The Colossus of Callum 04: Authorship (Patreon)

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Chapter 4: Authorship

For a whole week we didn't take a night off. I knelt for him every single night, at least one full worship session, sometimes two, praising that monster until he finished with a juicy load down my throat or across my face. He deserved every one. My knees kept their rug lines and my jaw stayed sore in a way I started to like, a dull ache that reminded me at work what I had been doing at home.

Every night started the same. He would already be on his cushion when I got in, sweats loose, glasses pushed up, that huge thing stirring against his thigh before I even dropped my bag.

"How was your day?" I asked.

"I'm knackered," he'd say, and the word always came out rounder than the rest of his sentences, a little leftover piece of his Scottish upbringing that only surfaced when he was tired or horny, and with me he was usually both. I'd kneel between his feet, drag his sweats down to his ankles, and we'd get to it. And he just watched me, mouth hanging open, like he was focusing on a video game.

He still pined for Samantha, except at some point he stopped using her name and started calling her "my crush." They got lunch sometimes, and he would come home happy about it, repeating some joke she made while he kicked his sweats off for me. She got the lunches and the focus of his daydreams, and I got to kneel on our rug every night with the biggest cock in Manhattan stretching my throat, and weirdly, that split felt right.

And through all of it, Callum hadn't changed one iota. He was still the same happy, lovelorn gooner he had always been, pushing his glasses up his nose, pining over his crush, just getting what he needed from me now instead of from a screen. I was the strange one. And I was the one who had changed. I had become a monster-cock-worshiping freak for him.

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At work the next day I couldn't focus, so I opened a notes app and started drafting a story on my phone. A shy hung roommate, a straight buddy who ends up on his knees. I put in real details: the remote standing up next to his cock, the white tennis shorts soaked see-through after a match. It took my whole lunch break and two bathroom trips to get it right. I made a throwaway account on the story site he liked to read on, and I posted it.

That night he was on his cushion as usual when I got home, sweats loose, glasses pushed up.

"Pull that site up," I said, and he knew exactly the site I meant. "See if any new story catches your eye."

He cast the new stories page to the big screen and barely scrolled before he stopped on mine. Of course he did. I had stuffed that title with his kink triggers, every word of it.

He squinted at the screen. "Worshiping My Roommate's Kingly Monster. Dude, this sounds good."

"Read."

His monotone carried him through the first paragraphs fine, a hung shy guy, a straight buddy, the stuff he had read a thousand times. He hit the remote comparison and stopped dead. He narrowed his eyes. 

He turned and stared at me with his mouth hanging open.

"Keep reading," I said, kneeling between his feet and dragging his sweats down to his ankles.

Comments were already stacking under the story, and the rating ticked up while I watched. I spat in my palm, stroked him in long pulls, and read strangers' worship out loud with the page up on the TV.

BigDLoverNYC: Is this a real story?

Hungry4Males: that cock deserves a throne

I worked back down onto him and destroyed my throat on that monster all over again. A week of nightly practice and it still wasn't used to this treatment. The stretch burned around the thickest part of him and I forced myself down anyway, deeper on every pass, until my nose pressed into his bush and my eyes flooded over. I came up gagging, spit stringing from my chin to his balls, and pushed right back down before I had caught my breath. He squirmed on his cushion, heels skidding on the rug, thighs clamping against my ears, fighting to hold himself still enough to keep reading off the big screen.

"'I knelt for him because a cock like his demands it,'" he read, and his voice cracked in the middle of the sentence. His hips bucked up and shoved him past my gag point, and I braced my hands on his thighs and took it.

I jerked him off, and his pre-cum ran over my knuckles faster than I could spread it. Every time the comment feed refreshed under the story, I felt that huge shaft jump in my fist before he even saw the new one. Porn was actors getting paid. These were strangers on their knees for him specifically, and they didn't even know it. I was leaking through my own shorts just from watching it work on him.

I pulled off to read the new ones out loud, stroking him in long spit-wet pulls while he panted above me.

CuriousStr8Guy: i'd trade places with this narrator in a heartbeat

MuscleNerd92: the remote detail is what sold me. authors don't make that up

"Hear that?" I said, hoarse. "Strangers are lining up for you, dude. The whole world wants a turn on the biggest cock in the land."

He whimpered and his knees knocked in against my shoulders. He had quit reading the story entirely. His eyes were locked on the comment count ticking up, his chest heaving under his shirt, his glasses fogged at the bottom edges, and I sucked the fat head while another comment slid in under the others.

WorshipfulBttm: that roommate's cock is a KING. i would kneel every single night and thank him after

His whole body seized. His stomach hollowed, his balls yanked up tight against him, and the base swelled hard against my fingers, throbbing out to that steel-hard size I knew meant I had two seconds before his load was erupting out of him. I clamped down at the root and squeezed until the pulse backed off, holding him there while he thrashed his head against the back cushion and whined at the ceiling.

"Almost," he panted. "I almost came. From a random internet comment."

"Those are the best kind," I said, and kissed the tip. "And they're right, too. You're royalty."

