Date: Wed, 15 Jun 2005 16:57:00 -0700 (PDT)
From: Alistair Bentley <xformguy@yahoo.com>
Subject: Headshop: Hound Chapter 2

Headshop: Hound
Chapter 2: Safe

By Xformguy

In a quiet corner of the Walgreen's parking log, I sat in my car, pants at
my ankles, and used gauze to dab hydrogen peroxide on the bite. It bubbled
and fizzed and stung, but it stopped bleeding. I dug into the plastic bag
and pulled out another square of gauze and some tape, fixing it to my
thigh. I sighed, realizing it was going to hurt like hell to pull off; it
might be sparse, but I still had hair on my inner thigh.

I still couldn't believe that guy actually bit me. It had been maybe an
hour since it happened and I was still freaked out a bit. But, as "freak
out" receded from me, it was guilt and shame that moved to fill its
place. I felt like such a moron; this wound was exactly what I deserved.

With my foot propped up on the seat and leaning over, I got the bandage
on. I reached down and pulled up my blood spattered cargo shorts and got
them fastened. I shoved my bare feet into my shoes and put them on the
pedals. I drove back to my dorm and shuffled through the lobby, nodding at
the desk attendant. I moved down the hallway to my room and unlocked
it. Before I opened the door, I said a silent prayer that my asshole
roommate wasn't there.

Inside, I found him on the lower bunk, snoring. Well, second best result, I
thought to myself. His figure was a knot of blankets and I was glad he was
out. I quietly shut the door and shed my sneakers next to it. I padded
quietly into the room and shucked down to my boxers, moving in the
completely darkness only because I was familiar with the room. It wasn't
hard to get around, every piece of furniture was within arms reach of one
another; it was a dorm room. I moved to the lavatory and retrieve my towel
from the hook next to it.

I padded out of my room and to the communal showers down the hall. It was
late and thus, the shower half was empty. There was somebody in the toilet
stalls and I wrinkled my nose at the stink they were making. Once in the
tiled room, lined with five shower stalls on each side, I couldn't smell
it. I could however, smell myself and wow . . . I stunk too. Maybe it was
the guilt I felt, but I suddenly felt grimy and sweaty. I got a shower
going very hot, dropped my boxers, and stepped into the stream. I stood
under it for a long time, slowly turning so that the water got every
angle. Only then did I feel like myself again.

Still damp and warm, I made my way back through the air conditioned
hallways to my room. I crept in, put on a pair of fresh boxers, and very
carefully climbed to my top bunk, bracing myself on Ken's bunk as I did
every night. He didn't stir and I lay down spread eagle on top of my
comforter, feeling my body cool off. Soon enough, I felt myself drift off
to sleep.

When I became conscious later, it happened in slow stages, where I became
aware of things bit by bit and my mind pieced together what was
happening. I was somewhere warm, enclosed, and I was saturated in smells
that were equal parts musty and sour, yet familiar. It was the familiarity
that was attractive here, because it made me feel extremely safe. I was
naked, curled around something pliable and warm that only slowly did I
recognize as a mound of clothes. I had the hard-on of all hard-ons thrust
into the mound and as I shifted, I shoved into it as far as I could.

I opened my eyes and saw a sliver of light and Ken was there. He was naked
in that unselfconscious way that one has when they're absolutely certain
they're alone. He stood at the sink in the room, bent forward, brushing his
teeth. Of course, I'd seen his body before, but never had I seen him naked
for this long. He was a normal guy, with a normal build, not too muscular,
not too developed. He had hair in the all the normal places, not too
shaggy, not too sparse, and he was endowment was, well, flaccid. I'd never
seen him hard and had never really wanted too.

I saw him through this slit and that's when my mind came awake enough to
realize where I was. I was curled up in the bottom of my closet, cradling
the two weeks of unwashed clothes that I'd gathered together into a
mattress-mound. I was naked, I was hard, and I was humping my dirty clothes
with one foot braced against the closet wall.

I refer to Ken my "asshole roommate" mainly because we didn't get along at
all. I don't think it was either of our faults, really, when we met, we
just hit it off wrong and kept hitting it off wrong since then. We just
didn't like each other. I suppose he hadn't expected to have to deal with a
gay roommate and I hadn't expected to have to deal with an asshole roommate
- - so we were even.

I watched him brush his teeth and spit into the sink, then he retreated to
his desk, sat in his chair and started typing. Still in my sleep funk and
still grooving on the humping, despite that it couldn't possibly get me
off, I stayed put. From the soft moans that started to emanate from his
computer's speakers, I realized he was watching porn and soon enough, his
hands moved to his crotch. I shut my eyes and stayed still, fearful that I
might make a noise.

Ken and I didn't get along and I KNEW that if he caught me, curled up in
the bottom of my closet, watching him stroke himself while I humped my
dirty laundry, that it would only exacerbate our dislike for one another. I
didn't need that and, while I had no fucking clue why I was there instead
of in my bed where I'd gone to sleep, I obviously couldn't explain it to
him. I shut my eyes and tried not to look, but curiosity got the better of
me and I peeked.

