#pitching tent

Once Quent crossed the college front doors, it was already past noon. Students and teachers alike walked out to eat something at the surrounding fast-food restaurants. Despite having eaten a greasy sandwich, Quent felt his stomach growl in hunger, like the empty calories of his copious breakfast had done nothing to satiate him. The teen grimaced at the annoying noise coming from his middle, judging he was filling his clothes already enough with no need to overeat.

Quent fished out his phone from his snug jeans pocket and scrolled through his list of college buddies. Ever since he’s started going on poppers, very little of his usual friends kept hanging out with him or texting him. Probably he shouldn’t have ignored them for over a month before recontacting them. But that didn’t matter.

Quent looked through his most recent messages. Apart from his brother and his stoner buddy, the one who invited him to the party on the previous night, the other conversations were at least a few weeks old. Suddenly, Quent was surprised to receive a text from a classmate of his, one with whom he had completed a paper during the previous semester. In fact, a classmate whom he had encouraged to write that paper.

‘U weren’t in class again this morning. U alright, Q?’

The student smiled dumbly, then proceeded to type back something, somehow finding it awkward, the digital keyboard feeling smaller than he remembered. His fingers seemed more likely to press two keys rather than one. Quent blamed it on the lack of sleep.

‘Yea got a hard mornin bro.’

He grinned at the pun.

‘Hope i didnt miss 2 much.’
‘Just got here btw.’

‘I can pass u my notes later if u want.’
‘U have a class this PM?’

Suddenly, just like reality hit him like a car driving full force into a brick wall, Quent realized he didn’t have any class for the rest of the day, actually. The man blushed severely, feeling very dumb at the moment for getting to college and realizing he missed his only class of the day.

‘No. Thought I’d make it on time.’
‘Transport sucks.’
‘Hard.’

‘We can still hang out if u want. What u say?’

Quent stared at his phone for a moment. His classmate’s concern was heartwarming. The lingering scent of poppers tickled his nose. A flush of heat directed itself from his chest to his groin which was already filling with blood… again. The lust hormones slowly filled Quent anew as his thoughts shifted from spending an afternoon with his classmate to an afternoon where he could masturbate with his online buddies, watching porn and edging for hours.

Right there, in the college lobby, Quent popped a tent in his ready-to-burst jeans, unfazed by the people walking by. Slowed down by the invisible cloud of poppers, the drugged man stood with his mouth agape, conflicted between the two choices offered to him. Suddenly, he was accidentally shoved out of the way by another student who didn’t watch where he was going. Quent was brought out of his thoughts. He looked down at the apologizing man dumbly. Just as the guy was about to pursue his walk, something kept him from walking away from Quent.

“Huh? Dude, what’s that smell?” The student asked, almost hypnotized by the strong scent coming from the bator.

Upon hearing the word smell, Quent’s boner twitched. A bead of precum oozed out of his cock, staining the jeans yet with another dark spot. Clouded with lust, Quent took all that was left of his will not to haul out his fat penis and to masturbate in the open. Without answering the question, the horny student left the curious man whose pants were already beginning to tent from inhaling the 3G’s scent oozing from Quent.

The masturbator entered the nearest men’s bathroom, filled with a few occupants, and went for the closest stall. It just couldn’t wait. The strain was too constricting, too unbearable. Despite all the effort, the horny lad pulled the jeans down as best as he could with the boxers. Finally, the monster locked inside his pants was free. Quent petrified for a moment. Even though he’s come twice since he woke up, one time barely an hour ago at the coffee shop, multiple strings of pre-cum stuck between his boxers and his penis. A big dollop of syrupy pre-ejaculate dropped from the swollen cock head into the toilet bowl. What struck Quent the most was obviously the sheer size of his dong. Previously almost inexistent veins crisscrossed along the great length of the demanding meat.

The instant he wrapped a hand around it, Quent was overcome with such bliss that he almost did not notice the unusual size of the member. Whereas it used to be humble, starting to use the 3Gs poppers seemed to have actually increased its size, secondary effects minimally affecting other areas of his body. On the previous night, he did go to sleep with an eight inches erection and a respectable girth. However, this meat was at least eleven inches long. Moreover, with a large hand wrapped around the big penis, Quent curiously brought his second hand on top of his first one, noticing that the bloated hooded glans was still sticking further out.

“Big… fat… penis…” Quent muttered in obsessed admiration, jacking it up and down with both of his hands, completely forgetting about the other bathroom occupants.

From the moment his hands started to play with his large, veiny bate-stick, Quent blissfully moaned. The real world around him collapsed into nothingness, only leaving the heavenly pleasure of caressing his manhood, like a conditioned worshipper bowing to his God’s will. Quent let his shoulders take hold against the locked stall door behind him, giving him the proper angle to thrust his pelvis up. To showcase his throbbing boner in all its marvelous glory.

