Author's Note: I've edited this extensively from a previous submission, and rewritten the last 2 chapters entirely to better expand Daniel’s bate adventure. Happy cumming, bros!
Bators be batin’
Up, down. Up, down. Fast for 3, slow for 3.
The twink was balls deep in a tight hole, showing the older man who was boss. His cock couldn’t groan, so he did. Deep and low.
He’d been stroking for 2 hours. Not a record, not even close, but he was learning. In one window, bros encouraged with curses and mantras, in the other the boy continued to own the man.
“Penis bro!”
“Fucking stroke that penis!”
“Yeah, you’re just a cock!”
The mantra’s flashed by in the comments, his cock clear on cam, his slight belly creased below the button, his shaved pubes showing off his full shaft, itself wrapped at the base by a black rubber ring.
He’d only been broadcasting like this for a week, but already every load he shot was harder. His bros loved his cock. Big, and veiny, and black. His balls were like eggs, jumping up and down every time he flexed his dong, like some obscene puppet show.
“They churn out pure alpha cream,” he said, cupping them, letting his audience focus on all of his manhood. Penis wouldn’t be penis without balls, afterall. Without precum making his purple head shine, his room stink. Without that hot white liquid flowing down his shaft and knuckles like some male volcano, perverse in its function, demanding to be seen.
He turned the twink porn off and opens a file, speakers on loud.
It’s him. Another day, daylight, but same seat. His cock powerful. Then, seconds in, spunk. Shooting, flowing, falling. He’s grunting. It fuels him. Then another shot, another day, different light, more cum. And another.
Up, down. Up, down.
He made it the other day. A mega cut of cumshots for his online bros. But now he gets off on it too.
His phone buzzes. The reminder he set.
“Fuck,” he groans, but not out of pleasure.
“Be back soon, boys,” he says, not releasing his dong.
“No, bro! Don’t go!”
“Penis comes first.”
“Come back!”
Reluctantly, he closes down the stream and opens his work laptop. The camera is covered, his wifi being terminally ‘too poor’ to handle video. He opens the call, and his screen is replaced with aging men and doughy women. He slumps back, fiddling with his manhood, hoping it wraps up quickly. He’s already been interrupted by work twice today.
Commit to your Cock, bro
He was greased up and deep in the bate when the doorbell rang. But for once he wasn’t reluctant, pulling a pair of loose joggers on, he ran to the door, the full seven and a half inches of virile black maleness outlined clearly.
Opening the door, the delivery guy took him in, shirtless, sweaty, a few days patchy growth along his jaw.
“Delivery for Daniel Robertson," he said, package in hand, but eyes wide, staring firmly downward.
“Yeah, man, that's me.”
He signed, flexing his cock a few times, letting the man know he knew.
The man looked at him, frowned, then hurried back to his car.
Inside, cock newly free and only socks left to warm him, he hurried to his bedroom. The ring light was set up ready, the camera’s, two of them, primed. One side, one back, the latter perched on a tower of boardgames. They came on, and he readied himself.
The unboxing ceremony was important. Naked, he squatted over the box, carefully opening it, checking that the screens were showing him in the best light. Slowly, he pulled back the tissue and lifted it out.
A fully silicone, realistic reproduction of a pussy. Pink skin, no hair. The cunt itself was nestled between the tops of two cut off thighs, and the lower part of an abdomen up to the belly button.
He placed the box aside, and spoke to his followers.
“This is the Cassandra,” he said, lubing his cock with the thick white cream he preferred, “And she’s about to feel the stretch.”
He toyed with it, his cock feeling around the loose edges, the squish and then firmness of the fake anatomy. The lips parted, grabbed him, and he fell inwards. He fucked missionary first, letting his cameras record his ass flexing, balls pendulus with each thrust, side profile of his manhood owning her.
He switched it up, laid back, held the cunt over his pole, and dragged her down, fucking and bucking into it, bouncing it up and down.
