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Humping My Hung Buddy

Chapter 1: His Giant Cock

Jimmy was the horniest dude I ever knew, and he was also my closest friend. He would tell someone he was hard, like even in the middle of class, pulling his pants flat to show the outline of his boner just to mess with them. Being virgins, that was about as sexual as life got, until the two of us got into more escalated shenanigans.

I kind of always thought the size of his dick was sort of an optical illusion, only having seen it through his pants, until the first time I saw the real size of it hard. His parents were gone and we were in their master bathroom's jacuzzi, and he was wearing a white pair of briefs because it was sort of a last minute decision and he didn't bother to go change. We were both fit, but we played different sports, so I never had a locker room chance to sneak a peek before. I already knew his bulge was big, but in the tight briefs, I could see a hefty piece of meat and some big, round balls. I almost made a joke about it, but found myself suddenly witless.

I snapped out of it within minutes of getting into the bubbles, when Jimmy discovered the jets. He scooted down the bench, angled his hips toward one of the nozzles, and let out a loud groan that literally echoed off the tile.

"Dude. You have to try this."

I found my own jet next to his, and pressed my crotch up against it, and the water hammered into my nuts through my underwear. It stung like hell, and I thought he had played a practical joke on me.

"Ouch," I said, "You fucker!"

"No," he said in a weirdly low, calm voice, "Put your dick on it. Seriously."

I approached it again, tentatively, my leg touching his under the water as I scooted up to it, and angled it carefully so that the jet hit the head of my dick.

And BAM. 

The feeling was immediate, warm and steady and stronger than any sexual sensation I had ever felt. We sat there looking down at ourselves, glancing at each other silently, unable to see anything going on under the turbulent surface of the water, both of us grinding against the wall of his parents' jacuzzi, amazed at how good it felt.

"Damn," I muttered quietly. 

"Uh," he grunted absent-mindedly.

"Damn," I said again, like I had forgotten other words.

"I'm close," I muttered quietly. 

"I already came once," he said, grinning cheekily, his hips still planted firmly on the jet.

I exhaled sharply and released, pumping out my load against the jet, nothing to see but bubbles. When I finished, I kept my dick right there on the nozzle, copying him, and I never got soft. Soon enough I was cumming a second time, right next to my buddy, both of us grinding at the wall like idiots. I don't even know how many times he finished. We definitely added a fair amount of boy juice to that water before the night was over.

When we heard his parents get home, we decided the fun was over. I stood up slowly, regaining feeling in my legs. I turned to look at him as he stood up out of the water, and I thought my eyes were playing a trick on me after the heady sensation of hot water and steam and several orgasms. Jimmy's wet, white underwear showed everything. It was all right there, hard and dark through the wet cotton, a hog thicker than my wrist and longer than I honestly thought dicks could be, still hard and pressing upward to the side against his hip. I could see the peachy red skin color and the whole circumcised head of it through the dripping fabric. The sheer mass of the thing made my jaw drop.

"Woops," he said, looking down and covering himself with his hands, chuckling. "Didn't know these were see-through."

He faced away from me and dropped his underwear completely, flashing his round little ass to me while he put on a towel. I grabbed my own and we headed to his room.

When we got in there, he kicked me a pair of his gym shorts to borrow and we got dressed. He flopped backward onto his bed, hair still dripping, arms out like a starfish.

"Bro," he said to the ceiling. "That was the first time I ever came with another person in the room."

"Same," I said.

"I don't even know how many times I blasted. I think it was six times."

"You did not cum six times."

"I lost count after four, really dude, so I'm saying six."

He looked so pleased with himself lying there that I ran the two steps from his dresser and jumped on him. He twisted onto his stomach to protect his nuts, which was a mistake, because I sat right down on the back of his thighs, grabbed his shoulders, and humped his butt like a dog. Full speed, no shame, my hips slapping into him while he screamed into his own pillow.

"GET OFF," he yelled, and he was laughing so hard the whole bed shook underneath us. "What is WRONG with you."

"Six times," I said, still humping. "This is what six times looks like."

He bucked me off into the wall and we lay there catching our breath, and somehow we got onto girls from school. He asked if I'd get in that jacuzzi with Kayla from his chemistry class and I said obviously, and then he spent a while explaining, in detail, everything he would do to Marissa D in that jacuzzi, a lot of which I'm pretty sure was physically impossible. He talked with his hands. He was fully hard again under his shorts while he described it, tenting them straight up, and he made zero effort to hide it.

