Barry's Big Balls

Barry's Big Balls Part 2: Balls 2 the Wall

By:Azburglar@gmail.com

I'm not sure what I had been thinking when I did it. Surely, I wasn't of the right sort of mind at the time. Not when I chose a picture of those twins of his. Swollen, wrinkled, hanging down low below him in a way indicative of their humongous size and weight. Heavy to hold, smooth, but can swing fast and hard when push comes to shove. Much bigger they looked in person; the camera adding pounds not apparently applicable to fleshy globe shaped appendages. A glistening bead of sweat blotted the left one; the photograph was not a simple image either but an Iphone Live Photo. Every time my aroused digit slid across him, I'd see them jostle about, alive and hypnotizing, enormous and frightening, for a brief moment before the digitized jpeg teasingly stilled.

He probably thinks of me as some conquered person. A sucker he won one over on, both literally and figuratively. If he doesn't, it's not for want of evidence. How could I even face him anymore? Not when he left me like that. So covered in it, my face sticking, hair crumpled with it, anus searing, debauched, drooling out the sides of my contorted parted lips, caked in filth, wafting musk and foul body odor, ribs squeezing, kneeling on his floor, Nick eavesdropping, and my own flaccid penis utterly spent and exhausted. It had been a month since then.

A bright and melodic series of soft chiming notes awakened me and I grabbed at my phone.

"Barry?"

"It's Nick."

I pretended to cough into my phone.

"Did you text him?"

"Nah, just having a dream. You woke me up."

"Yeah, if that's who you're dreaming of. Well, you might want to check your sheets."

"Enough of that. Trust me. It was nothing to dream about. Gross. I've had trouble sleeping since. Serious insomnia."

"I bet. You need sunlight. I think it'd help if we could discuss what happened. Just saying. It'll give you some relief. Getting things off your chest."

"Nah, that'll make it even worse. Enough of your exposure therapy. It's bullshit. I need the opposite of that. A rasa of the tabula. Amnesia. That Jim Carrey movie where they delete specific memories. Is there someplace you can do that? I bet in China. If anyone would have the technology to format a brain like a hardrive; it'd be the Chinese."

"You can sit in the pool and soak rays at my mom's. I'll relax under the ramada for shade, listen and type on my laptop. Take proper notes. Totally confidential. We can look for solutions on the net using mom's wifi. Surely there are other accounts of people. Ones who encountered him and struggled to cope. I recall there may even be a Reddit community devoted to them. Have you tried the latest Chat GPT? It's awfully slick."

"Your right, Chat GPT ought to know how to erase hard encoded brain memories."

Two days later I was at that dumpy place that never sweeps the floor, but I go to because it still sells blue Monster Zeros. My phone began chiming and when I pulled it out of my pocket I saw them. Barry's beautiful humongous balls. My hand clawed at the phone like a cornered honey badger.

The call sputtered, clicked, connected and over the phone's speaker I immediately heard a cascade of feminine moaning and grunting.

The heavyset older woman clerking the cramped superette stared coldly at me and grimaced through her sagging jowls.

Quickly, I ducked into the brown tiled men's room which appeared thankfully empty, dirty it was with cracked mirrors and cigarette butts and tall empty beer cans in the trash and had only a slight fecal smell. I concentrated and I could hear them. They were slapping loudly against the woman's flesh. Where exactly they smacked against was unclear but what was certain was their steady and familiar cadence.

Through thick gasps, the woman's voice sounded through the phone in a sleazy California elocution, "Gawd, Barry, you, unh, seriously calling someone right now?" A droplet of cool sweat dropped from my forehead on to the lit screen.

"Whoops," Barry muttered in a muffled voice.

The raw jungle slapping sound continued in sequence, sharp given the sheer mass involved and in measure with haughty San Fernando valley femme grunting, and its congruence with the wafting odor of the soiled latrine reminded me of school field trips to the primate exhibit at the sweltering zoo. Some fumbling noise distortions sounded, and the call abruptly hung up leaving the dirty men's room in silence.

A commode flushed loudly before the stall door creaked as a short older man with a beer belly bowed out from his municipal code metered stall. Without a wash, he slapped his right hand against my left shoulder. "Brudha, that was music," he said in a voice that was rancid and alcoholic but also moved and full of raw emotion. "The sound of dem. Slappin. Must've been big'uns. It's been ahhwhile, son. Since I felt its mighty presence. Looming large as it tends. Could yous feel it was there? `Eh son?" When he raised his palm from my shoulder, I saw a grease strain where it had been. From the smell I surmised that an oily burrito lathered in hot sauce explained both the blemish on my shirt and his reason for being where he just was.

Over fifty thousand people stood, hooted, and bellowed as the quarterback of the Cards, flanked on all sides by berserking, enraged bulls, raised his bloated bicep that strained against the red nylon seams of his scuffed jersey sleeve, chucked the fucker, and the pigskin spun, swiveled, and glided and somehow I imagined I could hear it whistling despite how improbable that would be over the roaring crowd before landing right into the willing sticky gloves of the Card's nimble receiver. What proceeded was the USA's version of the running of the bulls with some bovines soaked red on account of an earlier gristly sequence of vicious gorings and ghastly dismemberment. The heat scorched and a sputtering blimp carrying a flapping advertisement for Cialis hovered above in the invariably desiccated cerulean sky. Upon touchdown, a burning and vehement rock anthem belted out the amped loudspeakers provoking feverish rhythmic stomping.

I wiped thick sweat off my singed brow. "Fuck, I need a beer!" I yelled. "I know it's not cheap but otherwise I'm gonna stroke out here! You want one as well? A brisk cold foamer."

"Water, please!" Nick responded as he eyed the greens below before blinking. He was smart to have worn a brimmed ball cap that shaded himself from the blistering and discerning rays of scorching sunlight.

I bartered a tallboy of devil's ale while taking refuge in the shade and misters behind the stands. When turning a corner in search of a water peddler, I thudded into another man, swole, and sweating. When I looked up, I recognized him, went white, goosebumps on my arms, shook, looked away, and said nothing. My ribs squeezed against one another like I had a black hole atop my liver. My whole body trembled and struggled against the urge to break into a full sprint away from him.

"Well, well, well," Barry responded with a smirk on his face and puffed out his thick chest. "I can't go anywhere without running into one of my slutty bimbos. Sorry I haven't texted. I had other bitches to attend to. You know how it is. Or let's be real. Likely you don't. It's got to be hard. Being in your position. Getting just a brief taste only to return to a state of desperate starvation."

"L-look," I stammered. "T-things got a little out of hand. I want to just be friends. You know, what happened, happened. I never much cared for sequels, I'm sure you know."

