All Male Fiction: My Second Big Cock

By: Ryan Michaels

ryanxxx@hotmail.com

 

Author's Note: This is the follow-up to My First Big Cock. The first story detailed a real-life experience and ended up ranking in the top 10 for views, so I decided to write a Part 2. We pick up just a couple of weeks after that first night—though, unlike the original, this continuation is, of course, entirely fictional.

Read Part 1

Two weeks of agonizing silence had passed since my first visit to that secluded backyard. I had refreshed my ad on the gay chat site so many times my thumb was practically raw, but the replies were a total bust. I was starting to think my first taste of a big cock was going to be a one-time fluke, and the frustration was driving me crazy. Each time I practiced on the nine-inch dildo I’d bought to hone my cocksucking skills, it only made me crave the real thing that much more.

Then, on a humid Tuesday evening, I finally got a reply that made my heart skip a beat.

“Hey. Still looking for a big dick, or did you find someone else to practice on?”

It was him. I didn't even hesitate, my fingers flying across the keyboard to tell him that no one else had even come close and that I was dying for another shot at it. A minute later, he replied: “Show up at nine, meet in the backyard, use the side gate.”

I was so wound up I nearly tripped over my own feet getting out the door. When I slipped through his side gate at exactly nine o'clock, the backyard was just as dark and private as I remembered. He was already standing on the concrete patio, the silhouette of his broad shoulders framed against the dim light from the kitchen window. He didn't say a word at first—he just smirked, took my hand, and guided it right back to the familiar bulge stretching his jeans.

"Glad you could make it so fast," he said, unbuttoning his pants and letting them drop to his ankles.

As his nine-and-a-half-inch cock sprang free, my mouth instantly watered. I dropped straight to my knees on the hard concrete, gripping the thick base of his shaft. This time, there was no hesitation or nervousness. I knew what was coming, and thanks to some serious practice with that nine-inch dildo, I was ready to show off. Opening wide, I trailed my tongue all the way up the underside of his long shaft to the pulsing head and locked my lips around it.

I began to bob my head up and down in a steady, deliberate rhythm. He let out a low, satisfied groan, his hands coming down to rest on top of my head, guiding my movements. Encouraged by his reaction, I decided to show off. I gathered my breath and lunged forward, sliding his entire length down my throat until my nose was buried deep in his pubic hair, and held it there for a long, solid moment.

"Oh, fuck!" he gasped, his fingers tightening in my hair. "You definitely weren't lying about that lack of a gag reflex. Fuck!"

Hearing his praise only made me hornier. I kept up the intense pace, swirling my tongue around the ridge of his head every time I pulled back, then plunging right back down to the base. It didn't take long for his breath to turn shallow. His hips began to twitch instinctively, pushing deeper into my mouth as he approached the edge. He shuddered, and then a thick load of warm cum erupted directly down my throat. I swallowed hard, taking every single powerful spurt as he pulsed inside my mouth, before slowly sliding off to clean him up with a few final licks.

The cool night air in the backyard was still thick with the heavy scent of his cum. I was still on my knees on the concrete patio, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, when the sudden, sharp creak of the back screen door made us both freeze.

All Male Fiction: On the Sidelines

By: Willy Wanker & Ryan Michaels

                                                        

The midnight air was thick and heavy, typical of mid-July. Shawn waited at the edge of the small wooden pier that jutted out into the lake, marking the dead end of his street. For the past two weeks—ever since summer holidays had freed them from early mornings—this had been his and Josh’s ritual. They would meet under the cover of darkness, then slip into the dense, quiet woods nearby. With both sets of parents disapproving of their relationship, these humid nights were their only sanctuary.

Tonight, however, Josh was late.

Shawn checked his phone again, the screen illuminating his face in the dark. Just as he sighed and slipped it back into his pocket, the steady rhythm of footsteps echoed down the pavement. Someone was jogging toward the water. But as the figure stepped onto the pier, Shawn realized it wasn't Josh.

The moonlight was bright enough to reveal a tall, dark, shirtless man. He looked to be in his mid-forties, but he possessed the lean, sculpted physique of an elite athlete—smooth, tight, and effortlessly powerful.

The man slowed to a walk, his gaze locking onto Shawn. Sensing an opportunity in the secluded, late-night setting, he drifted closer and came to a stop just a few feet away.

"Beautiful night," he said, his voice low and casual.

"Yeah," Shawn replied, his throat suddenly dry.

"So, what brings you out here so late?"

"Just waiting for a friend."

The man tilted his head slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips. "So, where is he?"

