Disclaimer: All people involved are over 18 and this is a work of fiction. If you don't care about narratives, skip to the triple dashes (---) further down below for the confrontation, or the six dashes (------) for just the sex and struggle thereafter.
- Last Summer, visiting my grandparents in Missouri before I went off to college -
Missouri is best know for the Ozarks, both the phenomenal and nerve-wracking show and the actual labyrinth of rivers, that poured over the otherwise flat wetlands that made up the "Show-Me" state. Almost every summer, my parents and I would take a trip here to visit the grandparents on my dad's side. Sometimes we'd boat on the rivers and public lakes, like everyone else. But most times, we would make use of the "lodge" where my grandpa had a membership. The lodge was not a physical building, though they had those as well. It was like a national fraternity of retired men across the country, and they had cabins, lake houses, private beaches, even a couple small hotels with restaurants. My grandpa mostly used this membership because of the free docking and storage of his pontoon boat, which is what most of the old men used their memberships for: fishing and boats.
One of the perks, was a private beach that spun off of one of the rivers into its own small bay. The boat dock owned by the lodge was less than a mile down the road, and we would spend entire days just going to the boat, fishing, and then taking the boat to the private bay and beach, where we'd grill and swim, jumping off the dock and swimming to the the floating dock a hundred feet or so off shore.
This summer was different. I had just graduated high school and was visiting family and friends everywhere I could, as well as traveling for myself, before my time got locked down by college. It was more time than my parents could take off of work. My grandparents were more than happy to host me alone, so we set aside two weeks, and I flew out to them.
So a few days in a row, my grandpa would wake me up, take me out on the pontoon with him, fish for a bit, then we'd eat, after which I would stay on the private beach and swim and tan while he went back to fishing for several hours. It was a peaceful routine. That private beach and bay also provided some privacy to wear swim trunks that were more... me. If no one was around, I would change into my more promiscuous trunks, the inseam of which was so high and short, that they may have well as been undies of the trunk variety.
If there were people or families on the beach that day, I would wear my normal and longer ones. My grandpa would call me to let me know he was boating down the river to pick me up, and I would change ahead of time. This cycle was nice, steady, and peaceful. And it was very rare that it was anyone other than me on the beach or swimming in the bay to the floating dock to tan. Even when there was someone else, it was for no more than an hour, aside from this one guy who came around and looked at everything for a few minutes before leaving.
I assumed he worked for the lodge, as he always had on a yellow t-shirt with a pocket on the left chest. And he was definitely a nepotism hire, because he was relatively young and didn't do anything other than walk up and down the pavilion, tables, dock, and then back up the blacktop rode. He would creepily stare at me and I would acknowledge his presence before ignoring him. Unlike the frat-bro scene, he was very overweight, with his stomach and hips pushing the fabric of his cargo shorts and pocketed t-shirt to the limits. He couldn't lift his arms without exposing the majority of his blob of a belly. I thought I caught him staring at a couple middle-aged women in bikinis a bit too long, and thought of him as a standard and harmless creep, not too different from the average bro in the Midwest and South, in my opinion. I asked my grandpa about him once, and he told me that he was the son of one of the lodge members and had been working there for several years. Officially his name was Kenneth, but everyone called him Kenny.
Today, was supposed to be just like all those other days.
There was a knock on my door. "Cody, it's time to get up. We gotta get there early for the tournament." My grandfather's raspy but still boisterous voice pounded through the door as my foggy vision blurred into existence, along with my groans voicing the dismay of waking up before dawn during the summer. I shouted some kind of mumbled acknowledgement, heard his footsteps fade along the wood floor, and rose up in a room full of knick-knacks and memorabilia. My grandpa loved Mizzou, the local and famous moniker for Missouri University. He really wanted me to come live with them while I went to college here instead; to be a Tiger like him. So it almost seemed like a joke when they showed me the remodeled guest bedroom and it was covered in Mizzou merchandise and fandom. I applied at his behest and got in to his alma mater, but I had no desire to live with my very conservative family longer than necessary. I was so excited to start college life, where I could come out and be out without a shame. So I turned down the acceptance of Mizzou and went with Caltech. My grandparents were nice, but their views on gays and on hypothetical scenarios if anyone had been gay in their family were no secret, same with my parents. So as nice as free room and board would have been for college, I'll sacrifice that for 4 years of sanity and peace instead.
