Chapter 1

“You are a heartless bastard, Leo!” Mandy screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks as she shrugged into the dress she had worn to my house the previous evening. Muttering darkly, in between sobs, she gathered her panties and bra, stuffing them in her tiny clutch bag, and forced her feet into the four inch stilettos that did marvelous things to her calves.

With a final salute, delivered from a closed fist with only a single finger protruding, she slammed the door behind her as she left.

I just shook my head and began to sort through the wreckage of my living, searching for the rest of my shirt studs and one more cuff link. We had disrobed rather ... energetically, the night before, and I saw at least two of the studs become airborne.

“Is there something I can help you find, sir?” Reginald asked, appearing silently behind me. I had grown used to how silently he moved, but had never really grown to like the way he always seemed to surprise me.

I sighed and took one last look around before I gave up. “There should be two more shirt studs and another cufflink around here somewhere. The diamond set, unfortunately.”

“Your guest, sir?” he asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

I just sighed again. He was always so careful never to show either approval or disproval for the women who often followed me home, but I knew him too well for that flat voice of his to disguise his disdain.

I had lost a bit of jewelry over the years, to light-fingered guests, opportunistic escorts and disgruntled girlfriends. Though I was sure that this was not one of those cases, only the discovery of the missing bits would prove me right or wrong.

“I will be downtown until after five this evening, Reginald.” I said, avoiding the topic all together. Leaving the mess in his capable hands, I headed up the stairs to my suite, a shower on my mind.

Reginald, his eyes following his employer until he disappeared from sight into the East wing of the mansion, waited until he was gone before shaking his head and letting his professional poker face slip. He scowled, looking at the empty champagne bottles, the spilled fruit plate and the suspicious stains on the polar bear skin rug that lay in front of the very realistic, but electric powered, fireplace.

In my suite, I stripped off the trousers of the tuxedo I had been wearing and tossed them in the dry cleaning bag on my way into the bathroom. A quick tap on the big mirror behind the sink and a lighted border came to life, along with a dozen icons that glowed faintly in the bright overhead light.

A couple more taps and the shower started, the water temp set for a nice 105 degree heat, while the almost silent fans overhead came on to deal with the steam.

It was quiet in the bathroom and, rather than let myself dwell on yet another failed attempt at romance, I turned on some music. I chose something to get my heart beating and my blood flowing. I had a busy day ahead and no time or appetite for introspection.

See, Mandy was another in a long line of failed relationships, and she was not, by far, the first to claim I was heartless, that I had no real emotions or that I was incapable of love. I had been that way for long, long time and while it still bothered me to hear people point it out, it didn’t bother me enough to change.

I grew up in Seattle, son of a mid-level manager at Microsoft and a corporate Lawyer at Biddle, Banks, Walthrup and Hadrian, a premier firm that specialized in the tech sector. Dad was the geek, mom was the ambulance chaser, or that is what they called each other when they were in a teasing mood.

My parents were awesome, very much in love and despite their high-paying, high-stress occupations, they always had time for me. School play? They were there. PeeWee baseball? Every game.

We had a McMansion in an affluent section of town, and I went to a magnet schools and a private, preparatory high school. I had one or two good friends and a circle of acquaintances that were usually up for whatever hi-jinks one of us could come up with.

I had what most, including me until my Junior year of high school, considered an almost perfect childhood. Sure, I got into trouble once or twice, was grounded a time or three, even fought with my parents a few times, but I was mostly a good kid who loved his parents and stayed out of real trouble.

In my Junior year, things started going wrong and it began when I got outed.

No, no, no! Not like that. I am, or so Mark Collins once described me, hopelessly hetero.

No, I got outed as different from the rest. A bit of a freak, even. Maybe I am being a bit melodramatic, but listen to my story and you tell me if you can pick out the pivotal event that started my decline from nice guy to asshole.

A scream rent the air of the locker room, silencing the chatter and joking around that had kept the room at a dull roar since the coach sent us in near the end of the period.

