Date: Thu, 24 Aug 2017 11:42:19 +0100
From: SPH Sub <sphsublondon@gmail.com>
Subject: Boyclit - Chapter 3

BOYCLIT – CHAPTER THREE

This story involves teenager(s) (of legal age) dominating an older man;
small penis humiliation; and elements to `magical realism' to heighten the
dick size disparity.  I hope you enjoy.

I've not made the characters use condoms because I know the bareback
obsessives among you will freak out, but in real life I use them and
frankly you should too.

Thank you again to those who wrote in after chapter two, particularly those
who highlighted bits they liked and with ideas for future instalments.
Thanks also to those who have prompted me to hurry up and write this
chapter.  It is always a great motivator.

Thanks, too, to the many Nifty authors whose stories I've enjoyed (and so
many of whose tropes I have shamelessly pilfered here!).

--

End of Chapter Two:

"An old jockstrap of mine from when I was about twelve.  The pouch will
probably be far too big, but now we've measured your hard little shame I do
not want to see your disgusting so-called erection.  Cover it up."

Shaking slightly, I began to put on the jockstrap.  Sure enough, even rock
hard my boyclit disappeared easily into the pouch, obscured completely from
sight with not so much as the faintest of dickprints.

"Come watch me shower, slut," he said, nodding towards an ensuite.  "If
you're lucky I might let you wash me, but I quite like the idea of you
walking around, covered in what's left over of my big load," he continued,
smirking.

"Chop chop, pin dick, it's almost ten o'clock and we have a hundred things
to do," he said.  "We have a busy day ahead."

--

Chapter Three:

Still shaking as I followed Xavier, I admired the shape of his shorter,
more muscular body, as he walked into the bathroom – a brightly lit
room, with tasteful white oblong tiles, and a huge walkin shower with brass
fixtures.  Xavier adjusted these and turned on the water, while I stared at
him, his huge cock – six-and-a-half inches completely soft – swinging
between his legs.

I continued to stare as his body rapidly became dappled in water droplets,
as he shook of the initial cold and steam rose around him, and as he ran
his hands through his now-wet blond hair.

"Well come on then, boy," he said, enjoying my gawping at him.  "Grab that
shower gel and start soaping me up."

I picked up the bottle to which he was pointing, and put my thumb in the
waistband of his old jockstrap I was wearing.

"Uh, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"You wanted me to get in the shower with you?" I asked apprehensively.

"Yes, but that doesn't bloody well mean I want your little worm loose in
the shower with me too, does it?  Keep it on and hurry up."

Without questioning his instructions a moment longer, I clambered into the
shower.  He looked up at me, narrowing his eyes, that increasingly familiar
sense of ownership spreading across his face.

"Do it on your knees," he said, "where you belong."

As ever, I did as I was told.  He stepped forward so his package was in my
face.  He reached down placed his massive soft cock over my left cheek and
eye, his wet ballsack resting on my lips.

"You look good with your face full of my dick.  It looks natural."

"Thank you," I said, my lips brushing against his balls as his slightly
dirty shower water cascaded onto my tongue.

"Thank you what, slut?" he asked, patiently.

Remembering his rules from earlier that morning, I corrected myself: "Thank
you, sir."

For the next twenty minutes, he stood there, basking in my admiration as I
gently soaped up every inch of his body.  His muscular legs made mine seem
like matchsticks.  His big feet, so much larger than mine, made me feel
petite and womanly.  As I soaped up his arse, my palm brushed what turned
out to be too close for comfort.  He slapped my hand away—

"That's not for you, fagboy," he said, smirking down at me.

On my knees, I manoeuvred around him to wash his big manly balls and his
huge cock.  My fascination with it grew ever stronger just as his dick grew
too.

"Let's leave that for last, shall we?" he said, nodding upwards, indicating
I should work on his upper body.

While his legs were muscular, his upper body was even more incredible.  The
faintest of dirty blond treasure trails led up from his cock, bisecting the
perfect v-shape of his slim waist, tapering out past solid abs, to his
prominent pecs, to his wide shoulders.  He enjoyed making bodybuilder poses
as I massaged the shower gel into his muscles, some of the poses even made
me whimper with lust and a tad of envy.  He kept me on my knees the entire
time, so he could survey my subservience from above, and I had to look up
at his god-like body.

I felt something press insistently into my chest and upwards.  I looked
down to see his monstercock stretching up once more past nine inches and
into my face.

"You do worship me, don't you boy?" he asked, as though it were a genuine
question.

It was such an unusual question for me.  I looked up at him, not sure what
to say.  Apparently, my eyes said it all.

"I like that.  I like that a lot."

He grabbed his huge dick, now fully hard from my adoration, with one hand;
he gently grabbed some of my hair in the other – and he leant back
against the shower wall.

"Suck my dick, kid," he said, my little hard-on – straining in the tiny
jockstrap – twinged at being called `kid' by someone over ten years
younger.  "Come suck on something you'll never have.  Enjoy it."

And I did.

Truth be known, I liked his big dick on my face as much as he seemed to
like it – I loved the heat and weight of it against my cheek, the weight
my pitiful dick would never have.  And remembering how much he liked having
me lick his balls the previous night, that's just what I did.  I lapped
gently at them and he released my hair.  Feeling the still-running shower
water and tasting his now faint musk against my tongue, I reached up and
squeezed his cock, feeling its girth and its power.  I stretched my lips to
fit first one of the egg-sized balls in my mouth, swirling my tongue around
it, and then the other.  Finally, I could wait no more and started working
on his cock.

