My name's Jordan and I've got this whole suburban neighborhood figured out. Quiet streets, manicured lawns, families who smile and wave but never really look too close. Perfect for a guy like me—eighteen, smart enough to charm my way through anything, and just manipulative enough to get what I want without anyone catching on.
I'm lying on my bed, calculus homework spread out in front of me but completely ignored, when I hear the rumble of a moving truck next door. The house has been empty for three months, ever since the Hendersons moved to Florida. I roll off the mattress and pad over to my window, pushing the curtain aside just enough to get a good view.
A big U-Haul is backing into the driveway. Behind it, a silver SUV parks on the street. The doors open and a family spills out—mom, dad, and... holy fuck.
Their son.
He's tall. Really tall. Maybe six-two, with broad shoulders that strain against a grey t-shirt already dark with sweat in the summer heat. Wavy blond hair catches the afternoon sun as he stretches, arms reaching overhead in a way that makes his shirt ride up and expose a strip of tanned, smooth abs. Even from here I can see he's built—thick arms, narrow waist, legs like tree trunks in those athletic shorts.
Then he pulls his shirt off.
I actually stop breathing for a second.
His torso is ridiculous. Smooth, golden skin stretched over slabs of muscle that look like they were carved from marble. But it's his chest that makes my mouth go dry. His pecs are enormous—huge, rounded mounds that sit high and proud on his frame, so full and heavy they actually jiggle slightly when he moves. They're perfectly smooth, not a hair in sight, and his nipples are puffy and pink, standing out like little cherries on top of all that muscle. Between them, a small gold cross necklace dangles and catches the light, swinging gently as he bends to grab a box.
My cock twitches in my shorts.
This is too good. Way too good.
I watch him work for another twenty minutes, cataloging every detail. The way his pecs bounce when he carries heavy boxes. How his biceps bulge when he lifts. The innocent, puppy-like smile he gives his parents when they thank him. There's something about him—something sweet and dumb and completely unaware of how fucking hot he is.
Perfect.
I pull on a tight white tank top that shows off my toned arms and the curve of my bubble butt in my grey joggers, run my fingers through my wavy brunette hair, and head downstairs. Mom's in the kitchen making dinner.
"New neighbors moving in," I say casually. "Gonna go introduce myself, maybe help them out."
She beams at me. "That's so sweet, honey. You're such a good boy."
If only she knew.
I cross the lawn and approach their driveway with my most charming smile. The mom notices me first—a pleasant-looking woman in her forties with the same blond hair as her son.
"Hi there!" I call out, waving. "I'm Jordan from next door. Thought I'd come say welcome to the neighborhood."
"Oh, how wonderful!" She wipes her hands on her jeans and comes over to shake mine. "I'm Carol Richardson. This is my husband Tom, and that's our son Michael."
Michael straightens up from the box he was lifting, and Jesus Christ, he's even more impressive up close. Those pecs are massive, casting shadows on his abs, and the gold cross swings between them as he walks over. His face is handsome in that all-American way—strong jaw, bright blue eyes, perfect white teeth when he smiles.
"Hey," he says, voice deep but friendly. He extends a hand and I take it, noting the calluses and the strength in his grip. "Nice to meet you, man."
"Likewise." I let my eyes drop to his chest for just a second—long enough to appreciate, not long enough to be obvious. "You guys need any help? I've got nothing going on this afternoon."
"That would be amazing," Carol says before Michael can answer. "Michael, honey, show Jordan where things go. We've got so many boxes."
"Sure, Mom." He grins at me, and there's something so earnest and puppy-like about it that I almost feel bad for what I'm planning.
Almost.
We work for the next hour, carrying boxes from the truck into the house. Michael does most of the heavy lifting—he's strong as hell, muscles flexing and straining with every load. I make sure to position myself where I can watch those pecs bounce and jiggle, the way they compress when he sets boxes down and then spring back into their full, rounded shape. Sweat makes his skin glisten, and I catch myself staring at the way droplets run down the deep valley between his chest muscles.