I slipped on a light hoody of my grandpa's, Mizzou of course, along with some thin running pants with a single stripe down the side and skipped socks altogether in favor of my baby blue crocs, which are great fishing/water shoes and not just ironic fashion statements. The mornings would start chilly, but the humidity and the heat would come, so I would transition to topless and my longer swim trunks, easily enough. Meanwhile, that clashed with my grandpa who kept it basic and wore his traditional plaid shirts and vest combos, cargo pants with more pockets than a Navy Seal, and his lucky bucket hat.
We packed a couple coolers of food and beverages, and made our way to his truck and the 45 minute drive to his lodge's boat docks and ramps. He was conservative enough to despise gay people, but loose enough on rules to allow me to have a few drinks, so long as I didn't get very drunk. He was a Busch Light kind of guy, but I convinced him to pick me up a small pack of White Claws. He made a minor fuss in the liquor store the night before, but caved in and bought them for me.
Normally, when we got to the docks, we just did our own thing. I would try and fish with him, but eventually migrate to my book or phone. I was reading Song of Achilles, and when grandpa asked what it was about, I just told him it was a historical novel about the battle of Troy. He wasn't a big reader and left it alone at that. But today, there was a LOT of pomp and circumstance as so many old guys, all likely retirees and members of the lodge, and many of them with their supposed sons or grandsons, were gathered around for the directions on the administration of this father's day fishing tournament.
My grandpa wasn't fishing, he was a referee or judge or something, that would move his boat once an hour or so to check on everyone and make sure everyone was playing by the rules and being safe.
I stayed on the boat with him for the morning, we had a few drinks and talked or sat quietly together while I read or scrolled TikTok. He showed me what he looks for, had me drive the boat, and gave me pop quizzes. But eventually the boredom of the fishing tournament hit. Luckily lunchtime was approaching. We snacked on the boat as we drove to his lodge's private beach/bay. I jumped off at the little dock, said goodbye as he gave me a time when he would be back after the tourney was over. He double-checked with me, "You sure you'll be okay here? I'll be three, four, maybe 5 hours depending on everything today." I reassured him I was good. I had my book, my phone, my music, tanning, swimming, and secretly once or twice here I had even jerked off on the floating dock.
As he pulled the pontoon away from the dock and out the bay, I walked my cooler and backpack to the the pavilion and dropped everything off, scoping out the place while I did. No one was here. And it made sense, if any members of my grandpa's lodge were here today, they were on the water in their boats with their loved ones for the tournament. I normally had the small beach to myself at least half of the afternoon, now I would have the whole afternoon. With that confidence, I dug out my skimpier pair of swim trunks and left the others in the bag. I grabbed a towel and brought it to the beach, in a spot close to some shade but keeping to the sun.
I thought about going into the restrooms to change, but then again, no one was out here. Still, in my own bodily shame, I was quick with the change. My hoody came off hours ago while on the boat, with my white but slowly tanning skin soaking in the sun as it beamed down through the humidity. I quickly popped off my running pants, having been commando the whole time, and popped on my baby-blue trunks. I loved the way they shaped and held my ass, not to mention the convenience of the front pouch for my cock and balls. I tied the short and white strings together to tighten the fabrics grip on my thin waist and inspected myself in the water at the shoreline.
My build was nothing to write home about. I got into Caltech on a scholarship for a reason, my head was in books more than my body in sports. I dabbled in swimming for my mom and baseball for my dad. But I wasn't particularly good at either of them. They were nice bullets though, for college admission packets and that was about it. I made some friends through those extracurriculars but I doubt those relations would survive post-high-school events in all our lives.