"Aaahhhh.  Yeaahhh," he moaned, as much lips swirled around his huge
bellend.  I felt it throb and his familiar precum spread across my tongue.
I looked up at him and he smiled down at me, nodding his approval.  I
brushed my lips back and forth with the head of his cock in my mouth,
staring at his pubes, almost eight inches of shaft away from my mouth.

Emboldened by how relaxed he seemed, how content just to accept my worship
rather than dominate me and cause me pain, I sucked his big dick with a
determination to make him feel good.  To prove to him I was good for
something.  I started trying to get more of his cock in my mouth and
managed about half before I started choking.  I kept myself there for four
or five seconds before pulling easily back, his dick slicked with my saliva
which was quickly washed away by the shower.  I looked up at him – he
was smiling down, half-amused but still approving.  I smiled back, feeling
proud of myself and deepthroated him once again.  I got more than half in
and stayed there for ten full second, before pulling back and retching.

I took a chance and started massaging the base of his shaft as I sucked him
off.  The idea of being a target for another guy's cumshot would never have
occurred to me before yesterday – and probably would have terrified me
if it had.  But I knew I wanted to take Xavier's load.  I wanted to work
hard to satisfy him, and his hot teen load would be my reward for it.

On I went for almost an hour – `til my jaw was stiff and hurt,
alternating hands until both my forearms ached.  I sensed him start to
breathe more heavily.  The feedback of his moans started to change.  They
became more frequent, throatier, more visceral.  I could almost sense his
big, low handed balls starting to tighten—

Then suddenly and assuredly he reached down, grabbed my hair in one hand
and my wrist in the other and pulled me away from his enormous pulsating
dick.  I closed my eyes expecting one of his enormous loads to start
spraying my face, but after feeling nothing for a few seconds I opened them
again and stared up at him once more.

—had I done something wrong?  I had worked so hard to make him feel
good, so hard for almost an hour, so hard my jaw and wrists ached.  My eyes
welled up with tears of indignation.

"Do you want my cum?" he said, looking down at me.

I nodded.

"Do you really want my cum?" he repeated.

"Say it."

"I want you cum.  Please, sir.  I really, really want your cum."

He strode out of the shower and jabbed his head wordlessly towards a heated
towel rail, clad in half a dozen thick white soft-looking towels.

Still upset at being denied the load for which I'd worked so hard, verging
on angry, I got one of the towels and started drying his body as I assumed
he wanted.  When I was done with gently towelling him, he said "Dry
yourself quickly and follow me."

Using his used towel, I did I was told.  The small, sodden jockstrap –
not so easily dried – clung to my body, wet and uncomfortable.  I
cantered after him into his spacious bedroom, as he walked over to the bed
and pointed to his huge bed's light oak headboard.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing to half a dozen white streaks, running
almost a metre from near the top of the headboard, down to his mattress.

It took me a few moments to realise, before I recalled the enormous load
he'd shot after brutalising my formerly virgin hole that morning.
"It's– your cum, sir," I said, hanging my head.

"Do you know what I want you to do?" he asked rhetorically, while removing
his big soft pillows from his bed, "I want you to get on all fours and I
want you to lick every inch of my dried cum off that headboard.  Then, and
only then, will I consider feeding you another precious load from The
Fuckclub."

My face flushed red.  Why was he doing this, I wondered.  My jaw still hurt
from working his dick so hard.  If he had to do this, couldn't he have done
this to me after feeding me his load in the shower?

As if reading my mind, Xavier said, "Don't question me.  Just do it.
Normally I'll have you taking my loads down your throat or up your
boypussy, but if I do decide to shoot them on you I want them on you and
not on my fucking furniture.  Now get on that bed and lick off my load, and
do not waste my cum again."

Feeling indignant again – I couldn't possibly have known his huge load
would shoot that far, or moved my body so it landed on me on time, or know
there would be repercussions for not doing so – I did as he said.  I
knew better than to answer back.  I got onto his bed and started lapping at
the his cumstains caked onto the headboard.

The wood felt rough against my tongue.  Although some of the saltiness of
Xavier's seed remained, it was dry and obviously not as hot as when he shot
it straight from his huge dick.  I felt a few tears streaming down my face
at the humiliation.  My pathetic excuse for a dick shrivelled in the wet
jock strap.

"Good boy," Xavier said, "Goooood."  I felt his palm on the small of my
back.

"Arch your back for me," he continued, "Point that cute little boypuss up
for me."

I arched my back as he had instructed and looked over for his approval.  He
nodded, still naked from the shower, his cock had not softened at all.  If
anything, it looked hard and bigger than ever, from watching me lick his
old jizz off his headboard just as he had ordered.

Half an hour went by when I heard his front door open and close.

"XAV?" I heard someone shout.

"OH XAAVIIEEER!?" I heard again.  It sounded like a young man.

My heart pounded in my chest.  Who could it be?  Was I allowed to be here?
And what if they saw me, on all fours, in nothing but a damp jockstrap,
licking Xavier's cum off the headboard.

As I started to get up off the bed, Xavier barked "Don't you fucking move.
Stay right where you are and keep up with what you're doing."

I resumed my position and looked over at Xavier, pleading with my eyes that
he would at least go and greet whoever had just come into the house and
keep them out of the room.

"I'M UP HERE, IN MY ROOM," Xavier yelled.

"What? Who is it?" I couldn't help but ask him, desperately, wondering who
on earth he would invite into his room to see me in this condition.

