Heavy is the Cock... - Part 6 (Patreon)

Patreon Exclusive

On the exact date that marked 2 full years since the mistake that had started everything, things took an awful but inevitable turn. Arthur noticed something was wrong when his wife suggested taking the boys to her sister’s place for the weekend. It seemed regular enough because it was something she did now and then. The kids were excited about seeing their cousins, and Arthur only waved them off from the porch, promising to call them later that night.

What changed everything was the text message that arrived right after sunset. Arthur was sitting on the edge of the couch, completely naked, while staring at the puddle of precum that had formed over the last few minutes beneath the head of his cock. His phone buzzed, and at first, he assumed it was one of the boys sending a photo or a joke. Instead, the message came from his wife—long, calm, and painfully clear.

“Arthur, I’m going to say this as calmly and clearly as I can. I’m not coming back home. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and I don’t think our life together works anymore. The house hasn’t felt stable in a while, and the boys feel it too, even if they try to hide it. I know none of what’s happening to you is something you chose, and I’m not angry with you for it. But the truth is, everything has changed so much that I don’t know how to live inside it anymore.

We’re staying with my sister for now. The kids have more space here, and that’s what they need right now. I don’t want this to turn into a fight or a long argument. I need you to understand that I’ve made this decision after thinking about it for months.

You’re still their father, and I won’t keep you from talking to them. They love you, and I know you love them more than anything. But for now, I think it’s better if we live separately and figure out what comes next from there.

I’m sorry it had to happen this way.”

Arthur read the message three times. At first, he felt the instinct to argue. His fingers moved over the screen as if a reply might somehow pull everything back together. But the longer he stared at the words, the more he understood that she had already made up her mind. The worst part was that he couldn’t blame her. His life had become strange, unpredictable, and increasingly difficult to manage. Even he didn’t know what the future looked like anymore.

He set the phone down beside him and leaned forward, looking down at the massive bulge between his legs and the precum still leaking from his slit. For a long time, he only sat there in silence, feeling his cock and balls pulsating on their own, almost as if reminding him that they had taken over his whole life entirely. The heat coming from his skin and the sensation of blood rushing through his shaft felt overwhelming at that moment.

There was heartbreak, but there was also something else he hadn’t expected: an odd sense of relief. It wasn’t relief about losing his family, but relief from the constant fear that something might happen in front of the kids and relief from the tension that had filled every hallway and room for months. He realized that carrying his strange crown might mean carrying it alone, so he could protect the ones he loved the most.

Without thinking about it, he reached forward and softly moved his hand over the vast surface of his cock, feeling the veins that were now thicker than his forearms. Many thoughts crossed his mind, but more than anything, he wondered if the growth would ever stop. It was scary, but deep down, a part of him was okay if it didn’t.

Two days later, a moving truck arrived. The men were polite and efficient, carrying out boxes of clothes, books, toys, and small pieces of furniture. Arthur stayed mostly out of their way, answering questions when needed and signing paperwork at the kitchen counter.

It was impossible not to notice how the men looked at his massive bulge. The stares lasted a little longer than they should’ve, and despite Arthur’s most logical side, he couldn’t help but feel proud of the open admiration. For a while, he tried to act casual throughout the whole situation, but the more the men looked at him, the less he cared about hiding himself. That day, he felt something changing in his mind despite the complex circumstances.

Being away from his kids hurt Arthur more than anyone could imagine, but he still spoke with them every day, so video calls became part of this routine. Adrian talked the most, bouncing in front of the camera while telling long stories about school and cousins. Aaron often showed Arthur the sketches he had been working on. And Asher leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed, trying to act tough even though it was obvious he hated the situation.

Arthur reassured them every time, telling them that everything would be okay. He told them they would still see each other soon. But after the call ended and Arthur was left alone again with his massive cock and balls, he could only sigh and remind himself that things weren’t as simple anymore as long as the growth continued.

