Heavy is the Cock... - Part 3 (Patreon)

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Even though Arthur tried to remain optimistic about the unstoppable growth, the weeks that followed were some of the most difficult Arthur had ever lived through—not because anything catastrophic happened, but because every minute of every day felt like his body would burst with so much pressure building within. He could feel something stirring, throbbing, or straining at the slightest movement, every second of the day, and at some moments the sensations were unbearable.

His cock and balls were still growing, impossibly and relentlessly. His cock was over twenty‑eight inches, soft, and as thick as one of his thighs. His balls were round and overfilled, larger than basketballs, firm, hot, and sensitive to touch, gravity, and motion. Even something as simple as taking a step would make his whole bulge sway and bounce, often making him lose balance and moan at the worst moments.

But what made it worse wasn’t the size; it was the constant pressure in his balls and the heat on his cock. It was a deep, aching fullness that never entirely went away, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. Even when he wasn’t thinking about it—especially then—his body would remind him that something was happening.

Morning routines became battlegrounds. Even stepping out of bed meant bracing himself to avoid losing balance, because the moment his feet hit the floor, his balls would shift forward under their own weight, tugging at him, and making him gasp as the cum inside shifted like a wave moving from one side to the other. His cock would sway like a pendulum if soft, which wasn’t often, slapping softly against his thigh, or move across the room like a massive column of flesh that blocked his view of what was before him.

He had to move carefully through his room, and getting dressed took strategy. He had to lift and position everything carefully, test the stretch of his sweats or his altered jeans, and take small steps as he moved through the bedroom so nothing pulled too sharply. He groaned every other second whenever he felt his hands brushing his overinflated balls or flushed cock, or when the fabric snapped into place to keep everything under control. It was difficult, but even when he was ready, the day held no mercy.

At random moments—brushing his teeth, standing at the kitchen island pouring cereal, stepping outside, or getting into his car—he’d feel a sudden drop, a sloshing shift deep inside his swollen balls, as if the chambers within them were filling faster than they could settle. It wasn’t only the increasing weight; it was pressure, a dense heaviness that throbbed overwhelmingly.

The churning inside wasn’t subtle. It made Arthur’s breath unsteady, and he clenched his jaw, freezing on the spot as his balls felt ready to explode. Every time it happened, he’d brace a hand on the counter or doorframe, closing his eyes and struggling to survive this sensation, because the feeling was so urgent that for a split second he feared he might burst right there. His cock would stir and throb, no matter where he was, dangerously straining his pants.

The pressure at the construction site got brutal because his work consisted of lifting, hauling, bending, and constant motion. Arthur’s balls hung swollen and heavy, producing cum at such an intense rate that every change in posture made the internal load slosh and press outward, stretching him to his limits. When he bent to lift a beam, the mass pressed painfully between his thighs, making the pressure spike until he saw stars.

When he hoisted equipment onto his shoulder, the motion jolted his overworked balls, making them throb with a deep ache that nearly buckled his knees. His cock dragged heavily against the inside of his work pants with every movement—hypersensitive, thick, and constantly stirred—forcing him to swallow hard, grit his teeth, and pretend he was clearing his throat while fighting to keep his composure.

Evenings were worse. When Arthur tried to relax on the couch after work, his overly productive balls refused to let him settle. If he leaned back, the packed fullness shifted upward, crowding heavily against his pelvis. If he leaned forward, gravity dragged everything down, making his balls throb sharply as the internal pressure compressed. No matter the position, he ended up like a moaning mess who could barely think clearly.

Lying on his side was another struggle because he had to slide both hands beneath himself to lift and rearrange his cock and balls gently, lowering the weight into a supported position surrounded by pillows, like handling fragile, overfilled water balloons that could burst if he was not careful enough. Even then, he could feel the constant churn inside as his body produced more than it could comfortably contain.

At dinner, he tried to sit upright at the table, but with every forkful, the pressure climbed. His balls pressed against the seat, compressed between his thighs, and every tiny shift made them pulse with the strain of their nonstop production. He had to scoot forward, then back, and angle himself sideways, trying to relieve a little of the internal ache. His sons giggled, unaware of the turmoil their father fought in silence, thinking he was just being silly.

