Cartoon Me

The noise had gone on so long that it was getting on my nerves. I'd told Jordy if he didn't want Stretch to ruin him, he should stay away from the man. I knew the noise was coming from Jordy—and was coming from the apartment across the hall in the thin-walled old apartment house I lived in in the San Marco area of Jacksonville off Hendricks Avenue. Jordy was too curious for his own good.

I'd almost gone over there and broken it up nearly an hour ago. When they'd started up Jordy had sounded like Stretch was killing him. About the time I was standing from the computer to go over there, though, it settled down to where he was killing Jordy but killing him good and Jordy didn't want it to stop—that Stretch was in finally, and Jordy was getting more pleasure from being pumped than pain from it. That was good to know—that it would settle down to pleasure before the bottom was dead. There was a reason why Stretch went by the name of Stretch.

"I've heard it means that you stretch, not that Stretch stretches," I had told Jordy, but he didn't seem to understand what I meant by that.

I got it that Stretch had the thickest, longest, and most vigorously applied cock Jordy had ever had. What was missing were reference points on the cocks Jordy had had before.

Most of us in this building worked in some form of I/T or computer stuff, and most of us were singles and were actively gay. That was what the few blocks around here were known as in Jacksonville, Florida—Gay Town. We were comfortable banding together this way—not just the gay part but the computer geek part too.

I troubleshoot for a major corporation I don't name for folks, and I do it from Florida without speaking Hindi. Jordy is an I/T guy at Jacksonville's State Farm insurance office. Stretch, a veritable red-headed bear of a guy, a Sasquatch type if I'd ever seen one, although I'll admit the comparison is in size, not looks, had moved in just a couple of months ago across the hall from me. He was in elite computer work, though. He built animated cartoon shows—short films. He started lording it over the rest of us as soon as he'd arrived, and he was an aggressive top. The two guys who had tried him thus far, though, had said they almost had to hobble off to the hospital afterward—and I knew them to be guys who had been doubled before. Both of them said they'd go back under him, given the chance, so that was something to think about.

"He's got a monster cock. He's a real horse," one of the guys said. Unfortunately, Jordy took that as a challenge. And just as unfortunately, Stretch had taken a "want" for Jordy. Worse, Stretch had taken a "want" for me too.

And now Jordy had gone into that apartment across the hall from me that afternoon and was having the stuffing fucked out of him. He was a real screamer, Jordy was, and the walls in this old apartment house are for shit.

All of a sudden it got real quiet over there. Was he dead, I wondered. Had Jordy been fucked to death? If so, did he go down smiling? I waited for a good fifteen minutes and then went over to my door and looked through the peephole. Jordy was out on the landing between the two apartments on this floor. This was the top floor, and he was hanging over the metal railing beside the down staircase, panting and moaning. I could hear him through the door.

I took mercy on him, opened the door, helped him hobble into my apartment, and laid him down on the sofa. I was going to make him sit, but he waved his hands with tears in his eyes and said sitting was out of the question for a while. He had his trousers hanging over an arm, and his briefs were on inside out. He was babbling and I went for a glass of water. When I got back, he'd caught his breath—mostly.

"Fuckin' A," he exclaimed. "That . . . was . . . the biggest shaft . . . I've ever . . . seen. That was . . . the biggest . . . cock . . . I've ever . . . taken."

He gulped the water and then said, "That was amazing. He's a monster."

"So, a bad decision then," I said.

Jordy looked at me like I was crazy and said, "Shit, no. Every guy's got to have a cock like that once in his life. You just need to not have any activities planned for the next week. You haven't lived until you've survived that. You need to get over there and—"

"Not a chance," I said. "Are you going to be OK? Do you need to go to the ER or something? Need stitches?"

"He made me a star," Jordy babbled.

"I just bet he did, sport. Do you need to go to the ER?"

"No. I need to sit in a tub for a while. And I need to know if I'm ruined—if I'll ever close up enough to enjoy a regular guy again. Or him again."

"You're going to let him fuck you again?"

"Well, wouldn't it be a good idea to do it before my hole closed up—while I'm still reamed to his size?"

"Reamed to his size?"