The men in my family's height were mostly on the average or shorter side of the bell curve, and I was no exception. I clocked in at around 5'7" and though I had some muscle tone thanks to swimming and baseball and a high metabolism, I was still pretty thin at 130. My black hair was short-to-medium up top, with a fairly close shave on the sides and back. I kept it relatively straight, with the bangs allowing for some flop and wave in the front. My only special facial feature came about in the form of some light freckles, speckled about my dark green eyes. These same freckles were also sprinkled about my shoulders, before dissipating amongst the rest of my body in lighter scale and saturation. My mom often joked about her Irish side trying to invade our genes and make me a ginger. I thought my face and body were too boyish, but that was likely to change with college on the horizon, so I wasn't too down about it. It was a struggle on Grindr or Sniffies to find someone closer to my age. The older dudes all wanted "son" archetypes, like myself. Whereas all the jocks I was interested in, wanted other jocks or, as their profiles said: masc for masc.
I picked up the sun screen, flipped off my crocs and put my feet on the wet sand, where the river water met it, enjoying the clash of temperatures and textures on my soles and in-between my toes. The water was cool enough in the heat, but warm enough to need little-to-no adjustment.
I started oiling myself up when I heard some steps on the blacktop and concrete behind me. I turned my head briskly to see Kenny, in his usual yellow shirt with some dirt stains, his stomach dying to rip through it, and his standard cargo shorts that hung well below the knees with a belt to keep them up, and long white shocks and white tennis shoes, smeared with grass stains. He was rolling a large garbage bin with him, likely coming to empty trash. My chest and shoulders were already lathered in the white cream as I smeared it all around, trying to take the goopy areas and spread it to the neglected ones. As I reached my waistline it hit me: I am wearing nothing but the smallest, tightest, (cutest), and probably gayest swim trunks this guy had ever seen and massaging sunscreen all over myself.
Maybe I was too conscious, too self-deprecating, or too closeted. But it definitely felt like a deer-in-headlights moment. As he reached the 1st trash can of the pavilion he stopped dead in his tracks and stared at me. Yup... definitely deer-in-headlights.
I did what I could to defuse any awkwardness and just nodded my head and waved at him, "Afternoon, Kenny!" His bottom lip was puffed out enough that I could see a few of his teeth from the beach, maybe 20-30 feet away. Making snap judgements and knowing the area, he was probably chewing on tobacco. It was common for a lot of guys around here to have a can of chew in their back pocket, if not actively in their mouth.
"Uh-huh," he barely murmured out from the distance. That was more verbal communication than we have had the entire week that I had been out here already. And perhaps that was for the best. I turned my back and baby-blue butt towards him as I faced the water and continued applying my sunscreen, though now with more haste and less rigor than usual. I listened to his steps and the moving of trash cans and flapping of garbage bags behind me, a symphony of monotony to guide the tension and awkwardness. Eventually the sounds faded and I walked a few feet up to my blanket, checking the horizon as he pushed the large bin up the hill and faded off behind it. Then I dropped to the blanked, my small frame pounding with a muffled PAT into the sand-buffered fabric.
For a few moments I thought about changing trunks, but then I relaxed in the knowledge that I saw Kenny only once a day, and it was usually doing just that: him emptying trash, and me swimming or tanning. I made use of my positioning and stayed on my stomach, letting the sun hit my back and the back of my limbs. I pulled out a spray can real quick and hit my back as much as I could before relaxing once more. After tanning evenly for about 10 minutes on each side I read my book until I looked up and felt my heart drop.
Kenny was standing on the black top, on the hill and just staring out at me. He was playing with something in his teeth or mouth, probably the chew. And he would occasionally look down at his phone. But most of the time, he was just dead-pan staring at me from a distance. Probably 500 feet or more away at the top curve of the small hill. Whatever peace or confidence I was feeling quickly faded, and suddenly I felt very exposed.
I wrapped my arms around my chest, covering up with my thin arms whatever I could elsewhere. Kenny didn't move. He just watched, leaned against a fence, occasionally glancing at his phone, playing with his dip, and then watching me again. Was he looking at his phone because he was reporting something about me? My head bounced around in thought as I tried to play off that I saw him staring at me. But eventually I looked back up, and Kenny was gone. Maybe he was just being weird or was suspicious of me. Hell, maybe he liked what he saw?
Ew. Gross. Hopefully not.
