Jack-ing off

Jack jogged in place and shadow boxed, trying to keep his heart rate up. He was a personal trainer. Any time he was bored, he defaulted to one of two activities. Exercise was one of them. The other probably wasn’t strictly appropriate given the circumstances. But he was very bored, so his resolve was weakening bit by bit.

When he’d agreed to help his friend Andy out by house sitting for him, it had seemed like a simple enough ask. Andy did a lot of globe trotting. He was a fairly successful businessman AND a fairly successful bodybuilder, both of which called him out of town with some regularity. And from his visits, he knew that Andy’s place was pretty interesting. He collected all sorts of tchotchkes from around the globe, and every time Jack visited he wished he had more time to check them out. But now that he’d been here for a full day and was looking at at least one more day, he’d already worked his way through glancing over all of the conversation pieces, and though there were plenty of other curiosities scattered about, they weren’t exactly obvious in their precise exotic nature. Without Andy here to explain them, they may as well be a stack of old magazines. Thus, he ran out of things to do in a hurry, and spent his time working out and trying desperately to avoid “Plan B” out of respect for his friend’s home.

Because Plan B was jerking off.

He stopped jogging in place and grabbed his jump rope to burn off some of the energy and occupy himself. But he was very fit. It took a ton of high-energy exercise to really focus him. And right now, nothing seemed to cut it. He jumped rope as vigorously as he could, but it was increasingly clear that the only muscle that really wanted to be worked right now was the one between his legs. Finally, all of the rattling and shaking of his jumping rope knocked open a bedside cabinet. The contents of the cabinet spilled out.

Jack stooped to collect and stow the things, but he paused. The collection of things consisted of a pile of magazines with men not-unlike Jack on the cover. Fit, lean, young. And most of them weren’t wearing anything but a smile.

“Porno mags,” he said, oddly delighted. “Do they still make these? I figured the internet would have killed them.”

He flipped through the top one. Jack was straight, but not narrow. True, he preferred ladies, but a dick was a dick. And lips were lips. And seeing the sort of acts on display, it didn’t take a gifted imagination to conjure up how good it would feel to be on the receiving end of some of the acts being played out between the men splaying across the pages. A judicious amount of mental editing was all it took for him to finally decide that, friend’s house or no, he now had to take care of the bulge in his shorts before it drove him insane. As luck would have it, the other items that had spilled from the cabinet were a bunch of medium size squeeze bottles and a box of rubber gloves. The bottles were labeled in an exotic language Jack couldn’t identify, but the first one he grabbed had a few words jotted onto them in Andy’s handwriting. The black sharpie spelled out the words “Special Lube.” The word special was underlined twice.

Jack briefly grappled with his better instincts, but shrugged. “Eh, in for a penny, in for a pound. He won’t miss a few squirts of his special reserve.”

For the sake of cleanliness, he decided to take the whole endeavor into the bathroom. He propped one of the magazines up on the mirror, stripped, and slid into the tub. With his eyes fixed on the pair of muscular specimens on the page, he squirted a palmful of the lube and started to work his shaft.

“Oh… Oh man… I’m gonna have to figure out where he gets this stuff,” Jack purred, speeding up his stroking.

It was lube, so its main purpose was clearly to calibrate friction. And it did so beautifully. Slippery, but not so slippery that it robbed him of all friction, he found the oily stuff made each stroke smooth and comfortable. Like a piston sliding in a well-maintained engine. But that wasn’t the half of it. As he worked himself, and the temperature started to rise, the sensitivity seemed to ratchet up as well. He usually tried to take it a little easy whenever he rubbed one out. He wasn’t a hormonal teen. This wasn’t like a steam valve that had to be vented to avoid detonation. Taking his time and easing into it always felt better in the long run. But as he worked himself, giving a firm twist with each gliding stroke, he found himself slipping from horny to throbbing and ready to blow in record time. Presented with the option of backing off and letting the temperature drop or powering through and getting past the finish line, he decided just this once he’d go for efficiency rather than intensity. He tightened his grip, sped his strokes, and shut his eyes to let his brain sculpt the imagery into something more precisely aligned with his tastes.