"When you're starving like that, your guts start to get all gnarled up inside." Barry continued. "It's rough. Circumstances like yours. God, it's hot out today. Look, bitch, I'll do you a lil favor. It's like a rainforest down there. I'm sure its starting to stink. Why don't you help cool things off a bit? You'd like that right? Cleaning up. Especially after how messy it got last time. There's a place for men-only right past that corner. I'll play quarterback and you wide receiver. Or maybe cheerleader. Yeah, with that slick throat you've got and those flexible cheeks. I bet you could belt out a real good whoop whoop. Don't worry slut, I'll give you something to cheer on and on about."

The way the Cards punter loped at it. Almost like a dance. The virescent turf to him was akin to an open show stage. Like one of those national talent contests they used to show on prime-time broadcast networks. As if he is allotted his one chance to blow his load in front of fifty thousand people all hoping for it to be as nasty as possible, along with who knows how many perverts watching the debauched spectacle on discount sets purchased from valley super stores. He nailed it, even scowling curmudgeon Piers Morgan swooped thumb, and the crowd roared, craving it, and hopeful that they might be coated in the same very stuff themselves, like the soak zone at Sea World. Huge muscular men rammed and pounded each other for the pleasure of their sweaty packed in audience of sadists in a veritable masculine orgy all over a moist leathery wrinkled testicle. It was sponsored by America's second favorite boner-pill, CialisTM.

The tallboy of beer stood atop the concrete pavement next to the closed door of the furthest stalled shitter from the heavily trafficked doorway entrance. It sweat so much, even more than I, that it had formed a small cool puddle around its base from the condensation. Hard, long, and dripping wet it was.

Barry sat atop it, a king on his mighty porcelain throne, while I knelt in front of him sweating and my hands shaking. In the stall closest to us, there was grunting followed by the sound of an explosive bowel movement. Men streamed in and out, stall doors slamming, male voices discussed the game, and there was a constant sound of blowing out from the no-touch hand dryers that they installed during Covid-19. I recalled reading an exposé that these nasty blowers are ironically actually far worse at spreading disgusting filth all over the place.

"Nice and slow now," Barry commanded. "This place is fucking gross. When I walk out of here. I want to feel pristine. Like fresh out of a mountain spring clean. Don't you dare crack that beer until you're finished."

The toilet next door flushed.

My moist shaking hand fidgeted as it gripped the zipper to his jeans. Distending it down, my nostrils filled with the musky smell of them. Some sweat dripped down off my face and landed on the ground only for me to realize it wasn't and in fact I had been drooling.

My ribs sucked like a vacuum.

The stadium speakers belted out the start of Thunderstruck by ACDC and the rapacious mass audience stomped in cadence with the thrashing guitar. A larger presence loomed over everything slowing time. I had felt it once before. Hiking the empty desert with my dad as a kid. He stopped me and told me to not make a sound. Just stare and listen.' My skin crawled and body shuddered, and I no longer felt like a person with individual desires but a constituent part of this larger living entity. Dad had called it, The Hive.'

"I-I... I can't!" I protested, spun around, opened the door, and charged out the stall.

Halfway I made it out the crowded latrine before Barry called, "Your beer?"

I turned around and shuffled back towards him, opened the dented worn door with shaking moist hands, and picked up the cold hard shaft of the sweltering can. Peering up, I could see his jeans undone and his rough right palm was holding a shaft of his own and below it they hung long, and he was swinging them with great heft showing their substantial size and dense weight. They were wrinkled and free of hair. It's likely Barry had someone keep them well trimmed. I'm sure he wouldn't have a hard time. Finding someone who would do that for him. In fact, there's a good chance that he happened upon someone who volunteered for the job. A testicle enthusiast who saw it not as mere volitional labor, but a duty owed to humanity generally. They having been bestowed upon us would certainly invoke in any conscientious man or woman a proper sense of stewardship.

They were sweaty, mostly covered in a thin layer. While not soaking in it, I could tell there was a lot of it. Not due to them being drenched but on account of the sheer surface area. With so much moisture seeping into my mouth while I stared; I noticed how resultantly awfully dry and thirsty my own raw throat felt. I read Gatorade was fabricated by scientists as a way for elite athletes to replenish expended vital fluids. They did it by recreating what's normally lost and loading enough sugar into the shit to render the lab grown perspiration almost palatable. In other words, man sweat is nothing but salty Gatorade for hardcore nattys.

"On your knees bitch," Barry ordered with a smirk as he swung his huge sack and stroked his hard shaft. "You fuck around anymore and you're leaving this stall like I left you last time. C'mon, so we can finish this and watch the rest of the game real comfortable. Or at least I will. Hurry slut, your ale's getting cold."

I began to kneel, hesitated, shook, and opened my mouth to say something but stopped. Not again. Not ever. He humiliated me once. I don't care how much I want to touch them, so bad I'd even put up with the nasty sweat. I'm still a person inside with dignity; not some warped pervert. My left hand slapped over my eyes, body turned, and I hustled out of the stall making sure not to look back.

"We're back to this shit again!?" Barry yelled after me. "I subjugated you once; I'll do it again! Just wait bitch! Hubris will be your ruin!"

My AC chugged and all the blinds pulled down so as to keep out the unrelenting hot sun. The desert would begin to cool starting next month but it was still scorching outside. Like you have to blast full AC in your car even when you wake up and it's still dark in the morning. If you don't, you're liable to pass out and melt until you merge with the searing plastic dashboard. So is my theory on the origin of Transformers. Disaffected salt-of-the-earth blue collar Phoenician proles struggling to maintain health insurance, CDLs, and dwindling vitality during protracted divorces. One day the freon leaks facilitating their synthesis with the very machines they had spent years operating but had in fact always been operated by since the technology was always quietly alienating them from families and preventing them from climbing out of the toxic sludge they've long drowned in. It's not hard to understand why then they become three story tall bitter murder machines. Holding water for fascistic primes and Michael Bay. I was talking on the phone.

"Look, I just can't be here right now."

"What do you mean you don't have a bedroom to spare? Isn't Kenny in college now?"

"No, I don't have a warrant out. Look, if I ever fucked around that way, I'd go voluntarily. I couldn't stand it otherwise. The loathsome anticipation."

"Maybe I could stay in Jason's room? I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

"I can't be here. The heat. It's making me delusional. Isn't an apparent? Obviously, I'm not the same as I once was. Look, please."

I sighed, shook my head, and hung up.

My phone rattled and shook, and I looked and saw his enormous twins jostle teasingly. A message. I put the phone down before picking it back up. God, whatever he sent me. It was probably gross.

I sighed and touched his balls.

My hands trembled. Thin guy my age splayed nude against a cheap bare mattress in an otherwise dark empty room. His lurid rouged post-coital face hideously contorted, pinched, his bulging tear-filled eyes nacreous, and he appeared paralyzed. Like he went on the most prurient roller coaster of his young life only to return to the queue so beset by shame and disgust in what he'd done that his nude body erupted into vicious seizures until his circumoral muscles froze into a twisted and uncanny looking O-face of which it was obvious that the euphoria that had originally produced such an expression had long subsided and existed in his head in a historical sense only, something that could be extracted only in a manner like a paleontologist digs dinosaur bones. His legs were spread over the mattress and his asshole on display leaking a huge wad of gooey cum which in the Live Photo slightly oozed out of him before the image stilled. I recognized the tip of Barry's fat cockhead near its bottom edge.

