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Title: Measure This
Author: heartofslash
Fandom: BHD, Army of Two
Pairing: Grimes/McKnight
Rating: Highly Explicit.
Warning: Ummmm, the usual - sexsexsex of a graphic nature, sub/Dom, lightheadedness.
Disclaimer: Invented personalities for characters from another's work based loosely on real people but having nothing to do with them. And I came up with the "Army of Two" title long before that darn video game was invented.
Important notes on Penis Size:
Penis length is a problematic subject. A lot of men think they look shorter than they are, because of the angle and a phenomenon known as 'foreshortening'. Sort of like when chicks look in the mirror and think their asses look too big. Except for me. I look in the mirror and know my ass is big - nice, curvy and spankable. Mmm.
But we're talking about penis size here! Eight inches? Not all that likely. Only about 0.8% of men are 8 inches or longer. Most of them work in the porn industry. (Kidding - I don't know what they do for a living. But they could consider it a career option.) 10" cocks exist, but they are very very rare outside the porn industry. Actually, even within the porn industry, 8" long is about the norm. It's all about the camera angles (see 'foreshortening', above.) Ron Jeremy's cock measures 9.5" long, and he's supposed to be legendary, so that is the real size of pornstar cock. I know this because, like Grimes, I looked it up.
Most men round up to the nearest 1/4 inch when self reporting length and girth. Except for McKnight. McKnight would never lie about such a thing. He doesn't have to.
Inspired by: comments on the last Army of Two, in particular from the very naughty molly_millions, who loves the explicit.
Dedicated to: Andi, and to mlyn, and to all the Army of Two readers who like Grimes and McKnight and especially those who particularly get off on teh anal. You know who you are.
Measuring Up
"Sir?"
"Mmm."
"Have you ever… measured yourself?"
McKnight looked up from his book. "Measured?" he asked.
"Yeah," Grimes said. "Measured. Yourself. Your…" Grimes looked down. He couldn’t see anything through the blankets, not that he expected to. The blankets were thick, and there hadn't been anything particularly arousing going on that evening. They'd both been busy after dinner with paperwork - Grimes paying the household bills, McKnight reading reports - then Grimes had brought the checks that McKnight needed to sign and McKnight signed them while Grimes tidied the living room, and then they'd gone to bed early, both tired from a long day. A quiet evening at home in the middle of the week. McKnight was reading a book about the diamond trade and Grimes was leafing through a catalog of rare books. All very normal for them. Very domestic.
An article Grimes had read some days before had put the idea of size into Grimes head. Measured size, that is. Height. Weight. Length. Grimes realized that were someone to ask him how big McKnight was, he would not know the exact, numeric answer. He didn't think anyone would ever ask him such a question, but Grimes liked to be prepared for any eventuality.
The average length, he knew, was from five to six and a half inches. According to a survey by a condom manufacturer, it was five point nine inches. 5.9". Grimes knew that because it was in the article. The average girth was about five inches. Five inches around doesn't sound like much, but you never knew. He'd never measured his own girth, but he knew he was just slightly longer than average, but not enough to make it worth bragging about. Still within what one would consider the normal range. A bit longer than McKnight. He also knew that he was kind of slender, at least compared to McKnight. Although, anyone would look slender compared to McKnight. Maybe even Sergeant Sanderson.
Whose cock he should not be thinking about, ever, but especially not when he was naked in bed with McKnight asking McKnight if he'd ever measured his cock.
McKnight's big cock. Not overly long, but wide. Big around. All around. Thick. Meaty. Fat. Just thinking the words made warmth spread across Grimes' face. It always started in his brain, and then it spread. Down.
McKnight put his book on the table beside the bed. He pulled Grimes' reading glasses off and placed them on top of the book. He put the catalog next to the book and the glasses. He had to lean over Grimes to do all this.
Grimes lay flat on the bed as McKnight loomed over him and pressed him down. Thick all over. Heavy. Meaty. Grimes squirmed.
McKnight settled back on the pillows on his side of the bed, but not until he'd pushed his hips forward so the fat ridge of his cock pressed against the outside of Grimes' thigh.
"You want to know if I measure up?" McKnight asked. He was calm, disturbingly so, almost as if he'd been expecting this.
It was like that a lot. It was as if McKnight, trained in tactics as he was, had thousands of possible scenarios stored in his head, and corresponding thousands of battle plans just waiting to be implemented at the appropriate time. McKnight had, at some point, considered how he would respond if Grimes ever brought up the subject of measurement, and was now going through the steps, implementing his plan of attack, assured of the outcome because he'd thought of everything.