From the showers, a streak of black hair and a flash of tanned buttcheeks wrapped in a jock strap told us that Mike had escalated once again. The laughter started almost immediately when Jimmy, Mike’s twin brother, stumbled out of the shower with suds dripping down his chest, rubbing his eyes and screaming threats at his brother’s back.

Jim and Mike were twins. A couple of weeks ago, they had both asked out the same girl and, when she shot them both down, had a knock-down fight about whose fault it was. They had gotten over their mad, mostly, but last week a prank war had started and it was slowly escalating.

Apparently Mike had waited until Jim was shampooing his hair, and turned the water all the way to the cold end of the spectrum, then split. We all thought it was as amusing as hell, but Jim didn’t see it that way.

Things calmed down again and the usual dull roar returned. Mike, now that Jim had gone back to the showers to finish, snuck back and was getting dressed as quickly as he could. His locker was next to mine and he was grinning like he had just won the lottery.

Jim hadn’t gone back to the shower though, he had gone to the trainer’s room where the ice machine was. He had filled a bucket with ice and then topped it off with water.

When Mike had his head down, tying his shoes, Jim struck. Unfortunately for me, his aim with the unwieldy bucket was not as good as it could have been. He came around the end of the lockers and launched the bucket at his twin, drenching Mike in ice water. That would have been great, but the water that missed Mike found a home in my locker.

With the exception of my jeans and shirt, which I had hung over the top of the next locker and were protected by the open locker door, the rest of my belongings were soaked. My shoes, socks and undergarments were all dripping wet.

This would not have been a major disaster for a teen boy. I mean, who hasn’t gone commando on occasion?

Me, that’s who. See, I had a secret, one I had been keeping since I was in sixth grade.

How do I put this?

You know how some guys are growers and some are show-ers? Well, I was a show-er and a grower, and I was bigger than any of the guys I had seen in school. Even soft, my penis hung about seven inches long and two and a half in diameter. When it got hard, it grew larger ... quite a bit larger.

I know ... boo hoo, cry me a river. Think about it though. In sixth grade, my mother once saw me changing clothes and made a big deal about how I was bigger than dad and I was still soft! That made me sensitive about the whole thing, and then later that year, after tripping during PhysEd and ending up covered in mud, I had to shower before I could go back to class.

Several of the other kids had a blast pointing out my differences, one of them dubbing me the Elephant Man. For several weeks afterwards I was teased and made fun of, something no young man can shrug off easily.

When puberty attacked, and things began to grow, I took to wearing a jock strap under my underwear to hide any sign of my deformity. When I started getting random erections, you know, when the wind blew, I graduated to a jock strap, boxer briefs and a pair of gym shorts under my jeans, and still carried my books in front.

Hell, I didn’t shower at school again until my freshman year of high school where it became mandatory and, when I did, I would wait until I could get a corner spot where I could hide.

So the bucket of ice water soaking my protective gear was kind of a big thing for me. My usual habit of wrapping my beach towel (no regular towels that could slip) around my waist and dressing in my protective gear without removing the towel, was short circuited.

Sure, I tried to put my chinos on under the towel, even with the odd looks I was getting, but it turned out to be harder to do that and stay covered than it was to pull on a jock. The towel tumbled to the floor as I was pulling up my pants and ... there it was.

It was like tossing a rock into a still pool of water. The ripples spread outward, silence in their wake, as someone said “Holy shit!” and people turned to see what was so shocking.

It was total fucking bullshit, I am telling you now. There are rules! Unwritten, but iron-clad fucking rules about locker room behavior. The first rule was that you never, ever, openly stared at another guy’s junk. Even the flamboyantly gay guys at school knew better than to ogle another dude in the shower or at the lockers.

Sure, everyone peeked. It was human nature, but you never stared and you never commented. Never.

But someone did, then others chimed in and, before I knew it, I was being bombarded with teenage wit as I hurried to tuck myself away.

“It’s Long Dong Silver!”

“Hey Horse Cock!”

“Elephant Man!”

