Date: Sat, 29 Oct 2022 18:18:29 +0100
From: SPH Sub <sphsublondon@gmail.com>
Subject: My Six Twink Top Lodgers (authoritarian)

My Six Twink Top Lodgers


- - -


This is my second Nifty story, alongside Boyclit, and involves six younger
tops dominating a slightly older man.  A fair few kinks and fetishes
appear: hung, sweat, watersports, double penetration, small penis
humiliation, CBT, macrophilia, sissification, hyperspermia - hopefully
there'll be a little something for everyone.


Thank you to the many Nifty authors I've enjoyed for over half my lifetime
(and many of whose tropes I have shamelessly pilfered!).  Thanks also to
Nifty itself, to which you should consider donating.


- - -


I'm sharing with you a day in the life of me and my six twinky top lodgers.
Each day varies from the next, but this one is fairly typical.  It is hard
work and tiring, for sure, but also enormously rewarding.


At 7am on Friday, my alarm went off and I opened my eyes.  I was in my
double bed, in my medium-sized bedroom, in my South London maisonette.
It's the only space in our home I have to myself - most of the time at
least.  It was midsummer, and the already-warm sun streamed in through the
window.


While I was still a little sleepy, Javier had work at the hipster
café around the corner this morning, so I pulled myself out of bed,
got dressed, and walked to the kitchen to make an espresso: a restresso
latté - strong but milky - just the way Javier likes it.


I crept back through the corridor to the bedroom he shares with George.
Opening the door, I saw two of my six boys in the bunk beds they each
share.  Quiet, so as not to wake George, I made my way over to the bottom
bunk, placed the coffee on the side table, and lifted the duvet.


Javier was already pitching a serious tent - but I suppose that's quite
normal for an 18-year-old in the mornings.  I pulled down his Lacoste
briefs and started gently licking his balls.  They were slightly sticky
with sweat, given the warm nights, and I savoured their saltiness - using
my whole tongue to pleasure but not tickle him.  After thirty or so seconds
I looked up the length of his perfectly proportioned eight-inch cock to see
a steady stream of precum pearling at the tip.


Javier moaned and shifted, sitting up in bed, and my head followed his
crotch.  Now he was awake, I knew it was time to start blowing him
properly, so I licked up his shaft, running my tongue around the small
amount of navy fluff stuck to his foreskin from him sweating and getting
horny throughout the night.  The precum was sweet, as it so often is with
these youngsters, and I allowed myself a few flicks of the tongue to enjoy
its flavour before I took the now-inflamed head in my mouth and started to
bob my head up and down.


No sooner had I thought how hot I was getting under the duvet than Javier
pulled it off.  "Buenos dias, putita," he mouthed softly, knowing it would
be unfair to wake George so early.  I looked up at his beautiful face.
Cheekbones to cut glass, hazel eyes contrasting with his olive Latino skin.


The Argentine boy had been living in Buenos Aires a year earlier when he
put up an ad on Spareroom saying he was an aspiring model, hoping to move
to London the next year.  He didn't have a lot of money - his budget
certainly wouldn't have stretched to a room in our expensive city - and I
said I was a slim 35-year-old in half-decent shape with a flat, in which I
was happy to house the world's waifs and strays for a nominal £20
contribution towards the monthly bills.  I sent him details of the other
lodgers, we'd had a video call, and he booked his flights to come to London
shortly after his 18th birthday a few months ago.


He was already picking up some modelling jobs, on account of the
cheekbones, the eyes and everything else about his stunning face.  And
stunning body, I thought, as I glimpsed those v lines leading up from his
trimmed-but-not-shaved pubes to those abs and pecs - not oversized through
daily roided lifting sessions or anything, but rather the biweekly
leisurely gym visits needed in his vocation.  But he hadn't yet made his
big break, hence the café job and him lodging with me.


He flashed me a louche and arrogant smile, so I moved my head down deeper
to choke myself on his cock, showing my gratitude at his cockiness.  He
reached for his coffee and took some leisurely sips, as I quickened my pace
- we both knew he had to be up soon to go to work.


There's something magical about giving head, and especially giving
unreciprocated head to a total top.  Each of us is in our element.  It puts
me in a euphorically submissive headspace, and I love reverently
worshipping a cock and watching a top moan and feel his thick dick pulse in
my mouth.


Javier's eyes kept wandering to the other corner of the room.  I stopped
blowing him for a second to see what he was looking at - a standing mirror,
behind me - before sucking him again.  I began to jiggle my jockstrapped
butt for his reflected enjoyment.  My dick - or, rather, my dicklet - was
hidden away, and only three inches on the rare occasions it got hard; but
my butt was most definitely an asset.  I leant forwards to make my butt
cheeks look even more curvaceous for him, and winked the entrance of my
pussy at him a few times in the mirror, - wishing we had more time so he
might fill me me - and he made approving `mmm' noises as I massaged his
dick with my throat.


For five or so minutes I sucked him off, dribbling a little on my hands so
I could softly massage his balls.  His moans got a little louder, and he
placed down his empty cup with his right hand, grabbed the base of his dick
with the other, and I knew that was the cue to slow down my efforts so his
dick wouldn't be oversensitive as he shot a big morning load all over my
tongue.  I gave his cock a few more loving licks after swallowing his cum.


"Good morning," I mouthed quietly back at him, and left the room so he
could get up and start getting ready.


I wandered back through to the kitchen, and started slicing a loaf of bread
and going through the boys' itineraries in my head.  Javier would get fed
at the café; George did his writing wherever, Quentin's lectures
were all online today, Alex still didn't have a job and Robbie wouldn't be
up for hours - so I could feed all of them at home.  That left Malachi, who
had a big football match today.  I shredded large chunks of what was left
of yesterday's roast chickens (I'd roasted two - you can't feed six young
growing lads on just one) with my hands, so there was plenty left for a
protein-rich sandwich with some sweetcorn and mayo.  I took out a sharpie,
wrote `Malachi' on a brown paper bag, then popped the sandwich, a Lucozade,
an orange and a banana in it.


Next, I needed to get Alex up.  He had promised - and not for the first
time - that he'd start working on university applications today.  I poured
some Frosties in a bowl and popped on the kettle to make him a cup of tea,
and made my way to his and Malachi's bedroom.


Aged twenty, Alex was the oldest of the six lodgers, and I'd met him a
couple of years ago when he was doing A-levels at a college in Bromley
where I'd gone to give some careers advice.  I'd just popped to the toilets
for a pee, and spotted Alex at the urinal - his enormous cock protruding
lasciviously from his tiny frame.  My mouth fell open, utterly agog; his
dick was gigantic - easily three times the length of mine.  I made my way
to the cubicle to pee in privacy, but he followed in hot pursuit.  "Go on
then, let's see." he taunted.  It was like he knew.  Trembling, I pulled
down my trousers to sit down to pee and he scoffed.  "Ahahahaha!  Is that
it?!" he asked, looking at my much smaller offering and then at my
reddening face.  He luxuriantly wanked himself to full length - he hadn't
pulled up his boxers - some five times bigger than what I was packing.  He
reached up to put his hands on my shoulders, and I fell to my knees
instinctively, whereupon he roughly but silently fucked my throat.  After,
he made me give him my `phone number.  It became a regular thing, me
blowing him; and when his parents told him he'd have to move out if he
didn't go to university, he moved in with me.


I was surprised to see he was already awake when I opened the door to his
room.  He was down from the top bunk, at their small shared desk, rolling a
spliff.


"I'm just doing your breakfast," I said, and he nodded and picked up the
Rizla, following me.


I could talk at a more normal volume in the kitchen.


"You shouldn't be smoking weed at eight in the morning, Alex," I chided
him.


"Ah, it's just hash," he replied; "and you know I can't have breakfast
without it,"


I tutted, taking the milk from the fridge for him to pour in his Frosties,
and opened the window nearest him as he sparked up.  I made his cup of tea
- English breakfast, full-fat milk and no sugar - and popped it next to
him.  He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat, glancing down at his
crotch.


He needn't have hinted.  I'd spotted it when I saw him rolling in his room.
Anyone would have.  His slightly tattered pyjama bottoms couldn't hold it.
His legendary cock.


Alex's dick was the biggest of the six tops who lived with me; one of the
biggest I'd ever seen, in fact.  A solid log of just over ten inches, with
seven inches of girth, it gave him a quiet confidence even when his parents
tried to put him down for his lack of professional or educational ambition.


"Suck me while I finish this?" he asked matter-of-factly.


I got down on my knees as he freed his monster cock from the pyjama
bottoms, flicking ash out the window.  Even his ball sweat tasted slightly
of cannabis, little stoner that he was, but I didn't mind.  I wanted him
focused on the tasks ahead today - which was gonna be difficult enough if
he was high, let alone if he was high and hadn't cum.


With amazement, I noted the contrast between his wrist-thick enormously
long cock and his thin wiry body.  He had an extraordinarily tiny waist and
you could just about see his ribs through his pale skinny chest.  He was
only 5'6", which made his dick seem even bigger than its already impressive
10".  His cock was longer than his torso was from front-to-back, and by
quite some margin.  As he smoked his joint and I smoked on his cock, he
looked down with a cheeky glint in his blue eyes, his long blond hair which
reached halfway down his back making him look a little lionine.  He flashed
me a goofy grin, showing the braces on his teeth for which I'd paid a few
months ago (he'd been self-conscious about his smile, it transpired, but
his parents had cut him off).  The braces, combined with a small smattering
of acne, made him seem more adolescent than his twenty years.


He flicked the roach out the window and poured the milk onto his cereal,
while I worked on his big dick.  Thankfully, Alex was more into having the
plum-sized head of his cock pleasured than needing to bury it in to the
hilt.  I think he likes seeing his own size as it reaches up to and stuffs
the mouths of his cocksuckers, with enough shaft for my lips, both of my
demure little hands and then some to spare.


I worked his morning wood long and hard as I heard him munching away on his
breakfast, felt him place down his spoon and pick up his tea, and take a
few sips.  Despite its enormous size, his youth meant it stayed hard as
rock the whole time, and when I took the head and first few inches in my
mouth, I choked a little - letting my slick spit trickle slowly down his
long thick ten inches.  I looked down as his smoothish sack quivered, eager
to burst its morning load.


Nothing good lasts forever, though, and soon nature and his need to unload
took over - and my revential worship of the head wasn't enough.  Although
kneeling under the dining room table led to an awkward angle, he shifted
his chair back so he could place a hand on the back of my head and start
facefucking me in earnest.


"Uff, uff, uff, yeah," he moaned, and started cumming in my mouth - giving
me my second breakfast of the day - his little chest rising and falling in
sync with the throbbing of his truly humongous dick.


As he recovered from his orgasm, I did so from the ram-battering of my
throat.  I recovered faster, and got up from under the table.


"We're going to go over the personal statement for your UCAS application
today," I reminded him.


"Ugh, I know," he replied, annoyed, "honestly, you're worse than my
parents."


"Oh, come on," I protested, "I've not kicked you out.  Or worse, taken away
your Playstation.  I just happen to agree it would be good for you to have
a little direction."


"Yeah, fair," he conceded.


I left Alex in the dining room, to collect his thoughts, so I could start
collecting that day's laundry from around the house.  The trouble with
living with six young tops is that's at least six outfits a day that need
washing.  And none of them are very domesticated, so of course I do it all
for them.


Some are more house trained than others, and at least put their dirty
clothes in a laundry basket (thank you, Javier and George) so these were
easy to collect, but the other two rooms are always a mess.


I quietly entered Robbie and Quentin's room.  I knew Quentin would want me
to help with studying for his economics degree in a couple of hours, I
thought, as I collected the plain white t-shirt, socks and precum-strewn
boxers from the floor.  I held them up against my nose, thinking it was
crazy just how much Quentin's balls could produce.  Robbie's raving clothes
were on the floor too, grimy from whatever warehouse party he'd been out to
the previous night.  I left their room as silently as I'd entered it - my
tops needed their sleep - and I'd pay terribly if I woke Robbie before it
was time.


Next up was Alex and Malachi's room - Alex didn't like his torn skater
jeans washed and often went commando, so it was just some dirty socks and
one of his metal band t-shirts.  Malachi had gym clothes, grey trackies and
a tight black vest.  I picked them all up from their `floordrobe' and
walked to the washing machine, in the pantry.


In they all went at a mixed fabrics setting, along with the detergent and
some fabric softener.  I lit a cigarette, enjoying a brief moment of
respite, when Malachi strutted in.


"I've got my match in an hour," he stated.


"I know, I've made you a packed lunch.  It's in the dining room with your
name on."


"Ah, cheers for that Art," he said - it's so nice when these boys say thank
you, - "do you know where my kit is?"


"Yep, I washed and dried it yesterday, it's in your duffel bag in the
hallway."


"Ah, safe.  Nice one.  And, uhh, I need to cum," he said, scratching his
balls through his boxers - the only thing he was wearing.  Malachi was a
gorgeous mixed race boy, 19-year-old with a very neat flat top, and an
extremely impressive musculature.  From his broad shoulders, to his cricket
ball hard biceps, down to his washboard eight pack - more a twunk than a
twink, but - like my other five lodgers - all top.


"I thought you said your coach didn't want you to cum right before a
match?" I asked.


"Yeah, well, that dickhead doesn't know what he's talking about.  I didn't
cum for a whole day before the last match, and ended up knocking some prick
to the floor and got sent off.  I need to release some aggression before I
play."


"But, wait, I..." I began, keener to get him off after his match, when he'd
run off a bit of his marathon energy and where he might be a little
gentler, but he was already upon me.  I felt him reach for the button of my
jeans, I grabbed my waistband to hold it up, but my strength was no match
for his as he deftly unbuttoned and detrousered me, revealing my
jockstrapped arse.


"Just quickly, yeah, I need to cum before my match," he said, pushing me so
I was bent over the thundering washing machine, not quite as loud as the
couple of spit wads I heard him hawk against my hole.


"Fuck yeah," he said, seeing today's jockstrap - I wear one every day -
today's a dainty black number with leopard print netting at the front.
Malachi was always driven wild by underwear like this, as it delicately
framed my arse cheeks for him and kept my little dicklet out of the way.


As Malachi's nine-inch cock (almost but not quite as thick as Alex's)
entered my hole, I thought back to when we'd first met.  I'd been
volunteering as a linesman at one of his under-21s football tournaments in
Brixton and the main referee had, in fact, sent him off - leaving his team
a man down with ten minutes to go.  After the game, I was in the shower
block, when the cubicle door was kicked open and there loomed Malachi.  I
switched off the water and asked what the hell he thought he was doing,
when he told me to tell my mate (the referee, I assume) that he was a knob
end.  I could smell the rage as well as the sweat from when he told me to
`Come `ere!'  I nervously got out of the shower, naked; my dicklet had
shrunk to nothingness out of fear, as his massive dick got hard and angry.
He let out his anger on my sorry hole.  It was a brutal and painful fuck -
the water on my arse from the shower made a terrible lubrication, and he
had rammed it in without lube or spit.  As I let out some involuntary
screams, he placed the palm of his huge hand over my mouth and nose,
causing me to whimper and grasp at the wet tiling with my weaker helpless
hands.  Once he had cum, however, he calmed down.  I ended up taking him
for a drink afterwards (he had a pint, I had a much-needed G&T).  It turned
out he was having some trouble at home and hoping to move out, which is how
I came to offer him a room at mine.


I'd been helping Malachi with his anger problems since, and he'd mostly
calmed down.  Not least as he gets aggy when he hasn't cum and doesn't
really like to wank, so now when he feels himself getting angry he knows to
find me and tell me he needs to get off.  I could feed the washing machine
juddering up against my abdomen, as he ploughed my hole with a great deal
of strength (he is, as I said, extremely well built).  Time was of the
essence, so it was a hard and quick fuck, before I heard his grunts getting
louder and could feel his sweat dripping onto my back.


I loved Malachi's sweat and smell.  One thing you learn when you live with
six young guys is they don't tend to wash very often.  Javier was an
exception, given how vain he is, and showered and preened himself daily;
George had a weekly bath, listening to classical music; Alex was too lazy,
Robbie too busy partying, and Quentin too busy with his studies to bother
with showering once a week - it was usually every fortnight or so; but
Malachi never showered.  He's a real man, he told me, and should smell like
one - so everyone knows what an alpha he is - and frankly I don't disagree.
He loves how much of a submissive headspace his sweat and funk puts me
into, and I love it too.


His smell, his massive cock pounding my hole, and his urgent growls brought
me back to my senses and I started squeezing my boypussy around his big
dick.  This sent him over the edge, and as he fired off his pre-match first
load of the day deep inside me, he collapsed on top of my back - a glorious
sweaty mess - catching his breath.


"Cheers for that," he said, slowly pulling his dick from my hole.  He
pulled up my jeans for me (so sweet) and his own boxers, before padding
back through to the dining room to grab his packed lunch and kit, and head
to his match.


It was a little after ten a.m. when Quentin appeared, naked and hard, in
the dining room - with a couple of weighty textbooks and a laptop under his
arm.


"Are you hungry?" I asked.


He nodded.  "And horny."


I popped two slices of sourdough into the toaster and took out an avocado -
Quentin's go-to breakfast - and set about making it for him.  He was
already poring through one of his macroeconomics books, and under the table
his rock hard cock was already pouring precum onto the floor.