"Never you mind.  Just carry on with your job and keep your butt pointed
right at the door."

I heard someone bounding energetically up the stairs.

"Xav?" I heard, the voice was much closer now, "Woah, who the hell is
that?"

I strained my neck around and saw a boy about Xavier's age – if a little
taller, a little less well built.

Butterflies were doing somersaults in my stomach at having been seen like
this.  I felt a familiar sense of panic about being seen naked, in case my
tiny dicklet was revealed, but then remembered – gratefully – that
Xavier had made me keep the jockstrap on.

"Hey Max.  Oh, just a little slut I picked up at your sister's party last
night," Xavier explained.  He turned to me, "Keep licking my cum off the
wall, bitch."

Realising that doing as he told me couldn't be any worse than having been
caught in this compromising position, I kept tonguing his salty jizzstains
on the rough wooden headboard.

I sensed Max moving around the room to get a better look.  I glanced over
at him.  He had the same bright green eyes and jet black hair as his sister
Ophelia, but his was styled up into an almost spikey quiff.  He had smudged
red and yellow face paint, was wearing a pair of muddy cream chino shorts,
and nothing but an equally muddy dark red waistcoat on his upper body.

"That's your cum he's licking off the bed?  He really is a bitch.  How old
is he?" Max asked, sounding even more posh than Xavier.  The upper class,
public school boy accent that was my weakness and it made me shudder with
lust.

"Nearly thirty," Xavier responded, "Ophelia says he was in her year at
university.  She also said he's a virgin.  Well, he was until me and The
Fuckclub had our way with him this morning."  He grabbed his monstercock
and shook it in Max's direction.

"I'm surprised he's still in one piece.  Fuck – you look even bigger
than when we tagteamed that fag at the end of last term."

"Ha.  You jealous?"

"Fuck off.  I'm doing just fine, thanks," said Max, groping at a sizeable
package in his shorts.  "Anyway, Wimbledon's on.  Teddy's through to the
boys' semi-finals."

"No shit, your little brother's acing it.  Is it on the BBC?"

"On the red button, ya.  Let's go!"

"Sure thing, let's watch it in the TV room," said Xavier.  I felt the grip
of his fingers around my hair to which I was now accustomed, and he dragged
my tongue up the last remnants of his cold, dry semen.  "Come on, slut."

Xavier procured a pair of baggy sport shorts, struggling to fit his
now-slightly soften erection in them, then set off.  They bounded down
several flights of stairs, rough housing a little on the way, and I
followed.  Xav and Max collapsed onto an enormous,
expensive-if-slightly-tatty–looking sofa.  Xavier clicked his fingers
and pointed to a drinks trolley.

"Pour me a scotch.  Max here will have a gin and tonic, and don't drown the
gin," he ordered, fiddling with the remote.

"Yes, sir," I said, still acclimatising to there being a newcomer and how
casual Xavier felt about treating me like his bitch in front of him.

A few minutes later I had served them their drinks and the tennis was on.

"Aawwhh – I'm shattered," yawned Max.

"Fuckslut," Xavier said, clicking his fingers.  "Get over here on your
hands and knees.  My friend and I need a footrest."

Further humiliated, I stopped watching the tennis and got on all fours in
front of them.  Max dropped a pair of heavy Dr Martens boots onto my lower
back, just as muddy as everything else he was wearing, as Xavier did the
same to my shoulders with his bare feet.

I craned my neck to watch the television just long enough to see Theodore
Thompson (who must have been Teddy – Ophelia's other younger brother
– as he looked the spitting image of Max, but a couple of years younger)
was two-love up in the first set and serving against a strapping Russian
boy called Anatolievich.

"So, how's that boyfriend of yours?" Xav asked Max.

"Ugh, don't," Max said.  "His dad's been sent by his law firm back to the
Emirates, and so he just flew out this morning to visit his parents in
Dubai, which suits me just fine."

"Trouble in paradise?" goaded Xavier.

"He keeps bitching about why I never let him fuck me, and why I never suck
him off, and I keep telling him `Jack, when we met, I told you I was a
total top – no exceptions.'  For the first few months it was fine, he
was crazy for my dick.  I couldn't keep him off it, it was great.  But he
keeps whingeing about how he's `versatile' and how relationships are meant
to be a `two-way' thing."

"Ugh!" Xav exclaimed.

"Right?  No such thing as `vers' if you ask me.  I said `Look, I do the
fucking.  I don't care if you're vers I have no interest whatsoever in your
dick.  You either learn to be a bottom or you find yourself another
boyfriend."

"Good man – good on you," Xavier encouraged.  "And besides, what does he
think he's gonna fuck you with?  Didn't you tell me his little pecker is
like five inches?"

They both laughed.

"Exactly, Xavier!  Exactly!  I mean, why even bother, we should obviously
just use mine.  And another thing," continued Max: "I can't be anywhere
near as rough with him as I want to be.  The things you and I used to do to
those fags at school, Xav, fuck I'm getting hard just thinking about it.
It's the same with every bloody boyfriend I've had since I was fourteen.
The other day when I was fucking Jack I went to put my hand on his neck.
Not even properly choking him, it's just a hot position, and he flipped
out."

I thought about what I was hearing as my back strained against the weight
of their muscular legs.  First, I was surprised to hear Max talk so openly
about being gay – and from such a young age.  I'd heard the stories
about guys fucking around at all-boys boarding schools.  But I didn't
realise things had moved on so much that the gay ones actually came out.
And secondly, I realised that even though Max was gay and Xavier – from
what I had heard – seemed almost-or-entirely straight, they had much
more in common than not.  Both seemed completely preoccupied with their own
dicks and not at all concerned with the other person's pleasure, both
wanted someone to use as a hole to get off in – both young alphas.