That last one ... I fucking hated it. I spun around and the guy who had said it was grinning. He kept saying it again and again, and when I tried to cover up with a towel, he pushed me and grabbed it from my hands.

I don’t know which emotion was foremost in my mind, fury or fear, but I lashed out. I hit that kid so hard that he dropped like a rock, unconscious before he hit the floor. The silence when that happened had a whole different feeling that the previous one, and I looked down in horror at the bleeding kid on the floor at my feet.

The coach was there in a flash, face red and fists on his hips, demanding answers. I had none to give. In fact, I think I was completely unable to speak at that point.

The walk to the principal’s office was like I was heading to the electric chair.

Dead Man Walking.

I had tucked myself down the left leg of my khaki trousers, but I felt like I was naked, that everyone we met in the hallway, and we met a lot of kids, was staring at my groin.

So, of course, my traitorous body decided it was time to pump some blood away from my brain. I started getting hard.

I refused to defend myself, refusing to even answer any questions and the principal, so angry at my silence that his face was bright red, even his scalp was red and shining through his comb-over, called my parents.

Mom came in like an avenging angel, sure that there was some mistake, that I was being railroaded.

“Leo, what the heck is going on? That ... man in there tells me you punched another student and knocked him out? Why would you do that?”

I just sat there, mouth gaping open, unable to explain. Even when the tears came, shaming me even further, I just couldn’t tell her the truth. I just shook my head and hid my face.

I was suspended for a week and Mom was angry, there was no question which one was worse.

In the car and off the campus, my mother remained silent and drove us to the Dairy Queen. It was where we would go together to celebrate or, sometimes, just to talk. She ordered our usual milkshakes and we took a table in the corner.

“Leo, you have to talk eventually. Haven’t you always been able to tell me anything? This is not like you, son! You are not a violent boy and you have never been suspended before.”

“I ... I just can’t, Mom. Please? I can’t talk to you about this.” I pleaded, practically begging her not to push.

“Leo, you know I love you, right? If you are gay, that doesn’t change a damn thing.” she said reasonably, reaching across the table to hold my hand.

I recoiled in horror, staring at my mother like she had lost her damn mind.

“I am NOT GAY!” I practically shouted. When heads turned and people started to whisper, I just laid my forehead on the table.

Just fucking shoot me.

“Calm down, Leo! You have never dated or even brought a girl around so I thought, maybe...”

I just glared at her.

“Then what is it? I thought maybe someone knew and was giving you a hard ... er ... a bad time.”

I couldn’t help it, I snickered. I was a teenage boy, and that was funny.

Taking a deep breath, but not brave enough to meet her eyes, I blurted it out.

“I am a freak. I have a huge penis.”

There was silence from across the table, and it went on for so long that I snuck a look.

Mom wasn’t horrified, she was trying to keep from laughing. She had both hands over her mouth to stifle any sound, but her shoulders were heaving and her eyes were as wide open as I had ever seen, and filled with hilarity.

I just put my forehead back on the cold table top again, unwilling to watch.

When she finally got herself back under control, several long minutes later, the laughter was still there in her voice, waiting for the slightest thing to set her off again.

“Leo, son, can you explain what you mean by that?”

“Why not just ask me to whip it out, Mom, right here in the Dairy Queen?” I asked sarcastically, not raising my head.

“Don’t sass me, Leo. I asked you a question.”

With a deep sigh, I caved, giving in to the inevitable. I had never been able to keep a secret from my mother, once she knew there was a secret to be had.

“Have you ever wondered why I have a dozen jock straps, mom? Or so many pairs of gym shorts, even though you have never seen me wear them? You do the laundry.” I asked, raising my head enough to see her face.

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook her head.

“I guess it never occurred to me. I was an only child, so no brothers around, so I guess I assumed it was a guy thing.” she said, cocking her head a bit.

“I’m ... big. Bigger than any of the guys at my old school. Bigger than any guy at high school too, or at least the ones I have seen.”

Mom blushed. She actually blushed! I guess she got a mental picture in her head.