He was leaning back in the chair, one foot propped on the edge of the desk,
stroking his long cock and building himself up to a respectable orgasm. His
body wasn't extremely attractive, but I could see the underlying
handsomeness that got him laid so often. Having listened to him fuck
someone in the bottom bunk while I lay in the top, trying to be innocuous,
I could attest to his stamina and attention to detail. No doubt he was
satisfying, which kept the steady stream of girls at his door. I lay there,
watching him through the crack in the closet door and appreciated his
aesthetics as he worked himself up, his face straining, showing expressions
of pleasure where so many other guys were impassive lumps afraid to show
emotion.

It got me going. I was humping the clothes strongly now, parting my own
lips and sighing along with him. I wanted to touch my cock, but any
significant movement would reveal me. He got off way before I was even
close, catching the spunk in his hand. Ken shot big and he got his whole
body into the effort. When he was done, he sat there with his eyes closed
for a minute, then got up and walked to the sink, his cock bobbing in front
of him, leaving a drop or two on the tile. He washed his hand, wiped off
his cock, then proceeded to get dressed with clothes from his closet that
was next to mine. Eventually he left.

I lay in the bottom of the closet, still tired and funky from my half-sleep
and I wondered if I'd dreamed the whole thing. Was I still in my bed,
curled into a ball around my comforter? Or was I really in the closet,
bedding on my clothes. I drifted back to sleep for a while, and when I woke
up again, it was for real.

I unfolded myself from the closet floor, feeling more than a little freaked
out that I had been there. On my bed, my comforter was in a ball, thrown
aside, and my boxers were ripped in half. Out in my room, I missed the
smell of my clothes, the extreme familiarity of being saturated in my own
scent and it bugged me. I caught myself, half imagining climbing back into
it, as thought I were fearful of something, and being freaked out started
to freak me out even more. What the fuck was wrong with me?

My body ached a little from the position I had curled into and I bent down
the stretched my back, keeping my legs straight and letting the weight of
my body pull the muscles. I looked at the floor and there it was: a drop of
Ken's juice. I just stared at it. I reached down and dabbed it on my
fingertip, then stood up, staring at it blankly. Something in my head
shifted, moving behind the backdrop of my normal thoughts, and while my
mind wondered why I had dabbed it, that "something" directed my body.

I brought the drop to my nose and sniffed it. I could actually smell it
strongly. Not surprisingly, it smelled like cum, but I caught all kinds of
shades to the scent that surprised me enough to keep sniffing it. If this
drop of liquid had been a drop of paint and I was looking at it, it was
like I could see past the basic color into all the iridescent shades that
made it up. I caught this mixture of information from the smell and my head
labeled it "Ken." Then I tasted it. I brought it to my mouth and wiped it
on my tongue. The same sensations where there, all those subtle shades of
the smell, only I could detect them much stronger.

While my thoughts freaked out about this too, my body reacted again and I
squatted by Ken's bed and shoved my head into middle of it, where his
crotch would normally have rested when he slept. I inhaled deeply and the
scent was there, in different quantities and in different mixtures, but the
same label popped into my head: "Ken."

Half inside Ken's bunk, I felt my hard cock bounce against the bed frame
and I reached down with my hand and wiped whatever was left of Ken's spunk
on my cock. Just the physical contact of my hand closing over my cock was
enough and I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with Ken's scent. I half
leapt, half climbed up to my top bunk and lay on my back. One hand started
jacking my cock even before I had consciously decided to do it; the
"something" in my head wanted me to shoot and the "me" in my head went
along for the ride.

I got lube and squirted it on my cock with my other hand; the hand the was
jacking never left my shaft. I used my thumb to swirl it around the head
and thrust my head back when I did. FUCK that felt good. My legs stretched
out and I pushed against the foot board. My cock felt good this morning,
and I remembered the blowjob from last night on a visceral level.

I wasn't sure what about having sex made one ravenous for more sex, but
that was the case. I could normally go days without shooting, but then my
sex life was practically non-existent. Ken seemed to shoot at least
once-a-day, but he kept that hidden enough that I couldn't confirm it; I
just suspected it was that (or more). The blowjob from last night was the
best sex I'd ever had, but this jack off session was approaching it. My
cock was sensitive as hell and it was rock hard has I jacked.

I felt an odd sensation in it and forced my eyes open as something moved up
my shaft. Dollops of pre-cum plopped out almost like a mini-orgasm. I
grunted at this and touched the smooth, sticky fluid on my belly with my
other hand. I brought that up to my nose and lips too. I had barely ever
leaked, but this was unprecedented. What was more, it kept oozing out of
the tip as I jacked, enhancing the lube and coating my shaft with slime. I
kept jacking, FUCK it felt too good to even slow down.

I licked the pre-cum off my fingers, and was treated to the same spectrum
of tastes and smells that Ken's spunk had produced. My brain labeled all of
it "me" and, as if it were cataloguing new sensations for future use, and
an emotion blossomed in me that reminded me of the clothes pile in my
closet: safe and secure. I licked my hand and started moaning a little at
the sensations I was drawing from myself. That was new too, normally, I was
ultra-quiet when I jacked off, having done it secret my entire life. I was
never animated about it and images of Ken's expressions popped into my head
alongside images of last night and how the muscle-guy was so wild on my
cock.