Being alone changed the rhythm of Arthur’s days in almost every aspect. Without the boys or his wife around, he no longer had to move so carefully through the rooms or worry about someone walking in unexpectedly. For the first time in a long while, he could experiment with what felt comfortable and what didn’t, and he quickly learned that clothing had become one of the biggest daily challenges.

Some mornings, he tried wearing the massive custom jockstrap he had ordered months earlier. Arthur would stand beside the bed, bracing one hand on the mattress while he slowly worked the thick straps up into place. The thing looked ridiculous when it was lying on the dresser—more like a piece of sports equipment than clothing—but even that oversized design had started to feel tight. Pulling it on required patience as he had to adjust, pause, breathe, and try again until everything settled where it was supposed to.

Once the jockstrap was on, he understood why he kept using it. The support made a difference. The weight he carried felt slightly more manageable, less like everything was constantly pulling downward. On days when he needed to move around the house more—cleaning the kitchen, carrying laundry, fixing something in the garage—the extra support helped him stay balanced.

But the downside always appeared after a few hours. The tight fabric began to press too much, and the constant tension slowly turned into irritation. Arthur would eventually stand in the hallway, tugging at the waistband with a tired groan, telling himself about how even custom clothing couldn’t keep up anymore. And the worst part was feeling the fabric getting damp and sticky when precum leaked out of his slit unstoppably.

Other days, he gave up on clothes entirely. When he stayed home with the curtains drawn and the doors locked, it was easier not to fight with fabric at all. Moving through the house without anything on felt strange at first, but it was undeniably less restrictive. The trade‑off was that he had to be much more careful with how he moved and had to clean more often as his cock left a trail of precum all along.

Without support, his massive balls and cock made every step slower and more difficult. When he walked from the bedroom to the kitchen, he kept one hand against the wall or the back of a chair, steadying himself as he went. Turning corners too quickly or stepping over something on the floor could throw his balance off, so he had learned to take things at an easy pace.

Even simple things like making coffee became small balancing acts. Arthur would shuffle across the kitchen tiles, fill the kettle, and lean against the counter while it heated, adjusting his stance every few minutes to stay comfortable. Occasionally, he laughed at the absurdity of it all. Two years earlier, he had spent his days climbing scaffolding and hauling lumber at construction sites. Now he was carefully navigating his living room as if it were an obstacle course.

He slowly had to adapt the house to his new proportions. He moved chairs aside and pushed the tables against the walls to create wider paths between bedrooms. The open space helped, but the weight and shifting balance of his body still demanded attention every time he walked from one room to another. Some days, the jockstrap felt like a necessary piece of equipment. Other days, it felt like a trap, and Arthur would remove it in frustration before noon and toss it onto the dresser.

Showers and baths became long rituals. With nowhere he needed to be and no one waiting for the bathroom, Arthur often treated the whole thing almost like a slow routine he worked through step by step. Most days, he preferred the tub. He would turn the faucet on and let the water run for a while, leaning against the counter as steam slowly filled the room. The sound of the water hitting the porcelain was strangely calming.

Getting in took patience. Arthur would sit on the edge first, and then ease the rest of his body into the warm water a little at a time. The tub creaked softly as his cock and balls slowly slid inside, and once he was settled, he usually let out a long breath without even realizing it. The warmth helped as muscles that had been tense all morning slowly loosened, and the constant pulling strain through his back and hips softened just enough to make him sink deeper.

From there, the process took time. There was too much of him to take care of, and he had learned not to rush it. He kept a couple of washcloths, a soft sponge, and a bottle of soap within reach and worked patiently—rinsing, washing, and rinsing again. Cleaning his cock and balls required so much effort, not because it hurt but because of how much space and weight he had to manage at once while trying not to overstimulate the area.