Shawn blinked, a little defensive. "I never said it was a 'he'."

"You didn't have to," the man countered smoothly.

Shawn prided himself on passing for straight, and a small part of him was annoyed at how easily this stranger had read him. But as his eyes drifted over the man's chest, annoyance quickly gave way to intrigue.

"I'm Bill, by the way," the man said, extending the introduction.

"Shawn."

A heavy silence settled between them as they openly appraised each other. Words became redundant; the raging boners each guy was now sporting through their athletic shorts was communication enough.

Bill took a step closer, his eyes darkening. "If your friend doesn't show up soon, I might just have to take you for myself."

Shawn held his gaze, a sudden rush of adrenaline making him bold. "Why don't you then?"

That was all the invitation Bill needed. He closed the distance instantly, grabbed a handful of Shawn's crotch, and shoved his tongue down his throat. The two guys passionately made out and rubbed each other's dicks for a few moments before Bill reached down and swiftly tugged Shawn’s shorts and underwear to his ankles. Bill licked his lips as he laid eyes on what was a rather long, but somewhat skinny piece of hard teenage cock.

Despite the intense arousal of the moment, a flash of hesitation crossed Shawn's mind. "Right here?" he whispered, glancing back toward the path. With Josh, they were at least hidden by the trees. Here, they were just off a public footpath where anyone could walk past and see them, just as Bill had come along and seen him.

"Sure," Bill replied, already kicking off his own shorts and removing his jockstrap. "It's not like anyone is going to be strolling by at this hour."

Shawn's eyes widened at the sight of the older man's erect penis. It was even bigger than his seven-and-a-half-inch cock. It had to be nine or nine-and-a-half inches long, and was really thick, too.

"You like it, my big dick?" Bill asked with a grin as he saw the boy looking at his impressive cock with lust and fascination.

Shawn could only nod.

"I like yours too," Bill said as he reached out and wrapped his hand around Shawn's hard-as-steel dick and slowly started jerking it. "Stroke mine, too. Go on, touch it. You know you want to," Bill said as he took the boy's wrist and brought it towards his cock.

Bill's confidence only aroused Shawn further, and he splayed his fingers and then closed them around the older man's girth. As he looked down at what he was doing, he thought of Josh. He felt slightly guilty for cheating on him; he really liked Josh, and they had a lot of fun together, but this was too hot an opportunity to pass up.

When Josh finally arrived half an hour late, he froze at the edge of the gravel path, greeted by a sight that felt entirely surreal. Bill was sprawled back against the pier, naked except for his sneakers, with an equally naked Shawn straddling him, thrusting his ass up and down on Bill's cock. Josh stared, paralyzed. A sharp wave of shock and betrayal hit him—Shawn was giving himself over to a total stranger, acting as if their entire relationship didn't exist—yet the visual was undeniably arousing.

Instead of interrupting, Josh stepped back into the shadow of the tree line, his hands slipping into his pockets. He watched, hoping they wouldn't notice him standing there in the dark.

But Bill had already spotted him.

All Male Fiction: After Hours

By: Ryan Michaels

ryanxx@hotmail.com

 

The gym was dead when I walked in. Only a couple of guys were scattered across the floor, which was to be expected given the hour; it was a 24-hour place, and the clock was ticking past 11:30 PM. I headed into the locker room, changed into my gear, and hit the weights.

Eventually, the crowd thinned out entirely until it was just one other guy and me. After striking up a casual conversation between sets, we eventually teamed up to spot each other. He decided to head off to the showers before I was quite finished, but I wrapped up my final sets shortly after and headed to the locker room as well.

After stripping out of my gear, I grabbed my towel and made my way toward the showers. Since we were the only two left in the building, we had the locker room entirely to ourselves. I suppose that’s why he didn’t seem too bothered by the fact that, even with his back to me, his arm was moving in an unmistakable motion. He was stroking his cock, jacking off right there in the gym showers.

I quietly chuckled, a sudden wave of arousal hitting me. I’ve always really enjoyed masturbating. I'm what is generally referred to as a "bator"—I even have the t-shirt to prove it. What I love even more than solo sessions is bating with other guys. Whether they’re dedicated bators themselves or just looking to drain their nuts, it doesn't matter to me; as long as I get to watch and share the moment, I'm good.

This seemed like the perfect opportunity. Even if he wasn't a bator, he was pleasuring himself in a public shower, and there was a good chance that if I let him know it was cool, we could turn it into a mutual session.

Hearing my footsteps approach, he glanced over his shoulder, his hand instantly falling to his side. As I stepped up to the showerhead next to him, I chuckled again.