My phone buzzed with the text, You're next, bitch!

I treaded carefully from that point on. Often wearing disguises when going outside. I had a fake mustache, a prosthetic nose, various old man hats, a red dress, a black wig, heels and some fake tranny boobs. Always checking for Barry wherever I went. Making sure at restaurants to always have my back to a wall. However, over time, I got sloppy. Letting my guard down and not paying as close attention. I stopped altogether with the disguises especially after some older guy asked me for a blowjob. I explained I was in disguise in my regular masculine voice, and he winked, smiled, and told me he could tell. I asked him where about we'd even do something like he said as I sure as hell wasn't going to go home with him nor let him over to my place. He gestured to some bushes, but it was hot outside, and I told him I wouldn't do it but thanked him for the offer. He said he understood, nodded at me, and didn't leave. Finally, I told him he needed to get away from me and he complained that up until that point he had been very impressed with how polite I had been.

It had started to cool off when I pulled into the mostly empty parking lot of a large Mexican restaurant in Scottsdale. By the mountains, it wasn't near any major roadways. Quiet and scenic. I saw thick gray chains on the main door inside. Maybe it's the type of place that closes for the summer? And here, the summer stretches late into the fall. This ought to end my prandial outing, however I saw Nick's car parked. My door slammed with a thud, and I locked the car which beeped. I shuffled under palo verde trees and in the shade, it felt nice in the wind. "Nick?!" I yelled, walked around the side of the restaurant, and passed an arrangement of tall saguaro.

On the other side, heavily worn wooden outdoor tables stood vacant shaded by even more green-barked palo verde. Their chairs had been collected and stored elsewhere while the place wasn't in business. The concrete patio emptied into the tan sand of open desert left wild skirting the edges of the protruding rocky brown mountain. The Grand Canyon state has large mountains but also much smaller ones and this was of the later variety. I noticed a sheet of paper flutter in the cool breeze atop one of the restaurant tables while a hanging turquoise wind chime tinkled.

My feet shuffled forward, and I looked down and examined the parchment. It was a menu. Next to a picture of the machaca con heuvo was something written in black marker. It read, HOWDY FAGGOT!

Strong arms grabbed each side of my torso and slammed it down on top of the hard wood table with a thunk. I struggled to free myself but the man was bigger, and stronger than me and had me pinned. My eyes scoured the desert. It had perhaps cooled enough to merit hikers, but I saw no one. He held me there and all I could do is listen to the cicada's buzz. It wasn't cool enough yet. Not to finally freeze the noisy fucks.

"Not going nowhere this time" Barry's voice bellowed above me. "You ditched me dirty back at that game. Imagine how more comfortable I'd've been the fourth quart. It could have been so relaxing for the both of us. I saw how thirsty you looked. You ruined everyone's mojo. The Cards lost because of you; you realize right? They were up before you neglected my orders and ran away like the emotional bitch you are. Slurping bitter beer when you ought to have been sucking up my benevolent excess. I've put you in your proper place before and I'mma do it again. Uh huh. Damn tired of all the faggotry with you. You don't think I saw through those pathetic attempts at disguises? Those lopsided fake tits weren't fooling anyone, bimbo. You might not have the balls to do what needs done but I've got more than enough of em to not only make you do it but with a weird smile on your face always repeating yessir.'"

He yanked down my shorts and boxers with one tough tug and the breeze didn't feel so nice now that it blew raw against my splayed asshole. The hair on my neck bristled and I slashed around but remained pinned. "Help!" I yelped but no one else appeared to be around.

Nick wearing a baseball cap shading his face and rendering it featureless came around the corner of the other side of the building just as Barry finished tying my hands behind my back with taut cord.

"Nick, help me!" I plead. I could hear a plastic lid twist and then felt Barry's palm against my sensitive hole inside which he began to spread oily grease.

"Sorry Kyle, he said if I helped him, he'd let me touch them," Nick responded.

Barry inserted one of his fat fingers inside of me and my lips parted and body shivered. "Get the fuck out of here then, traitor!" I yelled with teary eyes before releasing a gentle moan. "I don't want to see you again! Not ever."

Nick shrugged awkwardly and tugged on the brim so as to keep his face shaded. "He said it was ok for me to watch," he explained and blinked. "I've been... involuntarily celibate. It's tough. Hurts your ability to empathize. You know, like am I really supposed to care so much about it? When someone is involuntarily not? I mean, why would I care?"

"W-wait!" I objected before releasing a gasp. "Y-you can't do this! Not outside like this! Over a table upper middle class families eat off of!"

Barry loudly snorted. "Where else I'd do it?" he asked. "The gnarled prickly pear over there? Or perhaps under that green skinned tree? With the fire ant mounts and scorpions shading themselves from the sun. Which you like better on your little pecker, bitch? Cactus needles or creepy crawlers?"

"I'm gonna do to you like I did him in that pretty pic I sent you," Barry taunted. "Met him in a Cold Stone. Having cones with his pretty lil girlfriend. Her tits perky and eyes sparkling but nothing compared to him. The way he licked white cream. That was surely something special. I could tell he enjoyed tasting things and since I enjoy being tasted; well, it's like chemistry right off the bat. So, I say to him, `Bro, do you lift? Cause I do and I can see it written on your body.' He was thin with very little definition and likely did lift but couldn't hold down the protein for gains. The type of guy who struggles to chug enough viscous liquid egg whites down his narrow throat and stomach it long enough for his tiny balls to accomplish something productive. He puts in work at the gym but needs to be more whore-like if he wants real gains. If he sucked more white protein mass or took shots of raw testosterone in his ass, he might see some actual results. Deprived of progress, he grows desperate for even the illusion of accomplishment. Like a blind man may hopefully guzzle a Diet Coke for sustenance, this poor bastard devoured my compliment in a similar desperate and pathetic manner. You understand all this, right lil bimbo?"

"Yessir."

His hard penis rubbed against the greased-up crease between my curvy ass cheeks I shivered. When I looked at Nick, I saw his jaw was hanging open and eyes wide. He must see them. Barry's twins. My own cock was such that I could hammer nails with it.

Barry chuckled before continuing, "That pic I sent you. It wasn't for you. Originally, I mean. Don't get me wrong. He lived up to my expectations. Sexually speaking. Very servile type of guy. Maybe lacked a father figure growing up or something. Good with his mouth as I predicted. But goddamn. He whined and it annoyed the fuck out of me. I don't want my girl knowing I'm sorta bi,' he plead. Bro, I'm new to all this.' You have no idea how tired of his shit I got. When I snapped him like that, I sent it to her asap. I couldn't help it. Grinning thinking of her swiping on it. Staring with those bright sparkling eyes."