When he came, he grunted like he’d been punched in the gut. Even without the slow buildup and solo-foreplay, the orgasm physically shook him with its intensity. Bolts of raw pleasure surged through him in waves, hot jets spraying onto his thighs and running over his knuckles as he squeezed his grip tight and rode the climax. He was more out of breath after the orgasm than he had been after the workout. But that wasn’t the most remarkable thing. The title of “craziest realization” was a tie between the strange, full-body relaxation he felt in the aftermath of the insane orgasm, and the discovery that even though he’d just blown his load… he was still stiff as a board and ready for round two. Rather than question it, he started sliding his grip up and down his still-throbbing shaft.

As he worked himself, he slid a little more limply into the tub, letting his rippling and toned back slump against the cool porcelain. Sliding his head down meant sliding his feet up, so he rested his heels on the edge of the tub, above the level of the rest of his reclined body. He craned his chin a bit to refresh his mental imagery from the pages of the propped up magazine. This time, having already gotten what he was after, he wasn’t worried about taking his time. Now it was as much fascination as pleasure. Just how quickly could he climax again with this special lube. The answer was very quickly. Almost before he’d really worked into a good rhythm, he shook and huffed, spurting another load. And still he remained erect. The pleasure was just as potent, if not moreso, than the first time he came. And the feeling of deep, blissful relaxation came over him in a fresh wave. If he wasn’t so fixated on starting up round three, he might have noticed that his legs now felt the same coolness of the tub as his back, despite the fact they would have had to curve with the wall of the tub to do so. His arm felt weirdly heavy as well. But a little bit of focus and a good tight grip had him spraying a third load all over his chest.

Now, with half-lidded eyes and a hazy sleepiness slipping over him, he finally assessed what had become of him. The glaze of cum on his chest couldn’t explain the general sheen that had spread across his entire chest. And the definition of his abs and pecs, things he prided himself on, had faded into what looked more like painted-on lines. His legs had sure enough slumped against the curve of the tub, feet flopping limply over the edge like wet laundry. His head was only propped up because it was resting against the curve of the tub as well. He’d been reduced to maybe a half-inch thick, utterly boneless and soft… except for one part.

His dick was still rock-hard.

As he watched it bob and jump, still involuntarily convulsing from the last climax, he decided he didn’t care why or how this had happened. Clearly there was something extra special about that lube. And he felt good. If three orgasms had left him feeling so fuzzy and warm and relaxed… just imagine what four could do. Calling upon the same reserves of focus and dedication that kept him in the gym every day, he fought some strength into his floppy fingers, wrapped them around the dick, and started to pump again. If not for the gorgeous sensitivity the lube gave him, he probably would have taken a while to get off. It felt like he was being jerked off by one of those rubber sheets used to open jars. It made for a slow, steady build. And boy did it pay off. When he came again, it was mind bending. Literally. His body spurted another three eighths of an inch of depth out of him, causing his head, which was now a veritable decal, to flop forward. His body curled and flopped a bit, crumpling ever-so-slightly like a used up tube of toothpaste.