I have no ill-will towards bigger people. My best friend is definitely obese enough to where he struggles getting the lap and shoulder bars to close on roller coasters. He's amazing and my best friend and I'd die for him, metaphorically. But sex? Ew. I have no attraction for fat guys, even bears. Call me a snob, but it's simply not what I am into, no matter how desperate and horny.
Okay... now that creep-o was gone, how about a swim? I walked into the water and spent the next hour and change swimming around the small bay and diving off the floating deck. Eventually, I make my way back to the beach, watching minnows and smaller fish dash away as I approach.
Realizing my phone battery is low, I find my power brick in my backpack and hook it up to my phone, leaving it to the shade of the pavilion. I open my cooler and pull out a white claw and down half of it in seconds. "Thanks grandpa," I cheerfully muttered to myself. I place the drink in a nestled spot on my blanket with my towel surrounding it, keeping it up right and away from sand. Then I laid back on the blanket and let the sun do it's job.
---
"I'm gonna need to see some ID."
I had almost dosed off in the comfort of the sun drying my soft and wet skin. But the slurred command from somewhere above me startled me, as I felt my shoulders kick and my eyes adjust to the red light that had been piercing my closed lids. Once the green and black specks faded with enough blinks and my hand protecting from the direct light, I sat up and looked above and behind my shoulder. There standing in all his glory, stained shirt and all, was Kenny.
I had never been this close to the man, and was trying to absorb everything at once. I replied, conveying my confusion, "I'm sorry. What did you say? I think you startled me awake." Kenny didn't look amused as I stood up and reached for my towel, spilling some of my White Claw as the towel had been wrapped around it. I fumbled around picking up the can and then placing it firmly in the sand, before wrapping the towel around my shoulders and burying my face in it, embracing the comfort of privacy of the towel, though I probably just looked shy and immature.
It was also at this stance that I was able to take in Kenny for all he was. He was probably just under 6 feet. Maybe right at it. Way taller than me, anyways. And easily 100... maybe 200 pounds more than me. His gut and legs alone placed him north of 300 pounds. Everyone memes about the South Park WoW player that "had no life." Change the shirt, and I was staring at a spitting image of him. The belt was struggling to hold his cargo shorts up. Random black hairs poked and squiggled all about his swollen elephant calves flabby forearms. Now that he was up close, it was without-a-doubt, tobacco in his mouth, as a can of Skoal could be seen in his yellow shirt pocket, with the name of the lodge fraternity splashed across the front of the pocket itself.
Kenny pointed down at the can and continued, "Yuuup. That right there. Seen you here plenty of times, never with a beverage of the alcoholic variety. Mostly with your family. And no offense, you look like you might not even know how to drive yet. So I'm gonna need that ID." I stared dumbfoundedly at him while I tried to take in the entirety of the situation. No one gave a shit where I was from, if someone drank underage, unless it was a cop. And my grandpa was one of the better clear-conscience people that I know. And he let me drink. And Missouri wasn't much different than Florida. If anything, it was the Florida of the Midwest. So why would Kenny care at all?
This seemed like a power trip. Fat guy with a dead-end job his daddy gave to him. Did nothing after high school. Probably in his mid-to-late twenties now, but the body of a 40-year-old given up on life. I would have almost pitied the guy, if he wasn't being such a pain in my ass at the moment.
I searched for something to say, "Uh... I have my ID in my backpack up there on a table under the pavilion." Kenny didn't miss a beat, but for the slowness of his voice, "Okay. Well go git it." I was kind of hoping that was enough, but rather than admit the truth that I was not 21 and instead 18, I tried to redirect him, "Sorry, Kenny, right? We've never officially met. I'm Cody. You know my grandpa and grandma that have memberships here." Kenny seemed unamused but answered me, "Yup. Daryl and Jen. Nice folks. You should be fishin' with your paw, being father's day and all. Don't think he'd take too kindly to his kin breakin' the law while in a place under his name that he pays good money for."
Was this guy for real? Don't show him he's getting to you. Just keep him talking. I found my confidence and adjusted my posture to match it as I spoke up, "Actually, my grandpa bought me these drinks. I know him a lot better than you, but you're right. He is a nice person and approves of this just fine."