Heat roiled in my belly as a frown spread across my face. My right leg, unrestrained, lifted off the ground and slammed its heel down against Barry's own flip-flopped exposed right foot, crunching the toes and metatarsals.

Barry winced, released me, stumbled backwards, and tripped on the boxers and shorts wrapped around his thick ankles.

Seizing my shorts with hands tied behind my back, I fled as fast as I could back around the restaurant. When I passed the corner, I dropped the shorts, backed up to the saguaros and shred my hand bindings on the cactus's sharp spines. I could hear Barry rushing around the other side. With freed hands, I grabbed my wallet, phone, and keyfob before abandoning the shorts. The vehicle beeped twice, and I gripped the handle, hurled myself inside, slammed it, and drubbed the lock button.

Barry tugged at the door handle and began violently banging on the window.

I shifted into reverse, bricked the accelerator, sputtered backwards into the parking lot which wasn't paved but used small gray and white stones as its surface that were sent flying, shifted forward with a metallic click, and sped towards the exit. My dashboard finally connected to my phone through Bluetooth, delayed as it always was, and belted out dance music, slowed and reverberated, bass thumping, distorted, and I fantasized I was in some Hollywood movie.

The beat thumped, smoke billowed, and the various lights stationed around the room rotated from one vibrant color to the next. It was at the time of year where it was now cool outside in the dark, and I was at a house party sans Nick the traitor. Instead, I had met a woman my age who described herself as follows: "Becky. Y'know. From Glendale. Like Cali Glendale. Not that shithole."

Becky's cleavage hung amply out her brightly colored sequined dress and jiggled as her body swayed adjacent to my own on the makeshift dance floor which was in fact some grossly irresponsible person's travertine tiled apartment in Tempe. A clicking strobe light bathed the dark room in shifting shades of rainbow sequenced color. She voiced not one objection when I bucked my pelvis against her, caressed her hot thigh with it, and doubled down my shoulders vibrating, and eyes glued to her bouncy chest. Instead, she grabbed the back of my neck with her extra-long painted yellow nails, held me, nuzzled her head against my chest, shoved her crotch against me, glued herself to my body, and grinded against it.

I moaned, stepped back and forth in cadence, and leaned backwards.

She turned around, lifted her ass, the shapely bottom cheeks hanging lewdly out her low-cut dress, and she twerked on it. I've been with her type before. Skanks, I mean. There was something unique about her though. The freckles on her large breasts. Her California manner of speaking which seemed oddly rehearsed. Her makeup, fashion, and plastic surgery were not original in that they plagiarized a certain Kardashian style in a way that many women also do but she did so in an exceptionally pornified panache. How overwhelmingly entitled she seemed but also weirdly invested in me. I had just met her and there wasn't any doubt that she was easily the nastiest woman I've ever cavorted with.

The tin door creaked, and Becky led me through to the empty roof where it was cool and star lit. A sustained whoosh sounded as a massive jet passed above the big empty sky on its way to land. We were near the university and therefore geographically also the international airport. Her hand let go of mine and she clacked her heels and approached a waist high tub, placed her white designer purse next to it, and clicked a button. The water gurgled and splashed as it circulated, occasionally punctuated by the quiet hum of the swooshing water jets.

"I didn't bring a swimsuit."

"Oops sweetie, I totally forgot too. Oh well!"

The roof was dark except for a thin ray of moonlight and when she stepped in it wearing only high heels, I got my first glimpse of her huge and jiggling ass cheeks. Not only large and round but curvy and disproportionate to her thin frame. Certainly the result of some sort of sleazy butt-lift surgery.

It smelled slightly of chlorine in the hottub and was colorful with lights that rotated not unlike the vibrant dance floor below. Thumping dance music could still be heard with us nestled in the warm bubbling water albeit muted and filtered through the humming jets. I was staring at her large wet freckled breasts as they bobbed up and down against its simmering surface.

She unzipped her purse and retrieved a small pink cellophane baggie and carefully undid its thin tassel causing it to crinkle. "Here, take this," she requested. "It's molly. Don't worry, I had some earlier. It's real. When you do it on this, it's like heightened. You want it to be amazing, right? Trust me, it's totally lit."

I swallowed one and felt nothing in the immediate which wasn't unusual.

Becky grinned wide at me, sparkled her eyes, leaned forward, wet her lips, and fidgeted in place.

"What's the matter? You're downright gorgeous. Certainly, you've tread waters like this before?"

"Just a tad nervous is all," she said and chuckled. "Like, it's always been a big fantasy of mine. Y'know, watching two men going at it. Especially if the one who is doing the doing is a guy like him."

A loud swoosh sounded above as another commercial jet passed in the cloudless dark sky above.

Water splashed as a muscular man hopped into the tub. "Hello, my sluts," Barry said and smirked at me with his right eyebrow raised.

Becky floated to him, sat, closed her eyes, and released a gasp. Based on how they bobbed in the water; it was clear that Barry's hands were all over her large, freckled breasts. "Is it true what he told me?" Becky asked. "Did you really let him do it to your face? Like those girls do in pornos?"

"Why can't you just leave me alone? Go fuck Nick if you're into that gay shit."

Barry snorted and responded, "Fuck the little dork? No point spilling seed with some awkward dweeb when there are so many hot sluts who crave what I offer in abundance. But when you do see your lil bro, please remind him of my demand he delete that shit off Reddit. I hate to snitch but what he involves himself in has a name. Revenge porn. No internet freaks is a precept I live by. I prefer to hunt in the wilds. When the other party is properly prey, it's more exciting for both. Besides, a cell phone screen could never do them justice. Nothing less than a full-blown IMAX widescreen would be necessary to even attempt it. The people deserve to see them for the first time with virgin eyes. You'd agree with that, yes?"

"I don't know why those girls in pornos are always letting the guys do that. It's sooo nasty! I'd never do something like that. Gross! Well, maybe if my big carebear asked me. What do you think? You wouldn't want to do something like that with me, would you? That was just cause he wanted you to do that to him, right? Is that something you'd want to do, carebear, something dirty like that? Like we're in a nasty porno?"

"Yessir."

Barry smirked and gently pushed Becky off his lap before slowly rising above the splashing water's surface. I could see him holding something with his left-hand underneath. The water rippled before his bloated twins emerged out and bobbed there like fleshy buoys not dissimilar to Becky's freckled tits. Smaller than her fat breasts, certainly. Or were they? It's hard to tell with part of them submerged like that. There could be two massive sphere-shaped icebergs floating around under there.

"Wow carebear, it looks like they're floating when you do that. That's so lit! Where's my purse?"