He's also, I quickly realize, dumb as a box of rocks.
"So you're starting at the community college in the fall?" I ask, making conversation while we carry a dresser up the stairs.
"Uh, yeah. Hopefully." He laughs, a little embarrassed. "Didn't really do great in high school. Tests and stuff, you know? My brain just doesn't work that way."
"I'm sure you're smarter than you think."
"Nah, man. I'm pretty dumb." He says it without shame, just matter-of-fact. "But I'm good at sports. Football, mostly. Got a scholarship offer but my parents wanted me to stay close to home."
"That's cool. What position?"
"Linebacker. Coach said I hit hard." He flexes unconsciously, and his pecs bounce. The cross swings. I have to adjust myself in my joggers.
By the time we finish, the sun is starting to set and Michael's parents are thanking me profusely. I wave it off, playing the humble neighbor card.
"Hey," I say to Michael as I'm leaving. "You should come hang out sometime. I'm right next door. We could play video games or whatever."
His face lights up like a kid on Christmas. "Really? That'd be awesome! I don't really know anyone here yet."
"Cool. How about tomorrow? Around seven?"
"Yeah! Definitely." He's practically bouncing on his toes, those massive pecs jiggling with the movement. "Thanks, Jordan. You're really nice."
I smile, all innocence. "No problem, man. See you tomorrow."
As I walk back to my house, I'm already planning. Already thinking about how easy this is going to be.
The next day drags. I go through the motions—breakfast, gym, shower, pretending to study—but my mind keeps drifting to Michael. Those huge, smooth pecs. That innocent smile. The way he called me "really nice" like he had no idea what I was thinking.
By six-thirty I'm ready. I've picked out my tightest pair of grey athletic shorts—the ones that hug my bubble butt and show off the round, firm curve of my ass. No underwear. Just the shorts and nothing else. I want him to see exactly what he's getting.
At seven on the dot, there's a knock on my door.
I take a breath, run my fingers through my hair one more time, and answer it shirtless.
Michael's standing there in a clean white t-shirt that's stretched tight across his chest and khaki shorts that do nothing to hide the thick bulge between his legs. His eyes go wide when he sees me, dropping immediately to my bare torso—my toned abs, the V-lines pointing down into my shorts, the smooth skin.
"Hey!" I say brightly, like I'm not half-naked. "Come on in."
"Uh—hey." He's blushing a little, which is adorable. "Thanks for inviting me over."
"No problem. My parents are out for the night, so we've got the place to ourselves." I lead him upstairs to my room, making sure to walk ahead so he gets a good view of my ass in these shorts. I can feel his eyes on me.
My room is pretty standard—bed, desk, TV with a gaming console hooked up, posters on the walls. Michael looks around with that same puppy-like enthusiasm.
"This is cool," he says. "Way cooler than my room."
"Thanks. So, you wanna play something? I've got a bunch of games."
His face falls a little. "Oh, uh... I actually can't. My parents don't let me play video games."
I blink. "Seriously?"
"Yeah." He looks embarrassed. "They're really strict about that stuff. We're, like, super Christian. No video games, no R-rated movies, no... you know. Stuff like that."
Oh, this is even better than I thought.
"That's cool," I say easily. "We can do something else. Just hang out, talk, whatever. I've got some juice if you want?"
"Sure!"
I grab two glasses from my mini-fridge and pour us some cranberry juice. We sit on my bed—him on one end, me on the other—and talk about nothing for a while. He tells me about his old school, his football team, how his parents are really involved in their church. I nod and smile and ask questions, all while watching the way his pecs strain against his shirt, the way the gold cross glints in the light.
Then I make my move.
"Here, let me show you something," I say, reaching for my phone on the nightstand. As I do, I "accidentally" knock my glass over. Juice spills everywhere—all over the bed, all over Michael's lap, soaking his white shirt until it's practically see-through.
"Oh shit!" I jump up, grabbing tissues. "Dude, I'm so sorry!"
"It's okay!" He's laughing, trying to wipe himself off, but the shirt is ruined. "It's just juice."