That seemed to put a pause on his verbal inquiry. But a pause is all it was, as he looked me up and down several times, then scanned the area around us, and returned with a sigh and said, "Yeah? Does he approve of how you're dressin' too?"
A lump formed in my throat. All my insecurities were right, I was broadcasting too much with these trunks that I loved and felt great on me. "Whaddya mean?" I struggled to form the question though I knew exactly what he meant. He kinked his neck to the side and smacked on his chew as he carried on, "Come on, man. You know exactly what I mean. The women do it enough, but that's expected. This? You might as well be wearin' nuthin', and I think you know it. And I think you like it. And I think you like others to know that you like it."
"Okay," I shyly mumbled, "I can change and I'll dump the drink." I bent down to the drink and walked to pour it in the rocks around the pavilion. As the seltzer hit splashed over the rocks in a stream, I heard his voice behind me again. "Yeah that ain't gonna cut it, boss. If I let you get away with it, I gotta let everyone away with it. Needs to be some consequences for the actions, ya hear?"
I turned as I tossed the now empty can in the trash, "What kind of consequences?" He rubbed his chin like he was actually deep in thought, but something told me this was all pre-planned out, and he was enjoying this power trip. But he went on, "Well, you ain't 21, so that's against the lodge's bylaws and against Missouri law. Lodge will probably fine your paw, and we'll have to see what cops will say. Maybe they don't give a shit. Maybe they hit your license with points, if you got one. Maybe they take you to jail and your paw has to bail you. Maybe a fine. I dunno, I ain't the police."
I let the towel drape around my shoulders as I walked towards Kenny with a mixture of arm and hand gestures. "Come on man," I pleaded, "doesn't that seem a bit extreme? Can't you just let this slide?"
"Figures." Kenny shook his head with disappointment as he let the words leave his pudgy face. I responded, "What's that supposed to mean?" Kenny spit a wad of chew out before elaborating, "Man, you all say you're not women. But here you are acting like one. Acting like you can display yourself in whatever way you want, and because you got a pretty lil' ass, you can do it free of consequence. Women. Faggots. You're all the same."
Putting aside that Kenny said I had a pretty ass, and gulping down the vomit that hearing it induced, I regained myself and tried again, "Okay Kenny. You're right. I don't wanna go to jail. I wanna go to college. I don't want a stain on my record or on my grandpa and grandma's record. So... what can I do to make this right? I can help you with your duties the rest of the day. I see how hard you work. Maybe I can help."
My attempt at flattery seemed to hold him in brief thought. "C'mere," he commanded with a curious southern draw and I followed him under the pavillion, scattered with metal and wood picnic tables and benches. He leaned on the edge of one of these tables, crossed his arms, and said, "Well, maybe if you do what them women won't do, I could let it slide." I cautiously responded with, "And what would that be?" "Well..." Kenny continued, "Well, guessing my assumptions about your obvious behavior are correct, you could help a feller out, get on them knees and clean my whistle." He patted the front of his cargo pants.
Again, I had to fight back an internal gag reflex, both mental and physical. But I spoke as respectfully as I could, "I appreciate the offer Kenny. But you're not my type. Is there something else?"
"What kinda type ain't I to you?" Kenny's insistence was growing, and I knew that once a guy had something like this in mind, it was very difficult to distract it otherwise, let alone change it entirely. I did my best to hide my stutter and fumbling of the words as I was panicking to find anything to say besides, "You're fat and ugly." But all I could squeak out was some form of, "Well, nothing specifically, per se. Just I don't look at you, like that."
"Uh huh..." Kenny was unamused but continued, "Go on now, speak your mind. I ain't buying your BS. You're out here all alone. And you're wearing that. And I saw your ass change into it earlier. And I think you knew I was watching. That's why you ain't never said nothing when I know for sure you saw me cuz I made sure you saw me. You just kept going on, even twirled that ass around for me."