Quentin's "And horny" riposte was very on brand.  He was by far the
horniest in the house - while most of the other boys needed to cum four or
five times a day each, they could only reach Quentin's average number on
their horniest days.  Quentin needed to cum at least eight times a day, and
often twelve.  Unlike Malachi, he didn't get angry when he was horny, but
he struggled to concentrate; so often he'd need to have me to hand while he
was studying, to ensure he could focus on his work and not just his dick.


I got on my knees and crawled under the table, to the spot where I'd blown
Alex earlier, and placed my tongue near Quentin's frenulum to catch the
pearly waterfall of precum.


"Non, mon ami," the Belgian told me, peering down from his toast and book,
"don't waste it."


The blond rosy-cheeked adonis was pointing at the pool of pre that was on
the floor.  He watched with a smile as I lapped it up, the stream of precum
streaking my face, then came back up to near his cock.


"Good boy," he said, disappearing back to his studies and breakfast, and
leaving me to admire his midriff as I went down on his dick.  He was more
twunky than twinky too, but not so ripped as Malachi; his balls pulsed the
whole time I was blowing him, as he filled my mouth with enormous amounts
of precum.


Eventually, we got into a steady rhythm, and I sucked him off for all of
five minutes before his nutsack pulled up more tightly and he started
moaning "Ugh, putain!  Putain!"  He pulled his chair back, and with it his
cock from my mouth - he reached down grabbing my hair with one hand and his
dick with the other.  I watched in amazement as eight, nine, ten ropes of
his cum came blasting from his cock, streaking across my face and into my
hair.


I'd have loved to have wiped it off and eaten it, or at least wiped it off,
but there was no chance.  Quentin's dick stayed hard.


"Encore," he commanded, and I put his dick back in my mouth.  After an
initial flow of post-cum, the stream let up a little but his hardness
didn't.  At 7", Quentin had the smallest dick of lodgers (although it was
still comfortably above average and well over twice the size of mine), but
what he lacked in their size he made up for in virility.  Every load was
huge, every load was urgent, there seemed no end to how many loads he
needed to shoot; and, even between them, he was hard for most of the waking
(and sleeping) day.


I sucked his cock more slowly this time, casting my mind back to when I'd
first met him.  It was just a few months ago.  He was eighteen, living with
his parents in Brussels and studying for his Enseignement Secondaire
Général.  I was doing some online tutoring in my spare time,
and he wanted some help with some more arcane aspects of British economic
history.  He also wanted to study in the UK, ideally at the London School
of Economics.  He kept switching his camera and mic off while I was
tutoring him, however, which I found to be rude - and I told him so.  With
most tutees, this would be the end of the matter, and they would keep their
camera on - but not Quentin, who would still switch it off at least three
times in a one-hour session.  One day, at the end of the lesson, I told him
I'd had enough, and he said "Pfft, I `ave to switch it off.  Maybe you
would not like to see why."  At the beginning of our next class together
the following week, about ten minutes in, he stood up, undid his trousers,
and pulled them down to reveal an insistent erection pointing at the
camera.  I stopped mid-sentence as he wanked himself off, expertly but
swiftly, and my jaw dropped to further astonishment as he came - for boy
could this boy cum! - a dozen shots flew out, making loud wet thwacks
across cyberspace to my bedroom in South London.  It could have been more
than a dozen for all I knew, because the last I could count covered the
camera even though he was standing some six feet away.  Quentin passed his
exams with flying colours and got into the LSE.  We hung out a few times in
London, and - as he hadn't found his halls of residence to his liking, or
at least not as to his liking as having a 24/7 cocksucker - and we agreed
he should move in with me.


As we reached the end of his second blowjob of the day, Quentin kept his
dick in my mouth this time.  It was just as well, as his first and
considerable load was now cooling and drying on my face.  The cold cum on
my cheeks smelt as sweet as the hot seed with which he was now painting my
tongue and throat - judging by the jumps in his balls, I'd say there were
at least seven or eight shots to this load too.


The eighteen-year-old's dick stayed hard as ever.  I tried to pull away to
get on with my day and he grabbed my head.


"Non!" he said, trying to keep his cock in my mouth.  I pulled away a
little more desperately and he finally let up.


"Quentin, please," I said, rapsily, "I need to get started on lunch for you
and the other guys."


He thrust his hard-on into my throat, even deeper, for a moment then said,
"D'accord," and I choked and sputtered as he released me.


I got up and poured a lot of milk into a very large pan, making a white
sauce.  I got two large and one medium-sized roasting trays to the ready -
I was making mac-and-cheese for the boys' lunch today: the two large ones
with pancetta, the medium-sized one without (George is a vegetarian).
After making the pasta and frying the meat, I combined them all together
and popped them into the oven.  It was five past eleven by this point.


"I need to go and do a food shop," I told Quentin, he raised his left cheek
for me to kiss without lifting his eyes off his book, and I set off at a
pace.  I needed to be back by twelve p.m. to get lunch out of the oven, but
should have had enough time.  As the open air hit my face, I realised I was
still wearing Quentin's first load.


While I neared the supermarket, my `phone vibrated.


"Mamasita. Meet me at the park near my café.  Important."


It was a text from Javier.  He'd been at work for three hours now, and I
wondered whether he might have forgotten something.


He was wearing some achingly fashionable and vintage outfit, including
round tinted sunglasses, when I saw him leaning against a tree smoking a
Vogue Superslim.


"Ah, fantastica.  I want your hole," he said.


I was reluctant.  It was the middle of the day, in public, and I was in a
hurry to buy the shopping and get home.


"This beautiful little twink was in the café buying an iced coffee
and undressing me with his eyes," Javier said, ever-vain and ever-cocksure,
"and he messaged me on Grindr.  A little bottom slut.  But my manager was
around, and so I could not fuck him in the toilets.  Now, I have my break
and I need to fuck."


My eyes darted around.  I chewed my lip apprehensively and felt my cheeks
flush red.  I'd been fucked, both by most of my six boys and others, in
parks including this one before - but not in the day time.  There is more
than a little shame involved in being fucked and dominated by another man,
and especially so publicly and in broad daylight; but the expectant glint
in Javier's eye and the beauty and perfection of the cock I knew that he
was rubbing over his jeans were more than tantalising enough.  Besides,
while I knew I couldn't keep all six of my tops happy all the time and that
they'd occasionally get it elsewhere, I couldn't allow some other bottom
hussy temptress at the café be what he thought about all day.  So I
steeled my nerves and resolved that, right here in this park, I'd be taking
his dick again.


I saw some trees growing quite close together with decent cover, which
might need to do, and nodded towards them.


He followed behind me at a casual pace, flicking his cigarette aside, and I
fumbled with my jeans.  He pushed me roughly against a tree.  He took out
his dick and shoved it into my hole, which was already lubed up by
Malachi's load from earlier in the day. Serendipitously, he was also in a
hurry to get back from his break, and was fucking me quickly and
deliberately.


"¿Quieres ser una chica angelica para mi?  ¿O una puta sin
polla?"  He said, placing his hand over my mouth.


"Ambas," I tried to say, through his grip.  (Both!  I want to be your
angelical girl and your dickless whore!)  "Ambas!" I said again.


He started biting and sucking on my neck, giving me what would undoubtedly
be a territory-marking publicly-visible lovemark, breathing into my nape:
"Ufff, te amo, te amo, I love you."


"I love you too," I moaned back, hoping strangers walking their dogs nearby
couldn't overhear my outdoor defilement.


"¿Sí? ¿Sí?" he asked, slapping my arse to get a
good view of my butt jiggling as he looked down as his cock penetrated
me. Through gritted teeth he grunted "Toma, ¡putita!"


That seemed to give him his nut, and I felt him empty his balls into me.  I
squeezed my cheeks shut, out of gratitude and so as not to spill any of his
cum over his skinny jeans.


"Gracias," he said, slapping me on the arse, and he made his way back to
work.  I felt that warm glow I get whenever one of the boys thinks to thank
me.


I noticed I had tree bark and grass stains on my trousers as I made my way
to the supermarket.  The shopping trip was a mad dash.  Thankfully, I have
a pretty good idea about what all six of the boys like, and one has to be
very organised with meal prep when you're feeding this many growing lads.
I filed up and down the aisles, filling the trolley, and thankfully the cab
came and got me super quick.  (Sometimes, I bring some of the kinder boys
with me to help with all this heavy lifting - they big strong boys after
all; - otherwise, I get a taxi home, as I don't drive - who would, in
London!)


It was almost midday when I left the shops, so I texted Quentin to ask him
to turn off the oven.  I was panicking slightly for the full minute it took
him to reply.  "OK.  Done."


So that was lunch ready and sorted, I sighed with relief.


The taxi driver helped me bring the shopping through the door, so I
resolved to send him a tip through the app, and I called for Alex and
Quentin to come help bring it to the kitchen.


The three of them were packing it all away, when I felt my `phone buzz
again.


"Cum 2 my room"


It was from Robbie.  Eep, I'd better get there fast.


"Thanks, boys, you know where everything else goes, right?" I asked.  We'd
almost finished anyway.  I stalked quickly to Robbie and Quentin's bedroom,
where Robbie was still in bed.


He moaned "Ugh, I'm so hungover.  I need a piss and I can't be bothered to
get out of bed."


Fuck, I thought.  I'm not unkinky nor averse to a bit of watersports, yet
I'd rather be pissed on than in (I'm not very good at swallowing it), let
alone being made to drink someone's dark dehydrated morning piss after
they'd been out partying all night.  But I knew Robbie was a sadistic
fucker when he wanted to be, despite appearances, so I thought it best to
oblige.  He swung around in bed, so his legs were over the top bunk, and
waved his half-hard cock absent-mindedly at me.


I wrapped my mouth around the head, smelling his all-night partying from
his armpits and definitely his balls.  There was that tense few seconds
where he got a bit harder from my lips, and neither of us were sure whether
he'd be too erect to piss, but then he let it start to flow and I began to
gulp it down.  He knows I'm not great at swallowing it either, so he was
letting it out a mouthful at a time.  By the time he was done, he seemed a
little less sleepy, and was sitting up and watching me with intent as I
reluctantly drank his piss.  He knows I hate swallowing it, but that just
means he gets turned on - loving that he knows I'll do it for him anyway.
His eyes narrowed and by the time he'd emptied his bladder into my stomach
his circumcised cock was approaching its full eight hard inches.


"You're such a good urinal, daddy," he said, in his cheeky slightly fem
high-pitched American accent.  "Does daddy want a load?"


"Yes please, kiddo," I said (as best as one can with a mouthful of dick).


These nicknames, of his invention, are but one of the many kinks he has.
He'd moved from Brooklyn to London as soon as he turned eighteen, not least
to escape an unkind father.  ("My dad was a dick, so I love having daddies
who'll do anything I tell them, including taking my dick," he once
explained to me, with extraordinary self-reflection.)  An archetypal twink,
not much taller than Alex (about 5'7"), with a pixiesque face, cute button
nose, bright blue eyes and jet black hair, I'd spotted him out clubbing
last year.  It was a sex club, and some big bear type had more or less
cornered him and was trying to get Robbie to blow him.  Outsized, but not
to be outgunned, Robbie saw me walking by, grabbed me by the hair, pulling
me towards him and onto my knees.  He yanked down his Aussiebums, releasing
his cock (almost 6" soft!) and naturally I'd started sucking his dick.  The
bear's jaw almost hit the floor, as he realised Robbie wasn't exactly the
pliant little bottom he'd assumed, and he lost interest.  Not done with me,
Robbie spun us around so I was on my knees backed up against the wall, and
hammered his dick down my throat until he fed me a load.  He'd thanked me
for helping him show the stupid persistant bear that tops can be twinks too
(not that I'd had much choice), and after bumping into each other at clubs
a couple more times (I didn't go as often as he did), we started hanging
out more until he moved in - aged nineteen - a year later.


I was standing, Robbie's legs hanging off the side of his bunkbed, with my
head impaled savagely on his cock - as he used my hair with vice-like grip
as a handle to facefuck me at exactly the pace he desired


"Fuck yeah!  Fuck yeah!  Fucking choke on my dick, daddy," he said - and
choking I was - trying not to puke after the bladderful of piss, "Lemme see
your eyes water.  Cry for my dick."


The sound of me retching (but managing to swallow it all back down) was
enough to send the dominant twink past the finish line, and his cute twinky
voice let out moan after moan as jet after jet of his delicious cum washed
away some of the not-so-delicious piss taste.


He slapped me, only half-hard, on the cheek a couple of times.


"Fuck, I love living with such a little bitch.  So useful."


Useful, I thought!  Such a compliment!  But then, he does sweeten a bit
after he's cum.


I went through to the kitchen, fetching the three dishes of mac-and-cheese
out of the oven, along with plates, large serving spoons, and getting out
the ketchup (for Malachi) and Worcestershire sauce (for Alex) to go with
it.  We tried to sit down to eat as a house once a week, but busy schedules
mean we can't do it every day, let alone every meal - but I knew the boys
would be in to help themselves as they got hungry.


I checked my watch just as it was approaching one o'clock in the afternoon.
I promised George I'd go through his lines for a rehearsal at one.


I made a black americano and walked through to George and Javier's room and
knocked on the door.  He was already awake and sitting up in bed.  We'd
probably be rehearsing in my (slightly bigger) bedroom, as we knew Quentin
would be busy studying in the dining room, and I could already hear Alex's
videogames blasting from the living room television.


"Good morning, beautiful," he said, with his strikingly deep voice.  He was
sitting up in bed, reading.  He hopped gracefully from the top bunk,
half-hard in his stripy baggy boxers, and grabbed his old but elegant
burgundy silk robe from a hook at the back of the door.  "I'm ready for my
close-up," he joked, putting the coffee-stained script under his arm.  He
wrapped a hand around my waist and kissed my neck several times as I handed
him his caffeine fix.


"Let's go through your lines in my room," I offered, and he smiled.  A few
of the other boys had been lobbying to take over my room, so they could
spread out a bit more, suggesting I could have the sofa.  George wouldn't
hear of it, and said after all the time I spent looking after them, the
least they could afford me was a small slice of luxury and privacy, and
eventually quashed the idea.  While Robbie had the most sadistic streak,
George was the opposite; - a total top too, yes - but George was romantic
and reasonably vanilla.  He stroked my butt as I led the way to my room.  I
suspected also he liked me having my own space so he might have tender
moments with me like this.


We began going over the lines.  As cliché as it might seem, George
had been cast in a youth production of Romeo & Juliet at the Young Vic
Theatre as, of course, Romeo.  Today he needed to go over Act I, Scene V
and I found myself the Juliet to his Romeo.


A gynosexual polyamorist, rather than one for Romeo's single-minded pursuit
of a single lover, George had a chest bursting with love and passion to
share - and had me swooning by the time his lines had led him inches from
my face:


"Sin from thy lips?  O, trespass sweetly urged!  Give me my sin again."


He leant forwards, and his floppy dark brown fringe almost concealed one of
his sharp green eyes as he neared and kissed me chastely on the lips.


"You kiss by the book," I said.


"Oh, sod the book," he replied, chucking aside the script and kissing me
more ravenously, pushing me on the bed.


Shortly after we were horizontal, with him on top, he tore his robe from
his body, and moved to rip off my jeans for their third time that day.
Once they were off, he was kissing me once more, and moved his hand down to
my hole as his hard long slender cock made itself known against my leg.


"What's this?" he said.  "My lady, sopping wet, from some other man?  Then
I shall make thee mine, so thee forget - these other men, who deign to make
you wet."  As if his deft fingering weren't enough, the effortless iambic
pentameter had me quivering.  He kissed my neck and licked hungrily at my
ear, growling deeply, as he manoeuvred himself between my legs and placed
them on his shoulders.


He looked down at my demure little jockstrap - ignoring the front, his eyes
zoned immediately on my hole.  "Is there more beautiful a sight than my
girl's slit quivering in anticipation of my love?  I think not.  Your
beautiful pink pucker trembles and twitches for your man?"


He lowered my legs `til they were wrapped around his waist, and his
seven-and-a-half inches slid, tender and easy, into my hole and he made
love to me with all the artistry of a young poet.


George seemingly had a preternatural gift for lovemaking.  I'd first met
him on Grindr a few months ago.  His profile (Stats: 18, 6'4", Top.  Bio:
`Young prince, seeking bottoms to make his princess') had obviously and
immediately piqued my interest, and just as I was about to reach out, a
message from him popped up on my screen.  I took him for dinner, and was
wowed by how well read and articulate he was; and he insisted on paying for
a round of cocktails afterwards, despite my protests, which was very sweet
indeed.  He'd been a poet for as long as he could remember, he said, and
had had a few things published in youth anthologies, but had moved to
London from Bath to see if he could make ends meet with some acting work
too.  George fucked feminine girls, boys and nonbinary people - anyone who
could make him feel like the young prince he truly was (well, not truly,
although he did have an earl for an uncle), and in exchange he made women
and bottoms feel like princesses, including me.  I remember my knees
tingling and all the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end as he
whispered his sweet nothings into my ear and made love to me that first
night.  He stayed for three more nights, putting me quite behind in my
chores, but suggested he might move in to help out and help stand my ground
against the other more demanding lodgers.  Naturally I said yes, and that's
how we found ourselves here.


