The Colossus of Callum 03: Literature (Patreon)

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Chapter 3: Literature

We came back from tennis the next night, both of us soaked and rank, and I knew what Callum wanted before we even got to the front door. He had that horned-up walk, hands shoved in his pockets, no underwear as usual, his monster swinging around in his damp shorts as he walked.

"Sit down," I said when we got in. "No shower."

He stopped halfway across the room. "Dude, I'm disgusting."

"I know."

Callum normally showered the second he got home, every single time, like a reflex. He stood there a second with his racket still in his hand, sweaty hair dripping down his widow's peak, glasses fogged at the bottom edges, and I watched him decide that my instruction outranked the reflex. He set the racket down and sat on his cushion, his wet shirt stuck to his stomach.

Instead of waiting for me to start, he held his phone out to me. A bookmarks folder was open on the screen, labeled with a single crown emoji, and it held dozens of stories. Dozens.

"What's this?"

"My spank bank," he said. "You asked about the stories I read."

I sat down next to him and scrolled. "'Worshiping the Shy Giant.' 'My Straight Best Friend's Giant Dong.' 'The Quiet Kid At School Is Packing.'"

"Bro," I said, "who titles these?" 

I read a few more out loud in a movie trailer voice and he grabbed for the phone, laughing, and I held it out of reach and kept scrolling with my arm straight out while he gave up and slumped back.

Somewhere around the tenth title it stopped being funny and started being hot. Every protagonist was a hung shy guy. Every worshipper was a straight buddy. There wasn't one girl in this whole list of stories as far as I could tell. A straight roommate, a straight teammate, a straight best friend since childhood, and all of them ended up on their knees worshiping the hung, shy stud.

"Callum. This is crazy."

He looked embarrassed for a second. His face turned dark red, clear down to his neck. He pushed his glasses up his nose and said nothing.

"You're amazing," I said. "Which one's your favorite?"

He took the phone back and scrolled with his thumb, fast, like he already knew exactly which one was going to be most stimulating for him in that moment. He tapped it.

"Read it to me," I said. "Out loud."

"What? No. It's embarrassing."

"Yes. Start at the top."

I slid off the couch and knelt on the rug between his feet while he stared at me over the phone. I dragged his shorts down to his ankles and he was already hard, salty-smelling. His thighs were damp and warm against my palms. He cleared his throat twice and started reading in a flat, shy monotone, and I wrapped my fist around the base and kissed the fat head hello, letting out my tongue to make it flinch.

"'The first time I saw my roommate's cock, I knew I was going to end up on my knees for it,'" he read, and stopped right there, the opening sentence already filthy in his flat monotone.

"Keep reading," I said, and took him into my mouth, and above me his monotone wobbled on the very first paragraph.

"I had never been entranced by a cock before. They had been the subject of jokes. I'd even been slapped in the face before by an especially hung teammate in high school. But something about my friend's dick was driving me crazy."

His voice cracked on the dirty lines. Every time the story turned filthy he had to stop and clear his throat before he could get the sentence out, and I felt him throb in my fist whenever a part matched one of our own nights, a straight buddy on his knees, a cock that was too big, praise doing for the narrator what porn couldn't. I took him back into my mouth and he pulsed against my tongue, hard, like his dick was answering the story directly.

He continued reading. "'I was envious of the thing. And I wanted to see how big it would get.'"

He kept reading, and the story moved past blowjobs. "'He flipped me onto my stomach,'" Callum read, his voice straining, "'and spread me open and ate my ass while he kept telling me how perfect I was.'" 

He stopped dead on that line. I pulled off his cock and looked up at him, my own dick throbbing in my shorts at the thought of it. 

"Don't stop reading," I said, stroking him steadily. 

"'His tongue...'" 

He couldn't get the rest of the sentence out. His thighs tensed against my shoulders and his meat jumped hard in my fist. He stared down at me over the phone with his mouth hanging open, his lips curling up to the side as his eyebrows rose on their own. I squeezed him at the base, not letting him cum yet.

"Do you want me to eat your ass?" I asked.

He lowered the phone enough to look at me over it. His glasses had fogged at the bottom edges again, and his chest was heaving under the wet shirt.

"You can do whatever you want to me," he said.

He said it fast, no stammer, no clearing his throat first, which for Callum was basically shouting. My dick jumped in my shorts hearing it.

I pulled his shorts off over his ankles and threw them behind me.

I hooked my hands behind his knees and pushed them up and back, and he slid down the cushion onto the small of his back, holding the phone above his face with both hands. I draped his legs over my shoulders so he didn't have to choose between the phone and his knees. Everything down there was damp from his sweat and my spit, his big balls hanging back toward me, his taint glistening, his fuzzy hole pink and tight. Nobody on earth had ever seen him from this angle. I was the first, and that fact alone had me leaking.

I licked him flatly, one long drag from his taint up across his hole, and his whole body jolted so hard the phone bounced in his hands. He tasted salty, like dried sweat and clean skin, tennis boy smell concentrated in one spot.