Arthur usually started by letting the warm water do some of the work first, shifting slightly so the flow ran over that area and loosened everything up. The heat helped the skin relax and made everything easier to handle. Then he’d take a cloth and work slowly, using both hands to cover more surface. Still, he had to treat everything in separate sections instead of one single area because there was too much. He’d clean one part, rinse it thoroughly, then move on to the next, making sure nothing was missed.

He paid attention to folds of skin where water didn’t naturally reach and places that could stink if not cleaned properly. Occasionally, he switched to the sponge for broader passes, using the cloth for more careful spots where he needed control. He tried to be as careful as possible, but even then, just the simple action of moving his hand across the veins along his shaft made him wince and pant.

Arthur had to lean forward to reach certain areas, forcing him to brace himself with one arm against the tub’s edge and use the other to reach the foreskin and the head of his cock. Other times, he shifted his legs apart and let the water carry some of the weight so he didn’t have to hold everything up himself. He’d lift and reposition carefully when needed, always mindful of balance, taking a second before moving again so nothing pulled too suddenly.

He learned little tricks over time—angles that made things easier, positions that reduced strain on his back and arms, and ways to let gravity and the water help the work instead of fighting it. Even then, it still took effort. He’d pause every few minutes, take a breath, let the water settle things before continuing, sometimes resting his forearms on the edge of the tub while he waited for his cock to soften before sensations escalated.

Rinsing required the same level of effort. He’d cup water with his hands or tilt his body slightly to let the stream run through everything again, making sure nothing was left behind. It was repetitive, but necessary. What used to take a few minutes now took a long while, and he had come to accept that as part of his routine.

Some days, he stayed in the tub for an hour or more, topping the water up once it cooled, taking his time with the process until he felt properly clean and the stiffness in his body had faded a little. The water would eventually turn white with a mix of soap and precum that flowed constantly during the bath, making everything even more complicated.

By the time he finally stood up and reached for a towel, something deep inside him had stirred. Arthur usually stepped out slowly, steadying himself on the wall before drying off and heading back into his bedroom. But then he would have to deal with the consequences of too much touch for such a long time. It was annoying, but he slowly got used to having to bust a nut right after the bath because by that point his balls would feel ready to burst.

It was his life now, and Arthur could only embrace the changes one day at a time.

About a month after his wife left, Arthur returned to the doctor for one of his regular appointments. The routine was already familiar—measurements, scans, and careful observations. The doctor and nurses moved with professionalism, though Arthur still caught the occasional look of disbelief when new data appeared on the screens.

When the examinations were finished, the doctor sat down across from him and asked a simple question. “How are you holding up?”

Arthur shrugged. “Honestly? Not great,” he admitted. “I lost my job a while back. My wife took the kids, and they’re staying with her sister for now.” He sighed and looked down at his bulge. “Most days, I just stay home. Getting around outside has gotten complicated.”

The doctor listened carefully before nodding. “I expected something like this might happen,” he admitted. “Which is why I’ve been preparing another option for you.” The doctor leaned back slightly and folded his hands. “Arthur, your case has been getting a lot of attention,” he said. “Not the tabloid kind, don’t worry. Scientific attention. A few research groups and private medical organizations have been studying the data from your appointments.”

Arthur frowned a little. “Studying me how?”

“Mostly the records,” the doctor replied calmly. “Your scans, measurements, blood work, and all related information are being studied.” What’s happening with your body is something medicine hasn’t really seen before. For that reason, the information from your case has already helped researchers learn things about human physiology that they didn’t understand before.”

Arthur didn’t look too pleased knowing that they were studying him, but at this point, he couldn’t be surprised about that. “Okay, that’s weird, but I guess it makes sense.”

The doctor nodded. “Because of that interest, some of those research institutions want to support continued observation of your condition. What they’re proposing is pretty straightforward. You keep coming in for regular evaluations like you already do. We document the progression, run the same tests, and keep the records updated.”

Arthur looked up. “And what do they get out of that?”

“Better understanding,” the doctor said. “Better data. Your case could help explain things about the human body that doctors have been guessing about for decades.”