“When kids in middle school saw, they used to tease me. They called me Elephant man, and it took most of the rest of the year for it to go away. I hid it, not wanting anyone to know. I wear a jock, and boxer briefs and shorts too, under my pants.”

“So what happened today?”

I told her about the prank war, about the misguided ice water bucket that soaked my locker. I tried to describe how hard it was to put my pants on under a towel, and how the towel had slipped. Then the names started.

“The guy I hit, I don’t even really know him. He...” I paused, my face heating up, “He called me Elephant Man. He wouldn’t stop and when I tried to cover up, he pushed me down and grabbed my towel. I just punched him. He didn’t really deserve it, I know that, but I couldn’t have stopped myself if I had wanted to, and I didn’t want to, not at that second.”

Mom was quiet again, and she had that face she makes when she is thinking hard. Her brow was furrowed, one corner of her mouth cocked upward like she was chewing in the inside of her cheek and her eyes were not focused on anything in particular.

“Do you feel like you have a medical issue? I mean, should we have a doctor, or a specialist look at ... things?” she asked, definitely concerned but also fishing for more information.

“No, I don’t think so. I mean, it isn’t deformed or anything, just ... big.” This was an unreal conversation. Sitting here in an ice cream joint, talking about my junk with my mother.

“So, everything works?” Mom was blushing again, and I recognized that she was uncomfortable too, but she was a Mom and Mom’s have to know everything about everything.

“Yes. Everything works.” I glanced at my milkshake, wondering if the heat from my face had melted it.

“Let’s go home, Leo. I need to think about this for a bit.”

Wonderful. I didn’t need the image in my head of my mother spending hours thinking about my penis. There was something so very wrong about that.

Mom obviously had a sit-down with Dad. I mean, Dad had never talked about, well, anything icky. No birds and bees talk, no condom discussion or even joking about girls. Computers? We could talk for hours. Sports? Sure, we could discuss the finer points of Major League Baseball, but nothing even remotely personal had ever been discussed.

Yet here was Dad, standing in my doorway and looking like he would rather be diving naked into a swimming pool full of razor blades.

“Son, your mother came to me and, well, she told me ... she told me to come and talk to you about your penis.” he stuttered, not meeting my eyes.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

“Dad, do me a favor? Go tell mom we had a good talk and you and I will pretend like this never happened.”

“Good talk, son!” he said, beating a retreat down the hallway.

I spent the week restricted to the house, and forced to do every chore my mother could imagine, even weeding the flower beds despite the gardener’s tear-filled pleas that setting a teen loose among his price begonias was akin to genocide.

Mom had not left the topic completely alone, however, and told me on Thursday morning that she would be home at noon. I was to be showered, dressed and read to go when she arrived. She refused to say why, or where we were going, so I had all morning to obsess about it all.

Mom had, evidently, been doing some research. I hoped that it was web-based and not asking her paralegals and secretaries, but figured I could just never, ever go to her office again and I would be okay either way.

When we pulled up in front of an adult specialty store, I was torn between excitement and horror. I had never been near a store like this and the thought of what was behind those doors was enough to make me strain the zipper on my pants. The reason we were here, however, made me want to crawl into the trunk of her car.

Inside, I was too busy looking around to be embarrassed for long. Rows full of adult videos, manikins dressed in see-through nighties and leather gear I had only seen on the internet. One wall was covered in sex toys of every shape and size, while another had bondage gear, some of which was too bizarre for me to even imagine how they were used.

Mom, after speaking to middle-aged, leering male clerk, dragged me to the rear of the store where there was a section devoted to custom-made leather.

“Ms. Fisher? I called yesterday about a special problem we are having.” My mother said, her face set in what Dad called her ‘Lawyer Mask’.

A tall, willow thin woman with jet black hair, the palest skin and largest breasts I had ever seen on a human was sitting there, perched on a tall stool. Her long legs were encased in a pair of leather boots that reached almost to her hips, and the gold buckles that adorned the sides of the boots matched the buckles on the leather corset that covered, barely, her torso and chest.