"What you waiting for, bitch? You just gonna sit there drooling? Get over here. Those lips of yours are juicy and plump. I'd swear you use lip gloss but since I've never seen you with a stick; I suppose it's just naturally how you are. Nothing wrong with it. I'm a big supporter of it. Human diversity. Come on now, get nice and close. They don't bite. All people are unique and got to use what gifts they happen to have to find some role in things. For reasons that are obvious and right in front of you, my role in this world has been clear for quite some time. Maybe you would like to be in a role like mine, but you don't have the gifts that I do but you have other talents. A nice bubble shaped ass, thin body, and a mouth that still looks innocent even though I've personally witnessed it do some of the filthiest things imaginable. Uh huh, lick them, slut. Oh yeah, now that's what I am talking about. It's ok. Shivering is normal. Rub yourself under the water. It'll make you gasp and look even more desperate."

A snapping noise sounded as Becky pointed the camera lens of her smartphone and photographed me licking the exposed fleshy domes of Barry's huge balls as they bobbed back and forth in the hot churning color-shifting water.

"Keep going bimbo, why not place some cute kisses on them while you're at it? I always love the way your lips look all puckered up. There's just something so pathetically adorable about it."

"Hey carebear, you don't mind if I take a little video, do you? Like, just a short one."

Barry chuckled and continued, "I notice you got a little excited there. Let a little tongue slip during that kiss. Admit it, bitch, you were hoping to French my balls? Right? You'd love that huh? Y'know, like horned up teenagers sometimes spend hours on the couch making out. You'd like to do that with my sack, wouldn't you?"

"Uh-huh, yessir."

A powerful high-pitched whine followed by a deep, resonate hum sounded in the sky above as another plane glided Sky Harbor bound.

"Can I send these to some of my girlfriends? I mean, I hope it's ok. Like, I already sorta sent them already so just making sure it was ok that I did that?"

My ribs squeezed together hard just as the ecstasy really started to kick and flooded my body with adrenaline. I lurched out of the water, splashed, shivered, and revealed my own massive erection. My hand grabbed a white curlicued towel off a nearby table, wrapped it around my thin waist, and I garnered my shorts off the ground. Without dressing and abandoning the rest of my clothes, I rushed through the rooftop door and descended the dark stairwell. The further down I stepped the louder it sounded. The thumping dance music. I spun the door handle only for it to click and snag on the lock. There was no mechanism to unlock it from inside the stairwell. My eyes peered down hall to the left which led to only one other room which was an empty bedroom with no exit. As I turned back around, Becky approached me clacking her heels dressed only in a white towel.

"Felt like dancing some more?" she asked before wrapping her arms around the backside of my neck. "You ever tried doing it without..." She tugged my towel with extra long yellow nails causing it to fall and did the same to her own.

My eyes stared at her with fanatic shine, heart pounded like I had just ran a marathon, and my skin was covered in goosebumps. Her hand felt so soft, gentle, and feminine. It made me want to curl up in front of a cozy fire wrapped in blanket and sip her pumped warm milk. It's like the drug heightened my own sense of her femininity while filtering out the many things about her that made her seem sleazy and disgusting. When her body pressed against me, I just held her and didn't want to let go. Like a kid with his beloved stuffy.

We danced in sequence to the thumping music which was about as loud in the stairwell hallway as it was in the dance floor next door. As I jived, grinded, and bucked hips, my hard penis kept smacking against her wet pussy and her fat tits would press up against my chest, but I tried to not focus too much on how sexual everything was and instead on the musical cadence. A moan escaped my parted lips while she twerked her huge, lifted ass against my raging boner. Contemporary dancing, I realized, was basically just a way for people to hump each other with clothes on. An observation rendered obvious when said clothing was removed. Becky and I and everyone on the other side of the wall danced together in unison. It was a joint celebration of it. Fucking, sex, reproduction, life itself. The billions of living things current alive on this planet. All of us, everything, had connections to it. The dance.

The music began to slow and reverberate off the narrow hallway walls. My throat cleared, mouth frowned, neck hair bristled, and I felt biting cold.

Never had it loomed as largely. My dad had tried to explain it to me but failed both because he didn't fully understand it himself, and also, I couldn't comprehend all he tried to tell me about it. What I do recall is his conclusion of its dialectic nature. Humans pride themselves, above all animals, for their ability toward independent thought rendering each man and woman an individual,' he had said while pouring another glass of Wild Turkey. But if you look at the way we actually live. We're so much more similar to insects. Our towns and cities. They're nothing but sophisticated bee hives or ant hills. But no one admits this. We don't want to be the same as bugs. The Hive. Something that feeds on the hubris of man. It gathers out there and humbles us when we fail to accept certain bleak realities about the nature of our existence. It interfaces with us as insouciant individuals discerning hidden truths aiming at a synthesis.'

"He's in like, a trance or something. I dunno. Maybe cause the molly? I gave him the same you and I took though."

"Well, well, well. His mind may be a bit off topic at the moment but that drool dripping on the floor shows his body knows what's up. Told you he was bitch-made. The type of guy born to be breed with but not breed himself. A human receptacle with those jiggly milk buns and a perfect coin slot asshole and who's mouth produces more lubricant than would be necessary for any other purpose. Normally I prefer novelty. However, given my genetic advantages, I've sampled men and women like a connoisseur does fine wine. With earned discernment, I can tell when I savor something so special that it warrants a second pour from the bottle. There is a stained blue mattress in the other room. Help me carry him."

"Oh, my gawd. I'm soooo wet right now! I can't believe I'm going to finally see it! So many times, I touched myself. Pretending I was a little gay boi. Taking it up my tight b-hole. Y'know, I've never enjoyed anal but if I was a shy submissive guy. I bet I'd love it so much! Especially from you carebear. You got so much you can give. On account of the size of them."

The stripped mattress squeaked, and the wall rattled in accord to the thumping music. "Lay down," Barry ordered. "Good, looks like you can follow orders. Becky, why not give him a hand? Keep him entertained while I get ready."

It sounded of flesh gliding gently against the same. "Uh huh, you're like..." Becky began before moaning. "So hard. You miss it huh? Being carebear's little boyfriend? Letting him soak your face? Feeling his big ones slapping against you're flapping fanny."

The rhythm stuttered and skipped, as if the music itself was struggling to maintain coherence. While the high-pitched synths screeched and wavered, the bass throbbed with irregular intensity. Never had I been closer. My fingers were literally holding its veil. There I hovered; an astronaut poised to peer beyond its mysterious event horizon. Then I choked. Figuratively, of course. Then literally.

My bloodied eyes shot open to darkness, head pinned by heavy weight, throat gagged, and thick humid musk wafted deep into my sinus cavities. My stomach roiled and I wretched up something hard and fleshy followed by a cascade of shallow desperate breaths. I gasped and trembled when the weight slowly lifted from my face. Blinking, I peered up and what little light in the room was partially blocked by two enormous orbs that hovered like dual moons joined side by side creating a sort of grotesque looking double eclipse. The image was rendered fleeting when the lunar bodies jostled and dripped warm musky saliva onto my face and inside my rapidly breathing, drool-drenched mouth. Was I stroking my cock?