And then he showed me. He slipped his briefs off and showed me his hole. I almost fainted. I think I could put a fist in there and Jordy wouldn't know I was mining his ass. I whistled. "You're going to let the monster who did that do it again?"

He just smiled and shrugged.

Now I knew Jordy was out of his mind. "Well, the best I can do is help you downstairs and fill the tub for you." And that's what I did.

Half way down the stairs, Jordy said, "Really. You need to experience that. Stretch said that's what you needed too."

"Stretch said that about me?" I asked, shocked.

I heard the snort from above us. I looked up from the half landing to see that Stretch had come to his door, naked. Sasquatch was the right word for him. He towered well over six and a half feet and had a massive, muscular body. He was covered in red hair, and his cock, in erection and in his hand, indeed was that of a horse or a bull, or something larger. He was looking down at us, his eyes flashing, and a grin on his face. After getting Jordy in his apartment on the first floor and into a warm tub of water, I didn't go back upstairs for a while. I left the building and walked to the nearest Starbucks and treated myself.

As I sat and sipped, my mind brought up the image of Stretch standing in his doorway. That was one magnificent cock. I could see how a guy would be happy to die and go to heaven while sheathing a cock like that. I wondered . . .

But then I muttered, "Shit, no," and tried to think about all the irate computer users I'd had to try to calm down on the phone during my shift that day.

No way I was going to try to ride a cock that big. No fuckin' way.

That sure would be some sort of achievement, though, I thought.

* * * *

What did me in was that Stretch designed animated cartoons. That was like the epitome of computer work—right up there with designing computer war games.

It started on neutral and seemingly safe ground, with a chance encounter at the local Starbucks and continued with an enticement that I should have known I couldn't resist—and that I didn't resist. I stupidly thought I could control it. We were on neutral ground, at a Starbucks, with other people all around us. Some of them weren't even gay. But I was wrong that I could control it once I'd landed on the spider web. The spider web was the enticement of what Stretch did—creating animated cartoons on the computer and broadcasting them to the Net.

He sucker punched me. I was in the Starbucks and had just ordered a Venti and sat down with a newspaper when Stretch came in and ordered a Grande. He positioned himself at a table between me and the door, so I not only had a huge cup of expensive coffee to down but I also had little chance of getting out the door without him seeing me. I really think he lay in wait for me for just such an opportunity.

He made like he saw me for the first time, smiled, and came over to my table and sat down. And then he delivered the sucker punch. "I put you in a cartoon yesterday. It's on the Internet and getting a humongous number of hits."

"You put me in a cartoon? You can make cartoon characters out of real people?" I shouldn't have asked.

"Yes, it's easy. That's what I do. I design computerized cartoons. They're getting realistic. It's easy to do real characters as a cartoon character. Yours is as hot as you are. You're already a star."

"A star?" That's what Jordy had said.

"Yeah, I did him in a cartoon and then did him on my living room couch."

"I heard that. It's a reason not to sit on your living room couch."

"You'd love it. I'd take you to heaven. Meanwhile, you should come over and let me show you your cartoon."

I put too much faith in that word "meanwhile."

"You've got your laptop right here. You could show me here."

"This ain't the sort of show you put up on a laptop in Starbucks," he said with a laugh. "You gotta see what you do in this clip—projected on a big screen. You get royally fucked."

Of course I was hooked. I knew I didn't want him to get me in his apartment. I knew it then and went on guard, but we started talking about the process and before I knew it, I was in his apartment and I was sitting on his living room couch. I might as well have begged the spider to wrap me in sticky string and eat me.

I was sitting beside him, facing a big-screen TV that he could put the computer clips up on, and he had an arm around me while I marveled that he, indeed, had a cartoon showing up there with me as a character. And not just as a character—as a royally fucked character. It was a gay cartoon. I was the submissive. But he'd done me proud, giving me a cut body that I was trying hard to develop in the gym and never quite getting to that perfection. And he'd added a good two inches to my cock, even though I didn't have anything to be ashamed of there in real life.