With that, he found himself completely used up, laying like a slightly rumpled, discarded towel. It was comfortable. Restful. He probably would have dozed right off… except unlike the rest of him, his dick still hadn’t softened. He really didn’t know what would happen if he jerked off again, but it also didn’t matter. He was completely limp now. Unable to do anything but twitch and quiver, his dick waving like a proud little flag pole atop his posterized form.

~~~

Andy hurried toward his front door. He’d managed to get an earlier flight, and thus was home a full day early. Normally he wouldn’t have been in such a hurry to get home. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his house, but it was nice to take his time, particularly after such a long trip. But he’d gotten a notification from his security system that one of his… personal cabinets had been opened, and he’d popped up the video feed from the security camera. So he knew that right now there was a present waiting for him in his bathroom.

The burly bodybuilder threw open the door and tossed down his bag. Once he was satisfied everything was locked up behind him and he wouldn’t be getting any unexpected visitors, he hurried to his bathroom and peered into the tub. He grinned wide. There he was. Jack. Even though he was barely an eighth of an inch thick, the flattening process had preserved all of the details of his gorgeously sculpted and fit body in a form closer to something that would come out of a printing press than a gymnasium.

He pinched the folded over head and raised Jack’s crumpled body from the tub. He could tell the flattening was fresh, not just because there was a lingering blush in Jack’s 2D cheeks, but because the warm seed was still wet and dripping.

“And here I was thinking I’d have a hard time getting someone to try that lube,” Andy said.

He turned the faucet on and let the tub start to fill with warm water, then lowered Jack into it to rinse off the residue of his early playtime. While Jack was “freshening up,” Andy took a moment to strip down. Because one thing was for sure. He wasn’t going to let the opportunity of having some fresh meat like Jack at his fingertips pass by. When he was satisfied his plaything was nice and clean, he pulled Jack out of the water and let the tub drain. As the water swirled down, Andy rubbed the flattened midriff against his face, delighting in the smoothness and the warmth, as well as the fact Jack was so thin Andy could actually feel his hand pressing on the other side. Then, of course, there was the bobbing stiffness of Jack’s dick.

“How best to use this…” Andy mused out loud. “Might be time for a little origami. … Ori-guy-mi? No. No, that's lame. Let’s just get on with it…”

~~~

Jack would have trembled at Andy’s touch, if he could. He’d never been so fully and helplessly at the mercy of another person before… It was intoxicating. And again, though Jack wouldn’t have considered himself gay, the events of the day were starting to make him come around to the idea that maybe bisexuality was worth a try. Not that he had any choice in the matter. He’d be doing whatever Andy wanted him to do, and the thought went through him like electricity. The weight lifter’s thick fingers nudged at his cock, pressing it against his flattened thigh. Then he cradled the back of Jack’s head and, with a fleshy slap, plopped it right on top of his own dick. A firm grip literally wrapped Jack’s face around his own penis. He could feel the pulsing heat of it, the veiny firmness against his cheeks and lips. He managed only the faintest of squirms as he felt those strong hands start to roll and wad the rest of his body up, burying his head and dick in layers of his own body.

Then, with a nudge at the edge of his twisted up tangle of a body, he felt another source of firm warmth. With aching, yearning slowness, Jack felt Andy’s dick slide into the sleeve he’d been made into. The huge member dragged up alongside his own, now bathing his face in the heat and scent of two cocks. The grip around him tightened. He felt his shaft clenched against the second dick. Then slowly, lovingly, his whole body was stroked along the cock of the man who may as well be his owner.

~~~

Andy huffed and leaned forward. Jack was a damn good toy. He had a good, firm, rubbery texture that added just the right amount of friction, but was yielding enough to really conform to his cock, embracing and enfolding it, while the other dick tucked in the middle of the mess gave him something solid to grind against. As he worked himself, he felt the other cock pulse a few times, then found some additional lube had joined the party. Evidently Jack was getting off on this even more than Andy was. Still, no reason to let him off the hook just because he was done. Andy simply took it as a signal to tighten his grip and speed up. It didn’t take long for him to work himself right to the edge. One he had, he grunted and slid the rubbery mass forward, pinching the end tight. He pumped the slick bundle full, actually feeling it bulge with the hot spunk pooling inside. He held the whole thing tight against his shaft to keep any of it from leaking out. And when he was done, he gave his cock a final wring to milk it dry and tugged the sticky, slippery personal trainer off his dick to plop moistly back into the tub.

He took a few heavy, satisfied breaths, then ran some water again to clean off the good times. Once Jack was steamy and clean like a hot cloth on a first class flight. Andy picked him up by his feet and started stiffly rolling him up like a poster, his powerful hands making short work of the floppy legs. The pressure of it was enough to coax a half-heard, appreciative groan from the flattened Jack.

“So,” Andy said casually, as though he wasn’t in the process of making his conversation partner into a scroll. “Supposedly the lube wears off eventually. I don’t know. A couple hours. Maybe a day? The instructions are a little hard to translate.”

He flattened the floppy head against the outside of the roll, which was barely the size of a rolled up magazine.

“I have to go shower and get something to eat. If you’re still floppy when I’m done, maybe we’ll do round two.”

He tossed the rolled up toy onto the bed and paced away.