The massive balls dipped, and I yelled, "Wait!" My mouth shut and I felt two softballs wrapped in something between cartilage and cellophane bounce against my puckered lips with a squeaking kiss noise before dragging against my nose, eyes, and then forehead leaving a moist warm trail that cooled when the rank testicle spittle evaporated.

"That's so lit! Carebear, it just jerked itself in my hand when you did that. He really is in love with them. You weren't exaggerating."

"S-stop!" I objected. "I-I'm not y-your slut..."

Barry's big balls hovered above my face and with his right hand he gripped his thick engorged shaft, and he swung them and never had I been so fascinated by physics. I badly wanted to retake the class I had neglected as a sophomore and spend the entire year studying them with fanatic devotion, endlessly calculating their weight, acceleration, and rate of perspiration in various situations, e.g., jump shots playing b-ball, him doing heavy squats while I lay on the ground and stare up for academic purposes, him and I doggy style in pursuit of scientific truth. I felt it jerk itself; Becky wasn't lying.

"What's that bitch?" Barry barked. "You going to finally stop acting like a little fag and take some dick? Accept I'mma throw a real rager inside you. A wild drunken one, loud and riotous. The type where hundreds show up and you're thrilled, but when it swells into thousands, you grow pale and shaky. A party that goes viral on social media summoning local celebrities, followed by four letter news media types, and finally true figures of national prominence. Where all sorts of damage, lawlessness, and debauchery occurs, and you know your parents are going to kill you when they find out vis-a-vie the dreaded aftermath but there's nothing you can do because even the cops realize they can't shut it down and they too join in on the bedlam."

"Yessir."

"That's right bitch. Now go ahead and touch them."

Even with both hands gripping, much of the loose wrinkled flesh hung out the sides of my moist palms. They were heavy and hot. Temperature wise, I meant but also very physically attractive and aesthetically pleasing. It's not hard to imagine how heated and humid they must get in the sun. No wonder he'd wanted me to freshen him up back at the game. The man's got twin turbo jet engines in his pants; of course, he ought to use my face as a miniature car wash. I squeezed sack, lifted my torso, and tongued a swollen set of musky balls.

Becky laughed. "Oh, my gawd, he looks so adorable," she reported. "His head is so small next to them, carebear. Are you going to have him put it in his mouth? Never seen a guy suck before. Do you think you can have him do it for me? To you I mean, I want to watch him do it to you."

"Get on your knees, bitch," Barry commanded before releasing his hard cock which bobbed back and forth in front of me. Although his penis did not match the crazy proportions of his enormous testicles, it was larger than most guys and almost certainly the beneficiary of the same excessive testosterone that gifted Barry his swole body and his humongously beautiful balls.

I hesitated. Was it weird that I really wished she wasn't here? Her presence, at least in theory, provides plausible deniability, that this is just a threesome that got kinda weird. At the same time, if I was just sucking Barry's dick, I could play it off as just two guys getting bored and well, he's bigger than me. However, the reality of it, that this sexy attractive naked woman is here, and yet Barry and I are the only ones with hands on each other, seemed rather grim.

"Hurry up slut!"

"Yessir," I submitted, did as he instructed, closed my eyes, and opened wide.

It felt velvety, warm, hard, vibrated pleasantly, and tasted like his balls but more muted. With hands, I played with his large twins while I pumped my cheeks and sucked on it slow and steady which is what he seemed to enjoy last time. Once again his slutty bimbo blowjob bitch. Ever on his/her knees bobbing, slurping, plopping, available for if he ever gets too backed up, he might have something to hose down like how some urinals have tiny pictures to serve as a bullseye. I let him use my face as such before and wouldn't be surprised if he takes it for granted now. He probably views me as a buffet. He gets a plate of head and later a side of anal and the dessert at the end is soft serve vanilla.

"It's hot but missing something. Too much like a normal bj. When I fantasized about it, I always expected it would be, y'know, extra nasty."

Barry chuckled and indulged, "I think the brat's right. I didn't put up with all your bullshit for something conventional. It's only fair for me to expect the standard minimum level of customer service. Consider the simplest of places. When I'm at BK, home of the double whopper, I get it have it my way. You listening, bitch? If that means lathered in mayo, dripping wet, hands soaked, downright nasty, and difficult to swallow, that's what they'll serve me."

I spit his throbbing penis out of my mouth, stared up at him and nodded. "Yessir," I responded with a weird smile on my face. My right hand motioned as if I pushed long hair back (I don't have long hair), glossy lips puckered, and I grabbed his long shaft with my left hand as if I had long feminine fingernails (I don't) and held it up against his hard abs before lowering my head so I faced his swollen twins. Using my soft lips, I slowly worked my way up, sucking wrinkled flesh, tonguing it, and ascending. When I reached the base of his shaft, too hard to suck, I stuck out my tongue and licked it all the way to the tip. Tugging his shaft back down, my cheeks puffed, and I inhaled his veiny cock, let it slide far back, felt it against me throat, gagged up long slimy strands of mucous, let my eyes tear up, and didn't let go until my face looked like blue Monster Zero.

"It's better but still not quite as nasty as I'd like. You can't... y'know. Maybe put some imagination into it? Like, make it extra gross."

I hacked out phlegm and struggled to inhale air. For fuck's sake. What does this nasty cunt want from me? I hesitated and swallowed. Finally, I begged, "Barry, please. That was just horsing around in that hot tub. And... uhm... also, the stuff before all that." I blinked. "You got to delete those pics. If they got out, it'd be the end for me. I'll do literally anything to avoid that. If that means being your personal on-demand blowjob bitch. I'll do it. Don't worry about cash..." I coughed and hesitated before continuing, "the money I'll save on protein shakes is all the compensation I need." I winked at him before wrapping my mouth back around his large penis and slurping on the tip of it.

Barry didn't wink back, smirked, and said, "That's right bitch. What I've been thinking this whole time. I'm not the blackmailing type. My palate is more for wild game than the family farm. Don't need some faggot following me around everywhere. That said I've got a birthday coming up, I already picked out exactly what I want, and you're going to need some persuading. Spit it out already and turn around. I want to see that ass of yours."

My body shivered. Part of me hoped we'd skip the butt stuff, but another reasoned we might as well throw that in there as well. At least that way we both get laid. I jiggled my curvy ass for them poorly imitating Becky's twerking but stopped after my neck prickled, and my cheeks grew hot. The ones in the face, I meant.

"Thoughts?" Barry asked.

"It's like one of the... most convex I've seen on a man. Looks like a woman's butt to be honest. I can see why you like a guy like this. It's curvy but, not as much as mine."