He ran his hand up the top of my t-shirt, stroking my nipples with his
thumb, before his wrist continued on `til he gripped around my neck (even
he wasn't entirely vanilla), but quite gently - just firmly - as he bent
down to kiss me, his bony hips thrusting into my wobbling butt cheeks a
little faster.


I didn't usually get erect when being fucked, my little dick rarely saw any
usage, and some of the boys could be pretty rough - but George's skills,
prowess and empathy meant even I couldn't stop but get half-hard, and as he
hit my prostate so expertly - my eyes rolled back in ecstasy - my little
dicklet near squirting into its jockstrap.


"Your knight arrives.  He's getting closer.  Do you want me to spend a
load?"


I nodded, as his eyes penetrated mine.


"If I get you pregnant with my babies, maybe I shall have to make an honest
woman out of you," he said, breathlessly, getting closer still to the edge.


I nodded again.


He didn't blink once, not breaking his intense stare for a second, as his
entire body shook - my flood of happy hormones at having made him cum
making me quiver anew - for spend a load he certainly did.


We practised his lines with a little more focus for the next half hour,
until he was ready to get up to Waterloo for today's rehearsal.


I popped to the toilet to have a pee (- my own pee and, I thought, the
recycled piss from Robbie earlier).  There was a knock at the bathroom
door.


"Ay, Art, are you in there?"


It was Malachi.  It must be two p.m., when he usually got back from a
Friday match.


I opened the bathroom door, "Yeah?" I asked him, but could already guess
where this was headed.


"I need to have a `bath'," he said, with a smirk.


We both knew what that meant, and I followed him to his room.


The boys, as I said, mostly didn't shower a lot - so I often found myself
in a haze of their teen musk.  (It pervaded the air sexily all the time,
but I especially noticed it when I'd get back inside from outdoors - enough
every time to make me salivate.)


Malachi and Alex's room was especially funky, because Alex was usually too
stoned to remember to shower, and Malachi had his deliberate no-showering
rule.


His football kit was sticking to his sweaty muscular back as it tapered
down from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist, and the smell wafted
after him as we made our way through the house.  I licked my lips in
anticipation.


He collapsed, with a grunt, backward across his bed.


"Take off my trainers.  I've got a surprise for you," he said, as he rubbed
a big hardening cock through his shiny shorts.  I hadn't seen the red
sports socks he was wearing - high enough to hold his shinpads - for at
least two weeks.


"Yeah, have you noticed you've not had to pick up any of my socks or boxers
for two weeks?  I've been hidin' `em under my pillow to wear every day for
yous.  Well, one of the lads told me my feet stink today.  I thought about
deckin' him, but after that great fuck I threw you I was feelin' pretty
chill, but today you get to smell a real man again."


I'd finally got off one of his footie boots and I could see what his
teammate meant.  The heat of running around a football pitch for ninety
minutes had moistened and rekindled the fortnight's worth of sweat in the
sock's now-crisp fabric, so much my eyes watered a little and I almost
coughed.


"Fuck!" I exclaimed.


"Fuck yeah," he said, lifting his foot and rubbing the sock against my
face.


As I said, Javier was an exception to the no showering rule.  He tended to
take pretty good care of himself, and mainly smelt of the expensive
youthful aftershaves his family would occasionally send in care packages
from Buenos Aires.  The dirtiest I've ever tasted Alex was when he was so
addicted to a game on his Nintendo Switch that he didn't leave bed for
three days - I had to bring him his food, empty the Coca-Cola bottles he'd
finished and filled with his piss (thankfully he hadn't taken to using my
mouth as a urinal like Robbie), and suck him off two or three times a day
when he'd summoned me by text message.  The air of Alex's room was real
funky by the end of those three days, when he finally completed whatever
he'd needed to complete, but not as funky as his sweaty balls and the smell
of his feet.  George washes once a week, more than most of the other boys,
but he's learnt that really I love his smell - so when I'm laying in the
nook under his arm, he'll shift to put it nearer my nose, and smile as I
smile at his manlier musk.  Sometimes, on the morning of his bath, he'll
leave his used t-shirt outside my room with a note in ornate handwriting `A
token of love', because by day six he's usually able to mark it with a
great enough smell that I enjoy sleeping with it.  Robbie once came back
from a four day festival - looking like a Lost Boy - where he'd not used
the showers once, everything he brought and half his body were caked in
mud; he'd heard about these little sweat worship sessions from Malachi, and
had me lick his body clean - mud, sweat and all - with my tongue for an
hour, all while he filmed it on his `phone.  Raving gets him really horny,
so there was plenty of precum and sex smell from his balls especially.
Quentin doesn't get strong BO the way the others do when they shower, but
his crotch scent is always especially powerful - I know pheromones are
allegedly scentless, but it sure doesn't feel that way when he summons me
in during or after a heavy studying session, and the whole of his boxers
are soaked through with his eternal river of precum, as his achingly hard
dick has been in need of release.


I'd managed to get the second boot off now, and Malachi was rubbing both
his socked feet against all the contours of my cheeks and jaw and brow,
hard.


"Mmm, fuck yeah.  Give my manly stinky feet a massage with your face,
pussyboy."


I liked it when my boys were nice, of course, but if you live with six
twinky tops you get used to some trash talk too - and, who am I kidding, I
loved that just as much.


Once he was happy with the footrub, he pulled off his socks, and shoved
them under my nose.  "I want you to sleep with these and my boxers on your
pillow tonight.  Make sure you know you're living with a real alpha, okay?"


"Okay," I agreed meekly.


"Lick my feet clean for me, then," he said, and I bowed down more deeply to
get to them.  I gave the tops a quick and cursory tongueing, before moving
to the bits I knew he enjoyed more - licking the lint from between his
toes, and then the soles of his feet.  Nice long laps, so as not to tickle
him.  He wriggled the toes of his size twelve feet with pleasure.


He stood up, and I could see from the outline in his shorts Malachi was
fully hard.  Even through them, I could smell the two-week-old sweat from
his boxers, awakened by today's fresh sweat from the football pitch from
his balls and nine-inch cock.  He pulled down the shorts, and made me bury
my face against his crotch - all that sweat and musk, precum and droplets
of piss, an overwhelming symphony.


I moaned aloud.


"Yeah, does the lickle bitch like that?  You like the smell of a real man?"


"Uh huh," I moaned again.


He stepped back to take off his boxers, proffering them to the hand in
which I was holding his not uncrusty socks, and I grabbed them.  I moved my
nose and mouth to his balls, and inhaled deeply at the aroma of his
fantastic pungent nutsack.


(Feet could smell a bit strong for me, after two weeks.  And unwashed butt
I wasn't into - but thankfully none of my six top lodgers wanted to be
rimmed - "Why would I let anything near my arsehole?" Malachi had once
opined.  But armpits and ballsacks, like fine wines, just get better with
age.)


I could see how hard Malachi was now, watching me on my knees, face buried
in his rank weeks' old and yet whimpering with submissive joy at every
whiff and lick.  I keep myself pretty fresh, grabbing a shower whenever I
can in the day, which is as it should be - manly tops smelling of man,
girly bottoms smelling like flowers.  I think he enjoyed this contrast as
much as I did.


"Okay, lick `em," he demanded, and I set to work.  The strong acrid
saltiness danced on my tongue, as I reverently - genuinely - worshipped
every crevice of his now very familiar ballsack.  His dick throbbed,
leaking a little precum onto my neck.


Malachi pulled off his football shirt.  "Do my pits now."


I didn't need to be told twice, and licked around his pits.  Half the boys
in my flat used deodorant, but Malachi was among the half who didn't.  Even
though his shirt had been fresh today, he'd built up a very tasty pit
sweat, with no toiletries to hide the glorious musk which I could smell
before I tasted, lapping at his underarms with their tight fuzzy hairs.


"Mmmm," he growled, deep in pleasure.


Once he felt his left pit was done, after about five minutes, he moved my
head towards the other for me to repeat my tongue bath of his sweaty young
muscular body.


He pulled away and said "Get on your knees and open wide."


Now, I'm sorry to disappoint any smegma lovers among you, but since we
agreed Malachi should use me to get off any time he's getting angry, I suck
his dick too often for it to build up any smeg.  But that doesn't mean that
under his foreskin isn't ripe, given all the sport he does and how horny he
is all the time.  I could smell it as it neared me (hell, I could have
smelt it at six feet away), and it was glorious.  My tongue watering meant
my mouth was hot, wet and ready for his big cock as soon they met.


All of this tongue worship of him had clearly brought him close to the full
time whistle.  He unceremoniously started throatfucking me.  I gagged and
choked a bit - I'm an imperfect deepthroater, and especially for someone
with Malachi's nine inches; but those noises egged him on, and he pounded
away at my face for about twenty strokes before getting off deep down my
gullet - load after load of athletic teen jizz.


I pulled away and thanked him, raggedly catching my breath.


"Yeah, that's what I'm talking about.  You lick my rank two-week sweat from
my feet and I pound your throat like it's a fucktoy, and you thank me.
Good bitch."  He said, flashing a grin.


"Yes, Malachi," I said, returning his smile.


I needed to sit down to recover after that.  I went into my room to get out
my laptop, which told me it was 15:02, so I could start paying any of the
month's utility bills and subscriptions for our odd horny household that
weren't on Direct Debit.  I'd just finished the final one when my `phone
pinged.


"Dining room"


It was Quentin.


I closed my eyes and sighed, before making my way to the dining room,
wherein I heard electronified voices, and Quentin raising his finger to his
lips.  He was at the dinner table, where I'd left him, at his laptop in a
Zoom lecture.  He wore only a t-shirt, as clearly he still hadn't put on
his boxers.  He pointed below the view of the camera to his perpetual
hard-on.


Sighing, I got on my knees once again, and crawled under the table.  There
was an even bigger pool of precum this time, which I lapped up without
being asked, before I began orally pleasuring him.  Quentin could often cum
a dozen times a day, and the poor guy hadn't blown a load for five hours,
so he was hard and horny and ready.


For the first time that day, my jaw was starting to hurt from all the head
I was giving.  After I'd been blowing him for about two minutes I heard:


"Uhh, Quentin, remember the camera-on policy, please."


I froze as Quentin moved to switch his camera and mic back on (with me
blowing him live under the table!).


"Thank you. What did I just say?"


Quentin repeated the econometric gobbledegook jargon:


"The average treatment effect of the treated group should equal the average
treatment effect of the untreated group."


"Very good," the professor on the other side of the screen said, and
continued with his lecture.


After twenty seconds of staying still, Quentin's hand came down to move my
head.  I took the hint and carried on blowing him, trying to build him up
to a steady orgasm (although, I thought, his are always so explosive).


When I say Quentin can shoot twelve times a day, and all of those loads
average at twelve ropes a day, I do not exaggerate.  When I first saw him
shoot on cam, I thought it must have been an explosion built up for a
while, but little did I know he was just extremely virile - hyperspermia,
he told me it was called.  Between these dozen enormous loads and the
extraordinary amount of precum, I'm surprised his large-but-not-enormous
balls have room to produce it all.  I remember, the first time he fucked me
after moving from Brussels to London, we'd already talked about how
impressed I was by the amount of cum he shot.  "Zat is nothing.  You should
see after I fuck a nice hole," he replied, and so I of course offered up
mine right away.  We finished our drinks and had got back to mine about
eleven in the evening, and we didn't get to sleep until four a.m., after
he'd fucked me seven times.  I was a shivering, whimpering mess by the last
fuck - I couldn't believe this blond 18-year-old Belgian could have such
Olympian stamina.  But it's the visual of that first fuck most etched on my
mind: it was all-business missionary - but, just as he was about to cum, he
pulled out, pounced back off the bed, and jacked himself off.  No fewer
than twenty ropes of cum came flying from his cock - from eight feet away,
- the first two splattered against the wall above the headboard behind me;
the next two soaked my face, including up my nose and caking one of my eyes
shut; the next couple shot into my mouth, hanging open from the amazing
view; on and on he shot, covering my neck, and torso; the ropes of cum he
shot onto my little dick and unspent balls made a particularly hot
contrast, and one even expertly landed on my taint, dripping down to the
hole he'd just been ravaging.


I only needed to suck him for another minute or so.  Like I said, he'd not
cum for five hours.  But pretty soon he was shooting another one of his
geysers of teen seed down my hungry throat, soothing its soreness slightly,
as he let out a satisfied grunt.


My head snapped up at him, concerned about the noise, but he voiced with
minimal lip movement "Don't worry.  Camera on, sound off."


I chuckled under the table, and he reached down subtly with his hands - his
left, holding my face by the chin; his right, wrapping itself around his
still hard cock.  He deftly and quickly began jacking off his seven inches.
It only took him two minutes to bring himself to a second orgasm, a good
seven or eight shots of cum sprayed all over my face, dripping down my neck
and onto the floor.  He let out a low sigh.  I leant down to lap up some of
the floor cum and then crawled out from under the table at an angle where I
wouldn't be seen.


Dazed and breathless, I choke my head to recompose myself.  I made my way
to the living room, where the clock said it was approaching four in the
afternoon.  Shoot, I thought, I had better get a move on with a few more
errands - I needed to return some trainers Malachi decided he didn't want
(probably for the best he decided before he wore them!), and to pick up an
undelivered parcel which (remarkably) no one had been in to collect.  Alex
was gaming, still wearing nothing but those threadbare pyjama bottoms, with
his substantial pronounced bulge.


"I'm just popping out - do you want anything? I asked


"Yeah," he said, not breaking concentration with his game, "get me Doctor
Who magazine?"


"Sure!" I said.  Cute.


So out I popped to the Post Office to send off the trainers, pick up a
parcel addressed to Javier, and buy Alex's endearingly geeky magazine.


When I returned, Alex was still gaming.  Without looking away from the
screen, he said "I need to cum again."


The bulge at the front of his pyjamas had turned into a conspicuous dick
print - stretching ten inches down his left thigh and straining at the thin
fabric.  I popped the package and his magazine on the table, and got on my
knees in front of the sofa to pull down the elastic.  Without the dining
room table restricting our angle, his young enormous cock sprung right up -
reaching his nipple.  I reached out and grabbed his dick by the base, my
hand not quite reaching around it, bringing it towards my mouth.


I pulled back his foreskin and started making out with his frenulum,
bracing myself for more jaw ache (if it had been hurting while blowing
Quentin, it was definitely going to be stretched by Alex's, and there was
still a lot of the day ahead).


After licking around the ridge of his giant cock head for a while, I began
sucking him in earnest.  Practising with these boys means I can now easily
take the first 6.5" of someone's cock (if they're lucky enough to have
6.5", I thought).  With Alex, though, that meant there was still a good
3.5" to go (slightly more than my entire 3" hard length), and his girth
presented an additional challenge.


When I'd started puberty, pretty early, and in my early teens, I used to
masturbate myself - and quite often.  A little later - in my mid-teens -
however, was when I first started sucking the dicks of a few guys around my
age in the neighbourhood.  (Always separately and never together, and they
threatened me with a beating if I ever told anyone; but the fact they all
started getting me to do it over the space of about a year suggests maybe
they did tell each other about it, or maybe they were just horny.)  A few
of them would spit in my face and one I think even pissed in my mouth a bit
as much as his hard-on would allow.  And it was always unreciprocated head;
even though I was a horny teenager, it never even occurred to me to ask
them to return the favour.  I guess this was an early indication I was a
total bottom.  As for being spat on, who knows whether these formative
experiences turned me into a sub, or whether I already had a submissive
streak.  Anyway, I think one of the reasons I was so keen to suck their
dicks was the size difference.  These neighbourhood guys, whose dicks had
already started out as bigger than mine, steadily grew over the years to
5", 6", 7", whilst mine capped out at its modest 3".  None of them who ever
saw it said anything, but they and boys in swimming pool changing rooms and
men in gay club toilets would give me smug looks much as the one Alex gave
me when we met.  I have had a few meet-ups with vers guys who've initially
tried to engage my dick in sex, but after a solitary grope or glance at its
smallness they've quickly lost interest in it and become total tops, with
me anyway (albeit with a stilted awkwardness).  Eventually, I accepted my
place as a total bottom, and vers guys touching my dicklet would now cause
it to lose any of its impotent partial hardness and so I'd rather they just
didn't. That's why, over time, I came only to hook up with tops.  Total
tops and total bottoms have by far the best sex.  And thus, through the
years, my little dick got used less and less - neither me nor the guys I
was getting with touched it during sex, and I was much more interested in
finding dick than playing with my own - and it began to atrophy.  Now, I
rarely get fully hard, maybe occasionally in the mornings - when it's if
anything a little under 3" - but usually it's soft or semi-soft and 1.5" to
2".  Hard, it's the thickness of a thumb; and soft, about the width of a
pinky finger.  No wonder I'd rather have these real cocks in me than use my
own!


Given Alex's hands were busy with the controller, I started choking myself
on his dick.  It was tough to compete with the videogame and make him
concentrate on the blowjob, which meant it was taking him a long time to
cum.  After a while, he put both hands on the controller on my head so he
could push it up and down at a speed that started making him hornier and
get closer, but apparently not close enough...


