The Nerdy Dildo (Patreon)

Hello again! Last commission for this month. Also, I'll have a question to ask for next month's polls. Expect another post later today or early tomorrow. Enjoy!

Preview:

Griffin's gaze slowly trails down his sworn nemesis' spine before finally landing on what makes this gremlin's existence tolerable. The universe gave June a lot of things, a mean streak, a mouth that could strip paint, but it also gave him an ass that would make ninety percent of women his age green with envy. It's a perfect, round, gravity-defying treasure that sits on the stool like it was poured there. The pleats of his little skirt ride up when he leans forward to order, exposing the delicate lace edge of a thong, black against white skin. The nerd's eyes lock on before his brain can stop them. His throat goes dry. The whole back of his neck gets hot as if someone pressed a warm beer bottle there.

There's a low, chewy silence between Griffin and Jason that's starting to stretch too long. Jason leans forward, half-slouched, nursing the tail end of his tirade about the rotting tuna sandwich. But he's not stupid, he catches the way his buddy goes still, the way his focus strips away from the table and slides toward the bar like it's being pulled on a leash. "Hey." Jason snaps his fingers once, close to Griffin's face. "Ground control to Maddison. Dude, you look like you just watched your own colonoscopy."

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Griffin's stomach drops six stories through the floor. His eyes go wide, and his face floods with heat, a deep, mortifying red that starts at his collar and crawls up his neck like a vine. His hands jerk off the table and into his lap, fingers knotting together. His head drops, chin practically hitting his chest. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit." The words spill out of him in a desperate, breathless whisper. He squeezes his eyes shut, and wills himself to be invisible, to sink through the cracked vinyl and into the sticky floor beneath the booth, as he feels June's gaze on him, a weight pressing against the top of his bowed head, and it makes every nerve in his body light up in a way that is equal parts terror and something else, something he refuses to name because naming it would make it real and real is the last thing he can handle right now.

He counts to three, opens his eyes, lifts his head just a fraction, just enough to peek over the rim of his glasses toward the bar, and sees the femboy smirking. It's not a nice smirk. It's the kind of smirk that knows things, the kind that has a filing cabinet in the back of its brain labeled "Griffin Maddison: Embarrassing Shit" and is currently rifling through it with glee. His full lips are curled at one corner, the nose ring catching the neon light, and one elegant hand is raised, fingers loose, waving at Griffin with a lazy, slow motion that says: I see you. I've always seen you. And you, Griffin Maddison, are not going anywhere.

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The young man tries to answer but only manages another broken sound. His glasses slip again, but he doesn't fix them. The world is a blur of white hair and pale skin and the wet fist pumping his thick cock. “Fuck, you really are built like a can. Ugly thick. No length to brag about but this girth is going to rearrange me if I actually sit on it.” He says, tone like a complaint and a promise at the same time. His own monster twitches hard enough that the thong finally gives up. The fat, uncut nine inches spill out, slapping against his smooth thigh, already three-quarters hard and still rising. The head is shiny, foreskin bunched behind the ridge, a slow bead of prenut gathering at the slit. There's a slight curve to the right to it. His balls hang smooth and tight underneath, shaved or naturally bare, heavy for his size.

Griffin makes a noise that is almost a whimper and June grins like he heard a compliment. He rolls the thong down and kicks it aside. He then steps in until their cocks almost touch. Griffin’s thick seven inch club standing straight and leaking, June’s longer, fatter, curved pipe rising toward it. The size difference is obscene in both directions. Height, frame, dick. None of it matches the power in the room.