Grimes, though, had no idea what the steps were, or even what the objective was. That made him a little nervous. Giddy, even.
"I know you measure up, sir. I was just wondering about numbers," Grimes said.
McKnight smiled. It was his confident smile. His all-knowing smile. Like he knew the answer and wasn't going to tell.
Grimes thought about McKnight getting a ruler and pulling out his fat cock. McKnight would fist his cock for a while to make sure his erection was at its full length and girth. You have to do that to get an accurate measurement. He would look Grimes in the eye while he slid his hand up and down, not too fast, very deliberately.
Grimes licked his lips. He looked down. McKnight was on his back with his legs just slightly apart. His hands were nowhere near his cock. One of them was, in fact, not too far from Grimes' cock. Grimes rolled onto his side so McKnight's hand slipped off his hip, and the backs of his fingers brushed against Grimes' cock through he blanket.
Grimes imagined the McKnight in his head. He imagined McKnight pulling his hand away from his cock, revealing the whole thing, with its skin darker than the skin on his stomach and legs, and veins bulging and the even darker head poking out from the foreskin. Grimes wriggled so his cock, half-hard and wanting more, pushed against McKnight's fingers.
He could imagine McKnight holding one end of the ruler at the base of his cock, pressed against soft hair and soft belly, then pressing it against the hard shaft.
Grimes blinked and the vision disappeared. Instead, he was looking down at the terrain of the blankets, the mound of McKnight's torso and the twin ridges of his strong thighs and the lump between them.
McKnight's cock was lying between his legs, but it was stiffened enough to make a visible lump through thick blankets, and would soon rise enough to move to one side, of its own volition, on top of his thigh. His left thigh, probably. And when it got stiffer, it would get thicker, and then, as long as it did not get caught in the sheet, it would creep up until it lay on his belly in the opposite direction it was lying now, pointing up to McKnight's face, which was smirking.
"You want to measure my cock?" McKnight asked, and he shifted his hips so his cock slid to the side, toward Grimes. Bigger. Thicker.
Grimes wondered if there was a ruler handy. Then he remembered the tailor's tape measure in the sewing kit.
He could picture McKnight wrapping the tape around his cock. Grimes tried to remember circumference and diameter and length and how they all related. It had something to do with pi, didn't it?
Could McKnight be as big around as he was long?
Grimes squeaked a bit when McKnight pulled his whole body closer and turned him on his other side, so he faced away from McKnight. The thick cock pressed lengthwise against the crack of his ass. McKnight's bottom hand slid under Grimes' bottom hip, fingers digging in. His upper hand spread against Grimes' flat stomach, holding him close so that McKnight's chest pressed against Grimes' upper back and McKnight's stomach, not flat like Grimes', nestled against Grimes' lower back. The lumbar curve, Grimes thought hazily.
And McKnight's cock pushed Grimes' ass cheeks apart as McKnight breathed against Grimes' neck. "How much does that measure?" McKnight asked in a low, steady voice.
Grimes tried to speak but gasped instead. It had all happened very quickly, and though he had expected that hot, thick pressure from the moment he was flipped on his side, it was still breathtaking.
"Does that feel average?" McKnight asked. His mouth was close enough to Grimes' ear for Grimes to shudder from the hot air.
"No, sir," Grimes breathed out. "Not average at all, sir."
McKnight rocked and his cock slid up the crack, down the crack. Lengthwise. Deeper. Teasing.
McKnight could do this all night.
He could not always have kept it up that long. For the first year or two, whenever they were both naked and McKnight was hard and his cock was anywhere near Grimes' ass, McKnight did not last long. Not if he'd not come for a while. He didn't have any problem with premature ejaculation, but he did have slight... patience issues. He lasted as long as he wanted to when Grimes was sucking him - mostly because he could control the speed and force with a word or gesture - but he had not been capable of rubbing his cock against Grimes' ass for long without demanding entrance. And he would not have been able to last long like this, with his cock cradled between, nestled. He would have become impatient.
But now, after all this time, he could. Maybe he knew what would happen eventually, so he didn't need to rush. It was torturous in a really painless but still infuriating way. It didn't happen all the time, not overly often, because they did so many different things, but sometimes McKnight would bend him over a table and settle his cock into the groove - made for him, he would murmur - and he would spread his hands over Grimes' ass and rock back and forth, squeezing, stroking, caressing, maybe adding the odd pinch. He would push the two globes together and grunt. One time he said it was a little like titfucking. Grimes had begged him for real assfucking then. He did not want his ass compared to tits.
To start with, he wasn't a girl.
