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“Mom? Dad? Emma?” I call out, checking every room in the house. My mom’s car isn’t in the garage, but I have to be sure I was truly alone.
After confirming that my parents and sister were gone, I knew I had to act quickly. Who knew how soon they would get back?
Taking two steps at a time up into my room, I close my door and make a beeline to my closet. Underneath a pile of my wrestling gear in the corner was my secret stash. A worn, beat up duffel bag that contained all of my deepest, darkest secrets.
See, the thing is, from the outside, I’m Matt Casey, star wrestler at my high school, and on track to being Senior Homecoming King. I’m a beefy stud, close shaved brown hair, decently handsome even if my face is kinda square and blocky, and unbeatable on the mat. Everyone at school knows me, and no, I’m not one of those bully jocks you hear about.
But nobody knows who I really am. Or, who I want to be.
The first thing I do is strip out of my clothes, taking a moment to admire my beefy bod, with the perfect V-shaped torso and tight abs, hefty pecs, round biceps. Fuck, I’m such a stud. But there is no part of my body prouder than my ass. I turn to the side, admiring how perfectly round it is. One might even say my glutes are “overdeveloped”. The guys on the team all joke about how I have a big meaty bubble butt. I laugh along, but they don’t know the reason why.
See, I place an extra emphasis on my ass. I train legs three times a week, and I focus on glute exercises the most. Because, more than anything, I want to have the biggest, roundest, fattest, bounciest, juiciest ass. I want to become known for it. I want any person who looks at me to instantly notice how huge my ass is.
I turn so my back is to the mirror and look over my shoulder. Fuck, I’m looking good. My hip thrusts and Bulgarian split squats have been paying off. I go to grab my fat cheeks, moaning a little as my fingers sink in, loving how soft and squishy it is even though it’s all muscle.
I stop myself before I get lost any further. I need to hurry up, the clock is ticking. I turn my attention back towards my duffel and underneath the top layer of old towels, I find what I need. I take the small piece of fabric and look at it.
My neon pink g-string thong.
I step into it and pull it up, loving how I have to tug it a bit so the waistband can slide over my fat bubble. I have to actually reach back and spread my cheeks with one hand to get the thin strap in between them. Admiring myself in the mirror again, I’m satisfied with how my ass cheeks completely swallow it up.
Then I reach down and find my best friend, the only one who truly knows me. My big, fat 9 inch dildo.
I grab my phone and navigate to my bookmarks, finding the perfect material to help me out.
‘Luke’s Big Butt Problems Chapter 5’ by Charlie Walker.
Ever since I found this story online a year ago, I’ve been obsessed. It unlocked something inside of me. I always thought I was a typical straight jock, but reading about the main character, a baseball jock named Luke, and his journey to accepting that he’s a fat assed jock pussy slut really resonated with me.
See, the truth, my darkest secret, is that I want nothing more than to be Luke Micucci. I want to be a total stud with an impossibly fat ass who gets dicked down regularly by the hugest dicks imaginable.
Of course, the story is pretty far-fetched. I mean, there’s no way in real life any jock could have a hole that actually gets wet and self-lubricates, or that you could develop a medical need for getting bred, or even that you could take the over-exaggerated sized dicks Luke encounters.
But the core of it, the idea of just being a jock pussy, a slut for dick, a fat ass ready to take loads, drives me insane with lust and need. I want that to be me, more than anything else in the world.
Lubing up the toy and then sliding down onto it, I moan as I feel that stretch. The 9 inches are a challenge, and I actually still can’t take it all the way to the base. But I follow some guys on Twitter who take footlong or bigger dildos, so I know it’s humanly possible. Just like how I train hard for wrestling, I know I gotta train hard if I want a real jock pussy.
I scroll down to my favorite part. I must have read it dozens of times at this point. Pretty much anytime I wanna get off, even if I have to do it with just my fingers underneath the covers, I think about the scene where Luke takes on the scrawny nerd Mark’s enormous 13 inch cock.
Mark is so hot. The author, Charlie, posted some art of him on Twitter by one of my favorite gay porn artists, DizDoodz, and the dude is adorable. All shy looks, curly red hair, the glasses and freckles, but best of all he has a dick all the way down to his knees. Of course, something like that can’t exist in real life. But anytime I’m posting up and down on my dildo I imagine that it’s Mark’s cock, either I’m riding him or he has me bent over and is fucking my bubble so hard it bounces like Luke’s does maslak escort in the story.
