Happy November 18th!

FINALLY I get in a story about world events. And November 18th is probably my favorite, since its Debu Cock Day. Don't ask me how it got started, but every November 18th, artists from around the world draw fat guys with big dicks. I felt that was the perfect theme for a story, so I came up with this. Hope you like!

We'll be back to our regularly scheduled programming starting next week. 

“God, this sucks. I can barely walk. There’s no way I’m heading into the office today,” my friend griped via text. His usual lament every November 18. He already wore baggy bans and boxers wherever he went, but today, there was just no garment that could contain him.

I was a little better off considering how modest I was to begin with, but today was a special day. For whatever reason, every fat guy on the planet sprouted several extra inches today. The fatter they were, the bigger they got. I’m a pretty fat guy to start--6’1”, almost 400 pounds--so if it weren’t for the fact I was pretty poorly endowed I’d be hung like a mule today.

Cassidy, or Cass as he preferred, was a rarity amongst us fat boys. He’s already pretty hung at just over 8 inches. But today? Well, folks joke about him having a third arm, and on November 18, they’re not too far off.

I have a special jockstrap for days like today. Already a 3XL, it has a pouch built for a porn star. It can barely contain the goods, and if I get hard it’s a disaster, but I still wear it today to just feel that little bit extra.

“So don’t go into work today,” I texted back as I slipped my legs through loops larger than most dude’s chests. My size never really bothered me. I’d never been made fun of growing up, and I’d found that most people tend to not want to mess with me given how I could flatten folk if I were to accidentally trip and fall on top of them. It made buying clothes expensive, and it was annoying getting in and out of most cars, but by and large, I made the best of it.

And today was the best day to be a big dude. At least for me. I’d already received a dozen messages from dudes lookin’ to hook up after work. I could take my pick.

Cass was almost my opposite. Born big in every way imaginable, he’d been mercilessly teased for his belly and his cock since the first day he’d stepped foot in a public shower. We’d been friends since college, and while we fool around every now and again (usually when we’d both had just the right amount to drink), there was just never that special spark to make it something more. But I still loved the guy, and especially wanted to help him get over his sensitivity at his size.

Today, however, was not the day to get him to open up. Nobody knew what made today so bizarre for so many guys, but Cass was self-conscious at the best of times. Walking around in public with a bulge the size of a cantaloupe just wasn’t something he could do.

Me, I was totally fine showing off. November 18 was that one day of the year where I felt like a porn star--probably because I’d finally measure up in a pissing contest with every porn star I’d ever jacked-off to.

“My boss thinks I’m faking it,” Cass wrote back. “He told me yesterday that if I called in sick, it’d be my ass.”

I was just slipping my jeans over my own impressive bulge when I got the reply. There was a tightness down there that I almost never felt. Normally, I’m pretty well tucked inside while flaccid and really only peek out of my own fatpad when I’m fully engorged. That’s not a problem today. Today, there’s just no hiding what I’m packing.

“Well, how much do you need your job?” I wrote back, slipping a 3XL over my head. It wasn’t exactly loose-fitting anymore, but there was still enough fabric that I could tuck it into my jeans.

“Desperately,” Cass replied. “I’m going to die of embarrassment.”

I’d grabbed my keys and my wallet and was just about to head out the door for my morning commute. Before I did, I offered some advice. “Okay, just wear your biggest, baggiest pants and bring a briefcase. Hold it in front of your groin while you’re out in public and then sit behind your desk and don’t get up until everyone’s gone home.”

“Fine, but can I come over tonight? I’m gonna want to decompress after all that stress.”

I saw Cass’s reply just before I started driving. Mentally rescheduling three chasers that I’d already lined up for the one day of the year where I'm a power top, I figured I could get them in before having a late dinner with Cass. And if I was extra lucky, maybe he’d be willing to share a bottle of wine.

“Thanks man,” Cass said as I poured him an extra-large glass of merlot. “Today was a train wreck.”

“And why’s that?” I asked, pouring myself an equal helping of wine. I’d managed to shower myself down just moments before Cass arrived, so I was wearing my at-home comfy clothes. Namely, a huge tank top and a pair of cotton shorts. Cass was still wearing his work attire, and I was already at half-mast trying to avoid staring at his enormous bulge.

“Everybody knew within the first 20 minutes,” Cass said. “My zipper popped as soon as I got in through the front door and it was like I was just trying to escape the whole fucking time. I’m surprised I didn’t get sent home. I’ve never been so mortified in my life.”

“Wow, your boss must really hate you,” I said, taking a sip. It was a great vintage and one that immediately went to my head. I must have been pretty dehydrated--unsurprising, given the number of loads I’d pumped into several power-bottom size queens that afternoon. None of them would be walking right for a week.

I had one more conquest on my mind, but he’d be difficult prey. I had to first get him comfortable--hence the wine, and the two extra-large pizzas I’d ordered. As a certified fatty, I knew the first step was making sure that Cass was good and full.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure of it now,” Cass replied. “He made me grab coffee for the team twice today. Twice! I broke three safety pins trying to avoid getting charged with indecent exposure.”

“Take a drink dude. And how about you slip into something more comfortable before the pizza gets here? I’ve got an extra pair of trunks you could borrow.”