"'His tongue,'" he tried to start reading again, but I pressed my tongue flat against his hole, and he stopped mid sentence.

I kissed it. I circled the rim, pointed my tongue, pushed, and his thighs trembled against my ears while his monster throbbed against his stomach, untouched, drooling pre-cum into his navel. I reached up and wrapped my fist around it.

"Keep going if you want," I said into him, and he whimpered and found his place on the page.

I breathed him in, musky and warm, his taste coating my tongue while I worked my jaw muscles, putting all the pressure on the right points while the meat of him settled and quivered against my face. 

Maybe I was thanking him for the friendship, or for making my life better. I didn't know why, but with my face buried in my best friend's ass, I had never felt more at home.

I pulled my mouth off him just long enough to talk. “If anyone on earth deserves a rimjob and his cock worshiped, it’s you, dude.”

He smiled at me warmly, dazed as his heavy, warm balls settled on my forehead, squashing against my skin every time his hips rocked. The aroma of two hours of tennis was concentrated in them too, salty and thick, and I breathed it in and kept eating. My fist stayed locked around his meat the whole time, not even stroking, just holding that giant thing steady while it throbbed against my fingers and leaked a puddle into his navel.

I pulled back for air and dug my own phone out of my shorts pocket with my free hand.

"Don't freak out," I said, and aimed it at him, my fist still choking the base of his cock, his hole wet and pink an inch from the lens. I snapped a pic. I pushed my tongue back into him and held the phone out to the side and snapped another, blind, of my own face buried in my best friend's ass.

"Are you taking pictures?" His voice cracked over the phone.

"Nobody would believe this otherwise," I said into his taint.

He moaned at that, louder than he had all night, and his thighs clamped on my ears, his cock swelling even harder in my grip. He lifted his own phone out of the frame so I could get a clean shot.

"Send them to me," he said. "All of them."

I pulled my tongue out of him, grabbed the remote off the coffee table, and stood it up next to his cock. It was the bigger size of remote, and his cock was still longer by several inches. I took a pic. I lined up the lube bottle, and the bottle lost too. I pressed my cheek against the shaft and took a selfie with my lips on the fat head, his whole length covering half my face.

"Dude, look at it," I said. "It beats everything. You're a king. You know that? You're actually perfect."

He stared down at me over his fogged glasses, chest heaving.

"Here." I pushed my phone into his hand.

He fumbled it, aimed it down at me, and I opened my throat and dropped onto him, pushing two thumbs into his ass at the same time, feeling them tense on me as he released a moan. I forced myself through the stretching throat burn, past the gag, and held it there as my eyes flooded over, tears running down into his sweaty bush, spit falling out of my mouth, my throat stretched around the thickest part of him. 

"You're the best," he whimpered. "This is so hot."

I came up coughing and pushed right back down, destroying my throat on that monster, and I didn't care. I pulled off and looked straight into the lens, saliva stringing off my chin.

"You deserve this," I said, hoarse. "You're awesome, dude. This cock is king of the fucking world."

I worked both thumbs deeper and spread his hole open while it clenched and squeezed back against them, and I forced my throat back down onto him, all the way, my nose grinding into his sweaty bush, spit pooling around the base. It was time for him to finish. He had earned it. His thighs shook against my ears and his heels dug into my back, and the phone wobbled in his hands above me.

"I... love this," he whimpered, barely intelligible, and those were the last words he managed before his dick pulsed.

I felt it in his ass first. The ring clamped down on my thumbs in a hard rhythm, once, twice, and his taint tightened right after, a thick muscle rolling under the skin toward the shaft. The base swelled against my stretched lips, throbbing out to its maximum, steel-hard size over and over, and I swear I felt the juice itself flow up his tube in fat bursts, pumping past my lips and straight down into my stomach. He groaned in intense pleasure, and I never even tasted it. He unloaded so deep that his cum skipped my tongue completely, and I just tried to force myself to swallow around him, holding on.

I held on as long as I could, only letting myself up when I was about to pass out from lack of oxygen. He looked dazed, almost bewildered as his dick fell heavy onto his thigh. He winced as I pulled my thumbs out of him. 

I climbed up off the rug and dropped onto the cushion next to him, my jaw aching and my knees printed with rug lines. He let his legs down slowly, one at a time, and set the phone face down on his chest without checking it. We talked for a while, his big meat lying spent against his thigh while his breathing evened out under the wet shirt. He took his glasses off, wiped the fog on the hem, and put them back on crooked.

"That was the best experience I've ever had," he said.

"You said that before."

"It keeps getting better."

He picked up his phone and thumbed open Samantha's profile. She hadn't come up all week, and now there she was in a beach picture. 

"I think I get you," I said.

"You do?"

"Yeah. You want to be worshiped, praised for your god-given gifts. But you like pining over someone too. Someone un-gettable."

He furrowed his brow. "Maybe you're on to something."

His voice didn't indicate that he was offended. He was okay with my reading of it. Probably because he knew I was right. And as weird as it sounds, I loved him for it.