This Charlie guy is such a good writer. He really paints a picture, which sparks my imagination and makes it so easy to picture myself in that exact scenario, sitting on Mark’s face and letting him tongue-fuck my pussy until I squirt in his mouth, or I ride him like a slut in heat until he fills my guts with that huge nerd load. And the way the writer describes how Luke’s stomach bloats a little from all that jizz drives me insane.
“Ohhh fuck yeah!!” I moan as I grind my dildo into my pussy. “Fucccccck my pussy!!”
Saying it out loud does something to me. Like it’s so taboo, I still get so scared someone might hear me. But when I really get into the fantasy, I can’t help myself. And then I imagine myself bent over, taking dick, and having someone else call my hole a pussy.
And that does it. Just a few strokes of my dick, and I’m cumming right onto the rank towel I had placed on my bed. My vision is blurry, but I really needed that orgasm. It at least took the edge off. And it was perfect timing, because a few moments later I hear the garage door open.
***
Grabbing my textbook from my locker, I glance down the hallway at the small group chatting loudly. There are a few girls with wild hair colors, a stockier guy with glasses, and then him.
Andy MacNally.
He’s leaning against his locker, laughing at something his friend said. His jet-black hair is spiky today, like it usually is, matching his mostly black clothing. His shiny Doc Martens boots with the rainbow patch on it, matching the rainbow wristband he’s wearing on one wrist and the rainbow watch strip he has on the other.
My other, other secret is that I think Andy is the hottest guy in the entire school. He reminds me of Mark in some ways, kind of, except he’s a little bit taller, lankier. I actually don’t know much about him. Just that he’s in the ‘Japanese Culture Club’ aka Anime Club, with most of his friends, he’s into skating and punk rock, probably gay on account of the rainbows, and he’s known as a pretty nice guy. He’s not crazy popular, but nobody has anything bad to say about him.
Looks wise, he’s perfect. He reminds of that actor, Barry Keegan or something, from that crazy movie where he humps a grave, with his black hair and blue eyes.
Skinny little nerds like Mark and Andy are totally my type.
But I could never go up to Andy and talk to him. Not because we’re a cliche in those bad Netflix movies, the jock and the nerd, but because I don’t share any classes with him and we don’t have any friends in common. I thought about joining the Anime Club to get to know him, but I’m not actually that into it. One time I overheard him talking about an anime with his friends, and later that night I checked it out. It was alright, but not my thing.
So the best I could do was admire Andy from afar. Still, I couldn’t help but let my eyes follow him.
And just my luck, while I’m too wrapped up in gazing at his angular face, crystal blue eyes, and that pitch black hair, he turns his head and makes eye contact with me. I look away quickly, trying to suppress my panic, but for a split-second I notice his confused expression.
Fuck, fuck. Hold yourself together, Matt.
It’s just a few more months left of senior year, and I never wanted to come out in high school. Once I’m in college, I’ll explore my sexuality, but for the time being I have to be DL. Which sucks, honestly. Cuz when I heard that I was nominated for Homecoming King, I couldn’t help but imagine what it’d be like if Andy was crowned next to me.
I’m such a cliche. The closet case jock crushing hard on the cute nerdy gay guy.
***
I’m showering up after an intense practice. The locker room isn’t really like what you hear about. Guys aren’t walking naked, groping each other like in those stories. I mean, guys will compliment me sometimes on my glutes, but it’s nothing too over the top.
I towel up and change then make my way towards the parking lot when I remember I’m missing a textbook I need for tonight’s homework. Returning to my locker, I’m shocked to see Andy at his own. I don’t know if he notices me.
When I’m rummaging around in my locker, I get one of those feelings that somebody is watching me. And when I look towards Andy, I find his eyes trained on me. Only he doesn’t look away. I try to suppress the crazy butterflies that are going off in my stomach as he starts walking towards me.
“Hey, Matt.”
“Hey, Andy.” I say, playing it cool. I’ve gotten good at hiding my feelings, being closeted and all. Still, my mouth feels like sandpaper, but I don’t think Andy notices.
“What are you doing here so late?” he asks.
“Ah you know, wrestling practice, just grabbing a book. What about you?”
He shrugs. “Working on my final for Studio Art.”
“Oh cool,” I say, noticing that he has some dried paint on his hands and some splatter on his shirt. “I didn’t know you escort gebze painted.”
His face breaks out in a smile and I almost swoon. “Yeah, I love it. I’m actually thinking about majoring in Art in college.”