He tutted and grumbled: "Other hole."


Thankfully, I'd got a lot of viscous saliva on his cock already and my
bussy was lubed up with Malachi, Javier and George's jizz.  I stood up and
lowered myself onto his gut-rearranging cock.  It took a lot of effort and
my knees were shaking a bit as I skewered myself inch by painful inch down
his 10" pole.  When it had bottomed out in me, it felt like any slight
movement from side to side was pressing against all my innards, so I raised
myself again as vertically as I could.  I made apprehensive moaning noises
and my skin was tingling all over.  Alex shifted to the right to have a
better view of the screen, causing his cock to press against parts inside
the left of me I didn't know I had.


I managed this for all of three or four minutes when he paused his game,
stood up still inside me, spun me around on the sofa, and fucked deep into
my guts for an intense minute or so before unloading.  I felt his little
torso panting against me as he came down from his climax, before he pulled
out his softening still massive cock - leaving me a vacuum of emptiness.


"That's better, thanks for that.  Will you get me another Coca-Cola?" he
nodded at an empty can next to him.


I pulled up my jeans, squeezing my hole extra tight to hold in his load
after the stretching Alex always gives me, and waddled strenuously to the
kitchen to grab him a soft drink from the fridge.  I returned to put it
next to him then started setting up the ironing board so I could do the
ironing while watching him play his game.


"We still have to do that UCAS statement today."


"Ugh, I know," Alex complained.


I set about pressing Javier's and George's shirts, watching Alex play
Kingdom Hearts on the Playstation.  The other four boys mainly wear jeans,
t-shirts and the like (although club kid Robbie is partial to a harness);
but Javier's a fashionista and George is a young dandy, and so they like to
look sharp and I'm happy to help.


My tummy rumbled - and I groaned - at all of the cum I'd already taken
inside my hole and the effort to hold it all in, and the fact that cum was
the only thing I'd had to eat so far that day.


I'd just put the last of the shirts on hangers, when Robbie popped into the
living room.


"Oh, Art, good, you're here.  Can you come to my room?"


"Sure thing," I replied, heading after him.


Once we got to his room, I saw a variety of sex toys on his bed - some
restraints and a paddle, by the looks of it.


"I need you for my OnlyFans," he said - his boyish and high-pitched voice
made it seem like butter wouldn't melt, let alone that he was the kinkiest,
most dominant, most sadistic of my six twink tops.


I cast my mind back to earlier in the year, when Robbie first moved in and
had to share his room with Quentin.  I awoke in the early hours that
morning to a great crashing noise, darting out of bed to see what was going
on.  Robbie and Quentin were rolling around in a wrestling match, full-on
fighting on the floor.  I screamed for them to stop three or four times, to
no avail, before trying to pull Robbie off of Quentin - Quentin was
spitting and screaming and cursing in French, while Robbie thrashed,
slapped and swung punches like a creature possessed.  Once I'd got the two
of half-becalmed, I marched them to the living room and managed to get some
sense out of them: Robbie had come home, drunk from the club, with some
dumb twink bottom and they'd burst into the room, put some music on
Robbie's iPhone and started fumbling on the top bunk.  Quentin, however,
had an end-of-course exam at university the next morning, and had been
awoken and then kept awake by the two interlopers - quietly seething for a
few minutes - before pouncing from bed and heaving smaller but vicious
Robbie from the top bunk and punching him.  The twink bottom had apparently
fled before I got to the scene, and walked in on the two of Quentin and
Robbie wailing into each other.  I explained that we all have different
schedules and preferences, and that while - say - the weekend might be an
okay time to bring home overnight guests and play music in the room, school
nights - and especially the nights before Quentin's exams - might not.
They seemed placated by this compromise, but both of them still had the
adrenaline of the fight and - while usually Malachi's thing - Robbie and
Quentin both had serious rage boners, which they each took out on me a
handful of times before sunrise.  Taking it in turns to watch the other
fuck me led to some light-hearted competition of who could go the longest
or the hardest, but seemed a bonding moment for the two young men.  Looking
after my six boys the next day was a struggle, as Robbie and Quentin had
fucked me all over the living room - over the sofa, facing out the window,
and on the carpet - giving me some serious carpet burn as well as sleep
deprivation, but throughout the day I'd close my eyes and think with some
satisfaction that I'd got the two back on speaking terms and - rather than
the dumb bottom Robbie had brought home - it was I carrying their loads in
my boypussy.


"My fans loved the last video we did," Robbie said.  "Look."


He'd asked, sweetly, if he could upload the video of me licking the
festival sweat and mud on his stream a couple of weeks ago.  I'd said yes,
of course, as his OnlyFans was Robbie's main source of income.


I scrolled through his laptop at some of the comments:


"Fuck yeah, AlphaTwink, you show that daddy who's boss!"


"Look how desperate he is for your dick after licking your body clean."


"I'll send a £100 tip to see you beating that daddy's ass."


"£100!," exclaimed Robbie.  "Gotta give the people what they want."


He put his `phone on a tripod, and switched on its camera and the laptop's,
to cover two complimentary angles.


Robbie was wearing his harness and a pair of Aussiebums I'd just washed for
him yesterday.


"Strip down to your underwear and get on your knees."


I complied, falling to my knees before the Alpha Twink.


"Are you wearing a jockstrap, daddy?"


"Yes, Alpha Twink," I said, my head bowed reverently.


"Silly daddy bitch.  Don't you know that jockstraps are for bottom boys who
are begging for it?"


"Yes, Alpha Twink," I agreed again.


"Well then, you must be a little bottom bitch who's begging for it, aren't
you daddy?"


"Yes, Sir," I gulped.


It was odd he was pretending he thought me wearing a jockstrap was naughty,
given what had happened in the sauna a couple of months ago.  We hadn't
gone together, we were there coincidentally, but SweatBox has a strict `no
underwear' rule - which meant that I was naked, as was he of course.  I'd
mostly have a towel wrapped around me between amenities, and most guys
could tell I was a bottom because of my poor endowment, but fate had
conspired to have me naked in the jacuzzi when Robbie arrived with a couple
of his party friends.  They'd all said hi, but otherwise not really engaged
me in conversation, so when a hung jock caught my eye and winked I followed
him downstairs to one of the cubicles.  When Robbie came home drunk later
that night after me, he was furious.  "Hey daddy, you slut, why did I catch
you out and about without your jockstrap?  Do you think I or anyone else
wants to see that little maggot, that tiny boyclit, that pathetic excuse
for a dicklet between your legs?  If you were the total bottom you say you
were, why would you go around showing tops your junk?  If I ever see that
little nub again you'll be lucky if I don't slice it clean off!"  He
wouldn't listen to reason at the time about the sauna's `no underwear'
policy, and while he was probably exaggerating for rhetorical kinky effect,
he's sent knife emoji in some of his more demanding texts and I'd never
been brave enough to appear before him without wearing a jockstrap again -
just in case.


By now Robbie, who had been on a few bondage classes run by a fellow top of
his he'd met on Recon (and so these wrist restraints were a doddle for him)
was deftly attaching each of my ankles to the base of the bunkbed, so my
legs were at an awkward ninety degree angle, and each of my wrists to the
posts.


He picked up his plastic paddle.


"Now, daddy, as you're thirty-five and allowing yourself to be degraded and
abused by a twink who is nineteen, sixteen years younger than you, I think
that deserves sixteen spankings - don't you?"


"Yes, Alpha Twink," I breathily agreed.


"And how hard should they be?"


"Very hard, sir," I said, already breaking into a sweat with the awkward
angle and sheer apprehension.


"Now count these out, as I teach you how to be a good daddy for your
babyboy."


The first paddle came from nowhere.


"Aagggh!  One," I said.


Having never been much of a pain sub, I was astonished at how these tools
could equip such a slight and tender twink with such power.


"You're going to be a good daddy, and lick all the sweat and grime from me
when I tell you?"


Another paddle.  "AAAH.  Yes, sir.  Two."


"You're going to be my urinal when we're out partying, so I don't have to
leave the dance floor to go to the bathroom?"


"OOOAWH!  Yes, sir.  Three."


"You're going to suck my dick or offer me that daddy pussy whenever I need
to cum?"


"Fuuuck!  Yes, sir.  Four."


"You're going to keep that pathetic little dicklet hidden away, so I don't
have to see that daddy isn't even half the man I am?"


"AAGGHHH.  Yes, sir.  Five."


"You're going to let me have parties whenever I want, bring home friends,
and serve them all just like you serve me?"


"OOOOWWCH.  Yes, sir.  Of course, sir.  Six."


Ten spankings later I was dripping with sweat and tears were streaming down
my face.  I glimpsed from the corner of my vision, Robbie moving his `phone
for a close up first of my fluorescent red arse cheeks and then to capture
the tears streaming down the cheeks of my sobbing face.  My anguished
expression contrasted with his joyful boyish grin and the gleam in his eye
as he brought the camera up to a selfie angle with the two of us, whereupon
I heard him hawk up a ball of phlegm and turn to spit it across my pitiful
cocksucking face for the benefit of his viewers, where it mingled with my
salty tears.


Robbie removed his Aussiebums with one fluid movement and clambered onto
the bed, holding the camera so it was level with my face and his crotch -
his extremely thick cut 8" American cock looks flushed and angry in its
erection.  He swayed it threateningly before my eyes.


"Now, daddy, you're going to beg me to shove my cock into your pussy, so I
can fuck you into total submission."


"Yes, Alpha Twink," I panted, feeling blessed I had all those loads from
earlier.  By now he was returning the `phone to its tripod get a good angle
of the promised fuck, and soon moved behind me to the see my sorry
trembling hole.


"Naughty daddy.  I see some other twinks have been here before me.  Push
out their loads for me to fuck you, now!" Robbie ordered.


"No," I begged in a panic, breaking further into a cold and clammy sweat.
"Please fuck me like this.  You don't understand how much it'll hurt
without their cum inside me.


"That's the point, you dumb fuck!" Robbie barked.  "I want to fuck you dry.
I want it to hurt.  Now unless you want me to paddle you `til your ass
turns from red to purple, push out those other boys' loads.  I wanna tear
you up and hear you cry."


I quivered and sobbed and pushed out the loads as best I could.  He lined
up his formidable fuckclub with my hole, and rammed it in in one ruthless
motion.  I screamed for the seventeenth time that session, as it really did
hurt, and tear me more than a little.  But the spanking had clearly turned
on Robbie the Alpha Twink a great deal, as although each thrust of his
twinky hips against my cheeks stung, the fuck he threw me lasted all of
three minutes before he came - dumping his big Alpha Twink load in me, and
giving my hole some blessed lubrication again.


"Well done.  You're a good slut really," he comforted me, running his hands
softly over the burning sensation of my bright scarlet butt.  He switched
off the cameras before uncuffing me.


"Love you, daddy.  I'll let you know what the adoring fans say."


"Love you too, hotstuff," I said, voice all aquiver.


By now it was around six o'clock, so I figured I'd better get a start on
dinner.  I hissed a little as I pulled my jeans back over my battered arse,
and a few times as they rubbed against Robbie's hard spanking and pounding
as I headed to the kitchen.


On the menu tonight was a paprika and butterbean stew, with chorizo to add
for everyone except George.


Malachi was in the kitchen.


"Yeah, Art, I've got some friends from footie coming over in a bit.  We're
gonna have some drinks and play Fifa.  We won today.  Have we got enough
food?"


"Yes, of course," I said.  It would eat into some of the tinned goods for
another meal, I thought, but that's easily fixed and I've gotta feed these
all growing boys.


Jamal, Dino and Oscar, - who'd been playing on the same team as Malachi for
years and so I'd seen them play - were soon firmly ensconced in the living
room.  Malachi had clearly persuaded Alex to give up his monopoly of the
games console, but I hadn't heard a ruckus so assumed this had passed
without incident.


I brought them some crisps and beers while they were playing.  I'd never
been much of a football fan, and it was weird to hear the simulated crowd
noises for a never-ending stream of short virtual games rather than a
time-limited match.  Eventually, the stew was done, and I brought that
through too with some more drinks.


After I brought in their third lot of beers, as I was leaving the living
room, I heard Jamal ask, "Who is that guy?  Why is he bringin' us food and
drinks and stuff?"


"Ah, that's Art," Malachi replied, "he's pretty safe, you know.  He lets us
live here on the cheap and looks after us and stuff.  And I mean really
looks after us, if you know what I mean?"


I'm only slightly ashamed to say I hovered near the living room to
eavesdrop on the rest of the conversation.


"Oh yeah?  How's that?"


"Have you ever got head from a guy?" Malachi asked them.


"Nah, bruv!" said Dino.


Oscar stayed silent.


"Yeah, some fag in my ends used to suck my dick when we was younger.  He
was pretty good."


"Art will suck your dick if I tell him to."


There was a tense terse ten seconds of silence.


"Yeah, go on then.  Playing footie always makes me horny," concluded Jamal.


"Art!" Malachi bellowed, trying to get his voice to reach the other side of
the house even though I was only on the other side of the door.


I theatrically waited twenty seconds before entering, implying I hadn't
been spying.


"Jamal needs some sloppy head.  Will you help `im out?"


"Sure!" I said, feigning a little more enthusiasm that I had.  I was
getting pretty knackered.  It wasn't the first time my six twinky top
lodgers had had friends they'd brought over and with whom they'd shared me,
but it was already a handful to keep the six of them happy - let alone half
the other young studs of South London.


Right now, Dino and Malachi were playing the Playstation, so my access to
Jamal was unimpeded, and I got on my knees in front of him.


"I don't suck dick, though," Jamal informed me, "I'm not a batty man."


"Nah, don't worry bruv," Malachi assured him, "he's basically a girl.  You
don't need to worry about dem tings."


Jamal pulled down his gym shorts, but not before I'd caught a glimpse of
his substantial dickprint.  He was an extremely handsome black kid of about
twenty.  A little taller than Malachi, I would guess, but not as built -
which made his limbs and feet and even his fingers look extremely long - as
was his fairly thick but very lengthy cock.


I savoured the smell of his fresh ball sweat from a day on the pitch,
licking all around his nutsack.  He moaned with satisfaction - my
understanding is girls aren't so forthcoming with a full package servicing
- as I ran my tongue around his nuts, careful not to get too near his taint
(you know tops, including straight guys!).


Once I felt I'd warmed him up, I moved to start servicing his dick with my
tongue and lips.  He gently but firmly guided my head, and I brought my
hand up to jerk the base of his cock, to save my now aching jaw.  After
about six minutes, his whole body tensed up.


"Uhh, uhh, uhhhh - fuckin' take it, you bitch."


And I did take it, rewarded both with the accomplishment of helping a new
guy in need and the decent sized load he dumped in my mouth.  I licked my
lips as I pulled away, and he quickly put his dick back in his trackies.


I moved from my knees to sitting cross-legged, to see if any more of my
services would be needed.  And they were.


"Let's have a go," said Oscar, but directing his question at Malachi.
Oscar was a white boy, maybe 5'9", slim and with a posher West London
accent than most of Malachi's team.


"Go on, bitch.  Crawl over and suck Oscar," Malachi said.


Clearly Malachi was getting hornier - or more aggressive (although the two
often went hand in hand) - given the trash talk and making me crawl.


On my hands and knees, I grovelled towards to Oscar, and he looked down at
me with an arrogant sneer.  He undid his skinny jeans, pulled them down to
his ankles, and ran his hand luxuriantly over the bulge in his straight boy
baggy boxers.  I raised my hand to his their waistband, and waited for his
nod, upon which I proceeded.


His dick was thin but fairly long - about 7" - and pointed right up to the
ceiling.  I began to suck him off, and was soon deepthroating the whole
thing.


"Do you like my dick then?"


"Mmm hmm," I said, my mouth full of his cock.


He kept asking questions like that, and I mmm-hmmed with more and more
enthusiasm, as it seemed to make his cock tense and bring him closer to the
edge.  He lasted a little longer than Jamal, but not by much, before
pulling his dick from my mouth and blasting my face with his cum,
presumably for the benefit for his audience.


For everyone was watching us, as apparently Malachi had just lost to Jamal
in Fifa and it was Oscar's turn.


"Fuck's sake," said Malachi, angry at his defeat.  He clicked his fingers
then made a beckoning motion.  "Come `ere."


I crawled over to him next, as he was fishing his ripe cock from his
shorts, and I sucked off his more familiar pole, doing the things I most
know he enjoyed (massaging his balls with one hand, and working the base
with the other, occasionally bringing my saliva-slicked palm and fingers
over his angry inflamed glans).


"Yeaaahhhhaha, boy," he said, grabbing my head with his final thrust,
shoving his nine inches down my throat, and making me feel it pulse against
and stretch my oesophagus as he emptied his balls.


I backed away, shaking and coughing, with my head bowed.


"Ah, fuck it.  I need some of that too," spat Dino.  A scally chav lad in
Adidas sportsgear.  "Get on your fuckin' knees up against that wall."


I padded on all fours to do as he ordered in a hurry as he strode over,
pulling from his trackies his cock - a short punchy number (well, 6" -
still substantially more than I was packing), - but very very girthy, I
noted, rueing my now very painful jaw.