More importantly, his ass wasn't that big. But he wasn't skinny in the ass either, even when he got skinny elsewhere. McKnight liked that. He said he liked the shape and how the roundness was maintained even when he pulled the cheeks apart and pushed them together. Grimes had no doubt McKnight was telling the truth, because McKnight did that so often. Nothing saggy there, McKnight would say. And he'd squeeze the pliable flesh against his cock. And Grimes would, if he hadn't already, beg to be fucked in the ass.
"I'd say I'm the perfect size for fucking between your ass cheeks," McKnight said. He slid his hand down to Grimes' cock and pressed it flat against his belly. He rocked a bit faster.
Yup. McKnight could keep this up until Grimes began to cry if he wanted to.
Grimes was in trouble.
"But that's not a very precise measurement, is it?" McKnight asked.
Oh, fuck. He wasn't just in a teasing mood. He was in a playful mood.
Grimes tried to be prepared. He was the sort of guy who had things ready in advance, looked to the future, never ran out of sugar or lube, never forgot that it was garbage day or left the lube bottle on its side to leak all over the bed. He tried to be ready for any possibility - early returns and unforeseen news and McKnight's mercurial sexual desires. Contingencies were his thing.
But Grimes was not ready to be spun around again and pushed to the floor where he knelt, naked, with McKnight's hand in his hair. McKnight swung his legs over the side of the bed, spread them and maneuvered Grimes' body between them. His other hand was on his cock, around his cock, and the cock was big.
"Measure this," McKnight ordered, and he forced Grimes' head down.
Grimes was ready for that. He was always ready for that. He had to open his mouth wide and fast, but the taste of McKnight's cock always made it easier to open.
Grimes' lips bumped into McKnight's hand. McKnight rotated his grip so the rougher skin of his hand rubbed against Grimes' lips, a surprisingly sharp contrast to the smooth skin of the cock. And it tasted different, too. McKnight's hand was a little soapy, not slick with soap, just a lingering taste of the hand soap. And there was a touch of mint. He must have wiped his mouth with the back of his hand after he brushed his teeth.
But the cock was all cock.
It had been a "desk day" for McKnight, so he hadn't bothered with a shower when he got home. Grimes got home after McKnight, and he'd noticed the stall was dry when he got in for his shower. He'd known it was one of those nights when McKnight wouldn't be too clean. Grimes liked those nights. There was a scent Grimes could only describe as "warm", and the taste was bright on his tongue.
But they'd been busy, and it was a quiet evening in the middle of a week of long days and he hadn't really been expecting it and why the fuck was he thinking about taste and smell when he was supposed to be measuring?
Big, he thought. It's big. Wide. Thick.
"Fat, isn't it?" McKnight growled. He pressed his stomach against the top of Grimes' head. "You see if you can measure how fat my dick is."
Fat was a good word, but wide seemed even more accurate. Grimes had to open his jaw and stretch his lips. He was very glad McKnight's cock was not overly long, because it would be too much to take if it was longer. He liked the feel of the head at the back of his mouth, nudging his throat open. God, he loved to concentrate and override what little gag reflex he had, take his commanding officer deep. But he'd never been all that great with long cocks. They made him worry. Especially during fucking.
Grimes purred, tickling the head with his throat. McKnight's fingers, off his cock now, both hands in Grimes' head, pressed his scalp.
"Motherfucker," McKnight cooed. He slid his fingers to Grimes' jaw, probed the extended joint, massaged the stretched muscles. "You were so happy the first time you saw this fat dick, weren't you?"
Grimes nodded in the micron or two of space allotted him.
"I can still see the look on your face," McKnight went on as Grimes' face burned and his mouth drooled. "You were so eager, so happy to have such a nice, fat cock to suck."
If Grimes had not had his mouth full of fat cock he would have said yes, and then stuffed his mouth full of fat cock. Instead, he made enough noise and vibration to make McKnight's cock jerk in his mouth.
Yes, yes, yes. The fat cock had been the clincher.
He had at first been drawn by the uniform, or rather the insignia, since everyone wore the same uniform. Then, naturally, McKnight's eyes had startled him with their intensity, and his overall manner had made Grimes tingle where he wasn't supposed to tingle. McKnight's presence had always made Grimes pay attention - not only the space he took up but his attitude. His innate commanding way.
McKnight wasn't an overbearing officer hung up on protocol and whether your salute was executed according to regulations. His authority came from a natural place within. He would let other people discuss a decision, and when they were done - and it was McKnight who decided when they were done - he would say, okay, here's what's going to happen, and everyone just did it. Because of the insignia. And the intensity. And because McKnight expected his orders to be carried out.
And because everyone wanted to carry out his orders. Grimes sure as hell did.