~~~

Jack watched through half-lidded eyes as the still naked bodybuilder headed for the shower. As he did, he felt the briefly softened member buried deep inside him start to bulge and stretch his tightly coiled body even tighter. He hoped he wouldn’t plump back up until tomorrow… He kind of hoped he never would…

Sporting Goods

You never took a moment to appreciate how expensive it was to have any given sport as a hobby. Even basketball, which had the least equipment, could quickly become a pain in the wallet. That’s why it was such a godsend when he found this hole in the wall store that specialized in used sporting goods. True, the stuff wasn’t usually in the best shape, but he could resupply his equipment for pennies on the dollar if he didn’t mind buying whole bags of unsorted equipment.

The sack he’d spotted today was pretty full. It bulged with all sorts of balls. He spotted a few footballs. Those stuck out like a sore thumb with their weird shapes. But most of the sack seemed to be bulging with the approximate size sphere that could be anything from a basketball to a dodge ball. Still, he gave them a quick thump and flick through the fabric of the sack and at least a few of them still had the proper level of springiness. That was a good sign. He haggled the owner down to fifteen bucks for the entire bag and threw it in his trunk, eager to get home and sort it into keepers and trash.

Once he’d gotten back to his apartment and had some dinner, he pulled on a pair of rubber gloves–used sports equipment was profoundly filthy sometimes–and got to work. The first three balls were, respectively, a fairly intact football, a patched but passable soccer ball, and a children’s kickball that had passed the point of usefulness. Then came another football and two fair condition basketballs. Already the bag was worth the purchase price. The last two balls were a textured dodge ball that looked almost new and… another ball.

He crumpled up the bag around the last ball and tilted his head. It was shiny and red, a bit like the dodge ball but extremely glossy. It was also a lot heavier than any of the other balls. Still nice and taut and extremely bouncy, but just shy of a medicine ball in terms of weight. It also had some weird peachy pink streaks on the red surface.

“What were you used for?” he mused.

All of the balls could use a wash, but he decided to start with this one. He brought it to the slop sink in the garage, started the water running, and got to work with a rag. The surface was so smooth it squeaked when he rubbed it, resonating with the sound such that he could feel it trembling in his hand. Weird for something so dense to wobble so much from a little rubbing. He worked particularly hard at scrubbing off the pink streaks, but no matter how hard he wiped, they didn’t rub off. In fact, the pink started to spread. Slowly he realized the red was on top of the pink. He’d been scrubbing off the finish.

He shook his head and considered throwing the ball away. He was effectively ruining it, after all. But he decided it was worth at least seeing what was underneath. Once the red had started to come off, the rest washed away a lot more quickly. He discovered the ball wasn’t perfectly featureless. What looked to be the pin-hole for filling the thing revealed itself as a slightly redder little knot on one side of the ball. He dug at it with his finger to try to clear out the red that was clinging to it. The thing was a lot less firm than similar ports on the other sports equipment. In fact, it almost felt like he could–

*SQUIRK*

Slide his finger right in…

His pinkie vanished to the second knuckle into the little port. Rather than being hollow, the inside felt snug, and even against his gloved finger it felt a little moist. It actually felt kind of nice. He pulled out his pinkie and poked his index and middle fingers against the nub, twisting and turning them to ease them through. The whole ball trembled extra hard in his hand as he did, but he focused on the feeling as he curled the fingers and probed inside the ball.

“What sort of a ball is this… And what’s that sound?”

The ball was releasing a low, constant creaking noise, even while it was holding still. He tipped the ball up, fully supporting its weight on the fingers inserted inside, and rotated it to see what could be making the sound. A long, plump swelling had appeared, leading up from a short distance from the knot his fingers were in to almost the opposite side of the ball.