She had the brightest blue eyes, and her smile was warm and welcoming, with a hint of curiosity evident in her expression.

“Welcome, Mrs. Hadrian. So, this is Leo?” she said, smiling at me. She had a gleam in her eye that made me distinctly uncomfortable, but I couldn’t decide exactly why. Her eyes started at my own, then slowly worked their way down, seeming to paused for several seconds on my midsection, before completing their survey.

She seemed disappointed, but not surprised.

“Mrs. Hadrian. The situation you described? How do I say this ... are you sure?”

Mom grimaced, her own eyes glancing down towards my waist, then back to the tall woman in front of her.

“You were described as both discreet and professional, so I am taking a chance with my sixteen year old son. I am going to go...” she paused, her eyes darting around the store with a small smile on her lips, “and shop for a bit while you two talk.”

Mom laid her hand on my shoulder as she turned. “Do as she asks, Leo. I think she can help you.” she said softly, kissing me on the cheek and disappearing into the depths of the store.

When she was out of sight, I looked back to Ms. Fisher, finding her eyes on me. I felt what a mouse must feel, when confronted by a snake intent on dinner.

“Your mother tells me that you are well endowed. That this has given you problems in school?” her voice was soft, her tone inviting.

I just nodded, not meeting her eyes for more than a second.

“Leo, I am sure that this is uncomfortable, but in order to help you, I have to know certain things. Do you think you could bear to show me?”

I must have looked alarmed, because she raised her hand, forestalling any comment on my part.

“I could have you try to describe yourself to me, but I have found that many men find that worse.” she said reasonably.

So let’s see. Death by hanging or by firing squad? Both options sounded so attractive!

“Not out here though, right? I mean, is there somewhere more private?” I asked, hating the whining tone in my voice.

She turned and waved her hand at a door that was partially concealed behind a rack full of leather pants. She led me to the door and opened it, ushering me inside.

The room was obviously used to tailor the leather gear on display outside, and was filled with tables, sewing machines, manikins and newly altered items, tagged and hanging on racks.

Closing the door behind us, and visibly locking the deadbolt, she sat down in a leather recliner and waited, not saying a word.

I undid the fly of my pants, pulling them down a bit, then lowered the gym shorts underneath. I saw her cock an eyebrow and lean forward a bit. Next came the boxer briefs and, finally, with a deep breath, my jock strap.

I had no idea, at that time, what my measurements were when I was erect. I even jacked off in the dark and under my covers, my embarrassment was that deep. I must have been trembling and looking pale, because Ms. Fisher was frowning.

“Leo, relax. You have a beautiful cock, a real work of art! You have nothing, not a single thing to be ashamed of. Most men would kill to have what you do, and I could have a line of women that stretched outside of the store and down the block, each one wetting their panties for just a look at you, and all with a single phone call.”

Huh.

I am not going to lie and say I wasn’t flattered, but my discomfort was an old, comfortable friend and I wasn’t going to get rid of several years worth of insecurities because of a few kind words from a woman I didn’t know.

“How large do you get when erect, Leo?” she asked, her eyes still glued to my cock. Her tone of voice, more than her words, reached something inside that said “Play time!” and my cock began to expand.

“Oh my. May I come closer, Leo?” she asked softly. She reached over and grabbed a cloth measuring tape from a nearby table and crouched, her scent light and sweet reaching my nostrils and making my erection jump a bit.

From her kneeling position, she used the tape, without actually touching me, to measure the length. Then, with a smile and a shrug, wrapped the tape around my shaft and took another measurement.

“Well, I must admit that I was afraid your mother was, well, being a mother. I thought she might have been exaggerating, bragging a bit as mothers are wont to do. You are well above the average man and you are only sixteen so you may grow even larger over time.”

Her tone had been matter of fact, calm and measured throughout but, now that she was done with the tape, I saw her lick her lips, a change washing over her.

“Leo, I should really have measured you when you were flaccid. I have an idea about how to help you disguise your ... gift, but I need both sets of measurements.” She paused, her eyes meeting mine. “Would you like a little help with that?”