The first time Grimes had watched McKnight give an order had filled him with a sense of anticipation. It was instinctive. He knew. He wasn't going to do anything about it, but he knew. He didn't believe that authority would ever be directed at him, personally, in private, but he knew that if it ever was he would do everything in his power to obey it. And that first time had been nothing - a fucking ping pong table dispute between a couple of hyped up Rangers.
When Grimes had finally seen McKnight in battle - he'd seen him go off to battle and return lots of times, and that was exciting too, but Grimes never took part in the battles so he had no idea what it would be like to see him in the middle of a fucking war - Grimes was blown away.
He had not been foolish enough to gawk at the time. He'd had other things to worry about. But some part of his brain had saved the images of McKnight walking through a firefight, determined to complete his mission. And that part of Grimes' brain had saved those images, so when he was lying on his cot in the hospital, fucked up on painkillers and drugs, he could replay it like a film loop, and imagine that when McKnight sat beside his cot and asked him how he was, he really meant it. And after returning to base, he'd played that same loop, not as often but when he was alone sometimes, of McKnight walking through a firefight surrounded by ducking and diving men, oblivious to the flying bullets.
Those bullets wouldn’t dare hit McKnight. He hadn't given the order.
But the cock... oh, god, the cock.
Grimes' jaw started to ache. He loved to blow McKnight for hours, but he usually took breaks from the sucking to lick and nuzzle - to lick the very tops of McKnight's thighs, where the hair dwindled to nothing and the skin was soft and pale at the joint. McKnight loved it when Grimes licked there. He petted Grimes when he licked there, and sometimes he told him he was good, and that he had a pretty tongue. But this was full-on, uncompromising cock-sucking, and Grimes was beginning to hurt.
McKnight pulled Grimes' head up suddenly. He rubbed Grimes' jaw and ran his thumb over his wet lips. A string of saliva trailed across Grimes' cheek.
McKnight smiled at him. "Well?"
Grimes moved his jaw from left to right. "Fat, sir. Very thick." He wished he could wipe his face, because he knew he looked like a slut kneeling there with his drool smeared all over his face. His mouth was inches from McKnight's cock. McKnight pulled him down to rub the head back and forth across Grimes' lips.
"Too big?" McKnight suggested.
"God, no, sir," Grimes answered truthfully. Just too big to suck for too long. How long had it been? Fucked if Grimes could tell.
Another flip, and Grimes was up on the bed again, on his elbows and knees. McKnight had made lube appear somewhat magically, since Grimes could not remember him reaching for the drawer to retrieve it.
"Fits everywhere so far," McKnight observed.
There was an ominous overtone to that. Not really. More of a promise than a threat.
"Even if we don't have an exact measurement, I can tell it's too big for this without a little stretching," McKnight stated as he smoothed the lube around the outside of Grimes' asshole. The lube was cool at first, and McKnight's fingers were very businesslike.
Grimes hugged a pillow to his chest and closed his eyes. He was never sure if he loved this or hated it. Sometimes McKnight liked to look at him, really look at him, when he was getting him ready. Up close. It filled Grimes with conflicting emotions. Being inspected was part of being commanded. It was his duty to submit to it, to let - no - to want McKnight to look wherever he wanted to look, however long and hard and close. But that did not make the scrutiny more comfortable.
McKnight nudged the inside of his thigh and Grimes spread his legs, knowing it would open him up to more scrutiny of his ass and his asshole and the smooth ridge that led to the underside of his balls, and the balls themselves, which he did not personally find attractive but McKnight did and McKnight was in charge. He would talk about them, go on about Grimes' balls and the way they hung down and the texture of the skin, wrinkled but soft and the hair on them. He touched them gently, then harder, squeezing a little, tugging, watching Grimes squirm, inspecting Grimes' reactions. But no ball action tonight. McKnight was circling his finger, spreading the lube around. Looking.
Grimes' face burned but he was tilted downward, so that was just gravity, right?
He should be used to this but it always made him feel a little bit humiliated and a whole lot horny, and the horniness made the humiliation more intense and so one thing lead to another.
"It looks so easy," McKnight said thoughtfully. He dipped a fingertip inside.
Oh. Oh. Oh.
"One little finger," McKnight said.
Actually, McKnight did not have little fingers. They were as stocky as the rest of him, but Grimes supposed they were little compared to --
Ah!
One finger all the way in doesn't seem like that much, but it's not unnoticeable. Grimes noticed it. He got that dirty feeling. He got that delicious, forbidden dirty sensation he always got, and he began to wonder how long he could keep feeling hotter and hotter before he melted.
"That looks pretty," McKnight said.