"Hmm," Xavier said, "sounds like you need to move on, Max."

"Yeah, perhaps.  Settled down with a nice girl during the holidays?"

"Fuck no!" Xavier retorted.

"Maybe I need to take a leaf out of your book, Xav – enjoy the single
life – no `two-way' bullshit.  I do like an obedient little slut who
takes what they're given and crawls back for more," Max said.

"Yeah.  Sounds like you don't need a boyfriend – you need a fag.  This
one's a bit inexperienced, but he'll get there," Xavier said, rubbing the
heel of his barefoot into my neck in case Max didn't know to whom he was
referring.

"Mmm.  Nice tush," Max said, peering around at my arse, revealed through
the back of the jockstrap.

"Yeah, well I guess nature had to give him something."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you'll see," said Xavier.  My tiny prick strained as I heard the
trademark smirk in his voice.

"Anyway, where have you been?  You weren't at your sister's party last
night."

"Oh, Jack's cousin Tilly threw this mini-festival at their place in
Suffolk.  Her dad let her turn half the grounds into a campsite for her
eighteenth."

"Ah, hence the face paint?"

"Yeah.  I'm sure Tilly's little brother had the hots for me," Max said,
grabbing his big crotch through his muddy shorts once again, "Obviously
couldn't do anything about it because the boyfie was there.  It's a shame.
I'd have fucking ruined him."

"Ha, no doubt, my man.  How was the festival?"

"Pretty good, a couple of half decent DJs among the amateurs, bit of coke
going around, and Tilly's dad put on loads of booze.  I haven't showered in
a week, though," Max said.

"Yeah, you fucking stink," laughed Xavier.  He pointed at the television:
"Teddy's a set up and they're taking a break – you wanna go jump in the
shower?"

"Ugh – you sound like Jack, always telling me to shower more.  He's
dating a man, he should expect me to smell like a man," riposted Max,
beating his fist into his chest

"Fair enough!" Xavier agreed, seeing Max's point.

Max paused for a moment.  "Say, I've got a better idea, mind if I borrow
your new slut for a bit?"

"Go for it, man.  Sharing's caring."

I breathed in relief as they removed their heavy muscular legs from my back
in unison.  My respite was shortlived.

Max leant forwards and placed his hand around my jaw.

"Did you hear that, bitchboy?  Your new alpha here says I stink.  Think you
and I could help my buddy out?" he asked, as he pulled me towards him.  He
shifted his hand to the back of my head, and raised his right arm.  I smelt
his armpit before I saw it.  Hairier than Xavier's, and obviously darker
too, and coming ever closer towards me.  In a few seconds, my face was
mashed up against it.

"Take in a deep breath, fag," Max said.

I moaned.

"Now that's what I'm talking about.  That's the noise a slutboy's meant to
make when he smells a real man."

"No need to tell me," affirmed Xavier.

I cannot describe the smell.  It was the scent of a hundred PE lessons,
where I would be terrified and titillated, surrounded by sweaty boys who I
was scared would see me naked; it was the smell of the messy bedrooms of
friends from my teens, friends I'd sometimes wondered whether I liked in a
way that wasn't quite usual; and yet it was, undeniably, the smell of a
real man.

"I've been dancing in a field for seven straight days without a wash or
deodorant, fucktoy.  How does it smell?"

I knew that any normal person would say Max stank of BO.  They'd probably
have said it after two days.  But – I must be a slutboy, like he said
– because there was no denying, my dicklet leaked into the little wet
jockstrap and it make me even weaker at my already exhausted knees.

"It smells–," my voice quivered, "it smells amazing."

"Lick it," Max ordered.

I started licking at his armpit.  It was warm and salty, and hairs kept
coming off on my tongue, but the strong tangy musk was intoxicating –
and I wanted to be a good boy for him and for Xavier – so I kept at it.

After five minutes, he seemed satisfied with the job I had done on his
right armpit and moved me over to his left.

"I've been wearing this waistcoat the whole week so my armpits have had
room to breathe.  So trust me, bitch, you've not tasted anything yet."

Feeling it was no longer necessary to hold my head in place, Max moved his
right hand down to his shorts.  There was longer a bulge, but a distinct
and sizeable dickprint.

I saw Max squeeze his big erection through his shorts, "Fuck man.  This is
great.  I'm gonna do things to this fucking slut I could never do to Jack."

He pushed me off him onto my knees and he stood up.  He shucked off his
burgundy velveteen waistcoat and then struggled his muddy shorts off over
his boots.  Before standing up straight, five- foot-ten, wearing nothing
but his Dr Martens and a pair of white, short, fitted boxers, with assorted
stains on the front, against which strained the unmistakable outline of a
huge hard-on.

"Don't make him blow you just yet, Max – trust me – I'll be right
back," said Xavier.

"Oh I won't," Max replied, before stepping towards me, placing both hands
behind my head, "we're not done with this yet."  I heard Xavier making his
way upstairs.

"If you thought my armpits stank, you just wait, you little cockwhore," Max
said.  He thrust his crotch towards me and pressed my face against it.

I had never smelt another man's junk before Xavier's last night, but this
was something else.  It made my tongue water, but was so overpowering I
couldn't stifle a splutter.

My face flew rightward as Max struck me hard across the cheek.

