- the most they could summon up was a little exasperation. I hadn't been fired.

A month ago, my dick had been a managable twenty inches of meat, and I'd been fucking Richard for the dozenth time that day, and we'd cum, and my head was in the stratosphere. As my junk had grown, so had the sensations, more and more nerves hanging off my body like a live wire. I wasn't thinking- couldn't think, in the afterglow. I had withdrawn and kissed Richard. I tasted his cum on my lips, dribbling down my chin, sticking to my skin. It tasted wonderful, tasted like everything I wanted. And, still high on sex, I'd drank.

Not a lot. Maybe a cup, all told. Immediately after, fear took hold and I ran to the sink, spitting, rinsing my mouth out. I puked some of it up, but I could tell it wasn't all of it. I thought, at first, that it was no big deal- I'd have to be careful not to lose my head again, but this was okay. No harm, no foul.

My cock grew three inches that night. Four, over the next day. Five the next night. When my cock had grown more than a full foot to become three inches of tube steak hanging almost to my ankles, I knew I had messed up bad.

"Just a taste wasn't enough?" Harry said when he saw me, rolling his eyes. But he didn't say anything else, didn't treat me any different. Made his rounds, back to work. Back to work for me, too.

It slowed down after that, down to something more reasonable, just an inch or two a day. I got sort of used to the end of my dick, and the softball-sized head, dragging along the cold floor. It was always sort of buzzing with need, with heat, counteracting the breeze that I couldn't escape from. It wasn't uncomfortable, at least not when I wasn't stepping on it. At least not compared to the chore of maneuvering around my balls.

They were easily the size of large grapefruits, knocking around my knees. I had to walk somewhat slowly to keep them from bouncing painfully. They were always heavy, though, always pulling at my taint like I'd attached weights to them. I think it kind of hurt at first before it sort of blended into the background haze of horniness. I was always horny, now.

Horny, but in control. I was coping. I still got the job done, just a little slower than before. The biggest loss was that I couldn't fuck Richard anymore. I just couldn't maneuver my cockhead, four feet away from me, into his hole. I hardly ever got fully hard anymore, which was a blessing in disguise; when it DID happen, usually while I slept, I found that getting around with a four foot pole swinging around in front was too hard to be worth it. "Too hard." That was funny.

At somewhere around four feet I discovered that my own cock was adding to the slick dampness on the floor, leaving a snail's trail of clear precum everywhere I went, dribbling sporadically. It hardly bothered me, I was so used to being surrounded by the musky slightly sticky substance.

Despite not getting hard, I didn't have any trouble getting off. When it wasn't with Richard, I would lay back on the couch and scoop up my dong, letting it coil on my chest. I'd take the cockhead, which I could just fit in my mouth, and nurse on it, swallowing my own pre, running my hands through what felt like endless shaft.

When I came, I swallowed that, too, choking down my own jizz in delighted surprise.

And that's how we ended up moved. The growth of my dick had slowed down, seemed maybe like it might even stop. But when I started drinking my own cum, the awful (wonderful) truth came out. Whatever magic was in Richard's cum, it was in mine, now, too. A pint of my own jizz set it all back into motion, at full speed, all over again.

I swore I'd never do it again, that I'd never slip up, but Gilroy- the doctor who'd brought me to that room the first time- said that it probably wouldn't matter anymore. It didn't matter if I didn't swallow my cum- it was already inside me. The best I could do was get it out, as much as I could, as often as I could, but really that would only slow it down, he thought. Maybe I'd get lucky, he said. I was pretty sure I already had.

---

I kept up the work for the first week we were in the new room, as my cock grew to five feet, then six. I remember, clearly, the day I woke up and knew, just knew, that I was more cock than man. That I was a huge cock with a body attached, not the other way around. Dragging two feet on the ground, as thick as my legs, I couldn't really keep up with the cleanup, between Richard's loads and my own.

Harry got assigned to our room. I thought I heard Gilroy say they were short on staff.

The work reassigned, Richard and I became somewhat inseparable. I still watched some tv, when he was sleeping and when I wasn't distracted by my own dick begging for attention. Mostly I let Harry decide what to watch, since it was his job, and his furnishings now. I didn't realize when I stopped eating until I saw, with shock, that my muscles had dwindled, my arms and legs slimmer, tighter. It was Harry who pointed out that they were shorter.

So that's when I knew.

I won't get into the grisly details. Even for someone- something like me, it can be a disturbing reality. I'll tell you that I was SEVEN feet long when my balls reached the floor, standing up, and I could no longer walk. I was two feet thick when I no longer had legs to stand on. I was eight feet long when I could no longer masturbate myself with any efficacy. Nine when I woke up and didn't open eyes.

For the moment, I'm still lucid enough to describe my situation, painstakingly counting out my throbs to the alphabet. I know now what Richard was going through- what's in store to me- when I have trouble counting 20 to T because the throbbing stimulates me and suddenly I have to cum, need to cum, nothing else matters...

Dick and I lay along side each other, pressing against each other as we throb. Our heads are buried in eachother's sacks. I want to bury myself even further into it, but I can't move that way. I can only stretch, stretch, grow...

[scot158f]

Awesome job! Great addition

[chocomus]

somehow, I knew this would end this way. It was the only ending that made sense... kind of. I can't say i liked how he ended, but the cockgrowth was hot.

[imfit]

Interesting ending. I suspected that this would happen, but how is it that Harry can resist?