His rational thoughts were no more. All he cared for, all he longed for, was to please his needy manhood. To masturbate and edge for hours. To experience the most blissful ejaculations in the world before starting all over again. Such a big penis brought him so much joy, so much happiness, so much fulfillment than he ever felt before since he started taking poppers. Would the pleasure increase even more if his penis kept growing even bigger?

Like an avid believer, Quent prayed. He wished for his fat boner to keep growing. Bigger. Fatter. Longer. More sensitive. He wanted his private parts to grow over the norm. Beyond what was humanly possible. To grow big enough to become an entity of its own, yet it would still be a part of him. This penis was his God, his all, his everything, but above anything it was his. He didn’t care, not that he noticed yet, what other side effects these poppers would do. Or already did to him.

Quent did not know for how long he kept going on his drooling boner. He completely forgot about his classmate. He did not even consider the ringing phone in his pocket. Screw them. Screw the world. All that mattered was his penis. To please it. To watch it. To feel it GROW in his hands.

The toilet seat before Quent was covered in his rank pre-ejaculate. The 3Gs’ musk heaved in the bathroom. The masturbator didn’t hear the moans coming from the other occupants, nor their rushed exit. He was too engrossed into his penis. The veins stretched from his pillar of flesh to his crotch, imitating a growing tree’s roots. The dong pulsed with life and growth. It was about to bloom.

Some pre-ejaculate fell on the floor between his spread legs. The snugness of his shoes seemed to have grown to a crushing pain. Just like his growing python, his limb ends swole up, hands and feet alike, from the excess of hormones and testosterone drowning him.

His arms felt sore from the exertion of beating off and off and off, covered in thick pulsing veins. Quent barely realized that he had taken out his full ballsack at some point, ready to unload a massive amount of seed.

Unable to hold any longer, Quent let out a loud groan, a brick-like resistance in his throat giving out, his vocal cords dropping a full octave lower. The moment he crossed the point of no return, his penis swelled further, throbbed so thick he felt it pulse larger in his hands, pushing past a footlong monstrosity. As everything fell into oblivion except the pleasure brought from his privates, Quent’s jaw slacked down. His tongue hung out and slobbered massively, saliva coating his chin and thick facial hair, dripping on his ill-fitting shirt.

Reveling in pleasure, Quent did not apprehend the absurd amount of ejaculate that sprayed all over the stall. Like there was no end in sight more came out and out, and still out, to a point where the pleasure grew toxic as his thirsty balls hurt from expelling so much seed. The geyser eventually came to a stop, the masturbator’s large testicles finally emptied. Still, the blissful spasms of an unending ejaculation kept going for a whole minute, only nothing else came out. A few minutes later, Quent finally came to. His clouded mind dissipated slightly. He could recollect his thoughts and actually move on.

Awkwardly, Quent did his best pulling his pants back up, only to hear something horrifyingly tear.

“Fuck…”

The woozy student, with no other solutions in mind, kept pulling up the breaking jeans, the ripping sound continuing all the while. When the undersize clothes were back up and hiding most of his ass, Quent tried buttoning the front, but it was a lost cause. There was no way he’d ever close them anymore, leaving his ridiculous bulge bouncing past the broken zipper. With a desperate attempt at forcing the button shut, Quent gasped as he tore further the jeans, revealing a wide gap under his pouch, between the thighs.

Defeated, the horny lad furiously pulled his shirt down as best as he could so that he could cover the perverse display of his outrageous bulge. The world only seemed to crumble further apart around him as he realized the shirt would not even reach his waist anymore. Staring in disbelief at his bulging midsection, only then he understood how much he’s packed on pounds recently. From missing classes and work, spending most of his time on pleasuring himself and his money on booze and fast-food, he’s realized the impact of his almost complete lull of actual physical activity.

Shared between denial and acceptance, Quent opened the door of his stall and looked at himself in the large bathroom mirror, the room empty by then. The man facing him was a complete stranger. Long gone was his previous athletic body, his kept hygiene, his dignity. Facing him stood a depraved hypersexual freak, a fat slob.

His hair was messy. Hell, his whole testosterone-filled body was covered in body hair. The clothes were bursting off of him. The shirt barely held the soft spherical gut he’s grown since he’s let himself go and became subject to the side effects of drug overuse. Even his fat ass had obliterated the backside and inseams of his jeans.

Looking down, he noticed that his shoes, which oddly seemed farther than he remembered, were not spared. They had been broken through by a pair of nasty and sweaty feet he didn’t recognize. He wiggled the large toes that were already fraying their way through the undersize socks, almost mesmerized by their sheer size. Shaking his head, Quent looked back at the mirror. His half-hard penis already deformed the ratty underwear he’s worn for since the previous day.

And the more he looked at himself…

And the more he saw how much of a pervert and a lazy fatass he’s become…

The hornier he grew.