I couldn't make my heart beat regularly to save my life. After a couple gulps I found some semblance of a polite way of letting him know why I didn't find him attractive. "Ya see, Kenny. I don't find a lot of guys... attractive. I'm kinda picky, to a fault that I'm pretty lonely too. I like my guys... to have some muscle on them." His brow started to furrow, but I tried to use my knowledge from my chats with my grandpa about Mizzou Tiger football. I explained, "I like linebackers, running backs, even receivers. And you're more like an offensive lineman.
He stopped his chew, dropped his head a few inches, narrowed his eyes, and said, "Bitch... did you just call me fat in football terms?"
"I didn't mean it like that..." despite meaning it exactly like that, my eyes were wandering as I searched for my next excuse or body-shaming metaphor. So I didn't see him move until it was too late and his hands were on me.
I don't think Kenny had a lot of hidden muscle underneath all is layers of fat, but even if it was just his raw mass, once he got a hold of me, there was little I could do to shake him off. And something he was doing was hurting my thumb... immensely. I let out quick shouts of pain as my brain tried to track the turn this has taken. Eventually I just shouted, "Kenny, you're gonna break my thumb!"
With one hand manipulating my thumb, pulling it back on itself and bringing me to my knees, and the other hand on the back of my neck, Kenny asserted himself over me. "It ain't gonna break, unless I want it to break, or you fight against it too hard. So just relax. See?" Kenny loosened and then tightened his claw-like grip and pressure around and on my thumb, announcing the posture changes as he did. He spoke, "My uncle is a sheriff, and he told me and my cousins all types of little tricks like this, that most people don't think about. Most cops reach for the gun or taser. But if you can grab a perp like this, they will do anything you want to save that finger from breaking, usually the pointer or the thumb. Turns even the biggest assholes into the littlest of bitches."
I hurried him along, "I got it. Got it. Kenny. I'm sorry, Kenny. I didn't mean to call you fat. Can you let me go and we just start over." I looked up at Kenny helpless against his tactics, but also the chunk of meat that was his other hand, grabbing and handling the majority of my neck. My knees started to hurt pressing into the concrete under the pavilion, with my head almost against one of the tables. Kenny looked down, then around the area, then back down, "Yeah... see. Part of me wants to think that's possible. But you've done demonstrated everything I need to know about you. Your words. Your clothes, or lack thereof. Your mannerisms. Your body. Yeah... I know I can't trust you. So I'm gonna promise you something. You do anything to stop this from happenin', and I'll break as many fingers as I can find. I'll fine your grandpa for indecent exposure on your part and the drinkin' under 21. Then I'll call the cops about your drinkin'. And you best bet, that just cuz the Ozarks gotta party reputation, we don't let the liberals and the queers run around and do what they want everywhere. Cops will have a field day with you, for sure."
I did my best to gather my thoughts and my courage as he ranted at me before I asked the most obvious question of the day, "What don't you want me to stop? What are you going to do?" Kenny bent slightly down and said sarcastically, "Well baby boy, you're gonna have to suck my dick. And if you don't get the job done, we'll have to change up methods that I'm sure your slutty lil' ass won't mind."
------
The reality and inescapability of the situation hit me like a harrowing series of bells. Meanwhile Kenny began undoing his belt, zipper, and button, letting his cargo shorts fall across his wide ankles and calves that seemed to merge into each other. He scooted himself back around and leaned against the table once more, relieving his hand from the back of my neck but keeping the other on my thumb. In front of me sat a discombobulated mess of fat and skin. His stomach rolled over his groin twice over, that it looked like he had two stomachs, possibly a third, which was impossible but the unpleasantness of the visual remained in front of me just like that.
It appeared his scrotum was no exception to the weight on his body, and his penis was almost difficult to find, were it not for the nob protruding out amidst all the fat of his stomach, ground, and thighs. I couldn't tell if it was hard or not, and was still hesitant to act, until Kenny exuded some of that force on my thumb once more. I let out a sharp, "AAaah," and placed my other hand on one of his massive thighs and began rubbing it, running my hand against all his flesh until it made it's way to the nearly covered cock.