“I’m just a plastic fucker,” he growled, the new mic picking up his every word.
For twenty minutes he fucked. When he came, it was outside the toy, letting his camera zoom in on the main event. His penis penising, splattering man batter all over his slightly soft body, into his slowly returning nest of pubes.
Panting, he turned the cams off, and sat at his desk. He’d missed a meeting, but not an important one. He read an email summary from a colleague, and made a mental note to do the work later.
For now, he worked on his video. He was so fucking powerful, fucking and owning that toy like a real breeder. His cock rose as he worked, and by the time he was done, he was already an hour into another bate.
His phone lit up with messages, but they went unanswered in the penis fog.
My Bros
He posted his credit card bill in the forums, on his twitter, and reddit. $852.25 on sex toys. Cassandra was now joined by Kelly, a black cunt of the same model, Joanne, a full torso with tits and pussy, and Joe, a beautiful ass and hole complete with balls and cock. Not to mention the ever expanding collection of sleeves, some modelled on anatomy, some bizarre and colourful.
Another $195.95 had gone on two new screens, bringing his total to four. He’d spent hours getting them in the right configuration. Two below, two above.
Bros and admirers loved the post.
“Fuck, thats real commitment!”
“Dude, I’m gooning out to your debt!”
One guy even posted a short vid of his small, hairy cock unloading on an iPad screen, his bill clear beneath it.
He’d been invited to a new bate circle in downtown Denver. He was the last to arrive. Six bros, five brothers, one white guy, sat on sofas and chairs draped in dust covers. Hand towels on the arms, lube, condoms, and plastic cunts scattered around a glass table.
There was porn on the big screen, the hosts' own private collection of his conquests across North America. A young thug with a long schlong sat to his right, leg draped over his own, palming his length and letting his breathing broadcast his high. To the right, a bearish type with a fat dong slowly worked his head.
His eyes constantly ranged across the other five cocks. He loved watching the way the white boy's foreskin slid back and forth over that red head. He wanted to reach and touch it, feel the weight and heat in his hand.
The bear reached over, and he let the man take charge, leaning back and melting into the firm, calloused hand.
The sounds of slapping, compliments, and mantras interrupted the audio of their host's recent orgy in San Diego.
They finished as they always did. Primed, in a circle, the host under the glass table, as loads of sticky hot seed flew, shot, sprayed, and leapt from their cocks. Maleness drenched the table until the viewer vanished beneath a pond of unused sperm and protein, his guttural moans declaring his own spray beneath.
He was one of the younger ones at 24, but whilst he might have dropped some of the biggest nuts, when it came to stamina, the older bros had him beat.
He usually stayed after the events, chatting with the guys, learning a little about their lives. He found it a turn on to know who was here behind the wife's back, their husbands, who’d escaped their kids for the day, who should be at work. Some of these men risked a lot for quality cock time. They were still men, afterall. And men needed time with their dicks, with other dicks.
He’d be back again.
Interventions
Work was driving him mad. First it was the meetings, then it was the 1-2-1s. His numbers were down, like he didn’t know. He’d even been forced to go into the office and attend a meeting with his manager to discuss raising his performance back to expectations.
He’d talked about it whilst he bated with a bro in Missouri, a hung older white dude called CockBro99.
“Fuuuuck bro, they suck. You should go into the office and bate in each of their chairs.”
He let his head loll around, listening and his bro fuelled him, let his cock, sore again, ache under his fingers.
“Yeah man, keep going.”
“Let your ass sweat tag their seats. Mark their territory, make it yours.”
His cock flexed, pulsing but not close. He’d already cum three times, the fourth wasn’t cooperating. But it would.
“I fucking will, bro. I’ll sneak in late at night, smear my slime over their keyboards.”
“Fuck yeah you will, bro!”
