A Dick's Life

by Bradley Stoke

Copyright© 2015 by Bradley Stoke

Fiction Sex Story: This is the story of a Dick's Life, from youthful exuberance through jaded middle age to final senescence. A moral tale from which we can all learn.

Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Safe Sex   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   .

In common with everyone else in this world, Dick was much smaller when he was young than he became later. In fact, he was so tiny he wasn't remotely important or prominent. The only time there was any suggestion of his later significance was when he disposed of liquid waste

At first Dick's two small companions, barely more than acorns, were at best ornamental. They were hard enough to the touch and they hurt like mad when squeezed. But there came a time when everything changed in Dick's neighbourhood and his companions were the ones who made it happen.

It was something of a shock the first time it happened. It's not that Dick hadn't noticed that he was getting bigger but he imagined that it would continue to be nothing but a slow gradual process, rather like a boy growing taller or a voice cracking or the fresh sprouting of all those long hairs in Dick's vicinity, still sparse but becoming steadily more dense. He didn't expect growth to be so sudden, so unannounced, and at so many multiples of his previous height and girth.

But reassuringly, this didn't last forever and Dick was soon back to his original size just like a comic book superhero when the effects of cosmic radiation or a magic potion had worn off.

It took a while till Dick could make sense of this and subsequent changes to his size and dimensions. Like the Incredible Hulk or the Amazing Spiderman he figured out how to take control of the situation and—this took longer to work out—what was most likely to trigger this mutation. It wasn't long until Dick was actually yearning for these moments of rapid growth and he learnt how to facilitate this by manual stimulation and the service of a feverish imagination.

It was later in Dick's life that his changes of state were stirred by something more concrete than fancied fleshly images, most often disembodied, whose shape and texture were becoming ever more consistent. In those early days, nothing much more than a bare shoulder or a rounded knee or a glimpse of a bosom was adequate, in fact all that was required, for Dick to swell to his full size. These were days when Dick was most inordinately proud of himself and even potentially exhibitionist, but there was nobody with whom he could share his magnificence. The moments of maximum engorgement never lasted long until, like a hothouse Hulk in a rage, he exploded in a cascade of sticky warm secretions, viscous and slow-flowing, and then, like the great green Avenger he shrunk back to the relative dimensions of a scrawny Bruce Banner.

Dick's first introduction to a friendly companion came first in the form of a handshake. In fact, not so much a handshake as an urgent tugging by unfamiliar hands somewhat more slender with sharper nails than the hands to which he'd become accustomed. And these tugs were inexpertly applied with little understanding of his feelings and what was most likely to give him satisfaction, but at the same time they were dramatically effective. He shot to life like a balloon puffed full of helium and in all this exuberance burst forth suddenly and prematurely. And those delicate tender hands were now pasted with the same viscous liquid he'd come to associate with such handling. But perhaps rather more copiously than was usually the case.

At least, Dick thought with some relief, he hadn't peed all over those hands. Now, that would be embarrassing. Not that his premature ejaculation wasn't in itself a cause for concern.

He'd have to do better next time.

There was a next time fortunately but it wasn't for several weeks. And this time the hands were different. Darker skin. Round dimpled knuckles. Shorter nails. But no more expert. This time, however, Dick kept his cool. It took longer until he released himself, although in a vicinity far from the portal he was most desirous of entering.

And on this occasion, although the semen splattered on the hands that facilitated its explosion it was properly wiped off with tissues and even given further somewhat more relaxed and unhurried attention after the event.

Dick desperately wanted more. And furthermore he now knew exactly where he wanted to be. More than anywhere else he wanted to be inside a warm tunnel that would grip and squeeze him but was moist enough to facilitate easy access. But this wasn't going to happen quite yet, although he encountered more often a growing variety of hands.

The portal he first entered was hirsute above and around two sets of doorways, a minor and a major one, rather like the entrance into a Swedish apartment. The grip was tight. Not well lubricated. And because of this there was some pain and discomfort to both Dick and the portal owner, but Dick did his job (and in this way helped to lubricate the entry hall) and was mightily satisfied.