“Oh cool,” I say again, lamely.
“Yeah…” he says as the conversation trails off.
This is fucking awkward.
“Do you want to hang out sometime?” Andy suddenly asks me out of the blue.
I’m completely caught off guard. “What? Uh, why?” I say before realizing how rude that sounds.
He just shrugs again. “I figured it wasn’t too late to make some new friends.”
And the thought of being friends with Andy makes those butterflies in my stomach swarm.
***
That night, I’m a goner. I know better than to get my dildo out when anybody else is home, but I at least can finger myself a little while I work my cock.
Only this time, the star of my fantasies isn’t Mark the nerd, but Andy. I imagine Andy behind me, one hand scissoring his fingers into my jock pussy, while the other strokes my cock.
“Yeah, take it, you’ve got such a hungry pussy, Matt,” he whispers in my ear while I fight to suppress a moan. “Look at how well it swallows up my fingers, such a hot jock cunt. Made for taking my cock.”
I imagine him unzipping his jeans and pulling out a Mark-sized cock, longer than a ruler, and just as I’m picturing him pressing the head of that weapon against my tight entrance, I shudder and make a mess in my hand, moaning into the pillow.
***
The more I hang out with Andy, the more I like him. Which is kinda bad news.
At first it was awkward. We didn’t really know each other well enough. And I was too nervous, wondering if hanging out was more than just hanging out as friends. But, pretty quickly things started to change.
Talking to Andy became fun. He’s a pretty funny guy, with a really dry sense of humor, sarcastic but not mean. He says it’s because he watches a lot of British comedy shows. He’s also an insanely talented artist. He showed me his Studio Art project, it’s a gigantic canvas, big enough that it would take up the width of a whole wall, and at first I thought it was like a giant one of those black ink tests, you know the ones where you look at it and say what you see and it’s supposed to mean something about your psyche? But actually Andy says it’s meant to be a bird, like a giant raven, flying directly towards you. I don’t know much about art, but it’s really cool.
Andy is easy to talk to. I even ended up confessing that I tried watching some anime but didn’t like it. Andy showed me a few shows he said I might like, one of them was like Joe-Joe’s Adventure or something, and it’s actually really cool. We started watching it together after school.
And the more we hang out, the more my fantasies run wild. I’ve graduated from Andy fingering me to him spreading my fat cheeks and tongue fucking the life out of me. Or he takes that fat cock and slides it between my cheeks, teasing my hole. A part of me avoids imagining him actually fucking me, because I feel like if I do that then there’s no turning back.
One day we get to my house and there’s nobody there. My parents left a note saying my sister was going to a dance recital a couple towns over, and some money to order a pizza. The idea of being completely alone with Andy, not at school or anything, almost makes me chub up. Almost.
I tell him I’m gonna grab my laptop, and he decides to follow me. I grab it and my charger, turning around to see him looking curiously at something on the floor.
Something pink.
My stomach drops. I feel like I’m going to pass out, but the panic is pumping adrenaline into my veins. I just stand there, frozen, heart racing, as he bends down and picks up the tiny pink thong. And when he’s bent over, his head turns, he frowns, and he reaches underneath my bed.
No no no no fuck fuck no please no.
See, that morning I woke up so horned, I broke my own rule. I had to grab my dildo and thong, and I was getting so into that when my mom screamed “MATT!! You’re going to be late for school!” I practically flew off the bed, and in my rush I just pushed my dildo and thong under the bed, thinking nobody would notice.
Andy pulls his hand from under the bed, and my worst fear comes true. Because his fingers are gripped around my dildo, which is, yup, still slick with this morning’s lube.
He holds them both up, thong in one hand, dildo in the other, his face incredulous, looking back and forth between the two like he can’t believe his eyes.
Fuck, ok, I’ll just tell him those are my girlfriend’s, I was using the dildo on her, she wears the thong for me, that’s believable (unless he looks at the thong’s tag and notices that it’s in MEN’S sizes).
But when he looks up at me, his eyebrows knit together, my resolve crumbles.
My breathing gets heavy, I’m gasping for breath, feeling like I’m in a chokehold.
Now, I’m not one of those assholes who thinks it’s escort merter unmanly or whatever to cry. But the sheer embarrassment of my secret crush finding my secret thong and secret dildo is overpowering, and I feel myself slipping into a panic attack.
I’m gasping for air and trying to say something. “Please…” gasp “Don’t” gasp “Tell”…
“Matt, I’m not going to tell anyone!” Andy says quickly, tossing the thong and dildo onto my bed before rushing over, wrapping his skinny arms around my wide body, and then squeezing me into a surprisingly strong hug.