The lust induced dreams came to an end as an unpleasant ringtone perturbed Quent’s sleep. Groggily, the young man stretched an arm toward his phone on the nightstand, accidentally knocking the lamp down in the process. The added noise to the irritating morning alarm made him groan. Then, loud knocks on his door were added to the cacophony.

“Quent! You’re going to miss your train!” He heard his parent exclaim on the other side of the door.

“Ugh… fuck… what day are we?” He muttered to himself, realizing as he said it that it was Friday. That he had a class at 9 AM. In thirty minutes. “Shit…”

Even if he picked the next train, he would be late. However, if he missed that train, he’d skip class entirely… not that it would be a bad thing, considering it all. After all, he’s missed a few classes already since the beginning of the semester. Still, he’s already failed that very class on the previous semester and failing it again would risk him to be expelled.

With an exasperated sigh, Quent eased himself out of his bed. The sheer action proved to be more demanding than usual. His body seemed to drag down like it weighed its volume in gold. Groggily, Quent went for the pair of jeans he discarded on the floor last night, before his bate session. This alone made him grunt in effort, the small belly he’s grown in the past few months eclipsing what used to be a set of abs. After discovering Bator’s World, he preferred masturbating rather than attending the gym. In fact, the loss of those aesthetic no-good muscles made his superficial ex-girlfriend leave him… not that he minded much anymore.

The thought of his celibacy made him gloomy for a moment, stopping him in his tracks. However, the invisible musk lingering in the air soothed him, plastering a goofy smirk on his lips. Negative thoughts and stress evaporated, leaving him at peace. It wasn’t a bad thing to be single. He had time to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

“More time for batin’…” He braced himself, scratching at his thick morning stubble.

Putting the pants on proved to be a feat Quent was not prepared for. He was not ignorant to the fact the jeans he’s worn for the past five years have been getting snug. After all, he was not as active as he used to be. His expanding waistline was a testimony to that. Nonetheless, it was getting ridiculous. He thought the soft buns he’s grown had filled the seat of his pants nicely, but, somehow the pants seemed filled to the breaking point this morning.

“Ugh… C'mon, I’ve put them yesterday…” He grumbled, pulling as hard as he could, sucking his gut as much as possible.

Still, the pants mocked the late student, slipping up his fleshy thighs one inch at a time. After giving one tug too hard, the belt loops onto which he pulled ripped off. Cussing under his breath, Quent let himself fall onto his bed in irritated submissiveness. Yet again, the soothing scent of poppers eased his annoyed mind. He waited for a few moments, unconsciously letting the appeasing smell fill him, before trying to pull them up again. He grabbed onto another set of denim loops. He pulled once more, finally lodging his girthy ass into the jeans.

However, that was only the first step. After putting on the undersize pants, the next step was to button them up, then to put a t-shirt on. However, the morning wood still jutted out from the crotch of his pants, poking straight up, demanding, throbbing.

“Ughh… fuck me…” Quent groaned in annoyance, grasping his hand around his needy prick.

The student was taken aback, the shaft feeling bigger than he was accustomed to. As he began pumping it up and down, he basked his head back. He imagined he was high on poppers again, still oblivious to the lingering scent of the broken vial filling the room. His penis twitched, throbbing further than ever before, pre-ejaculate oozing out onto his hand, some of it dripping onto the incredibly tight trousers.

“Yo, Q, you coming out or…”

Quent did not even bother to look or to listen to the intruding sibling into his room, having opened the door without warning. Right there, his little brother assisted to his brother’s ferocious wanking. Not only was the excruciating sight upsetting but the stench overpowering the room was enough to make him sick in the stomach.

“Fucking hell, Q!” His brother exclaimed, closing the door abruptly and leaving as fast as he came.

“He’s nineteen anyway. He’s seen dicks before.” Quent muttered to himself.

Left all to himself, he kept on rubbing up and down the needing shaft of flesh, slave to its pleasure. The 3Gs essence comforted him, making him unresponsive to his environment. He forgot about the fact that he was running late or about his brother’s quick outburst.

Nothing else mattered but to pleasure his penis, his idol, his glorious dong. Unconsciously, he spread his legs, forcing the already tight jeans to the breaking point, unaware of the fragile seams starting to split right below his plump set of nuts.

Faster than he could make out, warm gooey cum shot out of his penis, hitting his forehead first, each further spurt hitting further below, drenching his naked torso in sperm.

A few moments passed before Quent could sit back and forcefully shove the softening monster inside the crotch of his pants. Simply buttoning them seemed like a miracle, taking far too long and effort. The pants left nothing to the imagination. Quent reminded himself that he should probably check his waistline if he still wanted to fit inside his clothes… but the preoccupation died out under the drug-induced air.