Arthur leaned back in the chair. “Alright, but what do I get out of it?”

“Financial support,” the doctor answered. “These organizations would fund a long‑term program that covers your living expenses. Housing, medical care, basic income. Think of it as a research support stipend. You collaborate with the ongoing monitoring, and they ensure your financial well-being.

Arthur frowned at first. “You’re saying I’d basically get paid for existing?”

“In a sense,” the doctor replied. “For cooperating with ongoing research. It’s voluntary, but it would guarantee financial stability for you.”

Arthur sat quietly for a while after that. The idea of depending on something like that felt strange, almost embarrassing. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn’t have many alternatives.

Eventually, he nodded. “Alright,” Arthur said. “If it helps somebody learn something useful out of all this, I guess that’s something.”

His routine continued after that, but with a different feeling because every financial concern he still had suddenly disappeared. The fact that he didn’t have a job wasn’t an issue anymore, and his guilt for not being able to support his kids as he should also faded. And the best part of it all was that the only thing he had to do was exist and let the doctors keep track of how much his cock and balls grew each week.

Considering his days were slower, Arthur stopped by the grocery store more often, partly for supplies and partly because it was one of the few places where he still had regular conversation with another adult. Lance, the clerk who had gotten used to Arthur’s unusual situation over the past months, greeted him eagerly whenever he came in.

However, as the months passed, Arthur spent more and more time at home, adjusting the space around him to match the needs of his changing body, so things started to change again. By the fourth month of living alone, leaving the house had become difficult enough that he finally asked Lance if he would mind bringing groceries by instead.

The first time Lance arrived, he stood in the doorway for a moment longer than expected, looking at a more relaxed Arthur, who was only wearing a t-shirt and the massive jockstrap, which was barely holding on.

Lance looked a little different than when Arthur first met him. After many secret encounters in the store’s bathroom, the young man’s body had changed a bit. His T-shirt stretched around his middle, and beneath the fabric his belly pushed forward in a solid curve that moved subtly when he shifted his weight. After months of drinking Arthur’s cum, the abdomen never went back to normal. It gave him a softer look than before, though the grin on his face was the same, showing open excitement.

“Well,” Lance said, lifting the grocery bags with a small shrug, “guess delivery service is part of the job now.”

Arthur chuckled and stepped aside to let him in, even though his bulge didn’t leave a lot of space available. “You have no idea how much easier you just made my day.”

They carried the groceries into the kitchen together. Lance set the bags on the counter and started pulling them out one by one while Arthur leaned nearby, guiding him where everything went. Lance’s presence there felt so normal that it scared Arthur a bit.

“Man, this place is quiet,” Lance said after a moment, looking around.

“Yeah,” Arthur replied. “You get used to it, eventually.”

They finished putting the groceries away and wandered back into the living room, talking about small things—what had been happening at the store, the strange customers Lance dealt with, and how Arthur had been adjusting to living alone.

All along, Lance noticed Arthur repeatedly reaching lower to tug at the waistband of his jockstrap or softly caress his bulge in clear discomfort.

“Are you okay?” Lance asked, standing right before Arthur.

Arthur shrugged slightly. “I’m okay,” he said slowly. “It’s only that this thing has been getting too tight on me,” he added, gesturing to the jockstrap. “I guess I need to order a new one. If that even exists.”

Lance laughed, slowly reaching forward to caress Arthur’s bulge. “Well, I don’t see the point in wearing it when you’re home,” he said, smirking. “It’s not like I haven’t seen everything that you’ve got inside it.” He winked playfully as Arthur’s bulge suddenly throbbed. “You seem pent up. I’ve learned to read the signs. And I might have an idea if you’re up for some fun.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “That sounds suspicious already.”

“Relax,” Lance laughed. “Just trust me. Take the jockstrap off and show me where the bathroom is. I’ll do the rest as always,” he said, patting his rounded middle.

...

********

[Previous] | [●] | [Next]