"Hey, you don't have to stop on my account," I said with a laugh as I turned on the shower. "There's nothing better after a good workout than working out your cock, too."

He didn't look at me. He was obviously feeling a little uncomfortable, having been caught jerking off in the locker room showers. With a guy like him—a typical, hyper-masculine alpha male—being seen stroking by another guy can make them feel defensive, like they're being judged.

Recognizing the opening, I spoke up again. "Would it make you more comfortable if I did it, too? Because I could definitely use that kind of workout right about now."

My pulse quickened as I watched him process the offer. His cock, which had subsided slightly, hardened right back up to rock-solid as he weighed the idea. It was a beautiful dick—uncut, about seven and a half inches, thick and heavy. It was exactly the kind of cock I loved to suck. But in that moment, I was focused on bating. Besides, from our conversation during our workout, I knew he was straight and married, so a blowjob seemed out of the question.

"It's cool, man," I reassured him. "There's nothing wrong with a couple of guys jacking off together. Lots of guys do it. If you're worried that it's gay or something, trust me, it's not. Do you know how many guys stroke together these days?"

"Well..." he started quietly, his voice gradually finding its footing. "I... I was hoping to finish before you got in here. But too late for that, I guess. So… why the fuck not?"

All Male True Experience: Between Friends

'The Blow-up Doll'

By: Ryan Michaels

ryanxxx@hotmail.com

 

Rob and I first crossed paths working at a local bathhouse. We hit it off almost immediately, transitioning quickly from coworkers to close friends who hung out regularly outside of shifts. We’d candidly trade stories about our encounters with customers, though the boundary between us remained strictly platonic; we never crossed that line.

Eventually, the owner of the bathhouse passed away, the business closed its doors, and the estate put the building up for sale. Rob, who only worked there part-time while running a small business on the side, managed to stay afloat until he picked up another part-time gig to supplement his income. I wasn’t as fortunate. The bathhouse had been my full-time livelihood, and the local job market was bleak. As my savings dwindled and the job hunt turned up dry, I was forced to pack up and move forty-five minutes outside the city to stay with my parents until I could get back on my feet financially.

The distance changed our routine. We couldn't just hang out on a whim anymore, but we kept the connection alive through phone calls and online chats.

Over time, our conversations took an unexpected turn. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment the shift happened, but we eventually started having phone sex. It felt like a natural progression; we had spent years sharing the intimate details of our sex lives, and now that we were physically apart, sharing those stories began to trigger something deeper. We’d get horny, the tension would build, and we’d end up jerking off together over the phone. It was during these intense phone sessions that Rob discovered a side of me he’d never suspected—just how kinky and raunchy my tastes actually were.

The reality was that Rob’s sex life was thriving while mine was completely stagnant, leaving our catch-ups heavily dominated by his latest conquests. The town where my parents lived had a population of about one hundred thousand, but it lacked any visible gay community or cruising spots. Hard as I tried, I just couldn't find anyone locally to hook up with. I could have driven down to the city to visit a bathhouse, but my work schedule barely left me the time, and I hated the thought of driving all that way, paying admission, and still possibly striking out. Rob, meanwhile, was still in the heart of the city, surrounded by the gay village, bathhouses, and cruising areas. For him, a hookup was always just a short walk or subway ride away. My sex life had become entirely solitary.

I never cared for cam sex, and cybersex was just as unappealing—reading typed-out messages felt completely sterile and did very little for me. If someone was going to say dirty things to me, I wanted to hear the inflection in their voice; a phone call was the only thing that actually worked. So, I relied on a small collection of porn and the occasional phone sex session with Rob.

This was the early 2000s, long before the explosion of free tube sites, back when most online adult content required a paid monthly subscription. Since smartphones didn’t exist yet (only the basic cell phone), I didn't own a PC or laptop, and I certainly wasn't going to pay a monthly fee just to browse on my parents' desktop, I was left entirely dependent on physical media, which wasn't all that unusual back then.

Before long, though, my small collection of videos grew stale. Desperate for variety, I drove down to a local adult bookstore to rent some DVDs. It was there, while checking out at the counter, that I noticed a row of boxes containing blow-up dolls stacked on the shelf directly behind the cashier.

Later that night, while I was masturbating to the new porn I'd rented, my mind drifted back to those boxes. If the real thing wasn't an option, maybe a cheap doll could serve as a decent substitute.

When I returned to the store a few days later, I made up my mind. As the cashier scanned my new rentals, I spoke up, keeping my voice low.

"Um, how much are those?" I asked, nodding toward the shelf of blow-up dolls.