The clip started with me in some sort of fantasy village of tents and a big handsome brute was on top of my character, fucking me in a doggie. We were facing the camera, my face with a sublime expression on it, and the big brute, looking an awful lot like Colby Keller, one of my favorite porn stars, on top of me, his head hovering above mine and his character obviously riding my tail. Stretch had shown the Keller character riding me so hard that his butt appeared above our heads on the upswing. He was looking happy and my character was looking dreamy, with my eyes bugging out and my mouth opening in a big O on the downthrust.

Yeah, it was arousing. I did notice when Stretch had both of us unzipped and I said "no" and tried to zip myself up again, but he pointed to the screen and said, look, werewolf attack, and I looked up at the screen and was lost. Werewolf warriors were running through the village, killing and humping everyone in sight. My character was up and on the run, dodging the baddies, trying to get to safety.

Stretch had a fist on my cock and was coaxing me to take his in hand. "No," I said, but he said, "Just hand jobs. Watch your character getting fucked by that big werewolf there. Look at the size of the cock that fucker puts in you. It's more real if you're getting stroked off to it. It's just hand jobs."

I sucked into that. A big muvva werewolf had grabbed me in the cartoon, put me on the ground on my back, and was doing me with a huge cock in a missionary. He had to have ten inches hard. Stretch had made it pink and thick, in stark contrast to the dark hairiness of the werewolf's pelt, and Stretch was showing the fuck at an angle where the viewer saw all ten inches appear and then disappear into the asshole of my character, which had been given a "God, I'm being fucked good" expression on his face. I was lost to the cartoon, and I was lost to Stretch stroking me off and me stroking his cock, which compared favorably with that of the werewolf on the screen, except his had a big, thick vein running up it and the werewolf's cock was smooth.

I don't know when I lost my trousers and briefs, but I did. I had even less idea when Stretch slipped off his—but he did. He had the tips of his fingers at the rim of my hole, with the heel of his hand pressed under my balls. I pulled my attention away from the screen long enough to say, "No, Stretch, this isn't a good idea. You're too big for me," when he penetrated me with a beefy finger. Even his finger was too big for me.

He began fucking me with the finger, moving it in and out, and clutching at him and moaning, I rocked on the finger.

He laughed and said, "I won't be too big for you. Here, sniff this, and keep your eyes on the screen. Help is arriving." He had a bottle of poppers in his free hand. We waved it under my nose and I took a hit. It did its job. It did its job very, very well in more than one department. I relaxed. My hole dilated and his finger was in deeper. I also was aroused. The popper did that. That was one special popper. I'd have to find out where he got that. The surge of arousal came right with the hit of the popper vapor. I wanted his finger in me—and the second one too. And somebody's cock, if not Stretch's yet. After the popper hit, I was hot to be fucked. The fingers began to move faster inside me. I rocked on them and began to pant. He said, "Look, hunky centaurs," and my attention went to the screen.

Hunky centaurs indeed. Muscular, great-looking torsos and handsomely rugged faces of porn stars I'd seen before, set on the bodies of muscular, yet sleek horses appeared on the screen. The centaurs were bearing tautly arched bows and sending arrows into the werewolves, who responded by rising up and yowling and giving ground. The centaurs were magnificent, not the least because, as they galloped in, their massive black cocks hung free between their hind legs, waving with the motion of the gallop. Stretch had drawn them so that they were prominent features. The centaurs were all different horse colors, but the cocks of all of them were black, erect, and gigantic. I groaned when I saw them. I wanted a cock inside me. Stretch was stroking down the sides my cock with his free hand as the centaurs poured onto the screen, and I was moaning for him and hardening up.

"You want me to fuck you, don't you?" Stretch murmured.

"Yes, I want you to fuck me," I responded. What in the hell was I saying? Had I just told Stretch he could put that monster cock inside me? He gave me another whiff from the popper and I began to moan for a cock. he slipped off the sofa and went down on his knees beside it, the heel of his hand still in the cleft of my buttocks and his fingers possessing my hole. I stretched out on the length of the sofa, my left leg hanging off the front of the sofa and my right leg raised onto the sofa back. A pillow was under the small of my back, rolling my pelvis up, giving him a great angle to finger fuck me deep. My head was turned so that I could keep watching the TV screen.

The werewolf fucking my character gave the centaurs a haughty scowl, pulled out of me, turned, and slunk away, only to the hit in the back and felled by three arrows. The hunky centaur pulled up beside my character, extended an arm down to me, pulled me onto his back, and was galloping away from the field of carnage.

