Mel Takes My Manhood Pt. 06

Mel leered down at me, laughing at the impact all this was having on me, then picked the second beer up from the floor. I groaned and closed my eyes again, feeling him again probe me with the bottle and empty it into me with a cruel laugh. Another 12 oz of freezing lager drenched my system, adding to the building pressure in my belly. I felt nauseatingly full, sickly and feverish from the icy invasion. I looked down and saw that my naked belly was as swollen as it had ever been. Mel slapped his big rough hand down on it, massaging it forcefully, kneading it.

"That's it boy. Good and pregnant." The big old bastard sat next to me on the couch, kicking his left leg behind me and keeping his right on the floor. He pulled me to him, scissoring my legs over his furry shoulders. He ran his callused hands all over my shaven-smooth, sweat-soaked body. He gave special, aggressive attention to my roiling, distended stomach, squeezing it, grinding his fist into it. He shushed me when I tried to speak up, intending to ask for the bathroom, so instead I lay there on my back, legs open and held up by his broad shoulders, as he absently toyed with me. Mel flicked through the TV channels, smoking a cigar, filling my apartment with the acrid smoke. I just lay there, quietly writhing in place as the beer churned inside my guts.

The feeling of Mel's big, hairy body next to mine was intense, his prickling fur stimulating my smooth skin, his groping hands nearly sending me into hysterics. Every so often I would look at him, the big malicious polar bear, the man who had shaved me of every speck of body hair I had below my ears, and continued to do so on a near weekly basis. The hirsute man who had made me as smooth as a virgin. His big hand traced and rubbed around all those places on my body where he had gleefully taken my man hair, the hair that had marked me as a sexually mature adult man. He rubbed around the bare patch above my penis where my pubes once resided, then slid up the vanished path of my happy trail, pressing down on my beer enema-swollen belly like he was giving me a prenatal massage. He grabbed around my pectorals, now as hairless as a woman's breasts, then stuck his hand into my armpits, feeling the unmanly emptiness there.

He puffed a cloud of cigar smoke at me and then smiled, fondling me. I took in his own hairiness, the manly coating of fur that contrasted so starkly from my still-shocking smoothness.The wiry bristle of the hair on his shoulders tickled my calves, and the black and gray bath mat of his chest scraped against my left thigh. His big wooly belly, which rose and fell with each breath as he puffed away on his stogie and molested me.

Mel chomped on his cigar, clutching it between his cheeks, turned his shoulders to face me, and began to focus on roughly rubbing and squeezing my bloated belly. An involuntary groan of pain escaped my lips- the pressure in my colon seemed to stab through my whole body. I looked down at myself miserably, watching his big hands torment my aching tummy. Not a man's flat stomach, a woman's pregnant tummy, a baby belly, soft and smooth, wet with sweat. My erection was long gone due to the cramps. It had shriveled into the ridiculous pink curl the size of a baby toe, a noodle, just a tiny head poking out from my agonized abdomen.

"Please Sir please let me use the bathroom." I groveled as he drove his fist into my stomach, sucker-punching me in slow motion. Mel cackled and brought his body down on top of mine, seizing the sides of my waist and squeezing, determined to make his long, thick fingers touch over my stomach and around my back, constricting my inflated gut and increasing the pain of my cramps tenfold. Meanwhile his teeth lightly bit down on my right nipple, sucking and flicking it, his stubbled cheeks and chin rasped against my shaven bosom.

Mel kept me in his clutches for a few more minutes, heaping mind-melting pleasure on my chest while torturing my beer-swollen middle section. The net effect left me nearly convulsing with each new touch.

Finally he shoved me off the couch, and I landed on my ass on the floor. This was all the permission I needed, and I practically crawled to the toilet. I knew better than to try to close the bathroom door in front of him, and instead endured his mocking laughter and color commentary as I evacuated the two beers from inside of me, nearly crying with relief.

My body trembled and my limbs felt granite heavy- this degrading process always seemed to take away all my strength, made me feel as weak and dazed. As the bathroom around me seemed to spin a bit, I also realized he forced at least two beers down my throat since getting to the couch, and then had forced two more of them directly into my bloodstream. I thought of the news story about a college kid dying from a vodka enema, hazing gone wrong. I was quite buzzed but not in danger.

I quickly cleaned myself up in the shower and then presented myself to him. Mel was sprawled out on the couch. He had a beer, was still smoking a cigar while also eating a container of ice cream he had found in the fridge, plunging his bare hand in it to scoop it out and lick it from his fingers, which he then wiped upon the arm of the couch. I had forgotten I even had it. Mel was reveling in his slobbery - I noticed the collection of beer bottles around him, the cigar ash all over the couch and carpet, melted ice cream and of course the sweat he was leaking all over my furniture. Just having him in my home for an hour or so had turned everything upside down.

He beckoned me to him, spreading out on his back on the couch. He clawed out a handful of ice cream and then put the container on my coffee table, rattling alongside the empty beers. Leaning back against one of the couch arms, he placed the ice cream on the cleft between his hairy bosom, then pointed at it.

Knowing what he wanted, I crawled on top of him, my hairless, limbs straddling his wide, sweaty body. I lowered my head to his barrel chest and eagerly licked up the melting ice cream. The dessert was made salty with his sweat, and I lapped my tongue all around his furry chest as he groaned in pleasure. I sucked his chest hair clean of the sweets and nuts while he giggled at my slavish efforts.