"Ingrate.  Let me tell you what that smell is, fuckslut," Max said.  "Other
than the smell of a real man – of course.  You're in for a treat.  Some
little jokester decided to throw my bag in the lake on the first day at
Tilly's.  So I've been wearing these boxers for a whole week."

With this Max pushed his big bollocks back up against my nose.  My eyes
started to water – whether from the still-overpowering smell of Max's
unwashed crotch or the slap to face, I couldn't tell, "Seven whole days
dancing around in a field as my balls sweat into them."

He spat aggressively on my face.

"Seven whole days of pissing up against a tree and not giving a fuck about
shaking too well afterwards."

"Mmmffphh," I groaned into his sweaty boxers, stained with droplets of his
piss.  He pulled my head back and spat in my face again.

"And there was a lot of booze, so I pissed a lot."  Max continued, as he
slid my nose up his thick, hard shaft: "Seven whole days of my dick
building up that very particular dick slime without a shower."

He spat on my face once again and I whimpered before him on my knees.

"Seven whole days of Jack not putting out and being a little bitch `cos he
saw me catch Tilly's twinky little brother staring at my junk.  And Xavier
can tell you I never wank – so that's seven whole days of no release.  I
saw that cute little fucker staring on the first night and popped the
biggest, hardest wood.  It was so fucking annoying.  He was right there for
the taking, my dick was leaking precum the whole time.  I must have thought
about what I'd have fucking done to him ten times a day for the rest of the
week, leaking prejizz into these boxers the whole fucking time."

He breathed heavily, and I saw the wet patch near the pissslit of his big
dick grow even bigger, causing me to moan.  He hawked up another spitball
onto my face.

"Seven days of non-stop ball sweat, piss stains, dick stink and precum on
these boxers.  And you're about to kneel there and lick it all off, all of
it, exactly as I tell you to – because you are good little slutboy who
does as he's told.  Understood?"

He was right.  Of course he was.  Seven days, of all that, with no shower,
in the same unwashed boxers was a bit much even for me – it wasn't
`secretly' pleasant the way his armpits had been – the stink was
overpowering.  But I would kneel there and do as he said.  Half because I
was terrified of what he or Xavier might do to be if I didn't, but half
because I desperately wanted to be the good little slutboy for Max that his
boyfriend was not.

"Now lick `em, boy, lick my filthy boxers clean for me."

I did.  Somehow, the moisture from my mouth reactivated the stink of the
sweat and precum, making them smell even stronger.  The taste was pungent
and salty, but unmistakably manly.  I started at his balls, where the scent
of the sweat from his taint and his sack was strongest, running my tongue
up against the fabric and sucking to clean out the sweat.  I worked my way
up past the thick base of his shaft some slightly yellowed stains where the
taste was especially acrid.  Finally, I reached the reward of the big head
of his cock, already moist from the precum he'd oozed out – from
watching me submit to his demands that I use my mouth to clean his unwashed
underwear for him.  I sucked especially hungrily there.

The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs snapped me out of the trace
of devotion to Max's crotch.

"Oh good," Xavier said, "you haven't started.  Come sit on the sofa."

Max sighed, more than a little annoyed at being interrupted from the most
action his dick had had for a whole, unprecedented, week.  He collapsed
onto the sofa.  I looked over at the two young alphas, and my heart sunk
when I saw Xavier holding the yellow linen tape measure – with a will of
its own, the tape measure taunted me.

"Remember when we used to measure our dicks?"

"Yeah, yeah, we get it Xav.  Your dick is huge.  But none of the boys
complain about this python either, you know.  Anyway, we stopped measuring
our dicks when we were fourteen."

"Ha," Xav said.  "You might have, but I take pride in watching my power
tool grow.  Anyway, listen, we're measuring them again right now.  Trust
me.  In fact, let's get slut here to do it."

I watched the two of them get naked – Xavier slid out of his fresh
workout shorts, while Max pulled his filthy boxers over his boots and
glared at me "Looks like you'll have to have to finish cleaning these for
me later, you little hole."

Fully seated on the sofa again, their huge cocks pointed straight up at the
ceiling.  Xavier's was, indeed, both longer and thicker – but Max's was
huge too.  And not just huge, of course, in comparison to mine: even if his
friend Xavier was not among them, 99.56% of guys would be jealous of Max's
size.

"Do him first," Xavier ordered.

Tentatively touching the skin of Max's cock for the first time, I repeated
the now-familiar ritual of holding it by the base and measuring the
prodigious length and then, without needing to be asked, his substantial
girth.

"It's seven-point-two by six-point-one inches," I told them.

"Good," Xavier said, closing his eyes and tugging at The Fuckclub,
remembering how in the last few hours he'd had Art worshipping his muscles
and showering him, remembering how he'd let Art work his dick and balls for
an hour and then denied him the load he so clearly and desperately needed,
remembering how he'd made Xavier crawl on all fours onto the bed and lick
his dried cumstains from his bed.  He remembered all this – and how
obediently Art had `volunteered' to help out Xav's buddy Max – while
squeezing his monstrous shaft.  "Good," Xavier repeated, "Now measure me."

On my knees, I shuffled over from between Max's legs to between Xavier's.

I could sense by the smug look on Xavier's face, as well as the urgent –
almost angry – flushness of his hard-on, that it was somehow even bigger
and more powerful than this morning.  I looked up at his face and felt an
immense gratitude that Xavier had seen me for what I was, and helped me
find where I belonged, kneeling before these two dominant younger men and
servicing their needs.