He thrust my head against the wall for all of thirty strokes before
emptying his heavy balls of their substantial seed - there wasn't enough
space in my mouth cavity for his thick dick and the cum, and some of it
spattered down my chin.


The wall-banging face fuck reminded me of another time some of Malachi's
teammates had used me.  He was quite a sportsman, and played basketball and
ice hockey as well as football, and had once summoned me to the local ice
rink.  He told me to get into the first cubicle on the men's toilets but
not lock the door, and get on my knees.  I'd had public toilet sex before,
and I assumed that as soon as one of the game's thirds had ended he'd be in
to join me.  But I saw he wasn't on the rink, but in the sin bin, when I
arrived.  Ah, I thought, he needs an aggression-relieving blowjob.  Good
man.  But when he didn't arrive after a couple of minutes, even though I'd
text him to say I was here, I started to get a bit nervous.  Eventually, I
heard the bathroom door open, and then the cubicle.  A young stocky ice
hockey player - who was not Malachi at all - was standing there, waddling
on his ice skates as one does on normal flooring.  He raised the visor of
his helmet.  "Do you suck dick?" he asked.  Well, it would be quite a ruse
for an undercover copper to be wearing full ice hockey gear to bust fags
trawling for dicks (which I wasn't - well, I was for one dick in
particular), so I nodded truthfully.  He stepped into the cubicle, fumbled
with the trousers of his protective gear, and fished out a half-hard cock.
I was sitting on the toilet cubicle, but reached forward with my mouth to
suck him; and eventually he stepped forward and started skull fucking me
noisily against the bathroom wall.  After he'd cum he stepped back and
turned around, and I realised there hadn't been room for him to close the
cubicle door - and two more ice hockey players were standing outside!  "I'm
next," I heard one of them say.  This one, I didn't even get to see his
face, stepped forward - fully hard, with a cut Arab-looking cock - and
proceeded to pound my face against the toilet wall tiles too.  The third
one wanted a go, and by this point I could hear six or seven of them
chatting boisterously outside, all waiting for their turns to nail me to
the back of the cubicle with their brutal savage throatfucks.  Each and
every one wanted a piece of what the last had had - not just an on demand
blowjob, but an aggressive one, on their terms, with my battered head being
banged against the toilet wall.  By the time Malachi, who'd saved himself
to last, and wall-banged my skull to his completion with his unwashed
nine-inch cock and a curt "Cheers for that", not only were my jaw and
throat sore, but my face was also from rubbing against all their coarse
protective gear, as was my head - I had a headache, and bruised lump on the
back of my skull.


Now, here I knelt, as a cocksucker for Malachi's football teammates too.


"I'm out of beer," said Oscar - this time directed at me.


A round "same" and "me too," and I staggered dizzily to the kitchen to get
the four lads their fourth beers of the night.


As my spinning head returned to normality, I remembered Alex said his jeans
- baggy, skater ones - had a hole in the pocket: unsurprising given the
tears in the legs and how old they were.  And George needed a button
reattached to one of his waistcoats, so I went with both garments to my
room and fetched out my sewing kit.  The waistcoat button was easy enough.
The pocket was a little trickier, as so much of the fabric was worn away.
I managed to fix it with some reduced capacity, and figured if Alex moaned
I could go out and get some more fabric to make him a newer bigger pocket.


Just as I was looking fondly at George's waistcoat, I heard a knock at the
door.


"Come in," I said, and it was George.  Speak of the dashing devil.


"My darling, your presence is requested with some urgency in our room."


He was so unfailingly polite.  I told him I'd fixed his waistcoat, and
picked it up to bring with us.  When we got to his room, Javier - back from
work - was sitting there too, looking expectant.


"I'm afraid Javier and I have worked ourselves into quite a frenzy and are
in need of your assistance," he explained.


They'd been making out on the bottom bunk, apparently, with a light spot of
clothed grinding.  Javier is used to looking at whoever he likes and
getting what he wants, so I can see if he fancied a bit of young poet
tonight he thought he might be able to get his end away.  Despite Javier's
beauty, I was more astonished that George had been into the making out too
- George is, he'd once explained to me, attracted to femininity: he has sex
with cisgender women, trans women, and feminine bottoms.  I suppose
Javier's face had some feminine features.  But, like George, he was a total
top.  Apparently, they made out in the room sometimes and wanked off in
their respective bunks, but both of them were feeling particularly amorous
this evening.  I suppose that's where I came in.


George sat next to Javier on the bed and beckoned me over.  The three of us
sat in a row, and George leant across to kiss me.  It was glorious and
tender to feel his tongue explore my mouth, and he nibbled with one row of
teeth and his bottom lip against my own.  After thirty or so seconds, he
turned to kiss Javier.


After they'd been making out for another half-minute, George broke the kiss
and Javier said "Mamame, mami."


I got to the ground to suck him, and both of them had erections throbbing
in their trousers.  I undid Javier's first, and freed his perfect 8" dick.
Apparently there was no time for a ball-licking warm-up - such was the
urgency after their making out - and he directed my head straight to work,
fucking my mouth with long deliberate strokes.  Not wanting George to feel
left out of the flow, I reached over and undid his next - his slender 7.5"
already poking through the bottom of his boxers.  I pulled those over and
off, and started to suck him too.  I heard the warm wet noises of their
making out above.


Javier, it seemed, couldn't wait for his turn to be sucked again.  He broke
the kiss once more, and got up - I could feel his hot presence behind me.
I felt his pelvis pushing insistently against my arse in my jeans, and he
undid my button so he could slide them down.  He thrust his cock into my
hole, in one slow fluid movement, moving forward so he could continue to
kiss George, who was still seated on the bed.  George's hand rubbed my
lower lip as I sucked him, soft strokes with guitar-calloused hands


He broke the kiss with Javier and gently guided my hand off his cock.


"Look at you.  Your eyes filled with tears of joy and devotion for your
man's dick.  Your cheeks empinked with love for this, your truest vocation.
Such puffy and red cocksucking lips, like my dick has given you a natural
rouge, so soft and plump against my needy shaft," he said, leaning down to
kiss me - before moving me back towards his cock, a pearl of precum formed
on top from its feminisation of my face, and he made out once more with
Javier.


Robbie, Javier and Quentin had all occasionally kissed me, but none so much
as George - I thought, jealously - as I heard the two of them enjoying each
others' youth and beauty while using my holes to get off.  George was an
old soul, a true romantic, and he recognised the souls some of us have deep
inside.  He once came home with a resplendent bouquet of flowers for me and
a mysterious upmarket box.  He asked if we might go to my room, and of
course I obliged.  Once inside and the door was firmly closed, he couldn't
contain his excitement.  "Open the box!" he said.  I did, and underneath
some decorative navy tissue paper, I found a white sundress.  "With this
white sundress, your virginity I renew.  And with these flowers, I show my
intentions are honourable.  This evening, I want to make a woman out of
you," he said.  This feminisation and sissification wasn't really something
I'd explored before, but who could resist George's poetic overtures.  "You
bottoms are fantastic.  I love bottoms.  I would build a monument to the
bottoms," said George, kissing me after each sentence.  "But tonight, we go
a step further, and I'll make love to you like you're my woman."  After I
changed into my new and first dress, he procured from his pocket a lacy red
thong.  "And put this on.  We must keep my babygirl's clit virginal and
unblemished, demure and hidden."  I slid it on under my dress.  He kissed
me chastely and pushed me gently to the bed, where he proceeded to run his
hand up my skirt, slide the back of the thong to the side and tickle around
my hole.  "What's this?  Have I found my lady's flower?  That place which
shall turn you from my angelic girl to my experienced woman?"  I whimpered
in assent as he kissed me more salaciously.  That was some pretty
mindblowing sex that night, making me feel like I really was a woman, as he
hiked up my skirt and fucked me face-to-face, purring in my ear like a
tomcat the entire time.  I asked him to stay with me in bed that night, and
he cuddled me all night long - and even brought me breakfast in bed before
my 7am alarm.  A rare treat, but so very George.


George and Javier had clearly brought themselves close to the brink, as
after a few minutes of me being contorted like an accordion, so they could
spitroast me while making out, they came in unison - my own untouched
boyclit leaking unsated in its jock.


The three of us panted on the bottom bunk of the bed for a few minutes,
curled up in each other like a litter of puppies, when Javier announced
"I'm hungry."


"I'll go put your dinner on," I sighed, heaving myself laboriously from the
three-way embrace.  Javier thinks it's bizarre how early the British eat,
so I often have to heat up some dinner for him for around nine o'clock, and
it was now just after eight p.m.  Thankfully, stew tastes delicious when
it's sat around for a while, so this should satisfy him nicely.  Off I went
to the kitchen.


I glanced at the fridge.  Running such a busy house is a struggle, so I
assigned the boys a small handful of tasks - the manlier ones, of course -
each week, using a marker on a magnetic white board.  They might one day
need to be decent husbands!  (Robbie once called me a `bossy bottom with a
whiteboard' - a bit rich, Robbie calling me bossy!)  Malachi had ticked off
that he'd changed the lightbulb in his and Alex's room, and Javier had been
good enough to take out the bins when he got back from work.  I started
thinking about this act of kindness, and Javier's stunning face.


The Argentine beauty is extremely confident - cocky even - about his looks.
After we'd met on Spareroom and exchanged contact details, he would often
send me photos of him on WhatsApp and ask what I thought of his outfits or
haircuts; although very quickly this turned into him sending me gym
selfies, and asking what I thought of his body; and soon thereafter,
pictures of him sunbathing on Playa Escondida and asking what I think of
his tan or his eyes.  Pretty soon, I got the hint, and started messaging
him unprompted compliments every couple of days - which he'd heart react
every time.  When we finally met in person, after we first had sex, we lay
in bed with him stroking my hair and asking me about different bits of his
body.  I'd respond with things like: "I can't get over how striking your
eyes are; your lips are so full and beautiful; I don't know what I love
more - your eyebrows or your cheekbones; you're so toned - just the right
amount - most guys would kill to have a body like yours."  "And what about
my dick?" he asked.  "It's big."  "It's not just big, but very beautiful,
no?  Very perfect?"  "Absolutely, the proportions are perfect, your
foreskin slides back and forth just the right amount, it's got girth and
length, your balls match it perfectly, I love how you keep it slightly
trimmed but not shaved."  His dick was bouncing back into hardness now, at
all the gushing compliments.  He had a Nikon D6 in his rucksack, which he
procured, saying he liked to keep all his dating profile pictures recent
and hadn't updated them in a whole month(!), and asked me to take some nude
photos of him.  A task I happily undertook - I'm not a pro, but I know a
bit about decent photo composition; and he is a semi-pro model, so had some
great ideas for poses too - that, combined with my adoration of his body
and his love of my adoration, meant we had pretty great chemistry on our
respective sides of the camera.  He'd message me some of the compliments
the nudes would get from time to time.  Not that he particularly needed
nudes or online dating to get laid - his face, fashion sense and tall toned
slender figure were usually enough for that.  He's one of the few people I
know who can pull three or more guys in a night in a bar or club and,
rather than losing the first few, have them all follow him around - letting
him pick up more guys - before he takes them all home.  Whenever he's
making out, he's sure to squeeze the guys' arses and gauge their reactions
to make sure they're going to bottom for him.  I don't believe in 50/50
versatiles, and frankly I think rather than `bottoming in an emergency' or
`topping in an emergency', vers tops and vers bottoms should stick to
topping and to bottoming!  But it won't surprise you to hear that Javier's
gorgeous looks have got many a vers top to put out for him over the years,
with no reciprocation.


I suddenly snapped out of this stream of consciousness as I absentmindedly
stirred Javier's stew on a low heat - as Quentin bounded excitedly into the
kitchen.


"I need to fuck.  Now."


"I can't right now, Quentin, I'm just doing Javier's dinner."


"Non.  Viens ici, petite salope."


(I love being called a little slut, but it's even sexier when it's in
another language!)


He pulled insistently on my jeans waistband and caused the button to break
and pop out (great, more clothes to mend, I thought), and pulled them down
to my knees.


"Where `ave you been?" he asked rhetorically, "I've `ad this `ard-on for
hours."


He shoved his cock in my hole, and I shuffled us with my limited mobility
so I was bent over the counter rather than the stove -- emitting a girlish
moan as he mounted me and claimed what was his.


"Silly little slut, thinks she can get away from me, eh?  When I need to
cum, I need to cum," he demanded in his sexy francophone accent, this time
grabbing my neck and knocking over errant spice pots as he pushed my face
into the counter.


He pounded away.  The reliable thing about Quentin is, while he needs to
cum many times a day, he's constantly so horny he cums quite quickly.  I'm
not sure how long he was banging me against the kitchen counter, it
couldn't have been more than a few minutes, before I heard him grunt and
pant, and felt his 7" dick throb as he sent another flurry of Belgian teen
cum into my reluctant but pliant hole.


He didn't pull out, and after thirty seconds started grinding his
still-hard cock into my cunt again.  I caught Javier's stew bubbling a
little too much out of the corner of my eye, and managed to rotate us so I
could switch off the stove, Quentin's hands on my hips and his dick in me
the whole time.  While most guys calm down a bit after they've climaxed,
Quentin needs to cum several times in a row, and he was still thrusting
into me and grunting like a wild animal, swearing away in English and
French.  He kicked the back of my legs, sending me to my knees, before
pushing into me so I was pinned by his toned twunky weight to the kitchen
floor.


This sent my glasses flying from my face and across the room.  I reached
out hopelessly to grab them and saw them clatter under the kitchen counter.


Quentin's moans became increasingly urgent as he riled himself up to his
second spend in five minutes, with his dick throbbing in my sore hole with
what seemed like an even bigger load than the last one.


Feeling bedraggled, after Quentin finally got off me, I scampered across
the floor to try to retrieve my glasses and restore my vision, and dusted
myself down.  I was increasingly exhausted by this time, but couldn't let
on and let my boys down, so I took a deep breath and composed myself as
best I could.


Around nine o'clock, I decided I'd better do some hoovering before it got
too late.  I finished the corridor and had just unplugged the vacuum
cleaner to bring with me to do the living room, and saw Malachi and Alex
playing Fifa on the games console.  (Malachi's friends, it seemed, had
left.)


My tummy gurgled - and not for the first time that day - at the intense
feeling of fullness from having so much of the boys' cum inside me.


Alex looked up.  His eyes were a bit red, and he'd clearly been smoking
more weed this evening.


"Man, I get so fucking horny when I'm high," he said.  He was still in his
threadbare pyjamas, and sure enough that 10" dick was running down his left
leg (I'm pretty sure the only reason both his dick and his leg fit in there
at the same time was that he was so skinny).


"Come ride me again like earlier?" he said, using his thumbs to pull down
the pyjama bottom waistband all while still gripping the controller.


I backed up towards him, and lowered myself onto his gut-punishing ten
inches - my hole thankfully lubed by two of Quentin's legendary loads - and
moaned as I did.  He shifted to the left, so he could still see the screen
while playing the game against Malachi, causing me to moan even louder as
his fulsome dick pressed against half my organs.  I had no idea what was
going on in the screen, being unfamiliar with both football in general and
this game in particular, and focusing as I was on methodically
leg-shakingly raising and lowering myself onto Alex's massive cock.


I was soon made aware of how the game had gone.


"Agh, fucking cunt!" Malachi shouted from the other sofa.


I saw him stride towards me, his imposing 6'4" frame heaving with rage.
While he was the football whizz, clearly Alex's gaming prowess had won the
day.  (Alex was a quick study, which made his lack of ambition all the more
frustrating.)  But Malachi's loss meant he seemed like he had a lot of
aggression to take out on something or someone.  Now.


"I need a cunt to fuck!" he demanded.


"Nah, I'm using it.  Wait your turn," Alex quipped back.  (`It'? I thought.
How charming!)


"Nah man, I need to fuck now," Malachi demanded, pulling down his trackies,
his 9" rage boner advancing on me threateningly.


He pushed me so I was laying on my back on Alex's small chest, but still
impaled on his massive cock.


Malachi squatted down a bit so his dick was level with my boypussy.


"You can't possibly be serious," I whimpered, my slit tightening around
Alex's substantial girth with terror.


These two had the biggest cocks in the house - and I was already sore by
nine at night after a day of being fucked; - even one of them was packing
more than enough to stretch out and hurt me, but these two together would
surely be too much!


Malachi was deadly serious.


"You said fucking was a better way to get rid of my anger, so you're
getting a fucking."


I pleaded, with my frightened eyes and puffy lips, "No, Malachi, please!
It'll hurt too much!  Can't I suck you?"


"Nah," Malachi decided, "I want that pussy."


So matter-of-fact and so final.  I longed for a slower and more tender
moment with him, but Malachi just drooled one long solitary loogy of spit
on where the head of his imposing cock met where Alex's epic dick was
already stretching my hole.  He grabbed a fistful of my t-shirt, near the
collar, pulling it so tight could barely breathe and certainly couldn't
wriggle away.  He lined up his nine inches before pressing its big entitled
head up against my hole and blisteringly shoving it in alongside Alex's
monstercock.


I hissed in a gallon of air and felt fuller than I'd ever felt as he pushed
in, first his head, followed by his next four inches.


"Ah, this feels kind of nice, y'know," Alex said, muffled underneath me.