To my surprise, Cass nodded. His physical discomfort must finally be outweighing his emotional distress. Either way, I was happy about it.

The pizza arrived as Cass was in my bedroom changing, so I didn’t get to sneak a look as I’d originally planned after offering him comfier clothes. On the plus side, I did get to see the outline of his dick as it snaked down the right leg of the trunks. And I did get to see it bounce off his thigh with every lumbering step he took towards the kitchen. It was glorious.

I stepped behind the island to hide my own rising boner. It wasn’t as obvious as Cass’s flaccid bulge, but it was still hard to miss.

We scarfed our pizzas as Cass recounted the horrors of his day. I offered my own tribulations, such as when a hot guy nearly made me bust my fly, and I admitted to having sex several times before his arrival. Cass laughed and called me a horndog. I didn’t deny the charge.

“At least you can still have sex,” Cass said after finishing his last slice. “I couldn’t do anything with this thing even if I wanted to.”

“Well, there’s always bottoming,” I offered. Cass laughed--it was an old joke. With a cock like his, he’d always been the top in his past relationships. I was normally a bottom, but I did switch from time to time.

Except for today, of course. Today, I was the top, and Cass was unwillingly celibate.

“A few more glasses and I’d consider it,” Cass said, prompting me to immediately refill his glass. He laughed again, but still drank half of it as soon as I’d stopped pouring. I raised an eyebrow, and Cass winked in reply.

Fuck yeah, time for round four.

“God, this thing is unreal,” I said, breathless. I was hard as steel, my nine-incher mashed between our stomachs as Cass and I frantically made out. But below me, tapping me just above the knee, was Cass’s cockhead, leaving a sticky line of precum as it bounced with each drunken, wobbling step.

“Flatterer,” he giggled, mashing his lips into mine once more. I had to bend over since Cass was a few inches shorter than me and our mutual blubber got in the way. Both of us were too drunk to care about the difficulty of two obese bodies making out. We were drunk, we were horny, we were comfy around each other, and for one day of the year, we had cocks bigger than almost anyone else.

Our drunken advance to the bedroom was slow and lumbering, the logistics of our anatomy a playful puzzle as we kept swapping spit. I finally figured the best way to press our bodies together was to take a step back and slip Cass’s dick between my thighs. It almost managed to traverse my entire breadth so his dickhead stuck out just below my ass.

My cock squished between our respective bellies, I closed my legs as tight as I could to give Cass the same benefit as I did--a cock surrounded by tight and yielding warmth. Cass gyrated his hips, sliding himself between my thighs and providing delightful friction for my own turgid organ.

I heard a splat on the hardwood floor, but I knew that was just Cass pre-cumming. The lug normally produced a river of pre-cum that slickened his uncut shaft, but today a spurt of pre was like a normal dude’s full ejaculate. I made a mental note to mop-up after tonight’s play.

Provided I still had the energy, of course.

We shuffled our way to the bedroom, totally naked, my cock so hard it was pointing upwards and following the curve of my gut, his dick so heavy that it hung downward at a 45-degree angle. It was totally hard--I could see the veins pulsing with each of his heartbeats--but it was so massive that its own weight prevented it from rising higher.

I pushed him to the bed and climbed on top, grabbing his dick and sliding it between our two fat bodies. I then dragged myself down, making sure his fist-sized head was at eye level so I could lick the folds of skin that surrounded his purple helmet while my tits rubbed the shaft. It was a fat man's titty job, and I was more than well-equipped for the task.

“Oh fuck,” Cass said. He was already close. I jiggled my tits a few more times, then I climbed up and shoved my own hardon in his face. Cass had trouble fitting it all into his mouth but was at least still possible for me. I then sat on his chest and reached back and reached back to let his huge pole hot dog inside my crack.

I ground into his face for a few moments before I turned around to face his feet, Giving Cass a good whiff of my balls while I hugged his almost two-foot pole to my chest and belly. Using his pre-cum as lube, I slicked myself up and started gyrating, bringing my arms up and down his shaft while I tongued his cumslit.

It proved to be too much for Cass. “Shit, fuck--” he managed before my entire face was coated in white spunk. Some of it went up my nose, and I was left sputtering for a few seconds even as I managed to continue my gyrations, ensuring that Cass’s orgasm was as titanic as he was.

Most of it fell back on Cass’s stomach, but plenty of his jizz coated me, the bedsheets, and even part of the ceiling. By the time he’d finished, I was mostly swimming in cum. Another mental note to do laundry before going to bed.

I shuffled back slightly, angled Cass’s still-hard cock off to the side, and then shoved my dick back into his maw. A few pumps and I filled him with my own load, also enhanced thanks to whatever magic permeated the air every November 18.

The first chaser I’d fucked this afternoon practically leaped off my cock thanks to the cum I’d filled him with. I had less for Cass, but he was still choking by the time I felt the last trickle make its way down my shaft.

I got up and lay down beside him, catching my breath, his dick draped across his thigh to leak the last of its load onto my groin. A few moments later, he turned, grabbed his cock, and used it to bludgeon my belly with a wet slap.

“So, maybe I can give bottoming a try?”

I laughed. Tonight was going better than I ever could have hoped.