I was nearing the edge, but something was missing. My legs were working on
the mattress and my back was arching, but I wasn't quite getting there. I
groaned in frustration at it and couldn't place what the problem was. I
used both hands and played with my nuts. I jerked faster, then slower, then
varied the speed every other stroke. It all felt incredible - - as if my
cock had grown new sets of nerve endings - - but it wasn't tipping me
over. On impulse I turned over and got to my knees, holding my upper body
up with one hand while the other jacked.

FUCK YEAH, that was the ticket, I let out a long, moaning sigh, and within
three strokes, I shot my load. Normally, when I jacked off, I just boiled
over maybe a teaspoon of liquid. I only actually "shoot" when I get
stimulated by someone else, but today, I blasted out of the tip of my
cock. First it was like a shotgun of tiny spurts that sprayed in a fan
across my sheets, then came several long lines of cum and pumped out as I
stroked. I barely registered this as my brain locked up, overwhelmed by the
sensation of it. I knew I was shooting harder, longer, and more than I was
used to, but the ramification of it didn't matter. I was leaning so far
over that one squirt of it hit me under my chin.

My hand pumped my shaft, kneading it, getting every last drop, until just
touching myself felt overwhelming. I sighed and dipped my head to the
mattress, feeling the spunk get on my forehead as I leaned over. I didn't
care. Smelling it, I got the same "safe" emotion again and I was so blasted
that I just lay down fully across my own cum, letting it soak into my skin
as I tried to rest from the orgasm.

But, rest isn't what happened. My body started to shiver and tremble. At
first I thought I was just cold - - which I was - - but I started to
actually shake. I rolled over and looked at my hands and my legs. I got
scared as this happened, because I was having sensations INSIDE my body
that weren't normal. I felt my organs "flex." I don't know how to describe
it, but it's like each one in turn just tightened up, shifted around a
little, then when quiet. They spasmed several times like this, over maybe
thirty seconds, but it was weird and disturbing.

Sensations were crawling up and down my cock, which was still 100% rock
hard. That was unusual by itself, normally it would have started to deflate
by now. But it was like ants were walking on it. The sensations weren't
sexual AT ALL, but weren't painful - - it was just weird. I took hold of
it, hoping that the sensation of my palm on the shaft would stop whatever
else was happening. But that wasn't the case. I already had a full hard-on,
but I felt myself getting hard again. It was like there was another cock
INSIDE my cock that was getting hard and pushing my cock with it as it
hardened. I looked at my cock and was amazed as it got longer.

The muscles in the lower half of my body locked up so hard they were
trembling and I couldn't move. My cock started to plump up even more. It
had been a normal size, big enough for the head to stick out of my fist
when I held it, but I watched my head get farther and farther away from my
fist. I realized I wasn't breathing and the spasming of my organs had
locked up my lungs. I stared wide eyed at my cock as it grew longer.

The crawling sensation was unnerving and, coupled with the visual
spectacle, overwhelming. My cock nearly doubled in length, turning into
this monstrous pink tentacle that was covered in the pre-cum slime it kept
emitting from the tip. My glans streamlined into the shaft until it became
more of a point than a mushroom cap and the shaft got thicker and thicker
until my fingers could barely meet around it. The weirdest thing was the
bulge. About an inch from the bottom of the base, a portion of my cock
doubled in thickness, making a huge bulge in the middle of the shaft.

The seizure passed and I could both breath and move again. I scrambled
upright, my legs pumping against the mattress, almost as if I was trying to
get away from own cock. It hung between my legs, a massive tool bobbing
over the mattress. I sat up and looked down at it, feeling dizzy and
trembling still.

The strange sensations started to subside, but I felt light-headed and on
the biggest freak-out of all time. My cock stayed hard. It wasn't just
chubbed, it was completely, utterly hard. I could see my heartbeat vibrate
through it. I gingerly touched it, as if to convince myself it was real,
but it was. It leaked pre-cum by the line, puddling on the mattress and it
was sensitive as FUCK. Even a finger tip tracing the shaft was nearly
enough to get my hips thrusting. I poked the solid bulge and the upper
edges of it were nearly as sensitive as my glans. On impulse, I closed my
fist around the shaft above the bulge and thrust my cock through it, using
the pre-cum as lube. When my fist hit the bulge, I involuntarily let out a
moan, fell back to the mattress, and thrust my hips into my hand.

I took my hands off it and put them behind my head. Then the real fear hit
me and I started to panic. With the attack last night, the waking up in my
closet, and now this, I was losing it. I ended up pulling my comforter over
my body and curling up, covering my head, pulling pillows around me, and
reveling in the smell of my own spunk. The more of the scent I inhaled, the
more "safe" emotion resonated in me. I needed to feel that. It took my cock
a long time to finally go down and only a little time after that before I
lost consciousness. I didn't exactly sleep, but my body was suddenly
exhausted, so I grayed out for a long while, letting myself be warm and
safe.