Malachi agreed. "Fuck yeah, so fucking tight.  Look at you, taking two
dicks at once like a proper little slag,"


I'd broken into a sweat by this point - this was extremely overwhelming; -
I moaned and tried my best to loosen my tense and frightened hole.


Malachi did something only some of the boys do, and very rarely.  He
reached down and pulled aside the front of my jockstrap, revealing my
little balls and my atrophied dicklet, which had shrivelled from the pain
to barely one inch.  I looked down and saw the awesome juxtaposition of
Malachi's throbbing 9" brown cock ploughing my pussy and the feeling of
Alex's hard girthy ten inches stretching me further underneath his,
contrasting with the impotent bobbing around of my own soft and tiny
boyclit.


"Yeah, look at that little nub.  You're not a fucking man.  You're a
cockslut who was born to take a real man's dick.  Even that little nerd
under you is more man than you are," he said.  (He and Alex usually got on
fairly well, so clearly his aggression was reaching its climax.)


All six of my twink top lodgers have a slightly different relationship with
my dicklet.  Alex, after I first met him while we caught sight of each
others' endowment at the urinals, has normally found it a source of
amusement.  He's never said anything in particular, but I've noticed that
smug and self-assured smirk on the occasions when I'm not in a jockstrap;
not least because he knows he's packing a truly incredible ten inches.
Javier, on the other hand, I have never seen pay the slightly attention to
my dick - whether it's hidden away or on show - he asks me to lavish praise
on his cock, and uses my holes to get off, occasionally even complimenting
them, but my dicklet seems to be a feature of supreme indifference to him.
George is extremely lovely about it - he thinks it's a testament to my
innate femininity - and alternates between hiding it away in sexy women's
underwear he finds (or takes as keepsakes from women he's fucked), or
occasionally letting it out - once even having me tie it in a little pink
bow.  Malachi, as you can see, really gets into trash talking it - and even
into a bit of race play; sometimes he'll fuck me in a jockstrap, but other
times like today he takes it out and say things like "Look at that little
white worm jiggle.  Yeah!  You were born to take big black alpha dick like
mine."  The contrast turns him on, and frankly it turns me on too.
Quentin, when he's cum enough times to be focused, is pretty academic about
it.  After he saw me naked the first time, he asked me to measure it (3"
hard, 2.5" around, 1.5" soft, usually) and did some research - apparently
my penis is smaller than the average for someone aged ten; and it's in the
0.01% percentile for erect length and girth and flaccid length - in a room
of 10,000 men, I'd be the smallest; while his cock is in the 98.69%
percentile for erect length, 99.69% percentile for girth, and 80.3%
percentile for flaccid length (clearly a grower); he also calculated that
my soft little dicklet was only 2% of the volume of his hard cock (a fair
comparison, he said, given I am a total bottom) - I can only imagine what
these stats would have been like for the other even more hung lodgers in
the flat - and Quentin blasted an especially big load the night he read
these findings to me, as clearly they turned him on.  Robbie is pretty
sadistic with my dicklet - quite aside from having threatened to turn me
into a eunech or a nullo, he's had me sit on the floor so he can step on my
little dicklet and watch me squirm while he fucks my throat, and - as I
have no use for it, he reminds me - he's occasionally locked it in chastity
for a weekend to bring me on nights out, despite my protests, parading
around with me in tow and the key ostentatiously worn on a chain around his
neck.


By now Malachi had reached peak hatefuck and was panting and sweating, his
strong and manly musk corroborating what he said about his strong and manly
cock throwing me this strong and manly fuck.  His grip on my t-shirt
tightened and I heard it rip, letting me suck in some more air, and was no
longer held in place quite so tightly.  Malachi reached down and started
patting my balls, as my one-inch worm jiggled about more frantically, and
each sharp shock made me squeal and yelp and clench my bullied DP'ed hole,
and that was finally enough to get him his nut.


"Ufff, fuck yeaahhh.  Who's the fucking boss?  Fuck!  Fuck!  Fuuuuck!!"  he
said, and I could feel his dick pulsating as he shot another load in me.


My clenching and Malachi's dick throbbing sent Alex over the edge too, as I
heard him moan behind me and felt his even bigger cock make its final wet
thrusts into my bruised and battered pussy.


Malachi had collapsed on me too (Alex, smooshed beneath both of us now, was
being remarkably stoic), and after both boys had recovered (ha), they left
me with an extraordinary emptiness as both their giant cocks slipped from
me, and I raised my self onto Bambi-esque shaky legs.


"Mate!  That is soooo funny!  I have to take a pic!" laughed Malachi.


I wasn't sure what he was talking about, but he shoved me forward onto the
sofa cushions and I heard his `phone's skeuomorphic camera shutter.


"Look at this," he said, showing the screen to Alex.


"No way!" Alex said, slapping his knee with laughter, "That is sick!"


I shifted my face from the cushion to have a look, and Malachi rotated the
screen towards me.  My hole, normally quite good at snapping back to
semi-virginally tight, was reddened around the outside and gaping by some
two inches.  Not as wide as the boys had stretched me, but a substantial
residual gape nevertheless.


"I'm gonna send this to Oscar and show him what my dick did to you!"
Malachi taunted.  I blushed at yet another one of my tops using their
unending abuse of me for pornographic bragging rights.


The moment of joviality had clearly reconciled the boys.


"Rematch?" Alex asked.


"Yeah, go on then," said Malachi, and they both picked up their
controllers.


Dismissed, I made my way to the bathroom to clean up.  I was so exhausted I
had to grab hold of the dado rail to support myself out of the living room,
and once in the corridor my shaky legs gave way and I fell to the floor -
trying to do so quietly.  I sobbed a little, and leant against the wall as
I gently rubbed my tender hole - there was a small streak of blood in the
cum which had leaked out.  I wiped a leftover tear from my eye with the
back of my arm, and hoisted myself back up to my feet before any of the
boys saw me, making my way to the bathroom to clear up.


I heard classical music coming from within - Brahms' Symphony No 4 in E
minor, I think - and saw the door was open, my eyes adjusted to the
candlelight and I remembered it was George's bath night.


"Hello, gorgeous," he said.  Like most of the boys living with me, George
had an exhibitionist streak and the door was wide open.  He was smoking a
tobacco pipe - which looked odd against his boyish face with dimpled grin,
but the saccharine scent of his crème brûlée flavoured
tobacco was a contemporary and juvenile betrayal of this otherwise twee and
old soul moment.


"I brought a glass for you too.  Why not finish washing your hubby's hair
then get in and join me?"  He raised a glass of port at me.


I needed some tender aftercare, I thought, so I stripped off my jeans,
t-shirt and jockstrap, and began delicately running my fingers through his
conditioned hair, massaging his scalp, and carefully making sure not to get
any suds in his eyes.  As he was dunking his head to rinse for the third
time, I slid into the bath opposite George, laying my legs over his lanky
limbs - the warm water stung my hole, but also felt soothing.


We reminisced for a while about the date night he'd taken me on a few weeks
earlier, as he took occasional puffs of his sweet-smelling pipe.  He'd
bought me another dress, a tight red sleeveless number, and a
Bluetooth-controlled vibrating butt plug!  After I found them on my bed, I
texted him to say thank you, and he messaged me the link to a makeup
tutorial on YouTube and said I was to meet him at nine o'clock at Monument
Tube Station in my gifts.  (Well, one would be in me, I suppose.)  He
turned up in black tie, with a box of Fortnum & Mason's chocolates, and
announced he was bringing me to dinner at the Sky Garden.  On the stroll
there, he insisted he walk on the side of the pavement nearest the road as
was chivalrous tradition when a gentleman escorted a lady.  As the sun set,
London's skyline glinted all around us, and while we awaited our desserts
he told me how beautiful I looked and asked to take a photograph of me.  He
did and showed me - it was sort of a surprise to see myself in a dress and
women's make-up so publicly, as my earlier apprehensions about it had by
now melted away - and I saw what he meant when he said he wanted to bring
out my true nature-given femininity.  He told me there was something else
he wanted to show me on his `phone, and after a few deft taps I felt the
butt plug about which I'd almost forgotten start to buzz gently in my
boypussy.  As we ate our sorbets, he started asking me filthy questions.
"Does my little princess like her gifts?"  "Is my babygirl getting wet in
her panties?"  "A goddess in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom, you're
going to make a wonderful wife and mother some day aren't you?  "I do, I
am, I will, '' I'd pant after each one, and he'd temporarily increase the
intensity of the vibrating butt plug.  I felt utterly under his control,
under his spell, as the toy made my soft and dainty little clit leak in its
lacy thong.  On the way home together, someone directed a homophobic
comment at me, and George snarled chivalrously "Don't you speak to my
girlfriend like that!", and wrapped his hand around my waist.  I'm not sure
he'd be the best of my lodgers in a fight, to be honest, but I didn't have
to tell him it wasn't worth it - as his outburst was enough to send the
bigot packing.  When we got home, there was - needless to say - some more
of his trademark fireworks lovemaking.


In the bath, our conversation moved on to the brutal double penetration to
which Alex and particularly Malachi had just subjected me.


"Oh, my poor thing, turn around and let me have a look."


I sloshed around in the bath, trying to navigate George's lanky languid
body, `til I was on my hands and knees in the water.


George's breath felt warm on my wet and cooling hole.  He ran his tongue up
each of my inner thighs, allowing it to get a little closer to my special
place each time.


"Oh, your cheeks are rather red.  Has that demon Robbie been at you too?"


"Yeah," I replied meekly.


"Let hubby kiss it better," he said.  He kissed and then licked each of my
butt cheeks.  Just as I felt I couldn't take the tension of him
tantalisingly nearing my hole any longer, it seemed nor could he.


He dove forward and began exploring my hole with his tongue, gingerly,
given the pain I'd told him I was in.


"I can still taste the scoundrels in you," he muttered, but he was
undeterred.  He started making out with my arse - slow and tender at first,
then building up the intensity, slurping and making appreciative noises.


"Fuck!  I love eating pussy so much!" he said, and increasing the rhythm
and momentum of his long-lapping and tongue-fucking, until he was eating me
out like a ravenous man.


"Fit om my face," he said, with struggled enunciation with his face so
buried between my cheeks, and moved so his head was over the edge of the
bath.  From this angle I could see how very much he did like eating pussy,
as his cock was rock hard, poking out of the bathwater.


He was so nice, I couldn't let my young actor-stroke-poet-stroke-musician
go unsatisfied, and so I leant forward to blow him as he healed me with the
magic touch of his silver tongue.  The candlelight twinkled around us as
the music on the speaker played a new movement.


We 69'ed like this for a while, me choking myself on his dick while he ate
my hole, until he thrust up in the bath once final time and unloaded in my
mouth - breathing heavily into my pussy over the piece's crescendo - and a
slew of water splashed over the edge.  (I must mop that up when he's done
bathing, I thought.)  I swallowed him down hungrily, and really did feel a
little healed after he'd kissed me better.


I flipped back over to kiss George, breathing heavily myself, and tasted
the other twink tops' loads and my own hole mingling with his cum.  I left
him to get on with the actual washing part of his bath, pulling on my damp
jockstrap and grabbing my clothes to go to my room to dry off.


Heading to the kitchen a little renewed (but only as little), I was
relieved to see that the growing lads hadn't polished off all the food, and
there was still some of the chorizo and butterbean stew.  I remember the
day I'd once been so busy around the house and helping the boys get off
that I hadn't eaten a single thing except semen.  Not for any reason other
than there seemed to be so many more errands than usual that day, the boys
were particularly horned up, and seemingly just as ravenous - they'd eat me
out of house and home.  When I'd gone to see whether there were any
leftovers from lunch or dinner there weren't, but I'd missed going to the
supermarket, and had nothing in that didn't require cooking and was just
too knackered to face that.  I mentioned this in passing to Quentin and
Robbie the following day: "I would have fed you more loads, if you just
asked," said Quentin, shrugging; and Robbie smirked and told me
"Cocksuckers like you don't need to eat anything but cum, right?"


I'd not had time to shower today, but at least I'd jumped in George's bath
for a bit.


I wolfed down a small bowl of the stew without heating it and headed to the
living room around eleven p.m..  Normally, given I live with six
good-looking youngsters, they mostly have plans on a Friday night - but
tonight Robbie was the only one going out.  While Alex was an exception,
and usually stayed in; Malachi had a football match again tomorrow morning;
Javier needed an early night, as he was waking at 7am again to catch a
flight to a photoshoot in Dublin; Quentin felt like a quiet evening in; and
so George suggested we all cuddle up for a movie night.


We had decided to watch Cruel Intentions, so I found it on the Apple TV and
paid and set about the house to find the boys and convene them in the
living room.


"Ryan Phillipe is so fucking hot," Javier said.  An unusual compliment for
someone else's looks from him.


Quentin turned to Alex and George, "Who would you rather fuck?  Sebastian
or Annette?"


"Our Virgin Annette, of course," replied George.


"Yeah!" Malachi agreed.


"They'd both get it," said Alex.


While Javier and Robbie were totally gay (but total tops), Quentin and Alex
are bi.  George I already explained is attracted specifically to
femininity.  Malachi is straight, but just likes having a faggot's holes
around to get off and make him feel like top dog.


The film soon reached the scene where Philippe gets his arse out.


"You do not think `e has a fantastic ass?" asked Quentin, turning to me.


"Oh," I said, "uhh, I never really look at bums."


There was a ripple of laughter and jocularity at my total bottomness, and
all five of the tops present - including Malachi - agreed it was a very
fuckable arse.


I could see in the corner of my eye that Quentin had been rubbing his
crotch with intent.


"I'm sorry, I `ave to.  You do not need to pause it," he said, standing up
and in a position where he wasn't blocking anyone's view but mine.  Down
came the boxers he'd finally put on and he shoved my dick in my face.  I
didn't open my mouth the first time, and got a face full of his balls too,
but - resigned - I opened it for his second salvo and he plunged his cock
between my lips and fucked my face again.


"Ah, fuck it, I'm horny too."  Malachi boomed, "Pause it though."


He stood up and removed his hard cock from his bedtime trackies, pointing
it at my face and wanking himself off.  (Clearly not as frustrated as
earlier, he didn't try to get his cock down my throat alongside Quentin's!)


Pretty soon, with no film to entertain him, Alex had stood up and pointed
his intimidating cock at me in all its ten-inch glory.


I reached out and took over wanking Malachi and Alex, as they stood either
side of my harangued kneeling figure and horny Quentin.


"A shower of gifts, for the lady of the house," sing-songed George, as he
too stood and stripped off his skinny jeans, wanking his dick towards my
face.


Not wanting to be left out, Javier joined in with the soon-to-be-bukkake
and wanked with his picture perfect eight inches pointed threateningly at
my eye.


Quentin came first, of course, flooding my mouth with at least fourteen
shots of cum, blasted as ever with the intensity of a firehose.  George and
Javier, expertly handling their own cocks, came next and spattered my face
(and a bit of Quentin's shaft and pubes) with a fair few ropes of their own
seed.  I could soon taste their distinct flavours too, as I went down the
dick of Quentin, who was still pounding away at my piercingly painful
throat.  Next up I felt Alex's dick flex in my hand, whose girth it didn't
reach around, as he threw back his long blond hair with a satisfied roar of
a sigh, missing the sight of him cum painting my face too.  At last,
Malachi came from my left hand pleasuring him and his ripe big dick
exploded all over my cocksucking face.  There wasn't an inch of my hair,
face or neck that wasn't dripping in their teen cum; but the scene had
clearly brought Quentin to need to get off again, he pulled out, took two
steps back just to show off - and with marksman accuracy shot nine ropes of
cum from five feet away, not missing my face once.


"Eat up now, like a good girl," said George, gently and considerately
scooping up the cum first from my eyes and placing his fingers in my mouth.
I was in a bit of a daze, so I couldn't identify whose, but a couple of
other hands joined in in wiping up the twink top jizz, some shoving fingers
in my mouth, others holding out their hands and making me lap it off with
my with my exhausted tongue like a tired puppy.


Once most of it was cleared off, and the remainder dried on my face, we all
settled in to finish the film - and George put his arm around me and had me
snuggle into his nook.


After the movie ended, most of the guys announced they were going to bed.
Alex pleasantly surprised me, however, by announcing he was going to start
work on his UCAS application.  It was midnight, but he was a bit of a night
owl.


Malachi stood up and stretched, announcing "My back is kinda sore, y'know."


"Do you need a shoulder rub?" I diligently asked.


"Yeah, cheers Art.  Can you do one of your full body ones?"


He must be cramped from football, I thought, as I went to my room to get
some cocoa oil and a towel for him to lay down on.


When I got back to the living room, now occupied only by Malachi, I saw he
had stripped down - his massive dick swinging, soft, - but still twice as
long as my own poor offering at its rare hardest - between his legs.


I lay down the towel and he got on his front.  Kneeling astride him,
careful to keep my unthreatening little dicklet far away from him arse, I
admired his hard won musculature from this rare angle.  I put some of the
cocoa oil on my hands, rubbing them together to warm it, and set about
executing some of the tricks I'd learnt at a massage workshop I'd been to a
few years earlier.  Long effleurage movements with my palms up and down his
back at first, musing that he could be used as a study of the human male in
peak physical condition.  I spent a lot of time pleasuring and massaging
his shoulders and neck with my thumbs too.  Next up, I worked up and down
his arms using the same method; and then rubbed down and up his legs then
focused on his feet.  He giggled a bit, so I applied more pressure to make
it tickle less.