This was a momentous occasion not only for himself but also for the lucky beneficiary of his attention.

This was a vagina Dick visited many times in the future. And on subsequent occasions, it became gradually less tight, more amenable and emanated a powerful odour which became ever more potent as Dick gained confidence. Dick also had an odour. Not that it was unpleasant like bad breath. And the scent was a fair companion to that of the vagina inside which he'd become steadily more at ease.

Inevitably, Dick's early days of innocent untrammelled freedom couldn't last. A day came when just before he was once again due to be ensconced within those siren lips he was roughly sheathed inside a strong rubbery coat from his purple tip to most of the way down his fully erect body. It deadened some of the sensation but not by as much as he'd feared. Greater familiarity and the benefits of anticipation meant that Dick had swollen enough—his veins bulging and his glans as soft and tender as the Elvis Presley song—that in the heat of lovemaking Dick barely noticed the difference.

The hot liquid Dick spurt forth was contained this time and when he once again surfaced, like a deep sea diver coming up for air, all that viscous fluid was now disposed of much more easily. There was almost no need any more for the tissues whose application was such an anticlimax after the preceding climax.

However, it wasn't enough for Dick that he be acquainted with only one pussy. He needed to get to know more and he didn't care how he was going to get satisfaction. And in these early days he didn't care too much about the consequences. That was for someone else to worry about. He'd compromised enough by allowing himself to be covered up like a man in a mackintosh against the rain, though in this case, the soaking came from within rather than from outside. He had a hunger for pussy and the more pleasure he experienced, the more he hungered for more.

This became Dick's mission in life. He rarely let other considerations take precedence. However, it wasn't always possible to find satisfaction without also straying beyond the accustomed comfort between a woman's legs. There were times when the need was so strong that he wondered whether the boundaries he observed weren't self-inflicted and that a walk on the wild side mightn't be so bad. But he was a he and he wasn't going to pretend to be anything else. Not in this life.

Dick's pursuit of satisfaction took him to new, perhaps dangerous, places. The portals that now opened for him were more various than he'd originally imagined, just as in many cases his arrival had been preceded by others like him but of a diversity in girth, length and skin-colour. And likewise, the pussies he visited were sometimes dark, occasionally almost black. But most often, like Dick himself, his encounters were with those of an average pinkness that became redder when engorged with excitement and anticipation and perhaps also reddened from friction and frequent use. The hair was sometimes thick, sometimes spare, and sometimes altogether absent (or as just a blue stubble from a recent shave). The lips were sometimes tight, sometimes loose and sometimes falling out entirely so that every fleshy fold was visible from a distance and no need for close attention to discover what was on offer. And just above each portal, like a prominent door-knob, was the clitoris, sometimes so small that it was hard to find and other times as hard and rigid as Dick himself but for the most part discreetly keeping out of the way. Once Dick had introduced himself he invariably stayed for as long as he was welcome. And sometimes he'd entered naked and unsheathed and was allowed to leave a gift behind, but this wasn't very often.

There was much to enjoy in these encounters, of which there was never enough and of not enough variety. The most delicious was the anticipation, the preparation and wait, as the pussy was exposed from beneath the lace, cotton or nylon knickers. And then once revealed, the initial probing as it unfurled itself for ingress. Sometimes there was little time to become familiar with the outer layers but when the opportunity was offered there was much to explore. The flesh often swollen. Sometimes so tight it was almost like that of a shop window dummy.

And then in. A plunge. A splosh. Oftentimes the suction and warmth of entry was like a hot bath just waiting for you. The best was when it was liquid and warm and so welcoming that the thrusts were already lubricated with no need for additional spit or lotion.

And then back. And forth. In. And out. Thrust after thrust after thrust. In a sense, each inward and outward motion predictable and monotonous, but within it all was the constant beat of a dance track with its own subtle progression building up and up until the drop.

And it was the release that it was all about, whether sheathed or not. A release of all that sperm manufactured in the testes, now so sore and swollen, transported from the scrotum along Dick's engorged length and with that delightful spurt of slight pain out into the waiting receptacle either to be wasted or (who knows!) to further the same genetic line as Dick himself.

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