"Uh huh. He has a name by the way. It's Kyle. Your comparison is hardly fair. Not when you've had that butt lift surgery in Monterrey. Now imagine for one second. His ass, your surgery."

Becky hesitated, shivered, and responded. "Jesus, Barry. It would be... humongous. Especially on his narrow frame. Oh, my gawd. You gonna force him to do it for you for your birthday? That's so nasty... but... incredibly lit."

My stomach knotted, knees weakened, and it felt thick in my throat. I said nothing. If he thinks I'd have ass surgery for him; he's delusional.

"All my life I've been blessed by genetics. Kyle here. Not quite as lucky but better than most. He's like 8.5/10 on the twink scale with a 9.5/10 ass. However, with the proper work done, that butt could easily go to 11/10 or honestly probably into high teens. Just imagine, bitch. You getting laid being as easy for you as it is me. Maybe easier. Certain A.R.S.'s prohibit me from showing off the goods. Makes me have to be creative, like approaching guys in the gym shower. But a giant ass, you could just flaunt that. Twerk it. The men will peek. It's in their nature to. So too the women who carry strapons in their purses. They're out there; trust me. Of course, I will be the one to devirgin your new ass on my birthday. It's fitting since I already took your anal virginity and frankly, no one else has got the balls to take it for themselves. Before the messy business of blackmail, let me try to entice you first with a long hard carrot. Lie your back down on the bed."

I swallowed hard and said, "Yessir."

"Where's that lube from last time?"

"I've got it, carebear. Ok, spread your legs for me, please. Don't be shy. I need to see that b-hole of yours, sweetie."

I shivered, eyed the exit, cleared my throat, started to say something but stopped, and did as she instructed.

She squeezed a small clear plastic tube and farted out a clear oily glob into the palm of her right hand and used her left to lather her palm with it. Her long yellow nailed left spread my butt cheeks while she rubbed the greasy palm of her right hand against my tight hole. "Just relax sweetie, I gotta y'know, get up in there with it," she said and farted out more goop into her right hand before reaching nails first with the three fingers of her right hand.

"W-wait!" I objected.

She penetrated me with her greased-up hand. Her three long yellow fingernails all up inside. I could feel them occasionally tap the surfaces of my inner anal walls causing them to tickle.

"Sweetie, please stay still," she commanded, greased up my hole, and thankfully withdrew without incident.

Barry grabbed my legs and dragged me to the edge of the squeaky bare mattress. "You want to have a lot of them, right?" he asked. "Orgasms. Any lad can jerk his lil pecker until he's cross eyed, moaning, and seconds sputtering. That's not what I'm talking about. I mean the kind where it's like a jar of jelly on an oven-crisp steaming slice of toast. Where the steel lid of the fresh from farm jar scrapes when you unscrew it, the jelly is chunky, thick, and runny, and that shit gets spread on the hot toast with a knife slowly back and forth and over and over and made ever thinner with each swipe. The whole time your eyes are closed, mouthwatering, and you don't even need a taste. You're already fed. In fact, your whole body feels it. From toes to the tippy top of your scalp you feel it crawling inside you, wearing you like a skin suit. To the point it starts to consume you from the inside out. That satiating feeling of being spread thinner and thinner. A desire to be made into a horizontal line. Nothing you are going to say or do will stop me from doing what needs done. Understand, slut?"

"Yessir."

"Rebecca?"

She farted out more oil into her palm before greasing up Barry's thick schlong and pumping it with her long yellow nailed hand until it glistened.

Barry squatted slightly, spread my legs and lifted them up until they sat upon his muscular shoulder caps causing them to stretch and my face to wince. "Be stoic," he ordered, grabbed the base of his greasy staff, and slapped its bulging head against my own oily hole. "Like a soldier. Because I intend to wage spiritual war inside you." After dabbing it a few times against my opening, he directed his pole towards the hole and began to force entry.

Things had tightened up considerably since he took my virginity necessitating at first his use of brute force. Tears in my eyes, I endured, and it was not as protracted as I'd have expected. My anal cavity, having housed him once, seemed to have made certain contingencies. The size and shape of his large penis had in fact encoded itself into the muscle memory of my insides and like old friends they reconciled although in a deeply unequal way. His penis, hard, throbbing, was not willing to compromise on anything and thus brute force gave way to lopsided negotiations in which his rigid cock won always and as a result my body contorted away from its natural shape and practical function to instead serve as a receptacle and pleasure palace for the sole benefit of his thick pole.

He molded my insides so thoroughly into the shape of his large penis until I fit him like a glove. We realized this both at once as a knowing smile spread over him, his chin lifted, and chest puffed out while my chest hitched, throat swallowed, and eyes widened. "Ready slut?" he taunted.

"Uh-huh, yessir, please, spread me like butter..."

Barry brought his pelvis back and slammed it forward, caused his hard cock to slide backward before slapping it back inside me, hitting heavy behind my cock squishing sensitive glands, and pressing the midsection of his body below his hard abs against me so that that both our pelvises sandwiched my own throbbing hard penis.

I shivered and moaned.

He repeated it, pelvis thrust, cock in and up, gland squeezed, my penis smashed, mattress squeaked, me left spread thin gasping and tingling. After plowing me a few times to perfect his form, he increased velocity to a steady pump. A commensurate professional, Barry made sure with every thrust we both got plenty of what we wanted while avoiding any waste or slip ups.

"Damn, that's so lit," Becky praised in-between gasps. She sat across the squeaking mattress, legs spread showing her dripping wet cunt, and her thumb drubbed her clit while she perilously dug two of her long yellow clawed fingers inside her soaking slit. "Oh, my gawd, uh-huh, uh-huh. He looks like he's stroking out orgasming like that carebear. Maybe you should take it easy?"

Barry drug me further off the bed so my shapely ass cheeks hung loose and when he plowed my asshole, his enormous shot-put sized balls swung heavy and smacked against the dangling flesh adding a musical cadence to the rhythmic gymnast thrusting. Moaning, shivering, and gasping in cascading orgasmic bliss, the heavy hits of testicle flesh against me mixed with his throbbing cock inside made me want to slut for him so badly. I imagined getting the butt lift surgery, revealing his present to him at his birthday gift wrapped, all before lap dancing on him in front of everyone. Of course, an extra special one where we're both nude from waist down and he is free to touch and rub them against it, so he pleases. Then I drag him to his room and lay him down and bounce on him back facing so he can see it flapping and I can watch his twins swing while I bob up and down.

Jaw set, gasping, eyes alert, head vibrating, muscles tense, Barry jackhammered it in and out of me. "Unh," he grunted and bucked his hips. "You're fucking nasty, slut."

My own penis felt it could explode with warm goo at any moment from the constant stimulation both from his own hard cock pressing up against it from inside my own body followed by his own body bearing down on it from outside. Just his way of giving me the one and two of it. My mind thick in fantasy and I imagined myself with the surgery wearing low cut shorts like skanks do and letting the top of my new lifted ass hang out and surrounding myself with eager guys with obvious boners all competing to come home with me for the evening. Of course, they could all come and take turns and that way everyone gets to come and be happy. Nothing wrong with everyone getting laid.