"Here, take it off. I'll throw it in the wash real quick."
He hesitates for just a second, then pulls the shirt over his head.
Holy. Fuck.
Up close, shirtless, in my bedroom, Michael is a goddamn masterpiece. His pecs are even bigger than I thought—huge, rounded slabs of muscle that sit high and proud on his chest, so full and heavy they actually cast shadows on his ripped abs. The skin is baby-smooth, golden and perfect, and his nipples are puffy and pink, standing out like little erasers. The gold cross dangles right in the center of his deep cleavage, swinging gently with every breath.
I have to physically stop myself from reaching out and grabbing them.
"Wow," I say, letting my voice go a little breathy. "Dude, you're jacked."
He grins, flexing a little. His pecs bounce. "Thanks, man. I work out a lot."
"No kidding." I step closer, pretending to examine his arms. "Can I... can I feel? I've never seen muscles like this up close."
He laughs, completely oblivious. "Sure, I guess?"
I reach out and run my hand over his bicep first—solid, warm, flexing under my touch. Then I move to his shoulder, his trap, and finally, slowly, I let my palm slide down to his chest.
His pec is incredible. Firm muscle underneath, but with this soft, almost pillowy layer on top that yields to my touch. I squeeze gently, feeling the weight of it, the way it fills my hand. Michael's breath hitches.
"They're so big," I murmur, squeezing a little harder. "Like... really big."
"Y-yeah." His voice is shaky now. "I do a lot of chest day."
I move to the other pec, cupping it, lifting it slightly to feel the heft. My thumb brushes over his nipple and he gasps—a high, breathy sound that goes straight to my cock.
"Does that feel good?" I ask, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes.
"I... I don't know. It's weird. But... yeah?"
"It's just buddies appreciating each other's bodies," I say smoothly, pinching his nipple lightly. "Nothing weird about it. Guys do this all the time."
"They do?"
"Totally." I pinch harder, rolling the puffy bud between my fingers. His cock is thickening in his shorts—I can see the outline growing, thick and long. "See? You're into it. That's normal."
He moans, soft and confused, but he doesn't pull away. I take that as permission.
I push him gently back onto the bed and straddle his lap, my bubble butt settling right over the massive bulge in his shorts. The pressure makes us both groan—his cock is so thick I can feel every inch of it pressing up against my ass through the thin fabric. I start grinding slowly, rolling my hips in deliberate circles while my hands explore his chest.
God, his pecs are incredible. They're firm underneath—solid muscle built from years of football and weight training—but there's this soft, padded layer of mass on top that makes them feel almost pillowy when I squeeze. They're so full, so heavy, yielding to my touch but springing back into their perfect rounded shape when I let go. I grab both of them, one in each hand, and push them together, creating this deep valley of cleavage that makes my mouth water.
"Fuck, Michael," I breathe, squeezing harder. "Your chest is insane. Look at these."
I bounce them in my palms, watching the way they jiggle and sway with the movement. The gold cross swings wildly between them. Michael's face is flushed, his mouth hanging open slightly as he watches me play with his body.
"You like that?" I ask, bouncing them again. "Like watching me play with your big pec tits?"
"I—yeah," he stammers, that dumb puppy smile spreading across his face. "That's... that's really weird but it feels good."
"You're so fucking sexy," I murmur, leaning down to lick up the center of his chest, right through that deep cleavage. His skin tastes like salt and sweat and something uniquely him. I push his pecs together with my hands, creating an even deeper valley, and drag my tongue slowly up through it. "Such a perfect body. Like a fucking Greek statue."
He moans—loud and unrestrained—and his hips buck up involuntarily, grinding his bulge against my ass. I can feel how hard he is, how desperate.
"Jordan," he gasps, hands hovering uncertainly at his sides. "What are we—"
"Just buddies helping each other feel good," I murmur, moving my mouth to his left nipple. It's puffy and pink, standing out hard from the soft padding of his pec. I lick around it first, teasing, then suck it into my mouth.