Mel moved my head all round his chest, fingers clamping my hair. He pushed my face into his armpits where he forced me to slurp for several moments, drinking from the font of his sweat, then dragged me down his belly and onto his prick. He had me suck him to full hardness, and I eagerly fellated his fat prick. He then brought my face back to his chest and spun me around like a crocodile so that I was on my back. He kicked me thighs apart with his knees, grabbing me by the haunches and folding my legs over his shoulders. Mel applied lube to his bare cock then jammed his wide flared head into me. I cried out, having gone tight again from over a week without him inside me. I yelped again when he bumped his hips forward, forcing in a few more inches.

Mel peered down at me, eyes narrowed with the sort of bullish intensity he took on when entering me, the animal determination to achieve complete penetration. His big hands were clamped down on my hips, holding me in place and I felt myself trapped under his much heavier form. In that moment I knew if I tried to resist his efforts I would earn a swift backhanded slap across the face or worse. Of course I didn't dream of disobedience, and instead gritted my teeth and forced myself to take deep breaths, exhaling to ease his entry.

My response was animalistic too, in its own way. Keeping myself still I acquiesced to the instinctual duty to accept his piercing sex organ into me despite the pain, to let him into me and submit to the often excruciating, always mortifying sexual congress that awaited me, so that my insides could be flooded by his fertile seed. Thinking of it in this way, inevitable, biological, it always helped take my head away from the burning intrusion of being stabbed by Mel's sizable prong. Keeping my eyes shut like a kid hiding from a monster, I put my hands on his sweating, hairy rump to signal my acceptance, my embrace of my predicament. My gratitude that such a powerful male had chosen me as his mate.

I squeezed and cupped his broad butt cheeks, wanting to give him even more pleasure as he took all he could from me. I heard him chuckle above me at this signal of craven approval of the buggery. He plowed forward, and I felt him shift position atop me as he neared full penetration.

In no time at all the big man had bottomed out in me, all 8 ½ inches of his prick occupying my guts, his hefty balls gathered around my butt cheeks, his big belly sealed over mine. He smiled down at me beatifically, his rough face twisted with fiendish glee. He slowly rocked his wide hips to the left and right, raised them up and down. As always making a spacious new home for his cock in my rectum. He kept smiling at me, closely studying my face for the strange, involuntary reactions I always showed, flinching in confusion, gasping in shock, to his invader cock delving around inside of me, the thick ugly animal, the conquistador worm.

He brought his face down to mine and I parted my lips for his plunging tongue. Seal it with a kiss. He chewed my lips while his tongue burrowed around beneath my own. It wasn't until Mel had taken me over that I learned that a kiss could be a degrading and defiling act, that it could be a powerfully unmanning ordeal. My kisses with women in the past had all been chaste and decent performances. With Mel by contrast it was always terribly immediate and obscenely intimate, the act of him impressing himself upon me, imposing himself entirely. Cock plunged up one end and his tongue lapping away inside me at the other. Accepting everything he had for me.

Mel began to hump into me with some speed while continuing to aggressively make out with me. Plunging his tongue in and out of my mouth, rasping it all around inside of me, forcing it as deep as it could go in me, as if he wished to inseminate my throat. It left me breathless, swooning. Comparing the experiences in my head, kissing with women and what Mel was now doing to my mouth with his, my lust-sick mind led me to a catastrophic conclusion. I never should have been wasting any girl's time, trying to kiss them, sheepishly attempting seduction. No, I was always meant to be kissed, to be kissed by vile, powerful old men like Mel, to suck face with big fat men old enough to be my father.

I released his hairy cheeks and grabbed the back of his head, ensuring the oral assault would continue. Conveying that I wanted the intense tonsil-hockey to keep going. Caressing his head like a lover. He groaned in approval and redoubled his efforts, and the kiss continued unbroken, so long that he was now drooling copiously into my mouth and down my throat. I accepted it all without complaint and offered my weaker tongue back to him, letting it get whipped around by his, lashed and constricted. As he kissed me deeply he breathed into me, hot stinking breath, and I welcomed the air from his lungs into mine.

After several minutes of frenching he finally pulled back, lifting his shoulders up while I gasped for air. He grabbed his beer from the foot of the couch and took a long swig, swallowed, then filled his mouth with another gulp and slowly spit it down into mine. More of this foul communion, and I accepted it all, lapped it up, forced it down. As if to reward my subservience he lay his hands down on my chest, began thumbing my nipples and bucked into me, wobbling his hips around, cork-screwing into me, bludgeoning my prostate in new directions. I cried out in joy.

Long-dicking strokes, bottoming out and then drawing back to almost disengage but not fully, remaining hooked in me by his big plumb-shaped head, thankfully. Mel drilled into me, his face right on top of mine, his glasses fogged from the heat in the room, open-mouth panting like a Saint Bernard.

He wiggled his hips each time as he re-entered, pushing around in me, enjoying his slow, deep thrusting rhythm. My couch's legs scraped against the floor, and the TV was still on. Mel moaned, pleased with my body, taking his pleasure from it, almost lackadaisically. He was in no rush. It was Friday, and Mel had all the time in the world with me.