Date: Mon, 18 Jun 2001 14:12:33 -0500
From: Bren _ <narraboth@hotmail.com>
Subject: Hard Sell/Chapter 3

The following fictional story deals with sex among males.  If you are
offended by such material, are too young, or reside in an area where it is
not allowed, stop reading now!  Care enough about yourself and humankind to
practice safe and consensual sex, as observed in this story.

Comments are always welcome.


With that order, I let go of your arm and move slowly back to the driver's
side of your car, watching you continue to hold the elastic waistband of
your "classic" white briefs down at the base of your fat dick, keeping it
fully exposed. Our brief and one-sided wrestling match has caused you to
slide down the seat so that you're half reclining, and you don't push back
up, either because you're afraid of somebody seeing your flopped-out dick
in this public parking lot, or because I haven't given you permission to
sit up. My releasing you makes you realize that I think maybe you've
decided to cooperate now in your own humiliation. The burning sun is
streaming directly through the car's open window, pouring a flood of light
and heat onto the dark fabric of your hot-shot salesman's pulled-down pants
and on the sharply contrasting pale skin of the dick laid out above. As you
straighten out your arm from behind your back, the dick rocks slowly from
side to side in its small pool of warm sweat on your lower belly.

You glance at me for a second to make sure I mean what I say. Of course I
do. So you use the newly-freed hand to help your other hand start to slide
those briefs even lower. It doesn't take long to expose those two big old
balls of yours, drawn up tight against the base of your dick. Now this is
something I don't like.

"Why those balls so uptight, boy?" I demand, peering at them closely. You
don't seem to know what to answer. "Maybe you're that scared, huh?" I
consider a moment more. "Or maybe you're trying to pull them up to hide 'em
from me?" Still no answer. You're staring at those uptight balls just as
hard as I am.

"I'll tell you what it is, boy: you been spendin' too much time in that
air-conditioned bar, those fat balls pulled up just to escape that shit,
that's what. You out now, give em some air and sunshine, that's what they
need."

But even in the burning sun, your balls don't seem to be relaxing any at
all, and you don't have an answer.

"I-I don't know. Sir. They're sorta always uptight like this." We hear a
car door slam, not too far away.

"Well, when you're showin' your balls to me, boy, I want 'em relaxed and
hangin' low, like you TRUST your good buddy, not like you're trying to
hide. Go ahead and hook those briefs under those balls, let 'em soak up
some of that sunshine."

"Yes, Sir."

You do as ordered, pulling your balls up as far as possible with your left
hand and drawing your briefs' elastic all the way underneath the sac so
that the waistband is pressed tight against the internal part of your dick,
holding the balls up, fully exposed. Again, the movement makes your dick
slosh heavily against your stomach. We can both see it's still growing. You
put your hands back on the seat beside you, palms down, and do a quick,
nervous glance out the car window, as if you're afraid somebody besides me
is watching.

"Let's just take a minute and look at your dick, boy."

We look. It's everything I knew it would be. I don't quite know how I do
it, but I spot a stud who's packing a whopper right off, every
time. Something about the heaviness of your jaw, or the thickness of your
half-day's growth of beard. Or maybe just the air of smug superiority that
envelopes a big-dicked guy, like a dark storm cloud hugging
Mt. Everest. Right now, I'm damned delighted as I eye my prize.

Since it's laid out flat against your stomach, we're looking at the bottom
of it, its virgin whiteness showing like the smooth fat underside of a
beached whale. Still not fully erect, your dick is already a good inch and
a half across and seven inches from base to tip. It's "cut," just like I
like them, the perfectly rounded tip made permanently naked. That tip's
circumference is just slightly less than the thickest part of your shaft,
and it's symmetrically rounded, more like a perfect hemisphere than like a
"mushroom" or a "point." The little valley separating the two halves of
your glans is deep and well-defined, making bulges just like a little
bubble-butt, perched there on its backside. The ring around the base of the
tip is thick and dark purple, so skillfully drawn as if by the hand of a
master painter. The complexion of your dick's tip is so uniform in its
pinkness that it seems as if it's never been touched.

Your dick is continuing to grow as we examine it, and now I can see that
it's starting to throb with every beat of your rather rapid pulse. My eyes
have moved down to the valley encircling your dick, just below that perfect
purple ring, where the Y-shaped flat area leading from the glans continues
into an usually thick and long "ripcord" on the middle third, the thickest
part of your dick, trailing off into the lower shaft. I'm looking at that
ripcord so intensely that you imagine you can actually feel my gaze
caressing this exquisitely sensitive area. Now that your dick is more fully
erect, I can see concentric ridges starting to become defined beneath the
stretched skin at the sides of the middle third of your shaft. From these
rings down to the balls, the dick shaft is uniformly thick and powerful,
the heavy tube of your urethra bulging out markedly, indicating a
prodigious capacity for delivering you of big, impressive loads of semen.

Your dick disappears into the medium-thick forest of shiny black pubic hair
at the top of your balls-those balls that I'm still displeased with,
because of their uptight position, not because of their size and form. Your
balls are so huge that anything just slightly larger would read as a
deformity. If there's such a thing as egg-sized balls, your balls are the
eggs of a rare, wonderful, and oversized bird. My mental measuring tape
pegs them at two and a half inches from front to back, and two and a
quarter inches across, or about six inches in circumference. Now that
they've been baking in the sunlight for a few minutes, I can see that
they're starting to relax, finally, their own heaviness pulling them lower,
over the cushion of your lowered briefs, as your dick continues to expand
in the opposite direction.

The fact that your shaft is now raised off your stomach indicates that
you've produced your full erection. The tip is now elevated an inch away
from the skin of your body, and shaking stiffly with each beat of your
heart. It's now a full eight inches long, and a good seven inches in
circumference. That perfect tip is now so hard that it's shiny, glistening
blindingly in the scorching sun. Your dick and balls, without exaggeration,
comprise the most nearly perfect set of male equipment I've ever seen. They
are a truly magnificent prize for me-and all mine.

I'm really happy with my catch, not just because of the fine quality of
your dick and balls, but because of what they tell me about you. I know
that any man with a package like that is a proud man, and so a challenge to
me as an expert in using that pride as a tool of debasement and
humiliation.

A man hung like that is a slave to his dick and balls, and consequently,
when I get control of that dick and those balls, he's a slave to me. Big
dick means big horny, and now that I've got you in my power, and now that
your dick is rock hard, I can see you're starting to hurt. I watch you as
you watch that painful, huge erection. You glance up at me for a second and
see me watching it too. Then I hear you catch your breath and wince in
discomfort as your eyes return to your heavy balls. I just chuckle and
think about how we've only just begun.

"That hard-on's hurtin' you, huh boy? You best just try and not think about
it, tend to my business instead. I guess you forgot you're gonna jump-start
my truck."