Michael practically shouts, his whole body jerking beneath me. "Oh fuck—oh fuck—"
"You can touch me too," I say, pulling off his nipple with a wet pop. "It's okay. Grab my ass."
His big hands land on my waist, then slide down to my bubble butt. He squeezes tentatively at first, fingers sinking into the firm, round muscle. I moan encouragingly, grinding harder against his cock.
"That's it," I breathe. "Grab it. Feel how firm it is. How round."
He squeezes harder, fingers digging into my ass, spreading my cheeks through the thin fabric of my shorts. His cock is rock-hard now, throbbing against me with every heartbeat. I can feel it pulsing, can feel the heat of it even through our clothes.
I sit up and reach for his waistband. "Can I see it?"
"I—I don't know if—"
"Come on," I coax, palming him through his shorts. He's huge—I can barely get my hand around him. "Just let me see. I won't tell anyone. Buddies share this stuff."
He nods, dumb and eager, that blush spreading down his neck to his massive chest. I pull his shorts down slowly, teasingly, and his cock springs free.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
It's massive—easily ten inches, thick as a beer can, with a fat mushroom head that's already dark and swollen with arousal. Pre-cum is leaking steadily from the slit, dripping down the smooth shaft. The whole thing is veiny and perfect, curving slightly upward, and it throbs visibly in the air between us.
"Holy fuck," I whisper, wrapping both hands around it. My fingers don't even come close to touching. "Michael, you're huge. This is the biggest cock I've ever seen."
He grins stupidly, blushing even harder. "Really? Thanks, man."
God, he's so dumb. So sweet and dumb and perfect.
I stroke him slowly, watching his face go slack with pleasure, his mouth falling open as he moans. Then I slide my own shorts off, letting my cock spring free. I'm hard as steel, leaking, desperate to feel him.
I position myself so his cock is nestled between my ass cheeks, the thick shaft sliding along my crack. The heat of it is incredible, searing against my smooth skin. I start grinding again, slow and deliberate, using my bubble butt to hotdog his massive dick. My ass jiggles with every movement, the round cheeks bouncing and gripping his shaft, and I can feel him throbbing between them.
"Oh my god," Michael whimpers, his hands flying to my ass, grabbing and squeezing desperately. "Jordan—that feels—"
"I know," I murmur, leaning forward to worship his pecs again. "Your cock feels so good between my cheeks. So big and thick."
I lick across his right pec, feeling the firm muscle and soft padding under my tongue, then take his nipple into my mouth and suck hard. He cries out, hips bucking up, his cock sliding deliciously between my ass cheeks. I move to the other nipple, sucking and biting gently while my hands knead his chest, pushing the heavy pecs together and apart, bouncing them, squeezing them.
"You're such a sexy fuck toy," I breathe against his skin. "Look at you. Big dumb jock with these huge pec tits and this monster cock. You were made for this."
"I—I don't—" He can barely form words, completely lost in the sensation. His hands are all over my ass now, squeezing and spreading, fingers digging into the firm muscle. "Feels so good—"
I grind harder, faster, my bubble butt bouncing on his lap, the round cheeks jiggling and gripping his shaft with every movement. I can feel my own cock leaking all over his abs, making everything slick and wet.
Then I lift up slightly, reaching back to grab his cock. It's so thick in my hand, pulsing with need. I position the fat head right against my hole—my tight, pink, smooth entrance—and rub it in slow circles.
Michael's eyes go wide, his whole body tensing. "Jordan—"
"Do you want to push inside me?" I ask, my voice breathy and teasing. I rub his cockhead against my hole again, pressing just slightly so he can feel the resistance. "Do you want to feel how tight I am?"
"I—" He's panting now, his chest heaving, those massive pecs rising and falling. "I don't know—should we—"
"Do you want to?" I press his cockhead harder against my entrance, letting him feel the heat of me. "Tell me, Michael. Do you want to push this big cock inside me?"
"Yes," he moans, nodding frantically. "Yes—fuck—yes—"
I rub him against my hole again, teasing, circling. "Yeah? You want to fuck me with this huge dick?"