Three pairs of eyes travelled the immense distance up the tape measure from
Xavier's pubis to the end of his massive cock.

"Fuck," all three said in unison.

"Well?" Xavier asked, smirking.

"Nine-point-four inches long."

"And what about the girth?  Don't forget my girth."

Immediately I complied, it was more impossible for my fingers to reach
around his shaft than ever before, and the all-revealing tape measure said—

"Six-point-nine."

"Fuck hell, Xav," conceded Max, clearly impressed.

"Heheh.  I'm a growing boy," Xavier said.  "But now I need to show you
something really special."

I knew what was coming.  My shameful tiny dicklet was achingly hard, and
blessedly hidden by Xavier's old jockstrap.  But I had a feeling it
wouldn't be hidden for much longer.

"Art, you have permission to stand up," said Xavier.  "I want you to stand
up, facing us, and take off that jockstrap."

A few tears formed in my eyes as I obeyed him, my face burning red with
embarrassment the whole time.

"Holy fuckwomble!" Max said, slapping his knee with laughter, "He's–
he's – hahahaha – he's even smaller than Slipper!"

"I know!" Xav said, continuing their inside joke, "aww, ickle Slipper.  I
promised the little fag I'd still come by the school for old boys' dinners,
next year when I'm off to university, and throatfuck him then.  He didn't
seem too pleased – must want a breather – although I have to say I
never thought I'd find someone even Slipper could outsize!"

"You have no idea what a find you are from my friend Xav here," Max said,
addressing me directly.  "Now for me, what a boy has between his legs is of
supreme indifference to me.  It's not getting used, end of story."

"But Xav here," continued Max, "Xav hates even the idea of a boy he's
fucking having a cock.  So when he finds a puny-dicked fag like you it
drives him wild.  Trust me, I've seen it – the bigger the difference in
size, the bigger the difference in power.  It turns him into an animal.
Now I have seen him bring some seriously unhung boys back to the dormitory,
but you– now, you are something else.  I can't even begin to think what
he has in mind for you, you pin-dick little fag."

I stood there, taking Max's trash talk, feeling perversely privileged that
the shame I used to think was a dick might be of some use to someone –
even if only because its miniscule size served as a reminder of what a
bitchboy I was.  I hung my head in shame, staring at my straining dicklet,
somehow impossibly smaller after the boys made clear the only use it would
ever had

"Now be a good fucktoy and measure your little boyclit for us," Xavier
said.  I heaved in a deep breath and did as he instructed.  The ever-candid
tape measure made clear what we all already knew.

"It's three-point-one by two-point-two inches," I exhaled, feeling more of
what little was left of my manhood leave me as I said it out loud.

"Good.  I'm telling you, Max, he was put on this earth to serve.  Now,
slut, fall to your knees and do your little trick.  Tell Max how much
bigger his cock is than that pathetic little maggot."

Onto my knees I fell – to where I belong, as Xavier would say, – and
frantically calculated the dimensions.

"He's over fifteen times bigger, sir."

"Tell him directly," Xavier said.

"Your cock is more than fifteen times bigger than mine."

"And tell him what that means!" Xavier continued.

"You are more than fifteen times the man I am."

"Good. And he's more than fifteen times the man you'll ever be," said Xav.

Max nodding, grabbing his girthy cock, "Fuck yeah I am.  I'm starting to
see why you're think this dick size thing is so important, Xav."

"And what about me?" Xavier asked, smirking, "How much more of a man am I
than you?"

Xavier's huge erection was over three times girthier than mine, and more
than three times as long.

"You're almost twenty-nine times bigger than I am, sir.  You're twenty-nine
times more the man I am," I said in awe.

"And don't you damn well forget it, slut," he said arrogantly, cockslapping
me where I knelt for emphasis.  "Honestly, Max, you should have seen him
when I took his virgin hole earlier.  His tiny little worm shrivelled up so
small, flaccid and next to my big hard-on I must have been a hundred times
bigger."

Max whistled his approval.  "Hey, d'you mind?" he asked, grabbing me by the
hair and pulling me back between his legs, "You'll like this."

"Look at me!" Max said, spitting on my face, "You see big cocks like these?
When they get touched it's by hands full of awe and respect; or by wet
tongues and struggling throats; or by velvety boypussies like that formerly
virgin hole of yours – understand?"

I nodded my agreement.

"But pencil dicks like yours get ignored – and if they ever do get
touched..." I watch as he leant forward, his heavy Dr Martens hovering for
just a second over my dicklet before crashing down on it, "...it's like
THIS!"

"Aaaahhghh!" I yelled out in pain.

"Fucking hell, Max, brutal!" Xavier said, a huge glob of precum coming from
The Fuckclub.  He egged Max on: "Do it again!"

Max ground his enormous boot into my tiny cock for a few seconds, before
lifting it and bringing it down again with a thwack.

"AARRGHHGHH!!  PLEEEASE!" I pleaded, terrified they would do it again.

Thankfully, Xavier came to my rescue.

"Ah, fuck, Max.  Let's spitroast this little cunt.  You showing him the
only thing his worthless little nub is good for has me right on the edge.
I had him blow me for an hour earlier without busting my load and I swear
to god if we don't use him right now I might fucking shoot."

"Fuck yeah, man.  Watching this little fag lick a week's worth of my junk's
best off my dirty undies has got me pretty close too.  Can I have his arse,
Xav?"

"What?" Xav exclaimed.  "No way, man.  I just found him, I've only used it
once and I'm not done playing with it yet.  You take his mouth."