The guy’s own cock was glistening, his face, clean shaven and topped with close cut silver hair, was gurning. High on a bong just off camera. The other man's balls were trapped in a double cockring, one around his balls, the other his shaft, stretching them out. They looked red, angry, and full. The view was so intoxicating he could have lived in it.
Just as he was getting deeper, his phone rang. He went to ignore the call, but his lubey hands missed, and it came through.
“Hello?”
It was his dad.
Frustrated, he pressed the speaker, and kept stroking.
“Hey, dad.”
“So you are alive afterall. Had me wondering when you didn’t respond to any of my last fifteen messages.”
His dad’s tone was edged with annoyance. Daniel shook his head, smirking at the camera, where the dude was clearly listening, his face betraying his interest.
“Whats up, dad?”
His hand was still fixed around his cock, the palm of the other now swirling and smearing precum around the piss slit.
“Worried about you, son.”
He swallowed his frustration and let the word son wash over him. It meant something different to him now, something the man on screen would call him. Not this man, this sperm donor. It felt wrong, yet his penis flexed all the harder for it.
He increased his tempo.
“I’m good, dad, real good.”
A slight pause.
“I know you, boy. You’ve always been a bit on the quiet side but the last few months?”
He let out a groan. His dad mistook it for irritation.
“I’m just saying, you missed my birthday. That ain’t like you. Now I know things have been hard since Jerome dumped you, but cutting yourself off from everyone ain’t gonna help no one. Least of all you.”
“Oh, fuck dad,” he said, stretching his body out theatrically, legs wider, balls tight now.
Another pause.
“Are you okay?”
But Daniel could feel his load building now, the reservoir at the base threatening to geyser upwards.
“Fucking-A!”
And he arched his back.
“Son, what are you doing?”
He hesitated, his cock flexing in his hand now, desperate to unload. His friend was clear about what he wanted. And so was his cock. Who was he to say no?
“Cumming.”
His felt the surge.
“What?” his dad asked, bewildered.
“I said, I’m cumming, dad!”
That was it. The trigger. His dong expanded beyond 100% hard into some new realm, and hot spunk spurted, no, gushed from some unknown store. He grunted over and over.
When he came down, drenched, the line was dead, and his friend was cheering on screen.
Jackson Pollocking
He’d started to make a little money on the cams now. Tips and gifts from his fans. Not a lot, not enough to offset his need to work, but enough to cover his habit. No, not a habit; a calling.
He was still getting grief from work, but not as much. He’d begin to perfect his bating routine. The toilets doors at work were a constant splash zone now, a total mosaic of his loads. He’d wank on his break, at lunch, then edge through holes in his pockets at his desk, his bulging cock hidden under baggy jumpers or tucked under his belt.
Sometimes he’d have to let go and focus on his screen, listen to his colleagues, but he always went back to it.
He kept his cock nicely looked after, too. A strict routine of moisturizing and alternating grips. He couldn’t afford to bruise it, or make it chafe. There was such a thing as bad swelling, he’d learned.
Discipline was as much a part of bating as giving in to dong. Edging was, after all, a form of control. So discipline, he reasoned, was just an extension of edging.
It had been an incredibly busy day. His cock had been left untouched as reports had pinged back and forth between his inbox and his managers and worse still, his lunch break had been delayed due to an impromtu meeting he’d stewed throughout.
Now, finally, at 3pm, he was locked into a cubicle in the gents. Trousers pooled around his ankles, cock straining between his widespread legs. He wasn’t touching it yet, just admiring it. The solid shaft, the stretch of the skin, the pattern of bulging veins, how his shaved pubes showed off the root. It was beautiful, and made him harder. A feedback loop of pleasure. The sight of his cock making his cock pulse.
He sighed, and let the back of his head rest against the tiles, hand slowly caressing the slick head, when the sound of someone coming in forced his eyes open. He hoped it wasnt the cleaner. She had a habit of interuppting him.