Quent did not bother to clean himself nor to shave the thick stubble he’s somehow grown. Nonchalant, he put on a shirt he found on top of a messy pile of clothes on the ground. Maybe it was dirty, maybe it was not. He didn’t know and didn’t have the time to check. Perhaps he didn’t mind whether it was dirty or not. It felt snug in comparison to what he was used to, just like the jeans.

Shrugging it off, he sat on the edge of his bed to shove his feet inside his sneakers, which somehow felt cramped as well. No time. Putting on a jacket and taking one last deep breath of his personized room scent, he left the room, completely forgetting about his school bag.

————

After missing the train, Quent knew he’d not make it on time to class. Somehow, a part of him wanted to be angry at himself for it, but he only accepted this defeat passively. Lazily, Quent walked off the platform toward the small coffee shop by the tracks. After his arduous morning, he left home so fast he did not bother to eat or drink anything.

A small bell chimed the instant he pushed the door opened. The shop was almost empty, except for a few elders reading newspaper with their coffee and sandwich. The late student walked toward the counter where the barista chatted with a coworker. Approaching them, Quent noticed the look on their face dropping. A grimace formed on them. One of the workers walked away while the other forced a smile on his face.

“Hi, sir. What can I help you with?” He asked.

Quent just realized that his mouth had been dumbly opened all along. Did he drool?

“Huh… I’ll have a ham and cheese sandwich… and a big black coffee.”

After his business was done with the barista, the student left the counter. He went for the closest chair and dropped his ass on it. Audibly, he heard the seams of his jeans creak as he did so. The realization he let himself go in the past few months tried surfacing again, but he never felt as good as he was, lately. The only apparent stress seemed to come from attending and passing his classes now. And work. Maybe it’d be for the better if he dropped out. Only then he’d spend more time at home. Which meant more time masturbating.

The sole thought was enough to make his fuck stick harden in his poorly fitting jeans. To anyone who would stare at him, it would be obvious he was getting an erection. Automatically, Quent brought his right hand on top of the straining bulge and bit his lip to suppress a moan. What was happening to him? He had better self-control than this. Better judgment too. Yet, all that he could think of was to pull his dick out and masturbate again. It was like a cloud of musk and lust surrounded him wherever he went. It was like he was inhaling the 3Gs constantly.

Lost in his thoughts, he barely acknowledged the barista that brought him a tray with his order on it. The worker might have told him something, but Quent simply nodded absently. As the stranger walked back toward the counter, Quent could have sworn the guy’s pants were bulging at the crotch. Perverse thoughts slipped through the student’s mind. How many times did this guy masturbate weekly, daily? How long were his sessions? Was he an edger? Did he sniff poppers like him? Somehow, Quent wished this guy would.

While never having given the proper reflexion before, Quent wondered how mutual masturbation with another guy would feel. He’s always considered himself straight, but his masturbation addiction had often brought him to question his sexuality. Was he really straight? Was masturbating to guys doing the same making him gay? He grimaced. Perhaps not. He did not want to stick his penis inside some guy’s butthole… or did he? Maybe if the guy was… masculine enough he would… but that wouldn’t be gay sex right? He’d just use that guy’s ass like some sort of sleeve or fleshlight. Yeah. Totally not gay.

What if the other guy asked to fuck him? Would he let him? Hell no, that would be gay. However, if the other guy was desperate to stick his penis into something and fuck it… why would he turn down on helping a bro? It’d just be like bros helping bros, not gay sex.

Some guys on Bator’s World called themselves “solosexuals”. They proclaimed they were not really turned on by fucking with a partner, but turned on by fucking their own hands or toys. Either by themselves or with other bros. Did that make him one of these? A solosexual?

Lost in his perverse thoughts, Quent ate his breakfast on autopilot. His concealed hardon did not falter. It kept swelling and stretching against his thigh, fighting for space in the ill-fitting pants. Absently tapping his feet on the ground, he failed to notice that the toes were already making the tip of the shoes bulging, close to bursting.

Finished with his food, Quent stood up and stretched, his undersize shirt and jacket slipping up. Unawaringly, he showed the whole place his bloated waist. Just as he let go and unconsciously pulled down on his clothes, a slight discomfort tightened his guts. A bubbling sound spread then crept up his esophagus… and came out as a loud belch. The noise made everyone in the place look at him.

What had he done? In fear of what others might think, the precious comfort of the poppers scent came back to him. Knots of stress eased up. The clothes, which had soaked the essence of the poppers all night, clouded him, once again, with blissful insouciance.

Quent wanted to feel shame, to be embarrassed, but all he did was a nonchalant shrug. The bulge of his crotch was pushing harder than ever, throbbing, starting to leak, marking his jeans with a dark spot of precum. Quent absently rubbed his erection, then walked toward the bathroom. He still had a few minutes before the next train. He might as well spend some quality time with his big dong.