Her smile told me she knew where I had been looking. When she knelt down in front of me to take measurements, I got a birds-eye view of her cleavage. My eyes had been practically welded to that massive canyon that seemed to reach to her belly button, and nothing short of an ice bath was going to let me get soft again without help.

I nodded, my own smile peeking out now as I considered her offer.

“So I’m not a freak?” I asked, wanting reassurance.

“Oh my, no! You, my dear boy, are a treasure. Of course, you may have some issues until you learn how to properly use that wonderful cock, but I assure you that women, and a few men, will be throwing themselves at you just for a chance.”

She leaned back and, doing that thing that only women can do, reached back behind her with both hands. I heard a zipper and her corset seemed to spring forward, landing on the floor at my feet.

“Most men are visual creatures, Leo, and I think this may help.” she purred, running her hands over her massive breasts, then tugging on the nipples.

Her breasts were like forces of nature, so large I had to wonder how she ever managed to stand upright in the first place. Her areola were the size of donuts and her nipples, both standing tall and proud, were the size of the first joint of my index finger. What really fascinated me were the silver bars that filled the piercings, each one attached to a chain that connected the pair together.

While I was busy drooling over her breasts, Ms. Fisher reached out and wrapped her hand around my erection, her fingers not even close to touching on the far side. She began to stroke me slowly, running her hand loosely up the shaft and curling her fingers over the head, smearing the drops of pre-cum and making me groan.

When she bent forward, her hard nipples rubbing against my leg and her tongue flicking out to lick the head of my cock, I tried to push back as I felt my orgasm hit me like a runaway truck.

Ms. Fisher, however, had refused to let go, and I released a torrent of cum. The first jet hit her square in the forehead, splashing up into her hair. The second jet shot out as she backed off a bit in surprise, and draped itself across her nose and cheek. The third hit her square in the mouth, some actually making it inside before the rest hit her on the chin. The last real spurt arced down to splash on her enormous breasts while the final bit dribbled down, coating her fingers and dripping to the floor.

I was mortified, in shock. I was sure that she was going to scream, that my mother would kick in the door and see ... this.

Ms. Fisher began to giggle, softly at first, her eyes shining. Then the giggle grew, turning to outright laughter. She sat back with a thump, her butt landing on the floor and her legs stretched out in front of her as she rocked back and forth, holding her sides and laughing.

“Oh lord! I had forgotten what a hair trigger young men have! And the amount! That was ... amazing!”

Then she did something that would have brought me right back to erect again, if I had ever wilted in the first place. She used a finger to scrape my cum off her cheek and chin, then licked her finger clean. She did this several times, capturing what she could and sucking it down with obvious relish.

I was harder than ever.

When she got cleaned up and I was still erect, she just sighed.

“I would love to do that again, and much, much more, but I think your mother will be getting antsy out there. I have an idea that I think will help you tame that monster, and I can put together the preliminary design. It will take a couple of fittings, but I am sure I can help.”

I must have smiled then, because she giggled and shook a finger in my direction.

“I meant help you control and hide it, though, now that I reconsider, perhaps I can help in other ways.” Her voice trailed off, her expression thoughtful.

Once I was tucked away, as well I could, anyway, she opened the door and let my mother, who was waiting outside, into the fitting room. She told Mom that she could help but that it would require fitting, since it was a custom job, and that she should bring me back next weekend.

Before we left the store, Mom with a mysterious bag in her hand, Ms. Fisher slipped her card into my back pocket, giving my ass a little squeeze when Mom wasn’t looking.

“I will see you again next Saturday, Leo. Mrs. Hadrian, plan on at least an hour, probably and hour and a half. You can drop him off, if you like, and I can call when we are ready.”

Mom turned back with that look in her eye. You know the one I am talking about. That look a mother gives you when she knows you are bullshitting and is about to call you on it?

“That would be fine, Ms. Fisher.” she said calmly, her eyes flicked to me momentarily.