Instead the door next to his opened and closed, and the sound of a belt buckle clattering to the tiles confirmed the presence of another man. He palmed his cock, ignoring the intruder, admiring the view of semen stains on the door. Most had been cleaned off, but he could still see the streaks under the bleach swirls. His sperm. His loads. He’d even taken to photographing the mosaic he’d been making, posting the ever changing art work on his OnlyFans. He’d cum, spurting up the door, then take a photo. By the end of the week he’d usually have five to eight loads deposited on it.
One day he’d come in and found a sign:
“Staff are reminded that facilities are for their intended purpose only.”
Such a vague complaint. They daren’t even say, “Stop busting your nut up the fucking doors!”
He’d taken the sign down and, with a close up of his cock head, livestreamed himself unloading creamy hot jizz all over it. He’d stuck it back on the wall, and left, smiling.
The memory had him in a proper rhythm, his foreskin gliding back and forth over his shiny head, his hand a blur, his legs shaking, when he heard it. Another rhythm. Subtle, but there. He went still, and listened carefully. A slick slap, a slight scrape of a buckle on tile, and looking down, the shaking shadow.
Fuck! His cock jumped, a single clear drop sliding down to his bare balls.
Grabbing his phone, he turned the camera on, and leaned forward, angling it so he could get a better view of the shoes and legs of the man beside him. Pretty standard brown shoes, a pair of umber chinos, a belt shaking lightly, a pair of blue brief stretched between olive colorued, skinny legs drenched in thick black hair.
He wasn’t sure who it was, but he was fucking horny, and leant back, stretching his legs out so one show was up against the partition, and started to stroke his dong, letting out little, controlled exhales and exagerating his strokes so that the slap of his foreskin and precum was audible.
Whoever was next to him paused a moment too, the sound dropping off. Daniel didn’t, watching the shadow to his left as he fucking worked his dick. Then, the shadow started to shake again and the sounds of their impromptu bro bonding echoed off the tiles. Two sets of legs spread wide, the slap of fists against balls, the sighs and exhales.
Daniel was so turned on his balls churned with a days unspent cum, and he felt the tell tale creep of spunk rise. His whole body tensed, he held a breathe, and then it started. Big, artistic spurts shot into the air, ribboning before landing on his thighs and belly.
He must have been making a lot of noise as suddenly his own silence gave way to the deep, guttural grunts of a man enjoying his penis. Each grunt defintiely representing a shot of sperm.
Silence finally fell, and the two men’s breathing slowly faded. Smiling, watching his cum slide down his thighs, Daniel slumped back against the wall.
The other man, however, was in a rush. The tear of toilet paper, the shuffle of feet, and flush of the toilet, all marking a man in a hurry. But was the hurry so he didn’t have to face his masturbation partner? Or was it something as mundane as work?
He spent the rest of the afternoon searching for the chinos and brown shoes, but the busy day continued and his scouting mission ended up limited to his floor alone. The other two remained unexplored.
He drove home that day frustrated, but with a sizeable semi snaking down his leg.
Boys will be boys, he thought to himself.
Judgement Call
He’d been out the night before, finally giving into his friends demands he spend time outside. He’d enjoyed the sunshine, their company, and drank heavily long into the night. It had been fun. Yes, he’d gotten semi at the trough urinal, watching the straight cocks of strangers hanging either side of him, but that was it. He’d been too preoccupied to bate.
Now he was hungover, and as much as his head was pouding, his seven and a half inches were demanding either a hand or a hole. Naked, he padded through the dark house to his bate cave, and called up porn across his screens. He did think about streaming with some bros, getting into some proper up down verbal, but his cock and his brain wanted something more intimate, more selfish. He didn’t want to perform he wanted to devolve, like he was a young lad again, fapping under the duvet in the dark.
Taking a handful of cream, he smeared it along his schlong, and began to wank. On one screen a straight lad was balls deep in shaved cunt, one another, a lad was throating some major cock, and on the other, a twink was slamming an older mans hole like it had offended him.