He was somewhere in the middle of a sentence about Marissa's chest when I rolled over and humped his hip, lazier this time, three slow pumps, just to ruin his train of thought. He shoved my face away with his whole palm.

"You hump like a chihuahua," he said. "I'm telling everyone at school you hump like a chihuahua."

"Tell them," I said, and pumped one more time before he kneed me off the bed.

In a weird way, humping became our thing after that. I'd get behind him, even in public, or at school while he was at his desk, and grind on him until he elbowed me off, or drop on him on the bed and hold him down and do it to him while he yelled. It was a bit, and he'd do it back when he caught me off guard, but I still instigated it more than he did. I got hard sometimes during it, and he would just make a comment that I must be horny, never making me feel any real shame about it.

For some reason, having seen his actual dick made me nervous when the talks got sexual, but I never shied away from it, rather the opposite. And the thing was, even though he loved talking about it, he actually didn't take it out pretty much ever. It was like he had a normal guy's shame about actual nudity, despite being a shameless perv talking about how horny he was and how often he jerked off.

And after that night in the hot tub, I couldn't unsee it. Every time he told me he was hard, I pictured that big thing throbbing between his skinny legs. I didn't even know why, but I couldn't stop thinking about it, for months after that.

He had moved his bedroom into the basement after his older brother moved out, so that was our own private space for mischief. Amateur science experiments, some including fire. But we both got good grades and we both played sports, so as far as anybody's parents were concerned we were the good kids. Nobody ever bothered us. And nobody ever came downstairs.

He also acquired an unnecessarily large, king-size bed when his parents got a new one. And after all those years he still had the same laundry pile in the corner that smelled like cum if you got too close to it, and the mini fridge his brother had handed down to him was still running. Up near the ceiling there was a window that showed the grass of the back yard, and extra privacy was afforded us by the fact that no one wanted to see what was going on in there.

And of course, our hijinks only evolved after we got the extra seclusion, discord servers we had no business being in, Twitter porn, Omegle, every site that had an "18+" screen pop-up on it that we reflexively clicked "confirm" on. Hours of pure brain rot pouring into our heads, threatening to replace any useful information we had learned in school.

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The first time we watched actual porn together down there, it was on his phone, propped against the mini fridge with the volume all the way off, both of us leaning in, and neither of us saying a word about how hard we were, a deviation from Jimmy's typical eagerness to announce the arrival of his boner.

After that seal was broken, porn quickly became the only thing we talked about. We traded links constantly, even AI stuff he'd generate on some dodgy site and send me at two in the morning trying to get me to believe it was real. Or he'd rate a performer out of ten and I'd argue the score downward just to make him defend it, and then we'd fight about which categories were "hottest" when really we both got off easily to any amount of nudity on the screen. 

He'd send me stuff during class, and I'd be unable to peek at my phone to see what it was, and he'd giggle from across the room while I got an inevitably boner-inducing glance at something that I shouldn't have been looking at. Neither of us had any prospects with an actual girl at all, and this was the entire sexual life either of us had, and we were both weirdly fine with that.

On Saturday morning, out of nowhere, I woke up to a text from him. He had sent me a picture of his cumshot on the desk in his room. I recognized the place immediately, but it took me a second to see what was on it. Once I realized, I almost dropped my phone. I was already rocking a steel-hard morning wood, and my body was called to return the volley. 

I couldn't stop picturing the monster dong hanging between his legs that had squirted out that mess, and I spit in my hand, gave myself maybe ten tight strokes around the head, and released onto my abs, oozing a thick, white morning load that pooled toward my navel. I snapped a shot of my stomach and sent it to him. 

No words were shared about it, but we didn't need any. We were basically telepathic at that point, and we both knew that the other was cracking up in his room at the escalation.

And that turned into another regular thing. I would get two or three a day from him sometimes, and it was almost a shared hobby, comparing loads, occasionally trying to "beat" each other. Sometimes finishing onto something funny, a magazine page, a school assignment, and once he literally got up during class, did it on the wall of the school bathroom and sent me the photo before he'd even gotten back to class. 

But even after all that, we were still shy about our actual dicks. We never showed those, just the aftermath, and I filled in the rest of it myself in my head, every single time.

One time, in the middle of the night, I jerked off onto my ipad, with a picture of his favorite porn star on it, and one streak of my jizz happened to line up perfectly with her face.

Me: Claimed. You're not allowed to jerk off to her anymore.

Jimmy: I never agreed to these rules

Me: Deal with it.