Even playing with his boys in the yard was both joy and torment. Thirteen-year-old Asher threw a baseball to his panting dad, trying to show off a little; eleven-year-old Aaron watched closely with a bat; and nine-year-old Adrian ran around the grass waiting for his turn to catch the ball. Meanwhile, Arthur struggled to get in position to teach them how to hit the ball with the bat, leaning forward and sticking his ass back, because the weight of the engorged bulge between his legs pulled him forward and strained his hips, making the swing almost impossible.

At this moment, the churning often accelerated as if his body interpreted the position as permission to produce even more cum, filling his balls alarmingly fast. He winced sharply, biting back a groan as a heat spread, and quickly reached for a lawn chair, easing his swollen bulge on it with both hands. He smiled for his boys, telling them he was fine. Asher teased him for being slow, Aaron smiled kindly at their dad, and Adrian climbed onto Arthur’s back without hesitation to hug him and help him calm down. Arthur smiled, waiting for the internal churning in his balls to fade to something bearable.

At night, the fullness became almost oppressive. Lying on his back, the weight of his balls rested between his spread legs, but he could feel every thick pulse of production inside them, like a wave pressing against too‑tight walls. Sometimes he heard his breath quicken involuntarily as the pressure became so dense it felt like his body was crowding him from the inside out. Even turning over meant managing the slosh, the shift, and the heaviness of a load constantly being replenished faster than he could relieve it.

At this point, Arthur knew there wasn’t a solution for his growth, but he had a scheduled check-up with the doctors coming, and he hoped they could help him with the never-ending pressure building in his balls. He arrived early at the clinic, grunting as he stepped out of his truck, already feeling the fullness inside his balls throb in response to the shift in gravity. The overfilled orbs hung heavy beneath him, packed so tightly he could feel the literal churn of pressure inside them. The moment his boots hit the pavement, the mass settled forward, pulling at him with a liquid weight that made him inhale sharply through his teeth.

He widened his stance without thinking. His legs spread automatically to give his balls the space they demanded. If he kept them too close together, the inner surfaces of his thighs would press into the orbs, squeezing that volatile fullness and sending an immediate ache through his core. Having his feet so far apart made his walking a side‑to‑side sway that made his cock swing heavily between his legs, brushing against the fabric with a dragging friction that made him gasp every other step.

He angled his hips slightly forward, inevitably pushing the bulge more prominently in front of him—out of necessity to balance his body rather than confidence. Leaning back even a hair meant the massive pull of his balls would drag downward, stretching sensitive skin and making the pressure spike painfully. But leaning too far forward made his heavy cock angle to an uncomfortable position, bouncing and stirring each time his steps hit the ground.

The sight was dramatic and captivating, accentuated by the fact that every step made a sound. It wasn’t loud, but definitely unavoidable: the scrape of fabric struggling around too much mass, the soft thump of his balls shifting in their supportive pouch, the thick pull of his cock brushing against the reinforced panel of his underwear, and his breathing that came out as pants and gasps every time the weight dragged a little too sharply or the internal pressure in his balls intensified.

Sometimes, despite the pouch, his balls swung forward just enough to bump against objects. The impact was often soft, but it sent a shiver down his spine. Arthur would stiffen his back instantly, sucking in a breath, and closing his eyes for a fraction of a second as he tried to will the pressure down.

Crossing the parking lot meant navigating obstacles that anyone else would ignore. He misjudged the space between cars, and his cock brushed lightly against a fender, but even that faint contact made him wince and adjust himself carefully when the shaft throbbed, blushing as he checked that no one had noticed how something so simple triggered such a reaction. Then, he found a small step and grunted as he stepped up onto it because the motion forced everything to shift downward, and the sudden drop of weight made him groan.

By the time he reached the clinic doors, he was sweating, not from heat or exhaustion, but from the overwhelming pressure building in his body. He wanted to sit and catch his breath before the appointment, but the chairs were too narrow, not leaving enough space for his balls to fit between his thighs, so he had to stay on his feet while everybody stared at him.

His doctor greeted him gently in his office a while later, momentarily shocked to see his patient slightly bigger than last time. No matter how many times the doctor saw Arthur, there was always something that caught him off guard. “Arthur, please take a seat. So, you’ve been experiencing increased pressure in your testicles? That’s what you said on the phone, right?”

Arthur chuckled, sinking into a reinforced chair a nurse had brought into the office, specifically for him. “Pressure’s one word for it,” he said, shifting again. “It’s like carrying two overloaded boilers. And they’re always running hot. Always ready to… I don’t know… overflow. I can’t ignore it. And the more I try? The worse it gets.”

The doctor nodded, scribbling notes. “Describe the sensation.”