It's hard physical work, massaging someone this dedicatedly, and my own
body was aching after a busy day.  I could use a massage myself, I thought,
although I'd never ask Malachi - George would probably have obliged, but he
was in bed.  I was so physically drained that I could have fallen asleep on
Malachi's back, but he'd never have allowed himself to be in such a
submissive position, and I didn't want to let on to my boys that they were
putting me out - so I took another deep breath and tried with not
inconsiderable effort to continue the massage with enthusiasm.


Anyway, it was my job to take care of these boys - not just sexually and
with housework.  Malachi needed these post-sports massages for me to rub
out the day's tensions every week or so.  I remember when Javier was sick
in bed with man flu for four days, I'd turn up in his bedroom every day
with chicken soup, orange juice, some kiwi fruit, a new box of soft
tissues, and some cold medicine.  Quentin had come off an e-scooter in town
one evening, and came back totally bereft with out his Brussels maman to
take care of him, so I smiled reassuringly when he hissed as I disinfected
the graze and told him it would heal better with fresh air than with a
plaster.  George was sometimes near-inconsolable when one of his lovers
left one of his polyamorous polygons for a monogamous relationship, and
needed a shoulder on which to cry, me stroking his floppy fringe, and
telling that while his journey with that lover had reached its end, he
still had so much love to give the world.  Robbie occasionally needed to
talk to me about what goes through a bottom's head, when he was figuring
out a new kink or a new sub, as it was all so alien to his dom total top
brain, and he seemed all the more responsible, able and empathic a kinkster
for it.  And Alex needed motivation all the time, to get out the house,
smoke a little less weed, diversify his hobbies beyond computer games, and
to start applying for jobs or courses.


And it's not like they didn't take care of me, and each other, in their own
ways.  For my thirty-fifth birthday last month, the six of them chipped in
and surprised me with a trip to a theme park - Chessington World of
Adventures for the seven of us.  George had brought drinks in a wicker
basket and a bag of ice, expertly mixing cocktails for us to drink on the
train there, `til we were tipsy and merry; Alex presented me with a hash
brownie (of course); Malachi with a football shirt of Chelsea FC (his team)
with `Faggot' where the name should go; Javier with a framed photo from a
trip we'd had to Barcelona (of the two of us, not just him!); Quentin with
a first edition of Adam Smith's `Wealth of Nations' he'd found in an old
bookstore in Antwerp; and Robbie with some sports socks, a jockstrap and a
harness for partying with the word `Bottom' written again and again all
over them.  We didn't even need to queue for any rides, as a friend Malachi
had gone to school worked there, as I discovered when the seven of us went
to the gents for a toilet break.  We were joined by an eighth guy - about
my twinks' age - with a firm rugby-build torso but baby-faced and with
buzzcut hair.  Malachi said his friend would sneak us fifty queue-jump
tickets if he could fuck me, and how could I possibly refuse?  Quentin
moved the neon yellow `Cleaning in progress' sign outside of the bathroom,
and Malachi stood with his foot against the door (no one was going to get
past him), and the friend - Jason - undid his work trousers and out popped
a sturdy 7" stiffy.  He bent me over the sinks, and I watched as my face -
framed in its glasses and curly dark hair, - reddened with embarrassment
and exertion; first from being fucked by this virtual stranger, and then -
redder still - by each of boys in succession.  Their laughing, hollering
and high-fives echoed around the bathroom, each encouraging the next to go
rougher (they no doubt loved watching not just my reflection, but their own
- seeing their top dog status up close as they each grabbed my hips and
fucked me into submission the sink counter).  I was both exhilarated and
overwhelmed as I staggered - and the boys strutted - back out into the
theme park to enjoy my VIP birthday trip.


I went in for some more deep tissue work on Malachi's soft skin and firm
muscles, using my fingers and fists to find out any knots, and heard him
moan appreciatively. "Uhhhhh, yeahhhh."


He turned around, and I saw he had a massive erection again.  The virility
of my six twinky top flatmates never ceases to amaze me.


I'm not one to refuse someone a happy ending, and especially when his need
is pointing so accusingly at me; my earnest massage hard caused this
erection after all.  So I moved my mouth down to his cock, ignoring the
pain in my exhausted jaw, and began massaging his cock with my tongue and
right hand, and his balls in my left.


He'd already cum a few times today, so the half-hour the blowjob was
positively tantric by his standards, before I felt him pump out some more
cum as I was teasing the ridge of his head with my lips and working the
base of his fat nine inches.


"Fuck me, I needed that," he sighed.


A tender moment with Malachi at last.  I licked my sore and reddened lips,
told him it was my pleasure, and excused myself to waddle - hole tightened
and bow-legged - to check on Alex in the dining room.


There I found him on his laptop - and he wasn't playing a game!  I saw he
had a Google Doc up and was typing away, a hundred or so words so far,
mainly focused on the course he'd done at college.  I gave him a few
pointers on linking it to the degree apprenticeship for which he was
applying and - half seriously - to see whether he could work some of the
transferable skills from his videogaming into it too.


My `phone vibrated in my pocket.  It was a message from Quentin.


"I need you to check the English of my paper."


It was an econometrics paper, I pondered, it was all Greek letters and
equations - how much English could there be?


I told Alex he was doing a good job, and I'd go over the personal statement
with him again in the morning.  I kissed him on the head, saying "Love you,
good night," a proud smile stretching across his face.


I wandered through to Quentin and Robbie's bedroom.  Robbie was still out,
but Quentin was at his laptop.


I'd got about halfway through checking the essay, with only two or three
corrections to the bits I could understand, when he said:


"Ah, putain, I need to cum again.  I cannot sleep when I need to cum."


"Lemme just finish proofreading this," I implored.  "Non.  One load now,
and again at the end."


I sighed.  My jaw really was sore by this point, but I let him stand
astride me as I sat in his `office' chair and he began to bang away at my
searing tired throat.


The chair was on wheels, however, and so soon we had travelled across the
room and the pistoning of his dick in my mouth was pounding my head against
the wall.  I let my jaw go slack, and Quentin seemed to enjoy the feeling
of using my throat like a fleshjack.  Malachi and Robbie loved the sound of
my gagging and choking and fighting down bile when they savagely fuck my
face, looking down and trashtalking me while I pleaded with them with my
tear-streaked face, helpless but to take it.  I don't think Quentin
proactively loved it so much, more that he was too focused on getting his
nut and cumming as many times a day as possible.  Soon, for the umpteenth
time, he was cumming down my throat - a combo this time, the first few
shots right into my gullet, the next few on my tongue, and then he pulled
out for the last three of the still-explosive cumshots to cover my face.


He sat down on the bottom bunk, exhaling, a look of glazed satisfaction
(for now) as I wheeled the chair over to the desk to start checking his
essay once more.  Not long after I started up again, I heard his `phone
ring (Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger by Daft Punk was his ringtone).


"Zut alors!  It is my ex-girlfriend.  What does she want?"


He answered the `phone and began to talk away in French.  It was quite
distracting, as I was trying to read, so I mostly zoned it out.  My tired
attempts at multitasking and limited French meant I didn't catch most of
it, but the tone seemed eventually to move from consoling to quite steamy.


Once I finished proofreading Quentin's essay for him, I looked over at the
bed, and saw he was sitting up and speaking on the `phone.  His dick was
out of his pants again, seven inches of rock hard teen erection, pointing
towards the top bunk.  And he was precumming more than I'd ever seen - his
entire gland, all the underside of his cock and his whole ballsack were
glistening with it, and the duvet beneath him had a six-inch dark patch of
the stuff too.


"Est-ce que ma fille sexy touche sa chatte pour moi?" I heard him ask.


He was having `phone sex with his ex while I proofread his essay.  It
seemed she was pleasuring herself on the other end of the line, while he
sat there expecting - I assumed - me to do the pleasuring for him at this
end.  My expectations were confirmed when he clicked his fingers and
pointed to his dick.


I got on my aching knees on the floor, and approached his cock from the
side.  I licked up his delicious precum from his balls (he giggled and
moaned), and then shaft, and tried to suck up what I could from the stain
on the duvet.  Then I focused on licking the precum around and from his
piss slit, before I started wetly blowing him.  He was less hands-on and
urgent this time.  On the one hand, this was a rest for my weary jaw; but
on the other, it meant I had to put in more effort, and it was one o'clock
in the morning and I was exhausted - as I knelt there covered in yet more
of his drying cum.


Quentin gave me a lot more facials than most of the other guys.  This was
mostly because he liked to show off just how big the loads he shoots are,
and once - when we'd visited Brussels together for him to see his folks and
me to have a little holiday - I'd sucked him off in the cruising room of
Stammbar and he'd shot his massive load all over me.  It was fairly dark,
and I hadn't had a chance to wipe it off, but when I tried to once we got
back to the light of the main bar he grabbed my hand - and said it turned
him on for everyone to see how huge the load was with which he'd blasted my
face.  He boasted about this back at the South London flat when we
returned, and the guys came up with a pact that the following day, none of
them would breed me or make me swallow their load, but they'd all cum on me
instead - I wasn't allowed to wipe off any of it, but could lick up any
that dripped on the floor.  Robbie was especially keen "Fuck yeah.  We
can't let anyone in the neighbourhood think that just because you're living
with twinks, you're the one doing the fucking.  This will let everyone know
you're the bottom bitch."  Malachi and George were, in their quite
different ways, keen on knowing that they'd marked me as theirs - in case
any tops outside the flat saw me.  Alex guffawed "Shit, that's gonna be
embarrassing for you, but kinda hilarious."  And Javier was more than keen
to join in.  "You know, it's funny," Javier said, "because you will be
wearing so much of the cum that we empty on you again and again, but your
little blue balls in your jockstrap will still be full."  I suppose it was
quite funny, for them, but it most definitely added to the strict
top/bottom dynamic and my aching horniness that day.


Quentin was on his bed, whispering sweet nothings in very sexy French, most
of which I didn't understand.  He lay there, louche and languid, taking
occasional drags from his hand-rolled ciggie and flicking it into the
overfull ashtray by his bed, for about fifteen minutes as I sucked him -
his dick pulsing with his ex's encouraging words - before finally flooding
my mouth with another characteristically gigantic load.


He bade farewell to his former lover on the `phone, and announced.  "Fuck!
That was sexy as `ell, making a girl cum while a boy makes me cum.  I love
living with you, my little cocksucker."


"I love being with you too," I said rapsily, wishing him good night before
he decided to go for a third time in a row (I knew he could!).


By now it was two o'clock in the morning, and I realised I hadn't done the
washing up.  Most of the boys had brought down any mugs and plates they'd
been using in their room, but I could already guess that Alex would have
forgotten.  Still, I started soaking that pile, washed them, and began work
on the dishes and cookware from lunch and dinner, with my eyes half-closed
from sleepiness.


Just as I was finishing up, I heard the front door go - a noticeable noise
in the now quite quiet house - and figured Robbie was back.


Perhaps he saw the kitchen light on, because he appeared silently but
ominously at the door.


"Oh Art, great!  You're still up.  Can you bring some bottled water to the
living room?"


I wanted to ask him to do it himself, so I could get some sleep; but knew
he'd punish me terribly next time he enacted one of his wild scenes with
me.  So I got a large bottle of chilled water from the fridge, and went
through to the living room, where I found Robbie and someone I didn't
recognise - dimmed light and soft techno music on in the background.


The other guy was an otter, about halfway between Robbie's age and mine
(twenty-seven or so), and I wondered whether this was the next `daddy' type
victim for Robbie's sadism.  As we chatted in the living room for a bit, it
transpired that the two of them had decided to come back here rather than
go to the club after the bar they'd been at.  Both wearing leather
harnesses, it certainly seemed like they had intended on going clubbing.


"This is Dan," Robbie said.  I noticed both his and Dan's pupils were quite
wide, and he was chewing his mouth slightly, suggesting they'd been on the
party enhancements.  (As long as it wasn't one of the three big no-no
drugs, I didn't mind them using them recreationally and occasionally.)


"He's just getting into kinky stuff.  I told him we get up to some pretty
wild stuff here and showed him our video from earlier.  Thought we might
have some fun here.  You don't mind, do you?"


"No, that's fine," I said, praying that it didn't involve me - given how
desperate I was for sleep.


Alas, sleep was not yet to be.  Robbie told me to wait and went to his room
(considerately quietly, I noted), and came back with some rope and a
leg-extender.  He attached the latter's manacles to my ankles, and tied my
wrists and forearms together with the former, with me laying on my back on
the living room floor and my arms above my head.  He fished around in his
raving sports socks for a small wrap and a Yale key and did a bump of coke.
(Oh no, I thought, guys always take ages to cum on uppers, and Robbie on
cocaine is no exception.)


He raised my legs, and slid in under the leg extender, resting my thighs on
his bony twinky hips.  He looked down at me, his devilishly narrowed eyes
on his otherwise angelic face, like a predator about to claim his prey, and
lowered his shorts to reveal that imposing 8" fuckclub.


"I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you," he breathed in my ear, loud enough
for his one-Dan audience to hear.


All three of us were staring at his dick.  Dan whistled with appreciation,
Robbie's mouth curled into a sadistic smirk as he thought about how much he
enjoyed the damage he could inflict with his thick cut cock, and I shivered
and trembled in anticipation - who knew for how long he'd fuck me, for his
pleasure and my pain, and yet here I lay - in psychological and physical
bondage - unable once more to do anything but take his dick, helpless
against his threatened penetration.


In fact, he started out fucking me quite slowly, but the pace increased
over the next hour or so.  I started zoning out, but as soon as I got
comfortable or closed my eyes, he'd slap me across the face--


"Fucking look at me!  Look at your boy when he's punishing your hole," he
barked.


My eyes snapped open again and stayed open for as long as I could.


This continued, as my eyes drooped every couple of minutes, from desperate
tiredness and cock drunkenness, and at one point he punched me in the torso
- taking my breath away.


"You're just a mouth and a cunt, daddy!  Look at me and take my dick, you
little fuck!"


Once I started dozing a little frequently for his liking, the sleep
deprivation almost as great a torture as the one-sided selfish dicking he
was giving my abuse slit, he lowered his hand and started smacking my
bloated little balls through my jockstrap with the back of his hand.


My eyes certainly snapped open again then and he sneered "That sure woke
you up!"


While my legs and arms were bound, my head snapped forwards and I could see
in the dimmed light through my torn t-shirt that my heaving upper chest and
clavicles were red from the exertion and throbbing pain of Robbie fucking
me.


He thwacked my little balls again.


"Aaagh!  No, please!" I sobbed.  "Pleeeease!"


Just as Robbie had learnt about having me lick sweat and grime from his
body - and how much he enjoyed it - from Malachi, this ball-slapping
technique was something Malachi had learnt from Robbie.  In fact, Robbie
had come up with some pretty creative forms of SPH and CBT over the years.
(Some of which had not involved me hiding in a jockstrap, which made his
castration threat after the jocklessness incident in the sauna seem all the
more unfair.)  He had made me measure his hard eight inches next to my soft
one-and-a-half with a ruler and a tape measure and toilet paper rolls on
cam for the small penis humiliation fetishists following his OnlyFans; he
once marked me with words like `Slut' `Daddy is a whore' and `Cocksucker'
using a sharpie before we went to a fetish bar and, of course, wrote `Clit'
on my abdomen with an arrow pointing to my dicklet; once, when I forgot to
get him a new iPhone charger from the shop, he made me remove my jockstrap
as he pulled the drawer out from under the bunk bed and made me lean over
the mattress - he positioned me so my little dicklet was dangling into the
drawer and he kicked it shut, causing me to wail and howl and bawl with
pain; he would come up with a neverending stream of creative nicknames for
it - little peepee, maggot, daddy's clit, ickle dicklet among his
favourite; he would make me wear chastity for days or, more rarely, weeks
at a time, sometimes snapping pics of his thick free eight-incher next to
my vanishingly small caged dicklet, often with his cum deliberately sprayed
all over the cage to rub in the contrast between all the loads he could
fire off and my own aching inability to cum (and he once he tied a vibrator
to the cage, buzzing softly enough that I couldn't climax, not for my
pleasure but just because he thought it was hilarious to see my small blue
balls get slightly less small, as they filled and throbbed with the orgasm
my clit was tortuously unable to release); once, uncaged, he noticed I got
a semi under my jockstrap, and stopped fucking me immediately, demanding I
place it on a desk, he whipped it mercilessly with a cane - ignoring by
sobbing pleas for mercy - `til my pitiful two-inch semi had shrivelled into
a welted apologetic softie, while he cackled maniacally saying "what
business does a pussybitch daddy have getting hard in front of his master"
and, as it shrunk below the one inch mark, he laughed saying "that's what
Mother Nature intended!"; he would tread on it while wearing trainers, and
laugh at how the dirty track marks from his soles had imprinted on it; and,
an occasional favourite of his, slapping my balls to make me tighten my
hole while while he pounded me.