He looked down at me over the fogged glasses with his mouth hanging open, dazed, and on the screen behind me the rating ticked up again, and his cock throbbed in my fist, like it was communicating with me through muscle pulses and blood rushing in.

"Write a sequel," he said.

He was still panting, looking down at me over the fogged glasses, and I still had him clamped at the root, that monster throbbing against my fingers in time with his heartbeat.

"You want a chapter two?"

"Tonight. While they're still reading." He pointed at the TV, where the comment count ticked up again and a new one slid in under the rest.

WorshipfulBttm: please tell me there's a part 2

"Okay, author," I said, hoarse from him. "What happens in chapter two?"

He opened his mouth and nothing came out at first. He stared down at me for a second, and I could see him deciding whether he was allowed. He was.

"The roommate kisses it first," he said. "Down the whole shaft. Slowly. Like he's thanking it."

So that happened in chapter two. I pressed my lips against the fat head and kissed my way down the top of that monster an inch at a time, slowly, my fist still holding the base steady, and his stomach jumped under his shirt at every single one.

"And the balls," he said, bolder already. "He worships the balls too. He tells him they're perfect."

I dropped my face lower and took one of those kiwi fruits into my mouth, rolled it on my tongue, and said "perfect" into the other one. He whimpered above me and his knees drifted wider apart against my shoulders.

This was the first time he had made any attempt to run one of our nights. I had always set the pace, pushing him into new territory of indulgence, deciding when he got to finish, and now he was writing the script out loud. My own dick strained against my shorts, leaking through the fabric, and I ground the heel of my hand against it and kept my mouth exactly where the author wanted it.

"Chapter two," he said again, his voice steadied. "The roommate looks up at him the whole time."

I looked up at him. He stared back down over the glasses with his mouth hanging open, concentrating on me.

"And he says it's the best cock in the city."

"Best cock in the city," I repeated into the shaft, kissing back up toward the head. "Best cock in the country, if we're being honest with the readers."

"And then..." His breath hitched when my lips reached the ridge. "He swallows the whole thing. While the comments keep stacking up behind him."

"Bossy in chapter two," I said. "The readers are gonna love this guy."

"Shut up and swallow it," he said, and grinned at his own words, dark red down to his neck, proud of himself, the comment feed refreshing on the big screen behind my head.

A month of taking my instructions and he had finally found the nerve to give one back. I opened my throat and started on his sequel. I sank down slowly, letting the fat head stretch past the gag, and he groaned, tilting his head back. My nose ground into his bush, spit pooling around my fist, and the comment feed refreshed behind me.

He wasn't done authoring. I had made it two passes down his powerful meat, eyes already flooding, when he put a palm on my forehead and eased me up off of him.

"More chapters," he panted. "Chapter three. The roommate kisses his feet."

"Your feet?"

"Yeah. Feet."

I scooted back on the rug, pulled his sweats off over his ankles, and lifted one of his feet in both hands. He had tennis feet, long and bony with a tan line at the ankle, and I kissed the top of it, up the ridge of bone to the ankle, slowly, one kiss at a time.

"Even your feet are perfect," I said into his skin. "Royal feet. The kingdom should line up to kiss these too."

His toes curled in my hands and his cock jumped against his stomach, untouched, drooling pre-cum onto his shirt hem.

"Chapter four." His voice cracked in the middle of it. "He worships the chest."

He had the shirt off over his head before I even got up off my heels, which made me laugh, hoarse as I was. I knelt up tall between his spread thighs, braced one hand on the back cushion by his ear, and put my mouth on his chest. That monster stood up between us and pressed hot against my stomach while I sucked one nipple until it stiffened on my tongue, and he gasped like I had bitten him. I kept a loose fist around his shaft and felt his heart slamming under my lips.

"Your whole body is good, man," I said. "The cock gets the headlines, but the rest of you is perfect too."

And since I had him pinned under my mouth and leaking over my knuckles, I gave him lines the author never asked for.

"You're an amazing person. You know that? A genuinely good person. You make me better just by living with you. You're perfect, sexual dude, and I'm lucky I'm the one on the rug."

That sentence ended him. His stomach hollowed, his balls yanked up tight, and the base swelled steel-hard in my fist, and this time I didn't clamp down. I slid back down between his thighs and dropped my mouth over the fat head, and he erupted with a long helpless whine, pumping his load across my tongue in heavy pulses while his thighs shook against my arms, and the comment feed refreshed behind my head while no one looked at it. I was so worked up that I barely needed my own hand. I shoved my shorts down, stroked twice, and squirted onto the rug between his feet, groaning around the softening meat still resting in my mouth.

I let him go, wiped my chin with my wrist, and climbed up to kiss him on the cheek, both of us sweaty, his glasses fogged solid. He looked back up at the story, at all the likes and comments.

"End of book one," I said. "Goodnight, author."

"Best story ever," he said, and I walked to my bed with my throat wrecked and the rating still ticking up behind me.

I woke up to texts from him, as he apparently read the story again after I went to sleep.

Callum: It's so weird seeing our actual chats in a story

Callum: Turned me on a lot

Callum: It's so cool

Callum: I feel like a dumb kid

Callum: I'm smiling so hard right now

Callum: This makes me feel so VIP