“What in the world?” he murmured, squinting his eyes and leaning closer.

There was suddenly a rubbery squeak and the whole swollen section flopped down, striking him in the forehead with a girthy, fleshy slap. He flinched and pulled back to find a stripe of the red had been neatly pulled away from the front of the ball, and the “swelling” was standing tall and proud. It was, very clearly, a dick. A hefty one, with its underside still showing the residue of red paint.

Around the edges of where the dick had pulled away, the red covering was curled up and away. He pinched it with his free hand and managed to pull big sheets of it away. When he was finished, the ball was revealed to be patterned like a hunky young stud if he had been compacted into a ball shape, complete with anatomically correct penis and what he now realized as an asshole. For a few seconds he pondered what sort of a place would make a ball that was supposed to look like a hot dude. Then he realized the cheeks were blushing, the warm embrace around his fingers was gently clenching around them, and the dick was visibly throbbing.

Suddenly, the why and how stopped mattering to him. The what was the important thing. He had a glossy, compressed piece of man meat and he knew just how to play with this particular ball. He popped his fingers from the ass and stripped down. His dick was standing as erect as the unnamed ball’s equipment. Once he’d settled onto his bed, he turned the ball so the face and dick were pointing up along his chest, then aligned his own dick with the anus and started to nudge.

It may have been strangely loose for a filling-hole, but it was wonderfully tight for an ass. He had to give the ball a little twist and bounce to ease it down onto his length. He’d never felt anything embrace his cock so eagerly. The surface was already beginning to get warmer as he started humping himself deeper into the ball. A little bit of sweat and friction got him going smoothly in and out. The ball got into the rhythm of it, squeezing firmly around his shaft with each bounce, practically milking him.

He started to huff and puff, inching himself closer and closer to cumming with each thrust. He shut his eyes to focus on the feeling. It was so good. And he was so close. He heard what might have been a squeak or might have been a grunt from the ball. The whole thing started to jiggle and quiver, then a couple of hot jets landed on his chest.

The realization that he’d just fucked this guy to climax was just enough to push himself over the edge as well. He doubled over, curling around the ball such that he could feel the softening dick against his abs. He rammed himself hilt deep and shook as he filled it with his hot cum.

When he was drained, he flopped back and gently tugged the ball from his cock. His member audibly popped free. After a few seconds to recover, he grabbed another rag. The smooth, taut surface of his new favorite piece of equipment wiped clean easily. He grinned to himself and stuffed the ball in his gym bag. He was going to get a lot of use out of this one.

Studying hard

It had been entirely too long of a semester. The grad student trudged through the back rooms of the campus library, the stacks. He was sure at some point in history these stacks were lauded as cutting edge and state of the art. They were a heavy, unwieldy mess of hinges and wheels, saving space by allowing you to roll the shelves together and apart such that only one fully open slot was needed. It certainly was a space saver, but it was a back breaker and a time waster, too. The fully loaded shelves were so heavy. Between the effort it took to move the shelves and their poor sorting, people rarely came down here. All except for the handsome aloof dude who checked people in and out of the stacks themselves. Despite the lack of popularity, here he was, because of course he’d discovered the one thing in the universe that wasn’t on the internet but was in the library’s catalog.

He grabbed the handle welded to the book shelf he was after and threw his weight against it. He wasn’t out of shape, but he wasn’t one of those rippling masses of muscle on the football team either. It took everything he had to get the shelves rolling. When they finally did, slamming against the opposite side with a startling clash, he dusted off his hands and stepped between the shelves to search for his book. The moment he got a clear look at what was waiting for him, he gasped.

“Oh, jackpot. Somebody left a pinup poster in here.”

A life-size poster of a beefy, chiseled jock was pinned against one of the shelves. It wasn’t quite paper thin. More like a quarter inch or so. At first he thought it must have been one of those foam board standees, but when he gave the edge a pinch, he discovered three things. First, it was soft and springy, like the mats on the floor of the gym. Second, it was warm. And third… the whole thing trembled ever so slightly when he pinched it.