Whic is what Robbie did as he mercilessly fucked my bound body on the
living room floor, increasing the speed with which he smacked my little
nutsack and getting a little rougher too, until my whimpers turned to
blubbering tears.


Robbie had been fucking me for over an hour now, pausing only to take the
occasional bump of coke and a pull of his Vuse ice blueberry vape - blowing
the vapour imperiously in my face - all while keeping his rock hard cock in
my aching hole.  I had to make him cum somehow.  My loosening and
tightening of my hole wasn't quite doing the trick.


"Am I raping you?" he asked with a demonic grin.


I sobbed and blubbed and nodded.


"Say it," he snapped.


"You're raping me," I said breathlessly.


"Do you want me to stop?"


I nodded and looked into his intent smiling eyes.


"Stop.  Please, sir.  You're raping me," I whimpered.


That was enough to send the sadistic young Alpha Twink over the edge, and
he finally started cumming in me.


"Fuck me, I need to piss," he said.


"Can I fuck him while you go to the toilet?" asked Dan, speaking for the
first time, and who was sporting a thin but pulsingly hard 7" boner of his
own after watching the show.  I noted again this question was not directed
at me.


"Nah, watch this," Robbie said, with that evil smirk of his.


His dick softened slightly, and I could feel his dick and then my innards
swelling as he emptied his bladder into me for the second time that day,
albeit this time in a different hole.


"Ahhh!" he sighed, with dramatic satisfaction.  "You can fuck him now if
you like."


Thankfully, Dan's dick wasn't as big as the six twink tops with whom I
share my life, but with my bowels sloshing with all their loads and now
Robbie's piss, it was still large enough to make me feel full and put in my
place.  Thankfully, watch Robbie's maestro performance meant that even on
coke Dan didn't take too long, as he fucked me - quiet save for a few
grunts - for seven minutes, his hand gingerly on my throat as I looked up
at his handsome stubbly face.


So Dan definitely was a top friend of Robbie's, albeit an inexperienced
one, rather than a new sub.  Not great news for my exhausted hole, but
perhaps for the best, given what sometimes happens when my six tops bring
bottoms or occasionally girls home.  On the one hand, a few moment's
respite can be nice; but I'd be lying if I said I didn't get pangs of
jealousy and inadequacy in those moments, from feeling I can't keep them
all happy all the time at once.  And that's before we get to what happens
to the love rivalries they have with each other.  Quentin brought a girl
he'd met on Hinge home after their third date, and a few times thereafter,
but this all stopped when he thought he heard her moans in Alex's room -
which he burst into to find her being pummelled by his ten-inch cock.  They
had argued and broken into a fist fight it then took me weeks to fix - the
two of them slightly seething at me, for having intervened and suggested
she not return, and of course all that pent up jizz that would otherwise be
for her was taken out on me but with tenfold aggression.  I'd only recently
got them back onto speaking terms.  Sometimes their rivalries would break
out over me, like the time Javier found out I'd gone to a lavender field in
the suburbs with George to take photos of him for his Instagram - and
Javier had got his followers to post disparaging things on George's feed
almost as fast as he could delete them.  For a month Javier wouldn't speak
to me and refused, so I couldn't gaze upon his beauty, to do anything but
curtly fuck me from behind.


After watching Robbie punish my boypussy, Dan fucked me insistently and
came in me too.  I told the guys I was going to bed, and to have fun but
keep the noise down.


I emptied myself of Robbie's piss and more of the boys' and Dan's loads on
the loo, before dragging myself near collapse to my room.


I looked in the mirror: my jeans still dirtied from Javier's fucking me
outdoors, his lovebite on my neck, my t-shirt torn and tattered from
Malachi's vice-like grip, a small bruise forming near my collarbone from
Robbie punching me, and my face still covered in drying twink cum.  My eyes
were content but very very tired.  I wrapped myself snuggly, in my duvet -
the virile reek in my nose from Malachi's sweaty fortnight-old boxers and
socks, which he'd chucked on my pillow.  I closed my weary eyes and finally
fell asleep--


A strange and sudden feeling of movement caused me to look around.  I
fumbled around with what I thought was my duvet to see what was going on.
When my head found light, my surroundings seemed very strange indeed.  I
had hauled myself up on some fabric which looked like the paisley suit of
George's, whose waistcoat I'd fixed that day, but this fabric was as thick
to me as carpet.  I noticed we were in the living room, but everything was
impossibly large - a bus-sized remote on a street-long table; the sofa
cushions each a room's floor space in themselves; a glass on the big enough
to fit my whole self.


"Oh good," said George, "you're awake.  I was hoping we could play a little
dress-up."


He pulled me gently from his pocket, reaching down to place me on the
coffee table.  He seemed some twelve times taller than me.  George procured
from his pocket a toy ballerina, shorter than his hand, and yet my own
height.


"I think this tutu will look much better on you than on her, don't you
think?"


He pulled the pink tutu from the doll, and told me to raise my hands like a
good girl, and shoved the doll's itchy dress onto my body.


"There, there, very pretty."


A strange and sonorous sound filled the huge echoey room, and I saw a
television as big as a wall blasting what sounded like MarioKart - but much
louder and deeper.


"You wanna play too, little one?" I heard what sounded like a bassy Alex.


I was used to being quite a bit taller than him, but here he too was like a
giant to me.


"Too small to use the controller though, huh?"


He lifted me effortlessly with this thumb and forefinger, placing me so I
was seated precariously on the front of the improbably vast controller.
But - as is natural with driving games - he kept rotating it left and right
as he turned corners, and I had to lean forward to grab the wire (thick as
an underground cable) to hold myself steady - my stomach churning the whole
time.


A gargantuan Malachi appeared next, collapsing onto the sofa and kicking
off his dirty soiled trainers.


"Give us Art for a second.  My feet stink."


Not breaking his attention from his game, Alex nodded and lowered the
controller to the floor, allowing me to clamber off, shaky and uncertain.
Even though he and Malachi were seated right next to each other, it was
some thirty paces before I reached Malachi's feet, and their smell was even
more overwhelming at this scale.


"Take my socks off, mini slut," Malachi chuckled.  I climbed on top of his
feet and managed to shimmy up his leg, with my arms not reaching around
them and the muscles bulging against my miniaturised tummy, but when I
reached them I was not strong enough to remove them.


"Here, lemme help you," this godlike Malachi said, reaching down and
effortlessly pulling them off.  "Lots of toe lint for you today.  Gotta
help me clean up."


I bowed before his feet, each toe the size of my head, and started pulling
out clumps of moist red sock lint too big for my mouth cavity, but I licked
the salty spots between his toes from which I'd removed them in earnest.


"Oh good," I heard an American accent - familiar, but so much deeper, as if
amplified by subwoofer - and spun around to see an enormous Robbie above
me.  "Are you nearly done Malachi?  I wanna play wrestling with our little
guy."


"Yeah, I'm done," said Malachi, and Robbie lifted me effortlessly from
above, by my tiny feet between two of his fingers, and started moving me
towards his mouth - as though he was swallowing me whole - a terrifying
prospect.  He didn't, though, but I felt my body sway with movement and the
blood rushed to my head, and presently I was plonked on our now hugely
expansive dining room table.


Robbie giggled mischievously as he had me arm wrestle each of his fingers,
effortlessly overpowering me with every one.  Even when he allowed me to
use my whole body, my shrunken frame was not enough to beat even a single
digit, nor later could I wrest my body upwards as he pinned me down
underneath this index finger.


"Oh dear, it seems like daddy is fallible after all," he said, chuckling.


"Fuck me, that is `ot."  Quentin was sitting at the dining room table too
now, his game theory textbook coming up to my torso.  "I `ave an idea.
Lemme at `im."


He pulled down his boxers, and his cock was even more threatening and
demanding from these dimensions.  He reached out and rescued me from
Robbie's remit, straightening out my cowering body with his left hand as he
pulled me feet first towards his dick.  The slime of Quentin's precum
drenched my entire self from head to toe near instantly, and as I wriggled
around to regain my perspective, I noticed that `though my feet were
pressed up against his pelvic bone, his cock extended a head and a half
above me!  I must be no taller than six inches, to the seven inch tree
trunk of Quentin's dick.


"That is so funny," said Javier, appearing above me with his camera.  He
snapped a few shots, then Quentin flopped his thick hard cock onto the
table, and made me lay on my back next to it.  Robbie decided he wanted a
go too, and thwacked his fuckclub dangerously close to me - even more
intimidating, as at eight inches it stretched an entire torso's length
further than my height.  Quentin ran through to the living room, to have
the other guys come and see.


They all wanted a photo taken of me next to their dick - Quentin offered to
take the photo of Javier's beautiful 8" model cock next to me.  George said
I looked like such a pretty girl, all dressed in pink next to his love
sword, big enough to bludgeon even an invading dragon.  Malachi's 9" and
Alex's 10" were of course the most intimidating and humiliating comparisons
yet.  And yet not quite as humiliating as when Robbie appeared with a
single grain of rice, and made me wrap my fist around it and sit atop his
cock with my tutu hoisted up - holding it against my pelvis, where Javier's
camera saw that little grain prove three times longer than my own
miniaturised terrified dicklet.


They had an idea of lining up on the table and making me run a solo hurdles
race over the superhuman macro cocks.  It seemed to take an age, getting
the hang of it, with the biggest mishap a serious slip on Quentin's
never-ending stream of precum; but once I'd run a few successful laps, they
decided to up the stakes by dicklapping the table.  Their divine and
terrible cocks rising and falling from heights taller than me meant this
was near impossible and more an obstacle course, really, as several times I
was thwacked flat, sprawling face first into the table.


Quentin decided he was horny, and he needed a little toy to help him out.
He held me in his coiled fist and moved me towards his cock.  Surely he
couldn't be thinking of fucking a six-inch human, with his thick seven-inch
cock wider than I was.  But Quentin's need to cum always wins out, and as
he slid his dick up my mini tutu, I was astonished to feel my hole give
way, as I stretched around his big dick like the fleshy innards of a
fleshjack--


I awoke with a jolt, breathing heavily, and felt the weight of someone
climbing top of me.


"Shhhhh. Shh, shh, shh, shhh.  Be quiet, little one.  I couldn't sleep.  I
need to cum again."


Crap, it was Quentin.  I squinted to the side, and saw it was four o'clock
in the morning.  I'd had just one hour's sleep, and an extremely weird
dream, before this nocturnal intrusion - and it really was an intrusion, as
Quentin's hard cock was already grinding against my tired hole.


I'd emptied out the loads from earlier, but Quentin's fountain of precum is
a lubrication device all of its own, I thought to myself, hoping if I just
submitted that I could soon get some more sleep.


He had climbed into my bed while I was curled up on my side, but once he'd
thrust all of his demanding inches in me to the hilt, he manoeuvred so I
was on my front, with the weight of him fully on top of me.  He fucked away
for some time - I wasn't sure how long, in my melatonin-dazed haze, perhaps
only a few minutes - before he sighed with relief as he emptied his
overflowing balls in me again.


"Is that better?" I asked, hoping he might leave me to my sleep.


"Just one more," he whispered, moving so we were in a spooning position
again, his cock still inside me, "if I do not cum in you, it is more
bedsheets for you to clean."


That's true.  Whenever I was at home and at full capacity, I'd say I manage
to take about two-thirds of the cum the twink tops shoot.  The remaining
third was split between the various bottom shags they fucked elsewhere or
sometimes brought home, or else they wanked off or had wet dreams.  Living
with six guys that age meant that a lot of things other than me were often
covered in cum.  I once found a rancid sock full of Alex's spunk under his
pillow - I replaced it with a clean one and popped it in the laundry, and
he never said anything.  Malachi on the other hand seemed to relish in
hiding away his long-worn underwear, with all its precum and small piss
stains and sporting sweat, so I couldn't wash them - and he could instead
use them to taunt me with his virile manly smells.  George and Javier
weren't especially mucky, but I've had to clean up more than my fair share
of cum-stained bedsheets in their bedroom too (perhaps from them needing to
relieve themselves in lieu of a bottom after one of their steamy two-top
making out sessions).  Robbie sometimes came back from his sex parties with
shorts covered in his own cum, from where he'd fucked so many bottoms and
one or more had done a bad job of clenching to keep his seed inside them.
And on the occasional weekends I went away, either with one or two of the
boys or alone, I'd come back not just to an extremely messy house, but one
where half the objects and surfaces seemed covered in cum - bedding,
clothes, the bathroom floor, the walls, the ceiling once or twice, even a
slice of toast (a forfeit of some kind, I assume: I didn't ask).  It really
was like that scene in Bridesmaids about living with teenage boys "Semen
all over everything.  I cracked a blanket in half!"  And no one's objects
or room was as bad for cum stains as Quentin's, who not only needed to get
off more times a day than even I could provide, but would leak post-cum for
ages afterwards, before getting hard again within half-an-hour at most and
start pulsating with precum as soon as he did.  I could wash his boxers
three times a day and they'd still be sticky with his cum; and I could
always tell when he had had a nocturnal emission (all the boys did every
week or two, but Quentin's were almost every night), because rather than a
6" or 7" wet patch, it would have flooded half the bedsheet, and form
streaks and splatters all along under his duvet cover.


Now I was curled up on my side again, Quentin spooning but still inside me.


"Please, Quentin," I rasped, "I need to sleep."


"I will not move," he implored seductively, "You can sleep with me in you.
I can cum like this."


He did as he promised, and kept his body still - and as I was drifting off
again I could feel his cock tensing occasionally inside my hole, but it was
a nice feeling and not enough to keep me awake - `til I managed to sleep
again around five a.m.


I didn't have any more strange dreams; and when my alarm for seven in the
morning woke me, Quentin was gone and presumably back in his room.


Reaching down, I tentatively stroked my hole.  It was still a little
tender, not least after yesterday's DP, but mostly healed again for the day
ahead.  It was, however, very wet - from Quentin's steady flow of precum
and the three or four loads he might have fired off into me as we slept.


As I shifted in bed I also noted my dicklet was completely soft, a little
under an inch-and-a-quarter.  I didn't get proper morning wood any more,
but I sometimes woke up with a two-inch semi, but even that was happening
less and less these days.  Ah well, the six total tops with whom I live
don't have any need for me getting an erection, and I guess I don't either.


Javier wanted waking with a morning blowjob for the second day in a row, to
get him up and ready for his flight.  I allowed myself a moment of
reflection before thinking about today's itinerary.  Yesterday, I'd woken
Javier with a blowjob; sucked off Alex during his wake-and-bake; been
ploughed over the washing machine by Malachi; been mouthfucked twice by
Quentin; banged against a park tree by Javier; had my mouth pissed then cum
in by Robbie; been made love to by George; licked up Malachi's sweat then
blown him; had Quentin cum down my throat then on my face during his online
lecture; been made to ride atop Alex's monstercock while he played the
Playstation; been beaten and fucked on cam by Robbie; sucked off Malachi
and his teammates from football; provided my holes to relieve George and
Javier during their racy makeout session; been pinned down by Quentin as he
fucked two successive loads into me; been brutally double penetrated by
Malachi and Alex; tenderly rimmed by George as I 69'd my mouth around his
cock; had all but one of the boys spunk on my face during our cosy film
night; massaged Malachi and given him a happy ending; Quentin had thrown me
some savage irrumatio then made me bring him off as he had `phone sex with
his ex-girlfriend; I'd been fucked for over an hour by a coked-up Robbie
and his friend; and then had Quentin wake me with his cock and fuck me
while I was half-asleep, pumping who knows how much cum into me.  All in
all, a little over three dozen loads in twenty-four hours.  I'd taken as
many as sixty (the day I had no time to eat) and as few as twenty from the
lads before, so three dozen was a pretty typical day.  And of course I had
to make sure the boys were fed and watered, had their clothes washed and
ready, help out with their hobbies and encourage their pursuits, give them
some mentoring and direction, look after their friends, mend their things
and remind them where they needed to be.


There was, of course, a time before my six twink top lodgers.  I had more
time to myself, and a lot more sleep, and I had had some great sex and some
short- and long-term romantic relationships, and even occasionally helped
nurture a younger gay finding his way in the world.  But nothing is as
rewarding as the ups and down of having the six of them actually live with
me, watching them flourish from teenagers into young men - whether it's
supporting Robbie's sexcam career so he can travel the world's circuit
parties, watching the highs and aggressive lows of Malachi's sporting
endeavours, being but one recipient of George's euphoric poetic love,
seeing Javier book more and more gigs in his journey to be a supermodel
superstar, helping Quentin have the focus he needs to become a European
Commission economist, or getting Alex out the house and back into his
studies.  My boys need a lot of support - sexually, domestically and
emotionally - but providing it is hugely rewarding.  Even though we make a
rag tag motley crew - my six twink tops and me - as a home and as a family,
we just click.


I tore off my duvet and hopped out the bed, changing into this morning's
jockstrap, ready to take on the day.  I headed towards the kitchen to make
Javier his favourite - strong but milky, a restresso latté.


- - -


The end.  I hope you enjoyed My Six Twink Top Lodgers.  Email me to let me
know what you think, or if you've got a naughty alt Twitter, why not plug
it there and tell me whether you're #TeamAlex, #TeamGeorge, #TeamJavier,
#TeamMalachi, #TeamQuentin or #TeamRobbie - I'm @sphsublondon.