I bury my face into his neck, taking in his scent. It’s so calming, it seems to center me.. Andy just holds me tight, rubbing soothing circles on my back, which honestly does help a little. After I start to calm down, Andy grabs my wrist and pulls me so I’m sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Hold on, I’m going to get you some water,” he says before darting out of my room. My heart is racing, thinking that he might have bolted, but a minute later he comes back with a bottle of water from the fridge.
I take a few sips and try to calm my breathing.
Andy just sits there, still rubbing my back. I’m tense, thinking he’s going to say something, but he just waits patiently for me.
“Uh so…” my stomach is tight, but I knew I couldn’t lie to Andy, especially after that display, “those are mine.” I say, nodding my head at the incriminating evidence of my secret.
Andy glances over at them, then turns back towards me. “Yeah, I figured.”
An idea flashes in my head. Some straight guys like buttplay. The thong is harder to explain, but maybe I have like a sissification kink? Which isn’t too, too far from the truth. But again, I can’t lie to Andy. So I just sit there silently.
“Do…” Andy starts but then closes his mouth, trying to find the right words to say. “Are you…?” I know what he’s asking.
I just nod. I’m afraid if I opened my mouth I’d upchuck.
“Okay,” Andy says.
“Okay?” I ask carefully.
“Okay,” he says again with finality.
And I don’t know what it is, maybe the fact that Andy is so easy to talk to, or that he’s most likely gay himself, or that I’m crushing so hard on him, but I start blabbering and tell him everything.
About how much I love bottoming. How I’m still a virgin. How I love having a big, fat ass. How hard I work to get said ass. How badly I wanna be a jock pussy. How I read these stories that inspired me.
When I’m done, I just sit there, dreading his reaction.
“What’s the name of that story?” he asks, catching me off-guard.
“What?” I say bemusedly.
“What’s the name?”
“Uh… Jock Pussy Syndrome?” I confess.
“By Charlie Walker?” he asks, and my whole world comes crashing down. I nod in confusion.
Andy’s jaw drops. “No WAY. NO WAY!!” he says in disbelief jumping to his feet and pacing around excitedly.
“What? What?” I ask, not following along.
“Dude. DUDE!! Matt!!”
“WHAT IS IT!?” I ask again, his sudden burst of energy freaking me the fuck out.
“MATT! I LOVE those stories!! They’re my absolute FAVORITE!”
It’s my turn to be shocked.
“FUCK! Matt, you have no idea, I have such a THING for jocks, I know I’m a total cliche, but I love the idea of a jock being a pussy slut with a big fat ass. Charlie is my favorite writer, it’s like he reaches into my brain and pulls out my fantasies!”
I’m stunned.
“He has the hottest sex scenes, all of his jocks have big fat asses, that JPS thing is so HOT, with the wet pussy stuff, I wish it were real! And not to mention, the way he weaves romance into the nastiest, filthiest porny sex is awesome.”
I don’t know what to say.
Andy grabs my shoulders and turns me towards him. And then he surges forward and crashes his lips against mine.
I sit there, stiff as a board (in more ways than one), as Andy kisses and nibbles my lips, swipes his tongue over the seam of them. I can’t even open my mouth, this whole thing feels unreal, like a story that Charlie Walker made up, not real life.
After a minute of making out, or really Andy making out with me while I’m a statue, he pulls away. He looks at me, concerned.
“Uhhhh do you even want this?” he says, and I realize he’s afraid that he’s forced me into a kiss. It’s a surprise, but not an unwanted one.
I think I make some kind of animalistic noise before I lunge towards him, kissing him with such force that he falls onto his back. We’re scrambling, a mess of limbs and lips, making out like we’re eating each other’s faces, his hands feeling me up and groping every muscle until they settle on my jean-clad ass.
He cups my fat cakes and it’s so hot how my ass is so big he can’t get a firm grip on it. And it’s not like Andy has tiny hands either. When he squeezes my cheeks, I pull away from his lips and let out a guttural half-moan half-groan.
“Holy fuck, you really do love having your ass played with,” he breaths out.
I get on my back and start fumbling with my jeans. I’m in such a rush it feels like it takes forever to unzip them then pull them down over my thick thighs and developed calves. After my jeans comes my boxer briefs. When I pull them off my ankles, my legs go up and I know Andy gets a glimpse of my hole.
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