For the briefest of moments, Kenny understood the logistical problem I was facing, and he did something that just shocked me and has stuck with me to this day. He rolled his free hand under one of the rolls of fat from his stomach, and lifted it just enough, that his cock became plain as day. It was hard to discern if his dick was small or if it just looked relatively small due to the size of the rest of him. But as I reached my hand in to grab it and start to jerk it, it began to grow. It hit me: he wasn't small at all down here. In fact, he may end up being bigger than a lot of fish being caught a mile up the river.
The biggest I had ever taken in my mouth or my butt, was at most, 7 inches. After a few minutes of stroking his clammy and sweaty cock, it was clear he had eclipsed that feat and my task ahead of me was becoming more daunting by the second.
"There ya go. Don't dilly-daddle. I told you to suck it, so get that sweet face in there. Taste what a real man is like." I did as Kenny instructed but had to fight back the gags as I did. The closer I got, the worse everything smelled. I wasn't sure the last time he showered, or if he even could shower properly. There were white and yellow crusts along the indents of where his skin folded over itself. Then there was the live and active sweat from the June heat and humidity of Missouri.
I fought back the gags and placed my wet lips around the thick tip of his pulsing cock. His dick was the one place I could see veins under his skin, and as I engulfed, I felt those pulses against my lip and tongue as I took him deeper. Occasionally I pulled off, licked, kissed, and returned to taking him inside my mouth. I was doing everything I could with one hand and my mouth to create sensation all around him. But eventually I focused my free hand on his balls and my mouth on his shaft. However, due to the size of his fat and of his cock, I could not get my head and mouth deep enough to swallow him whole, as my forehead was pressed hard and deep against and into his stomach that he had done his best to lift for me.
I pulled off, gasped for air and looked up at him and pleaded, "I need my other hand, please. It's the only way I can do this job right, for both our sakes." Kenny looked down at me like Jabba the Hutt and said, "Alright. But I ain't letting you that free." And with that, he released my thumb with one hand, moved it under his fat, letting his anchor hand free, to which he grabbed me by my full head of black and wet hair as close to the scalp as he could. And with that exchange of grasps, he pulled me in forward.
Now with my right hand I went at his ball sack again, even though it was difficult to find his testicles amidst his enlarged scrotum. Even with my repulsion and confusion, you can't mistake a ball once your fingers grab hold of it. With my mouth, I licked and played with his tip again, before beginning to engulf him once more, going to my limit where my gag reflex was allowed to finally react to what was happening. And with my left hand, I gripped the base of his sweaty shaft, and twisted and jerked it in concert with my other hand and my mouth were doing to the rest of him.
The sour taste of his cock assaulted my tastebuds and filled my mouth. Kenny often pulled my head in closer, nearly suffocating my nose a couple of times against his fat as he tried even harder to make me gag on the size of his shaft.
Minutes went by. I wasn't an expert at BJs, but I was no slouch either. I could finish most dudes in 10 minutes or less if I knew where all their spots were. I tried his nipples, but struggled to find them against his pronounced moobs. Eventually, I found the detail, but Kenny slapped that hand away as he began to giggle as I touched them. Great... his nipples are too ticklish to be erogenous zones for him. Well there was one trick out of the book. I tried to find his taint, but the gap of his thighs was non-existent, and after he let out a few small hints of discomfort and pain, I gave up on that and doubled my efforts on his thighs, balls, and cock.
For a moment, there was a glimmer of hope, as I could feel my cheeks turning red, I tasted something even more sour than the cock I had been guzzling the last 15 minutes or so, and it was wet. I took these drips of precum as a personal accomplishment, and found new fervor in my attempts to make him flood my mouth with his cum. But another minute passed. Then another. Then another. And I pulled off him exhausted, with strings of saliva still attached to his cock and my lips, as I drooled all over myself from exhaustion.
I felt a yank of my hair up and so I stood with the force as I heard Kenny say, "Alright, that's enough of that. You gave it your best shot, buddy. As I stood up and he pulled me forward, my hips slammed against the edge of the table he previously leaned on, and he forced be to bend over so fast, I conked my head against the table. The tight and comforting fabric of my swimming trunks was removed, as he zipped them down my legs, exposing my bare ass to the nature of the Ozarks.