The screens were hurting his eyes but his junk was responding like crazy. The booze had defintiely done something to him, and he was here for it. He’d have to go out more often if this was the quality of his wanking the next day.
The room stunk of dried cum deposited in briefs his fans had sent him, all of them now balled up all over the floor. A tied off condom full of yesterdays performance lay draped over one of his screens, the ivory colour clear under the blue light.
Just as he was getting into it, and he felt the first flash of orgasm he’d ride to an edge, his phone began to vibrate across the desk. Curiosity forced him to look at the caller: Dad.
His mood shifted and his hard on softened slightly. It had been weeks since he’d called. No texts, no emails, nothing. He’d figured he’d blown that relationship along with his load, although it had been a great load. Still, he should take it. Just in case something was wrong.
He pressed speaker, making sure his screens were on the lowest possible volume, and reduced his stroking to casual fondling.
“Dad?”
“Daniel,” his dad said, flatly.
“Is everything okay?”
His dad seemed to consider the question a moment
“Yeah, everything’s fine son.”
Another pause.
“I just, I wanted to see if you were doing any better?”
Daniel, slid the foreskin under the flare of his helmet, and began to slowly massage his head.
“Er, yeah dad,” he said, try to control his breathing, “Works fine, I went to a bar with friends last night. S’all good.”
Another pause, a slight catch in the throat.
“You’re err, doing it again, aren’t you?” his dad asked, his voice a bit shaky.
Guilty, but also excited, Daniel kept up his slow stroke, feeling his sensitive head throb from over stimulation.
“Doing what?” he asked automatically. It wasn’t a trap, and he wasn’t ashamed exactly, he just hoped his dad might have…found an alternative reason for what happened last time.
His dad let out a long breath.
“You know what.”
“I do.”
“Do you know how disrespectful that is, boy?”
His dad only called him boy when he was either pissed or trying to drive home a point. It made him harder, and his hand sped up a little.
“Yes, sir.”
“A father should never know his son is jerking off whilst he’s talking to him.”
He was stroking normally now, the slight sounds of lube between fingers under the harsh voice of his father.
“Let alone listening to him…listening to him cum.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is that all you’ve got to say, boy?”
Stretching out, Daniel’s eyes fell on the fleshlight he’d been using the day before, and reached for it.
“Sorry sir,” he managed, a sigh escaping his lips as the plastic parted around his engorged prick.
His dad didn’t reply for a second or two, enough time for him to watch his shaft vanish and reappear, feel the ripples and grip of the contours massaging every inch of his big gay cock.
““Really, really sorry,” he added.
“Where did I go wrong with you?” his dad asked, sounding exacerbated.
“You didn’t. I’m just a man, sir. Men are just…” he thought about it a moment, then felt the fleshlight close around his head again and sighed, “men are just cocks. I can’t help it, dad.”
His dad took a deep breath as Daniel began to buck into his fleshlight. He was being loud now, throwing caution to the wind.
“Dad?” he asked after a minute went by, unsure if the call had ended. But the seconds were still ticking by.
“I’m still here, son,” his voice softer.
“Do you want me to hang up?”
Another pause.
“No.”
It was a firm answer, one that made his balls tighten,
“I guess I’ll just have to…get used to it,” his dad added.
Something about his tone made Daniel slow down again.
“I can stop if you want me to?” he asked, testing the man, testing a theory.
When there was no immediate reply he pushed it.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“I…it's okay, son. You’re just…being a man.”
The pauses. The little exacerbated breaths.
“Dad?”
“Yeah, son?”
“What are you doing?”
Another pause, but this time Daniel was listening, lowering his ear close to the speaker on his phone. Was that…
“I’m erm, well I’m…”
“Dad!”
“I’m…I’m being a man, okay?!”
Daniel almost flooded the fleshlight there and then.