Arthur took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Heavy. Tight. Constant. Sometimes it’s like my balls are churning. They feel like they’re pulsing from the inside. And my cock reacts right away. Even at the worst times. Dinner. Work. Playing with my boys.”

The doctor nodded and immediately asked Arthur to lower his pants and get on the examination table to check the overfilled orbs and see if something new had developed. The sweatpants and underwear slid down his hips, and the weight of his balls shifted forward with an almost liquid thump that made Arthur grunt softly. The doctor’s eyes widened briefly, and he began palpating the thick base of the scrotum and finally the heavy, swollen balls themselves.

His hands moved slowly and carefully, pressing his fingers into the warm flesh to assess firmness and internal tension. Each ball was plump, tight, and clearly filling from within; the doctor could feel the subtle internal churn beneath the surface, like a balloon slowly over‑pressurizing. Even the lightest touch sent shivers up Arthur’s spine as his breathing shortened visibly, wincing each time the doctor applied pressure.

“Everything is functioning as it should,” the doctor whispered. “There’s no visible inflammation of tissue. But I can tell the pressure buildup is considerable. In an average man, spermatic production is steady and manageable. But in your case, your testes are operating at a drastically accelerated rate. They’re producing seminal volume far beyond normal physiological limits—enough that the internal chambers are constantly filling, stretching, and refilling. The pressure you feel is the direct result of that overflow. Your body is generating too much for it to store comfortably.”

Arthur swallowed. “So what do I do?”

The doctor took a breath and looked firmly into Arthur’s eyes. “Given the strain and the risk of long‑term vascular complications, I recommend scheduled decompression protocols.”

Arthur blinked. “Meaning…?”

“We need to regularly draw the excess… cum. Considering how much you’re producing, it must be daily, and preferably here in the clinic. We’ll make it safe for you. It’s not ideal. But medically necessary,” the doctor said, dead serious.

Arthur’s face flushed hot. “So, you’d make me cum? You want me to come to the clinic and make me cum?” His ears burned, and the doctor blushed, nodding at Arthur’s question. “Okay. I guess I don’t have many options. If that’s what it takes, I’ll do it.” He signed the consent forms with slightly trembling hands.

They started with the decompression protocols immediately, clinical, regimented, and designed to manage pressure safely. Every morning, Arthur came in, and the doctor guided him through the procedure. Arthur would remove his pants and underwear and lie on an examination table, with his legs spread and his cock and balls on display for the doctor.

The doctor started with his gloved hands, slowly stroking along Arthur’s thick shaft to encourage flow and stimulate the hyper‑sensitive skin. It was a careful process as Arthur groaned and moaned at the sensation. When the pressure inside his swollen balls refused to respond to manual stimulation alone, the doctor used some medical instruments to tease the base or the tip of the cock, helping guide the buildup cum-load toward the exit.

At times, the doctor had to cradle each massive testicle with both hands, gently squeezing and lifting to relieve internal strain, assessing the firmness and pressure before signaling Arthur to take deep breaths. Even through the clinical focus, Arthur sometimes let slip low groans and moans, enjoying the touch as the doctor worked. The doctor only chuckled and continued, aware of how sensitive the area was.

Arthur tried to act casual throughout the whole process, often joking to ease the awkwardness of the moment. “I guess I’m basically a cow getting milked every morning. The only difference here is that this is not the usual setup. You’re milking something else, and I shoot a lot more cream than cows,” he said, closing his eyes in bliss as pre-cum escaped his slit, and the doctor only chuckled.

When Arthur’s cock finally exploded, the release was always immense—thick, heavy, and far too much for standard methods. The doctor had containers prepared to catch the creamy cum and prevent flooding the room. Arthur’s whole body shook, and a loud moan escaped his lips with the intensity of decompression as the unbearable fullness finally ebbed.

Over the days, his embarrassment faded. It became routine, a necessary piece of managing his condition. The doctor remained professional, but Arthur couldn’t help noticing the involuntary gasps the doctor let out as he worked, seemingly enjoying the moment when Arthur shot his gigantic load.

The mornings were delightful and helped him feel better, but even with regular decompression, daily life was still a challenge. Even the largest pants he could find couldn’t hide the massive bulge at his front. Sometimes, the pressure built faster than he expected—especially when bending, lifting, or walking long distances.