"Please—" He's gooning now, completely mindless with pleasure, his hips trying to thrust up but I keep him right at the edge, never letting him push inside. "Please, Jordan—"
"You want it so bad, don't you?" I grind his cockhead against my entrance, feeling it pulse and leak. "Want to feel my tight hole wrapped around your cock?"
"Yes—yes—fuck—please—" He's babbling now, hands gripping my ass so hard it almost hurts, trying to pull me down onto him.
But I don't let him in. Not yet. I need him desperate, need him so worked up that he'll do anything to feel this again. So I lift up and slide his cock back between my ass cheeks, grinding down hard.
"Not yet," I whisper, leaning down so our faces are inches apart. Our mouths are so close I can feel his breath on my lips, hot and desperate. "Not yet, buddy. We have to work up to that."
"Jordan—" He's whimpering, his eyes glazed and unfocused. "Please—"
"Shh," I murmur, grinding harder, my bubble butt bouncing and jiggling on his lap. "Just feel this. Feel my ass on your cock. Doesn't it feel good?"
"So good—" He's panting, our mouths still inches apart, almost kissing but not quite. "So fucking good—"
I lean forward and attack his pecs again, sucking hard on his nipples, biting gently, licking through the deep valley between them. My hands push them together, creating that perfect cleavage, and I bury my face in it, motorboating him while I grind my ass on his cock.
"Such perfect pec tits," I moan against his skin. "So big and soft and perfect. And this cock—fuck, Michael, your cock is incredible. So huge. You're going to feel so good inside me when we finally do it."
"When—" He gasps, hips bucking. "When can we—"
"Soon," I promise, grinding harder. My ass is bouncing frantically now, the round cheeks jiggling and gripping his shaft, and I can feel him getting close. "But for now just feel this. Feel how good buddies make each other feel."
I suck his nipple into my mouth again, hard, and that does it.
"Jordan—I'm gonna—I can't—"
"Cum for me," I whisper, our mouths an inch apart, panting into each other's space. "Cover my ass. Show me how much you like it."
He does. With a loud, broken shout, Michael erupts. His cock pulses between my ass cheeks and then he's cumming—thick, heavy ropes of it shooting up my back, coating my ass, so much cum it feels like it's never going to stop. It's hot and sticky and there's so much of it, painting my skin white, dripping down my crack and onto his thighs.
The feeling of it, the sheer amount, sends me over the edge. I cum hard, my cock pulsing and shooting rope after rope all over his chest and abs. It splatters across his pecs, coating his puffy nipples, pooling in the valleys of his abs, mixing with the sweat on his golden skin. Some of it hits the gold cross, making it glisten.
We're both moaning, our mouths still inches apart, panting and gasping into each other's space, almost kissing but not quite. His hands are still gripping my ass, fingers digging into the cum-slicked skin, and I'm still grinding slowly, milking every last drop from both of us.
When it finally stops, we're both covered. My back and ass are completely painted white with his cum—there's so much it's dripping down my thighs. His chest and abs are streaked with mine, glistening and sticky. We're both panting hard, our bodies trembling with aftershocks.
"Holy," Michael breathes, his eyes wide and dazed. That dumb smile is back, bigger than ever. "That was—I've never—"
"I know," I murmur, finally closing that last inch and pressing my lips to his in a soft, brief kiss. He tastes like sweat and surprise. "That's what close buddies do for each other."
He nods, still smiling stupidly, completely blissed out. "Can we—can we do that again?"
"Definitely," I promise, grinding my cum-covered ass against his softening cock one more time, making him whimper. "Anytime you want, buddy."
We collapse together, panting and sticky, the gold cross pressed between us.
After a moment, I sit up and grin down at him. "Come on. Let's shower."
We clean up together, hands roaming under the spray, and by the time we're done, Michael is smiling that dumb, happy smile again.
"That was awesome," he says as I walk him to the door. "Can we hang out again soon?"
"Definitely," I say.
He leaves, practically skipping down the driveway, and I close the door with a satisfied smirk.
Hook, line, and sinker.
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