“Fuck.”
He put fleshlight on the desk and took his cock back in his hand, wanting to feel skin-on-skin as he and his dad jacked off together,
“Like father, like son, eh?” he said after a while.
“I…I guess,” his dad managed, his tone unsure.
“Is it as big as mine, dad?” Daniel asked, nervous he might be pushing too hard.
“I wouldn’t know, son.”
“Describe it to me, dad.”
The sounds of stroking were clear over the phone now. His dad, his fucking dad was jacking off. He wasn’t so much as edging as holding back a flood.
“I don’t know, son.”
“Do it, dad! Take pride in it. I bet it's an impressive, alpha cock.”
His dad groaned.
“It’s big son, big and thick.”
“Keep going, dad!”
“Uncut like you, son, with a big purple head.”
“Don’t stop, dad! Be proud of that big prick!”
He heard his dad pick up the tempo.
“We shouldn’t be doing this, boy.”
Daniel gripped his dick with both hands and began to fuck his fists.
“Fucking do it, dad!”
“I can hear you, Daniel. I can hear you jacking it.”
“Yeah, dad! Listen to me stroke my big seven and a half incher!”
“Urrrrrgh. You inherited my genes, son.”
“Oh yeah, man! Big daddy dong.”
His father laughed.
“I guess so, son.”
The wet sounds of slick skin on skin echoed about the room, two distinct rhythms at play.
“Describe yours to me, boy.”
Daniel had to let go of his rigid manhood, already feeling cum threatening to erupt like a gyser just at that sentence alone.
“It’s handsome, dad. Seven and a half inches of girth, foreskin peeled all the way back (thanks for making sure I kept that by the way), and a purple head thats leaking precum. My balls are tight right now, but they’re usually heavy with loads and resting on my chair. And I’m totally shaved.”
His dad groaned.
“That’s my boy. Big and strong and proud.”
When his dad groaned a second time, it was too much for Daniel, who immediately put his hands back where they belonged.
“Dad! Dad, I’m gonna cum.”
“Do it, boy. Be a man.”
“You want to hear your little boy cum?” he said, voice loud and shaky.
“Do it, son! Shoot your shot, boy!”
Daniel bolted up right, balls tight against his body, cock aimed at the screens, a bucket full of surging forward.
“I want to cum with you, sir,” he managed between ragged breaths, the eruption imminent.
A deep groan rang out from the speakers.
“Oh fuck, son. I’m cumming! I’m cumming!”
That was it. Daniel’s vision blurred, his body tensed, and his hips thrust forward as jets of spunk squirted at the screen like shots from a water pistol, so strong they splattered onto the keyboard below. Jet after jet, grunt after grunt, as the two men, the father and son, came together.
When he was done, and what seemed like a gallon of cum drenched his keyboard and screen, he collapsed into the chair.
“That was…that was awesome!” he said, elated.
Heavy, recuperating breaths echoed down the line.
“I’ve not cum that hard in forever,” the older voice finally managed.
“Now I know where I get it from.”
“Your dick?”
“Nah, dad. Being a penis bro. Addicted to my own cock. Must run in the family.”
His dad let out a deep chuckle.
“Maybe, son.”
Another pause, and then, “I best go before your ma gets home. Talk later, kid.”
“Bye dad, don’t be a stranger.”
The line went dead, and Daniel, still hard, took his cock, and slowly began to stroke. Not to cum, another load was hours away. He just wanted to feel it. Not ever in a sexual way, just in that comforting way men sometimes held their maleness.
Strangely, he felt closer to his dad, now. Validated, even. He’d made his dad not just cross a line but accept he was just a cock too. He’d reconnected him to his manhood. No doubt his old man would have some kind of freak out at some point, but he was a man. He’d cave into the needs of his dick again.
Groaning, he lent back, stretched out his legs, and used his cum as lube. It was going to be a good, long day.
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