He furrowed his brow and felt along the front of the poster. The clothes had a slightly different texture than the body. The body was smooth and just a tiny bit softer. The clothes felt… well, like fabric. He slid his fingernail along them and found that with a bit of effort he could half-peel/half-slide the shorts down and the shirt up. What it revealed was cock mashed flat against his thigh.

“This isn’t… this isn’t a real dude is it?” he mused, peeling at the dick until it *SHRRRRPPED* free of the leg and waggled in the air.

He grinned and flattened it up against the two-dimensional abs, rubbing a bit to adhere it to them. When he took his hand away, he found it was moist. Pre-cum.

His brain connected the dots. This jock had come in here, who knew when, and someone else had come along and slid the stacks aside, flattening him. And now here he was… warm and sexy and helpless and visibly pent up. It would be a crime not to help him blow off whatever steam he’d built up.

He took a quick glimpse at who was around. Still just the hunky supervisor, and he wasn’t looking in this direction. Somehow, knowing what he was about to do would be at risk of being witnessed by him made him spring to full hardness instantly.

He slipped back between the shelves and tugged down his shorts, taking his cock into his hand. He stepped forward, chest to chest with the jock. This close he could feel the warmth and smell the musk of the squished hard-body. A bit of careful angling slipped his throbbing cock up against the flattened one of his toy. Now properly aligned, he grabbed the shelf on either side and started to grind his cock against the jock’s. The friction was perfect. Just enough to rub and warm him up. So smooth and springy. And with every hump, he could feel a little twitch or pulse. He locked his eyes on that of the jock. They were locked on him as well. He leaned forward and kissed the mashed up man.The mouth may as well have been nothing but a printed pattern, but he pressed his lips to it nonetheless and almost giggled at the bashful blush on the flattened jock’s cheeks.

The shelf was rattling with the force of each thrust now. He mashed and humped and ground himself against the hottie, feeling his temperature ticking up, inching closer to boiling over. Even as his pulsing shaft ached to blow its load, he was already imagining how it would feel to peel this gorgeous man down, fold him up, stow him away to be pulled out for play every now and then. The thought pushed him to the cusp. Just a few more thrusts.

Suddenly there was motion. His eyes shot open. The eyes of his toy stayed locked on his with a knowing and slightly excited expression. The shelves rolled and his back struck the one behind him. The momentum of a dozen or so shelves rammed into him all at once. He groaned and wheezed as the pressure mashed him against the jock. Their cocks compressed between them, pressure seeming to pinch off the release just as it was about to gloriously tip over to full climax. The depth wrung out of his body, held perfectly still and pressed face to face, chest to chest, and dick to dick against his former toy, now “roommate.”

The warmth and pressure were exquisite. The fact he’d been locked in this position, and in this state of near climax, set his mind on fire. All he wanted was to jiggle, to twitch, to move just that little bit to finish things. But who knew how long he’d be trapped in here.

The answer came with merciful quickness. Barely thirty seconds after he’d been mashed flat against the jock, the shelves shuddered again and rolled apart. He felt fingers working at the edge of his face, then felt the “peeling the film off a new phone screen” sensation as his head was separated from that of the jock. He watched as fingers tugged the jock’s head away from the shelf as well, then both were turned to face… the hot librarian. He nodded appreciatively, like a fisherman satisfied with his catch. Then abruptly put his hand at the base of the grad student’s neck and swept upward, sticking the two faces firmly together again.

~~~

The librarian swung a shoulder bag out in front of him, then reached up and peeeeeeled the pair of laminated lads free. He kept them stuck face to face together–why spoil their fun so soon? Instead of separating them, he neatly folded them. First in half at the waist, such that the grad was wholly sandwiched between layers of folded jock. Then he folded in half again, and again. Once they were a nice neat rectangle, she slipped them into a fat folder and filed them in his bag for future reference.