"Ugh, fine," Max said, grabbing a fistful of my hair and hawking his phlegm
across my cheek for the umpteenth time that afternoon.  He stared into my
face, "I'm pretty pissed off my friend here won't let me have a go on your
hole – yet, – but obviously you're the one I'm gonna make pay for it,
by choking you extra hard on my big dick."

Xavier was already making his way from the sofa to behind me and adjusting
my body as he saw fit onto all fours.  He reached forward and grabbed my
hair, saying, "You heard the man – open wide," as soon as I complied he
shoved my outstretched mouth onto Max's thick cock.  He pushed me down
further, until I started gagging uncontrollably, "That's better.  He said
he wants to hear you choking, remember?"

I felt Xavier's obscene nine-and-a-half inches of hard teen cock slide back
down my back, as Max took over controlling my head with a fistful of my
hair.  Down I was pushed again, retching and struggling against his mighty
cock.  "That's what I'm talking about!" Max said, "This is the level of
submission I expect from a boy!"

From behind me I heard Xavier starting to hawk up some spit, to use as lube
on my apprehensive hole – it had only just started to feel normal from
this morning.

"No wait!  Please!"  Max yelled, releasing my hair and lunging forward
urgently.  He caught the long string of saliva Xavier was dribbling onto my
crack and wiped it onto my back.  "No lube!"

"Fucking hell, Max.  He's only been fucked once.  And have you seen the
size of this thing?"

The pounding of my heart slowed a fraction at Xavier's mercy.  If his
massive fuckclub had done such a number on my insides earlier, I dread to
think what a fucking with no lube would do.

"I know, I know.  But please – no lube.  I want to see the pain on his
face as you fuck him with no lube," Max explained.  I looked up at Max,
begging with my eyes, but he did not share Xavier's mercy, and instead
glared back sadistically.  "Come on, man.  Jack's been holding out on me
– I have to get more lube every few minutes whenever I fuck him – I
haven't seen a boy truly hurt and crying from a hard fuck in months, maybe
even a year.  For a friend – fuck him – no spit, no lube."

I waited tensely to hear Xavier's response from behind me.

"Well, okay, for a friend."

My body started trembling in trepidation and fear.

"Well I warned ya, fuckslut," Xavier went on, "that I wanted you to get
used to being fucked by me lube-free.  Guess even I didn't think it would
be this soon."

I felt him positioning The Fuckclub between my butt cheeks, resting right
at the entrance of my tight, quivering hole.  This couldn't happen –
even if Xavier could so callously fuck me for my second time ever without
even so much as spit for lube, it surely wouldn't physically possible.  I
felt Xavier place his big hands firmly on my hips.

Max breathed in in anticipation and then released my hair, reassuringly
rubbing my head.  "I don't want my grip on your hair to hurt you."
Unusually kind for him, I thought, given he seemed even more cruel than
Xavier.

Then he explained his ulterior motive.

"I want the look I'm about to see on your face to come purely from my
generously endowed friend here – from him ruthlessly smashing open the
entrance to your little cunt – from him brutally shoving aside your
insides to make room for his massive dick.  You better get ready, cunt.
That fuckclub of his is famous throughout the Thames Valley, and if the way
he treats tiny-dicked fags like you is anything to go by, you're about to
find that out harder than anyone else has before."

"Enough!" Xavier barked, "I have to have him!  NOW!"

"AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGHFFFFGFHHHH!!!!"

Xavier shoved every one of his nine-and-a-half inches inside me, dry, and
to the pubes.

My blood-curdling scream shook the mirror on the mantelpiece.  My contorted
face turned purple and my ears started to ring.  I was crying so hard –
deep, heaving crying – I could hardly breathe.  Through slightly blurry
vision I saw Max smiling at me with moderate disbelief.

"Yessss," Max said, "now THAT's what I'm talking about.  THAT is what
subboys should be willing to put up for for their men!"

He spat on my face before backhanding me, hard across the face.  Then
again.  And a third time.

SMACK

SMACK

SMACK

"That's it.  Cry.  Cry you little cunt.  Let Xav and me hear just how much
it hurts.  How much you'll put up with it hurting and still need more."

The relentless, hole-splitting fuck with which Xavier was assaulting me;
Max's hard, head-spinning, heartfelt strikes across my sorry face; and the
sheer and utter humiliation of what he was saying made me cry even harder
– I sobbed and sobbed, in physical and mental pain.

I felt Xavier's enormous weapon tearing my arse in two, with his long, hard
thrusts, and heard his balls slap against my butt cheeks.  Max surveyed my
agony and could hardly contain his excitement.

"I don't think I'm gonna last much longer," he said, using one of my pained
screams as a chance to shove his dick back down my throat in a single swift
movement.

"Fuuucck, his screams feel so fucking good on my shaft, Xav.  Fuck him
harder."

And fuck me harder Xavier did.  My screams died down a little as I
struggled for air, Max was pushing me down onto his dick harder and for
longer than before.  After almost a minute my whole body started struggle.
Seeing this sent Max over the edge.  I felt his cock pulsating, deep down
my throat, firing volley after volley straight into my stomach.  After
shooting his load down me for what seemed like forever, he let me up for
air.

"Fuck me, I needed that," Max said, collapsing back on the sofa.  Now
relieved of Max's huge dick, my mouth was free to sob – more gently
despite Xavier's relentless and ongoing fuck.