Stretch hit me with yet another whiff of the popper, and three fingers moved in my dilating passage to the beat of the centaur's hooves on the ground as the creature rode me away from the danger. On a hilltop of moss-covered undulating ground, the centaur let me down under a tree. He pulled me into his beefy human-aspected naked torso, and we kissed, passionately. The centaur said something to my character in a low voice I didn't hear above the music Stretch had put behind the cartoon. It had been music to fuck by while the Colby Keller character had been fucking my character on the screen, turning to ominous "something bad's coming" music right before the werewolves flooded in, martial music while they were attacking, and "saved the day" dramatic music as the centaurs arrived and my character was released and ridden away. The music was very well done.

On the screen, my character lay down on his back on one of the small mounds under the tree, his buttocks on top of the mound, with his legs spread and bent, feet flat on the ground, his torso reclined down from there. The centaur positioned himself over my character, his cock—a good foot and a half of it in jet-black erection—became the focus of attention. The music swelled with a "something's coming, something good" beat to it.

Stretch moved me off the couch and onto the floor in front of the TV, on my back. I went down without a fight. He moved the pillow back under the small of my back, raising my pelvis. I was watching the TV closely. I was naked now. When had that happened? So was Stretch, who was crouched on top of me, holding me close. His mushroom cap was at my hole, insistently poking at the hole, kissing the rim.

My character yowled and thrashed about as the centaur's cock head went to his hole and slowly, but relentlessly entered him, my character arching his back, pressing his hands up into the centaur's horse's chest, and crying out in pain-passion at the slow, inch-by-inch violation of his passage.

The bulb of Stretch's cock was at my hole. "No, no, I can't," I heard someone calling out. The sound was distant, but it sounded like me.

"Yes, you can. Yes, you will," Stretch was barking. A hand holding the poppers bottle came around to my face and gave me another hit. I felt myself dilating and his bulb was in. The hit aroused me and I wanted him inside. I relaxed my passage more, and it loosened up to take four inches of him.

The centaur on the screen was in and pumping. Stretch was inside me and pumping. My character was collapsed, his torso stretched out, his arms out from his side in a sacrificial position, his face turned to the screen showing both grimace and "I'm being taken gloriously." The centaur pumped my character endlessly, slowly sinking ever deeper into him. Stretch's animation showed where the head of the centaur's cock was inside my character, a swelling of the skin on the character's belly and then up under his sternum, the timing of the movement matching the thrusts of the centaur's cock. Just before the centaur came, my character shot his load, a prodigious fountaining up into the underbelly of the centaur—nothing like what the centaur produced, though. After coming my character collapsed back, his face toward the screen, his eyes rolling up into his head, and silly grin on his face—unconscious. The centaur pumped him full of cum, pulling his dick out and spouting cum and then pushing it back inside—and then repeating, again and again.

Holding me close, Stretch was in and pumping me. He was huge inside me. I'd been doubled before and the stretch and challenge hadn't been anything like this. I panted and groaned and took it thick and then took it thicker and deeper. Stretch was murmuring a mantra of "Good, yes. Do it, take it. Open more. Yes, good do it. Take more of it. Yes. Let's do it all. Oh, shit, yes."

I would have collapsed if he hadn't been holding me in place. He was all inside me—huge and moving, his pubic hairs tickling my ass. I'd stretched for him. Stretched for Stretch, I thought nonsensically and felt myself on the edge of hysteria. But as painful as he was, stuffed inside my gigantically, I had taken him—was taking him. I no longer was yowling with pain and fear. I was babbling with being taken gloriously.

The centaur on the screen had turned my character and was taking him in a doggie fuck. Cum was flying everywhere. Stretch did the same with me, able to get more depth in that position. My passage kept expanding for him, but so did the thickness of his cock.

My character on the screen opened his eyes and was crying out. The centaur was ejaculating again in a flood of repeated jerks. He was breeding my character, the cum burbling out of my character's ass, the animation showing the rise of the centaur's cum in my character's eyes as well, the flood of it spreading out across the screen, taking the film to a cloud of white.