Jimmy: New rule, you can't count it if you aim it

Me: I didn't aim anything

Jimmy: That's an aimed load bro. That's a sniper load.

Me: Cope

Jimmy: Come over, I'm dying down here

····[]····

I was in his desk chair with my laptop on my knees in minutes, and Jimmy was on the bed, both of us in shorts and no shirts because it was warm. I'd been building up a girl to him all week. New girl doing amateur stuff and posting tons of free stuff online, and I'd found her and had been talking about her since, and he'd been calling it "hype".

"Okay," I said. "Shut up. Watch this."

I turned the laptop around so he could see it, and that didn't work at the angle, so I got up and climbed onto the bed with the laptop between us and we both leaned in.

He'd taken the outside of the bed so I was in against the wall, which meant the only way out of that bed was over him.

As always, we talked over the whole thing, getting hard while we watched a girl get rammed by two big-dicked dudes. 

“Her hair’s fake,” he said. “Nobody’s hair is actually that blonde.”

“Dude has a lizard tattooed on his ribs,” I said. “Who does that.”

“She’s a seven,” he said, purely to be a hater.

Then the camera cut to this amazing angle from below, where she crossed one leg over the other while taking a thick dick inside her.

“Okay, nine,” he said. “She’s a nine.”

Then he stopped talking, adjusting himself right in front of me.

"His dick is almost as big as yours," I said. 

"You would know, perv," he said, grabbing his hard bulge and wiggling it at me.

I looked over and he had his knees pulled up and one hand pressed down on the front of his shorts, and he wasn't even watching me look at him. His eyes were locked on the screen.

"I'm at a ten out of ten," he said. "Like a real ten. I can't even sit here."

"Yeah," I said. My own shorts had been a problem for a solid minute by then. "Same, dude. I'm rock hard right now."

"I'm sorry, I gotta jerk off," he said, and while he was still talking, he hooked the waistband of his shorts, pulling them down and letting his dick plop out into his fist, lying back flat on the bed with his head at the top of the bed and his knees up. He grabbed the laptop and propped it near his hip so it faced him.

I didn't copy him right away. I sat there against the wall and stared, because after all those months of picturing it under his shorts, wondering if I had really seen what I thought I had, the real thing was out, lying in his hand in the light of the laptop, barely a foot from me. 

My mouth dried out. In my head I thought, I have no idea what I'm about to do. Then I moved down the bed so I was sitting near his feet, facing up toward him, and I shoved my shorts down under my balls and got a hand around myself. That was the first time in our entire lives that both of our hard dicks were out at the same time in the same room.

And while mine wasn't small, his was SO much bigger. It was thicker at the base than I expected, and it stood up off his stomach at an angle instead of pointing forward, even when he let it go. The head of it had turned a dark purplish color. Years of "hung like a horse", to me, to the group chat, to anybody who would sit still for it, and the fucking guy had been telling the truth the entire time. He had one hand loose around the bottom of it, barely moving. 

“You’re not even jerking it,” I said. “Just letting the beast out for some air.”

He chuckled, and he didn't acknowledge that I looked at it for probably ten full seconds before I made myself look at the screen.

We both stroked ourselves. He was breathing through his mouth. I kept my eyes forward and I could still see him in the bottom of my vision, the whole long mass of him moving in his fist, and I stroked faster than I even meant to.

Then he exhaled hard as he lifted his hips off the bed and shoved his shorts and his underwear down past his knees, all in one shove, to get more room. He flopped back flat. His t-shirt had moved itself up over his stomach and he didn't fix it.

So now he was bare from his chest down to his knees.

I stopped stroking.

His thighs were smooth and hairless. Big, pale, and they were spread apart with his knees still up, and his hard dick was standing up off his stomach with a wet spot already at the tip. And between his legs, sitting there on the bed between his thighs, he had a big heavy pair of balls, hanging low and loose and warm-looking in the light from the laptop. His patch of pubes above his dick was the only hair in the whole crotch, even less than I had.

I was not watching the video anymore. The video was background noise as I looked at his dick and balls, and then at his thighs, and then back at his balls, his hips, all of him, and there was a full-body pull in me toward him that felt like it was out of my control.

I was up on my knees on the bed before I knew what I was doing.

I couldn't say what my plan was. He watched me, confused, as I crawled up over him on my hands and knees and got a leg on either side of one of his thighs, straddling it, facing up toward his chest. He stayed still, waiting to see what I would do, and I put my dick against the top of his bare thigh, pressing down into the soft, warm meat of him and rocked my hips.