If Max's post-orgasmic state made him less sadistic, this was shortlived.
"He's quietened down a bit."  I saw him get up and return with his week-old
precum-strewn underwear, and he shoved them – crotch first – into my
mouth.

"Had you forgotten you still needed to clean these?  `cos I haven't."

He grabbed me by the hair, lifting me from all fours, with Xavier's huge
and notorious fuckclub still pound-pound-pounding at my wrecked hole.

"Hey Xav – watch this," Max said, raising his leg and booting me in the
groin.

"Mrrrrggggrrrrrrmphhhhh!" I cried, my screams muffled by Max's manly
stained boxers.  My balls and dicklet ached, the flaccid thing seemed to
shrink impossibly smaller, away from the pain.

Xav grunted, "Ah, fuck yes, Max!  Kick it!  Fuck!"

"Does your little boyclit hurt?" Max asked me.

Sobbing big weighty sobs, I nodded, yes – yes it hurt.

"Goooood," Max said.  "Xav – how's The Fuckclub feeling?"

"Fuuuck!  Fucking awesome, mate.  This little hole is so fucking tight.
Fuck fuck fuck!  So fucking soft with no lube. Fuuuuccckk!"

"You hear that fuckslut?  While your pathetic little boyclit aches from
being booted and trampled, your new alpha's massive dick feels fucking
awesome.  And THAT" he pulled me up to look at him and spat across my face
once more "is the WAY of the WORLD."

Max stamped on my pitiful package the hardest he had all night.  This, and
his words, sent Xavier over the edge.  Max had to jump out the way as
Xavier dove forward, still inside me, pinning me down to the floor.  He
grabbed my head and mashed it roughly against the carpet, breathing and
grunting like a wild beast, while his enormous cock throbbed incessantly in
my searing, ruined hole.

"Grrrnnfffhhh, FUCK YEAH.  Fucking FEEL the power of that dick!  FEEL the
power of my FUCK.  You FEEL that slut!  I'm fucking breeding you.  You're
not gonna forget the first time you took a fucking load from Xavier Lynch's
FUCK CLUB."

Rope after rope of his load splattered my insides.  It felt simultaneously
invasive and yet was a blessed lubricant.  He lay on top of me, panting,
the weight of his muscular frame took the air from me but felt also
comforting.

Even Max was in stunned silence for the first time since arriving.  He
looked down at the sweaty, breathy aftermath of the harrowing ordeal
through which they had put me, and idly scratched his balls – even Max's
now soft cock looked four times bigger than mine would have been if it were
hard.  I wept gently, the sounds still stifled by Max's filthy boxers.
After several minutes, Xavier got up.

"Oh shit.  He's bleeding.  Stay there, Art – I'll get you some tissues,"
said Xavier, a few small splats of blood on his hand and massive cock.  He
and Max disappeared from the room.

I lay on the floor, thinking about Xavier's seduction of me yesterday –
his savage throatfuck last night and the way he took my virginity this
morning; having washed his body for him in his walkin shower and sucked him
off so long my jaw ached; having served as a footrest for him, and for Max
who had made me wash his filthy armpits and underwear with my tongue; the
two of them fucking me from each ends, and Xavier taking me, dry, `til I
bled and wept.

The long-forgotten tennis match of Max's younger brother Teddy played on in
the background.  "So that's it," the commentator said, "it did look like
Anatolievich might make a comeback in the first set, but taking the last
fifteen straight games it's Great Britain's Teddy Thompson through to the
final.  This is the twenty-ninth encounter in these young men's junior
careers, and a twenty-ninth victory for young Teddy."

Half an hour later Xavier and Max reappeared, in matching red trousers and
white woollen pullovers with blue and white stripes around the v-neck, both
monogrammed with Xavier's initials: `XL'.

"Had to lend Maximillian here some clothes.  Oh yeah, here," Xavier said,
true to his word he chucked me some soft tissues from his pocket.

Still lying on my front, on the floor where he had left me, and shaking, I
reached out for them and held them to my sore and sorrow backside, before
getting unsteadily to my feet.

"Max and I are going to Regent's Canal to do some punting.  You're all
right to get dressed and let yourself out?" asked Xavier, not particularly
expecting an answer.  He removed Max's week-old boxers from my mouth, which
by this point I felt sure I actually had cleaned with my saliva, and threw
them disgustedly to the floor.  "Oh, but first, give me your `phone number
and full address."

Fuzzy-headed, I didn't question him, as ever.  I started tapping out my
details on the `phone he handed me – he had already entered my name:
`Boyclit'.

"Now I will text you first if I ever intend on turning up at yours, but I
will be turning up.  I do not take no for an answer.  Fucking hell, Art,"
he said, slapping me endearingly on the cheek, "that was a bloody great
fuck.  Oh, and sorry about Max–" he nodded towards his friend "–he's
pretty brutal but not normally that brutal.  His little princess of a
boyfriend's been holding out on him, you understand?  Well, I suppose you
don't," he finished, smirking down at my vanishingly small dick.

"Oh, we almost forgot," Xavier said, picking up that cursed tape measure
and putting it around my neck, before tying it neatly like a tie, "I
wouldn't want you forgetting what I taught you'd these last two days before
I next see you.  Not that you will."

And with that, they left.

I sat back on the floor to catch my breath and collect my thoughts for
nearly an hour, before getting up and ready to leave.  I felt sure I'd be
back, just as they said, but right now I needed to go home, curl up in a
ball and recover.

--

I hope you're enjoying this story, which I intend on continuing as a
series.  Any feedback and suggestions would be much appreciated at
sphsublondon@gmail.com