"Rebecca, you said this was your fantasy," Barry said between deep guttural grunting. "If you want to see how this ends. I recommend getting up close and personal. Besides, I could use a hand. Two of them actually. You wanna see what I meant what I said I planned to obliterate Kyle, right? Here, let me show you what I meant."

Becky removed her wet fingers from her nasty vagina which somehow had been spared any grievous injury from her extra-long nails and crawled across the squeaking mattress before dismounting. "Where do you want me carebear?"

"Unh, unh, god," Barry grunted and gasped. "When I go hard at him. Y-you'll k-know it when you see it. Grab them. One in each hand. S-squeeze them I mean. Like milk into a bucket. This bitch put me through so much bullshit. I'mma destroy that asshole of his from the inside out."

"That's so sweet of you to think of me, carebear. I'd love to help you with this! It sounds so hot!"

Barry's brow furrowed, grip on my splayed legs tightened, and his stare grew intense. A smirk formed briefly on his face before his lips quickly parted. He slammed his cock into me, rubbed it against my little gland, and bore down on me but this time hard and he lingered there pressing his body against mine and smashing my throbbing penis between our two pelvises. "Quick," he yelled before closing his eyes.

Becky's hands clasped as much of each of his swollen tremoring testicles as they could and wrapped her long yellow nails across the front of them. "Wow, these feel so warm and full!" she remarked.

My mouth fell open and a massive moan erupted as my cock finally orgasmed like a squished squirt bottle of mayo between taut male skin with a huge jet that landed in my hair and forehead followed by many more landing on my chin and thin chest. There was something oddly premature about it. Like my sperm was desperately fleeing, committing mass suicide to be spared some morbid calamity that was about to ensue. My body shivered and pelvis vibrated with waves that alternated between warm and cool.

Barry's lips pulled further apart as he held in place and released a massive gasp as his hips shivered. Fondling his enormous bulging balls with nailed hands, Becky began to squeeze and tug them and through the palms of her hands could feel the vast volume inside them begin to slowly pump into the raw, unprotected, and recently deformed interior cavities of my ass. "Holy moly." she said.

My body became feverish, fluctuating between cold and hot rapidly and I could see it in his face and I thrashed as much I could, but he had my legs so tightly held above me that there wasn't anything I could do. After the first warm squirt, I felt stuffed, dirty, and soaked with it. When the second burst inseminated me, my chest hitched, torso racked against the mattress squeaking it, and I felt lightheaded. There was no way I could take any more of the stuff but yet it wouldn't stop.

"O,h my gawd, carebear, it's juicing out of him. Dripping down on my hands and making it all messy and gross. It smells like nasty gym socks."

"Don't you dare stop, Rebecca," Barry ordered. "He can take so much more of it. One can't wage a war without some casualties."

The dance music thumped through the wall and caused the room to rattle just as Barry began bucking his hips again in an effort to stuff as much of it as deeply inside of me as he possibly could. My neck bristled and I felt it looming. The air was so thick in musk and sweat so that I could taste it, and the humidity glued the wafting odor to the sweltering perspiration that felt choking. The more I thrashed, pulled away, and shitted out jizz, the harder he pounded it and the more those long yellow nails soaked in filth pumped cum inside me. It squished and sloshed both from it shooting out of him like a fucking firehose and constantly leaking out the seams of my stuffed and distended asshole. The Hive wanted to take my out of this moment, but I refused to surrender. Spread so thin as I was, not one part of my body didn't feel but all of it at once and in unison. The warm/cold cycles, the rhythmic cadence of the music, the tingling pulses of electricity, the vibrating opioid brain receptors in reward overload, the crushing penis inside of me, and the smacking of Barry's humongous balls against raw throbbing butt flesh. The Hive was incorrect in assuming this was a purely non-procreative, degrading, humiliating, position of shame and ostracism e.g. certain rightwing commentaries pertaining to estrogen-like plastics and amphibian sexuality. I closed my eyes and over all of it I could hear the plopping and pooping noise of semen going and coming and the sound of caked female hands with long nails diligently squeezing and Barry gasping. Look goddamnit, if you take me down, I'm taking you with me!

"Uh, carebear, he looks kind of dead."

"Nonsense, I can see his heart beating. He just lost consciousness. It can happen. I've been brewing up that load for three weeks now. It's all about delayed gratification. Putting in the prep to make a cake from scratch and taking the time to bake it yourself will always turn something out vastly more delicious than if you bought some pre-made trash from the super store. Just look at Kyle here. I'm sure he enjoyed that fuck. You can see it in the way his mouth was hanging open like it is still when he just sort of froze. It looked to me like he was having a full-on religious experience towards the end there. But, being the slut he was, he didn't pace himself and went for the instant grat. Now he will have to deal with the consequences. Rebecca let's give them a few more squeezes. I think I got a few jets left and some of its drained further down inside of him since we propped him up like that. Might as well top him off."

Fondling sounded before several squirts.

"Do you mind if I take a photo of him all stroked out like that with cream leaking out his little b-hole all slutty like?"

Barry chuckled and responded non-verbally.

A snapping noise sounded.

"Wow, carebear. Look, I got the perfect shot of it. Look at that huge nasty bubble."

"It's time a nip this Reddit situation in the bud. Forwarding this to the little dweeb ought to provide Kyle with the motivation he needs to get that shit taken down. Let me see. Jesus, yeah, it looks like no less than fourteen guys ran through him in that pic."

Sometime later, possibly minutes, or perhaps hours, Becky re-emerged in the room fully dressed clacking her heels and pushing a wheelchair that clattered and squeaked. "Sweetie, just in case," she said.

The wheelchair sat idle near the pool. I soaked my numb legs and aching insides in the chlorinated water. "Has there been a man whose given birth?" I asked. "Not like a woman who transitioned. A regular guy. I understand generally it's not possible. But we're not talking generally here. This conversation. It's about outliers. Barry's clearly an outlier. His genitalia are outliers. I mean, I'm wondering maybe. Is there still a chance?"

Nick drubbed they keyboard under his mom's ramada and shook his head. "I don't think so," he answered. "But maybe ask Chat GPT?"

I reached for my phone, fiddled with it, and asked, "What exactly is Chat GPT?"

Nick removed his baseball cap and set it on the table next to him, looked me in the eyes, and said, "They scrubbed every piece of data on how a human being acted, spoke, wrote, or whatever else that people do on the internet and combined it into a single entity. It's a collective, I suppose."

I waded through water before hesitating. Despite it being midday, a shadow casted over us and when I looked to the heavens, I saw a thick white cloud blotting out the sun. This was highly improbable, and my neck hair bristled, and throat swallowed hard.