His skin was hot and soft and it gave a little under me. I ground against him again, harder, chasing the feeling without thinking about where any of this was going. I slid myself forward and down so I was grinding against his balls, right into them, the whole underside of my dick dragging over them, and my hips took over completely. It was weird, seeing my friend looking back at me strangely while I had the closest thing to sex I had ever had.

He was still flat on his back under me. The laptop got knocked sideways when my knee came down and the video kept playing, the girl now making noise face down into a bed.

"Wow," Jimmy said, looking me in the eye. "You're really horny."

He said it flatly, not even judging, almost like he was impressed. And then he took his own hand off himself and moved it out of my way, laid it flat on the bed beside his hip, and left it there.

I kept humping. I built a rhythm against his balls and he let his knees fall wider apart to give me the room, and his breath got shorter.

I reached down with one hand and took hold of his massive dick.

It was heavier than mine and hot in my palm and it jumped when I squeezed it, trying and failing to close my fingers around its girth. I pulled it up off his stomach, toward me, and then I spat into my hand and worked the spit around it, and then I shifted my hips forward and got mine in there too, both of us pressed together in the same fist.

His whole stomach tensed up under his shirt. His thighs tightened under my knees, both of them, hard as boards.

"What're you," he started, and then stopped in the middle of it. His mouth stayed open.

"Damn," he said instead.

And he kept his hand flat on the bed.

I braced my free arm down beside his ribs and let my hips do the work, rocking forward into my own fist so his dick slid against mine, our balls rubbing together every time I came down, and it was exactly the right amount of friction, better than my hand had ever been, better than anything. Wet from the spit and hot from him. I was as hard as I have ever been in my life and so was he, I could feel it in my hand, he flexed against me every few strokes without meaning to.

"You're so hard," I said.

"So are you."

I went faster. His head was turned partly toward the wall and his eyes were closed, and he still hadn't pushed back once, not with his hips, not with his hands. He just lay there under me and breathed and took it.

I do not fully know why I did what I did next. My arm came up off the bed and I laid my hand on his neck. I wasn't squeezing anything. My palm just rested over his throat with my fingers curled around the side of it, only gently tightening against his skin.

His eyes opened.

They locked onto my face and stayed there. He didn't say a word, but his shoulders pressed down into the bed and his chin tipped up half an inch, bracing, and when I picked up the pace he held himself exactly like that, steady under my hand, watching me the whole time.

I closed my fingers. Barely. Hardly any pressure at all, just enough that his heartbeat tapped against the pad of my thumb, fast and hard.

And that was when he started pushing back. His hips lifted off the bed to meet me, and then again, timing it, grinding up into me every time I rocked down, his balls mashing into mine, and the bed frame squeaked under both of us in a rhythm that etched into my brain.

He almost said something, but then just groaned a little, and I felt the brief attempt at vocalization buzz up into my palm.

He knocked my fist off his dick and wrapped his own hand around himself and jerked it fast and hard, his knuckles bumping the underside of my dick on every stroke. I dropped my hips and ground down against his balls again, my whole weight on him, and I pressed my thumb in against the pulse on his neck, and that finished me.

The first shot went up and hit him on the chin, and I heard him say something, and the rest of it came out in long pulses onto his shirt and ran down onto his bare stomach. I squirted more than I ever had in my life, more than any of the photos I'd sent him, and it kept coming while I was still grinding down against him.

He never broke rhythm. His fist stayed a blur on himself, the heavy meat of him rocking up and down, and his back arched up off the bed one time, and his heartbeat slammed against my thumb, and he finished into his own navel, a thick pool of it, one squirt reaching as far as the hem of his shirt, right into the mess I had already left on him.

He dropped back down onto the bed. I felt him swallow under my palm, one big swallow, and I took my hand off his neck.

I sat back on my heels between his knees, my hands sticky and my chest heaving.

We both looked at his stomach. His shirt was ruined. There was cum on his chin still, and across his ribs, and pooled in his belly button, and honestly some of it was mine and some of it was his and there was no telling which was which. The laptop was lying on its side by his hip with the video still playing, some man's voice saying something encouraging to the girl.

I stayed kneeling there between his knees with my shorts still shoved under my balls, still trying to figure out what my hips had just done without asking me.

Jimmy dragged the flat of his palm up his own stomach, one long swipe, gathering it up. Then he held it out in the air between us, palm up, fingers spread. A mixture of our loads was sitting in it, running down toward his wrist.

He looked me dead in the eye.

"I dare you to lick it."