One evening at the grocery store, while waiting in line to pay for some snacks for his sons on his way home after work, he felt a sudden warmth bloom inside his pants and underwear—so sudden and so hot it made him gasp loudly. It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t mild. It was a rush from deep within his overworked, overfilled balls. He felt the unmistakable sensation of his body producing far more cum than he could safely contain, even though he had gone to have his decompression earlier that morning.

He froze as the pressure increased, his balls tightened, churned, and pushed their heavy load upward. His cock responded instantly, throbbing with such force that he couldn’t hide as the tip leaked uncontrollably. The wet warmth spread fast, soaking into fabric and making him pant. He looked down in time to see the massive spot blooming across his pants—a dark patch that widened by the second, far too large to be mistaken for anything innocent. It stretched downward and outward, and the fabric darkened in an oval that no one could miss.

Arthur panicked, and his heart pounded hard in his chest. He abandoned his cart and hurried to the nearest restroom, moving awkwardly as the massive, soaked bulge dragged heavily inside his pants. His balls sloshed with every step as the thick weight shifted inside them with an almost audible churn. His cock bounced once, twice, painfully sensitive inside the wet fabric, and he hissed through his teeth as he stumbled into the restroom.

Inside, he fumbled with the waistband and lowered his pants with shaky hands. The sight nearly made his knees buckle. His balls looked ready to burst—plump, round, and flushed a deep pink. Veins stood out along their surface, pulsing with the pressure of how rapidly they were filling. The skin stretched tight and smooth, trembling faintly with each internal throb. He could feel the weight of them pulling downward, dragging on his pelvis so heavily that the pull bordered on pain.

His cock hung heavy above them, stiffened by sensitivity alone, and the tip still leaked. Even soft, it twitched, reacting to the pressure below. Each drip from the tip hit the tiled floor with a sticky pat, echoing louder in the small room than it should have. He braced a hand against the wall, groaning under his breath.

“Dammit… not now…” he said, heavily panting. He cursed again, louder this time, unsure how to manage it—unsure how much longer he had before that internal pressure forced his body to react even more dramatically.

Then, he heard a soft knock, and the door slowly opened. A store clerk froze in place. The young man was tall, broad-shouldered, and striking in a way that made the moment feel almost surreal. He seemed to be in his mid‑twenties, with blond hair that curled softly at the ends and a face that looked handsome and disarmingly cute. His features were boyish, accentuating his beautiful blue eyes that widened in shock.

His build was solid but invitingly plush in places. He had a broad chest, with pecs slightly softened at the edges and a subtle curve at his middle, giving him a huggable look. His hips were full enough to strain his uniform slacks, and when he shifted in shock at the sight before him, Arthur noticed the round curve of his ass—perfectly shaped, high, and soft‑looking even through the fabric, like two inviting spheres that needed attention.

The guy stood there, blinking, shocked to say the least. “Sir—are you alright?” he asked, low and unexpectedly gentle.

Arthur tried to adjust himself, mortified, uselessly trying to pull his soaked pants up, but they were too wet and too tight to fit. “Yeah. I just had an accident,” he said as he tried and failed again to lift the fabric over the swollen, leaking mass. “It’s a long story, but… I’m really sorry about this. I didn’t mean to make a scene or something.”

The clerk stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. Up close, his expression softened even more. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he whispered, watching Arthur struggle. “Do you need help? Or—can you tell me what’s going on?”

Arthur exhaled hard through his nose, blushing furiously. He had no choice. Between ragged breaths and the humiliating drip hitting the tile between them, he explained how his balls produced too much cum and he needed to cum constantly. “It’s never happened at a moment like this, but I can’t control it.”

The clerk blinked, then let out a sympathetic laugh. “It happens. All men produce cum constantly, right?” he said with a shrug, briefly looking downward and back up. “Only in your case it’s, uh… a lot more dramatic.”

Arthur’s face turned red, and he felt a thick glob of pre-cum leaking out of his slit as if to make a point before the young man. “Dramatic is an understatement. But I promise I’ll clean this place once I get this under control.”

The clerk smiled and stepped closer. “It’s okay. You don’t need to worry about that. But… Is there anything I can do to help?”

“There’s only one way to fix this, and it’s making me cum,” Arthur explained, looking down at his massive cock. “If you’re willing to do that, go ahead,” he said, joking, expecting the guy to step back and run away in fear and disgust.

The clerk blinked, processing the information, then nodded and smirked. “I’ll help,” he said softly, leaving Arthur speechless at the reaction as his cock stirred.

...

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