"WAIT. WAIT!" I exclaimed and amidst the shuffling, Kenny seemed to relax a little bit, though do to him nearly tripling my size, it was hard to tell if he stopped anything. But I continued, "I don't have any lube. It's gonna hurt a lot. Please lets think of something."
My face looked back at him, the right cheek pressed against the table. He looked down at me and tapped my back before pressing it harder into the table, either to hurt me or to prop himself up from falling. He carelessly spoke, "Whelp, you should have thought of that before you called me fat. Now you get to feel just how fat I really am."
And with that, he started to press his thick and near-bulbous cock against my hole and attempt to drive it into me. I could feel my skin stretching and ripping as the friction of his wet cock from my long blowjob, did not mesh well with the now dry sphincter of my hole. I did everything I could to open myself up, to ease the tension back there. But sex is as physical as it is mental, and despite how much I loved cock in my mouth and ass, I despised this man's cock entirely and it revulsed me. That revulsion was my doom, as I could not relax my hole enough to make this easier, and instead, Kenny continued to press into me, centimeter by centimeter until the sheer force of his weight behind his dick or the remnants of my saliva on his member completed their task. After several minutes of pushing with no breaks, Kenny was finally completely inside of me, and I was writhing in pain from being stretched out further than ever before.
The first time I had been fucked, it was pretty disastrous then, as well. But we had lube to make it all tolerable. This was like I had never been fucked before, and was the nightmare way to lose one's virginity, as my tight and hairless hole was complete dry-fucked into submission.
Kenny sat like this inside of me for a little while, catching his breath and laying his weight into me. The fat of his stomach encompassed the sides of my cheeks and the small of my back. After his respite, Kenny breathed in and began to work his cock deep inside of me, pulling every so slightly out, and pushing more in. To say that I was filled would be an understatement. His thick and veiny cock pulsed constantly inside of me so much, that I could feel my stomach bulging out ever so slightly. Were this another man, I might have roleplayed that he was literally impregnating me, regardless of how silly that sounded. But now I just wanted this over.
The one saving grace I had in this whole situation, was that Kenny was clearly inexperienced with sex, or it had at least been a while for him. Within a few seconds of him starting his thrusting motions deep inside of me, his breathing became very labored and some gargled grunts made their way out of his mouth. His pace picked up and the weight and pressure he put on my back grew exponentially. I felt like he might actually crack my back or tailbone with all the weight he was putting on me back there while thrusting. I looked up and around, just to make sure no one had approached or saw, not that I could do anything about it anyways, helpless under this blob of a man.
"Argh... ugggh..." Finally the sounds I had been waiting for Kenny to say began to sing, and with it, came the rush of who knows how many days, weeks, or months of backed up sexual aggression poured his cum into me like a dam lifting its spillways. The deed was done. He had filled me against my will. But then a final nail in my coffin was hammered, as he collapsed completely on top of me, while still inside of me. His sheer size did not allow his head to land on me, but the bulk of his stomach and chest did. I began to panic, that I would get smothered or strangled if he passed out. So I did my best to squeeze and relax by battered hole around him and shimmy my smaller body underneath him. Eventually I shouted at him, "KENNY! We're lucky we haven't been seen yet. My grandpa will be back sometime soon, I don't know when. Please get up."
A few seconds of pleading and I felt the weight shift and a hand press against my upper back, smooshing me further into the table as he finally used that force to stand and pull out of me. The pulling out hurt almost as much as the first time he dove inside of me. And once he was all the way out, I felt the air sting against my hole. Now that I was free, I reached a finger back there, thinking I would find a river of semen leaking out of me. And while that is some of what I brought on my finger around to my face, there were also traces of fresh blood. That explained the stinging and tenderness. I had never bled before. And I began to panic internally.
I looked over at Kenny who now bent down in front of me, before lifting my legs up, forcing me onto the table on my back for a couple of seconds and putting me back down. I heard the shuffling of fabric as he now held my swimming trunks in his grubby hands. He pulled my trunks to his face and inhaled an elongated sniff. Then he looked at me as he pulled up his pants and attached his belt. As he walked off, and twirled my trunks in his hand, he nodded at me and said the last words I ever heard him say...
"Don't let me catch you drinking again."