Grimes knew he didn't really mean 'pretty'. He meant 'dirty'. But McKnight had this thing about calling dirty things pretty, and Grimes must have had the exact same thing because he loved it at the same time it made his face hotter. Again.
And he hadn't melted. Yet.
"Every time is like the first time," McKnight mused.
Not technically, but in a way it was, because McKnight had, in the last couple of years, instituted a strict regimen for anal health and happiness. He was meticulous about frequency. He did not want to overfuck Grimes' asshole, and whenever he did think he'd overfucked it, he put it on leave for two weeks. Grimes didn't really mind because it made it easier to maintain a healthy happy hole. He'd read, in some of the less public corners of the internet, about chronic conditions and hemorrhoids and scars from tears in the skin. Home remedies. Medical horror stories. It had been a long time since Grimes had torn, and never with McKnight, and you can't believe everything you read on the internet.
But still.
Grimes was careful by nature. He was clean by nature. He often crept downstairs after McKnight fell asleep to make himself cleaner, even after McKnight had wiped him with a towel or a discarded shirt. He liked the rests, to give himself time to unstretch. They'd made him nervous at first, and he suspected it wasn't all about him. He knew McKnight didn't want to take him for granted. Delaying the pleasure increases it, after all. But this inscrutable schedule, a mystery to Grimes, following no pattern Grimes could discern, and assfucking only occurred when McKnight decided it would, which had always been the case, but it happened less often than in the first few years. There was just as much sex, but less of it was assfucking.
Grimes had only asked about that once. McKnight had acted insulted at first, as if Grimes were accusing him of not paying enough attention to him, but within minutes he'd started licking Grimes all over and saying that he wasn't just a fucktoy and there was so much more to him than just his asshole, and he never ever wanted Grimes to think he was a fucktoy, and that if Grimes ever said they could never fuck again it wouldn't make any difference in how much McKnight loved him and he said a bunch of other stuff that made Grimes want him to be quiet because he hadn't been worried about the frequency, he'd only been wondering why. Also, the word 'fucktoy' being repeated over and over was making him want to beg to have McKngiht's cock in his ass. And then McKnight had said, "I never want to overfuck your ass," and Grimes hadn't been able to ask what that meant because McKnight had started rubbing his cock all over Grimes' chest, which for some reason drove Grimes completely wild.
Not that the schedule or the reason for it made any difference to the sex, because it didn't matter if they fucked or not. Grimes was always satisfied. More than satisfied. McKnight made sure of that. And McKnight was always satisfied too, because Grimes lived for satisfying McKnight.
Sometimes McKnight would tease. He would slip a finger in, and get Grimes all hot, and then he would say, "Oh, no, no cock for you tonight." Grimes would writhe in frustration but McKnight never gave in, not unless Grimes was particularly persuasive. Grimes was good at persuasion, but he didn't do it too often because when McKnight did not fuck him he always made Grimes come, or made Grimes make himself come, in some way that would leave Grimes spent and drained and thrilled and more than satisfied. McKnight was very good at whatever he set his mind to.
And other times, McKnight fucked Grimes with his big, fat cock.
Tonight, Grimes thought, please, do not be teasing tonight.
McKnight ran his finger back and forth, stretching the hole open, spreading the lube.
Please. Tonight.
He pulled his finger out.
Fuck!
He plunged two fingers in.
Yes! He never used two unless he was going to use three, and three always led to either four or to fucking. McKnight liked to tease, but he wasn't cruel.
"I remember the first time I put my finger up your ass," McKnight said.
Aw, damn. McKnight loved this story. He loved to tell Grimes this story. And Grimes loved being told about how he'd been so nervous about being naked and how he'd looked so young but brave, and how his thighs had trembled a little, and how good his ass had looked, with him bent over with his hands on the bed. McKnight never told the story the same way twice. He always added different details or concentrated on a different aspect of it. Grimes' ass, his back, his cock, his face, the noises he made, the heat of the inside of his asshole, how tight he was, how McKnight had to force himself not to go too fast, too slow, too far.
"Heaven,' McKnight whispered and turned his hand, fingers inside Grimes. "I knew I'd found heaven."
Grimes noticed he wasn't breathing because the pillow was stuffed in his mouth, so he raised his head and turned his face to one side.
"I never thought a little hole would feel so perfect." McKnight twisted the fingers and went deep. "Hot and smooth inside, and this tight, tight ring." He spread his fingers. "Stubborn," McKnight said. "Do you want another finger in your asshole?"
There was only one answer. "Yes, sir."
"Stupid to ask, isn't it?"
"No, sir," Grimes said automatically. "Thank you for asking, sir."
Thank you for asking if I want something you're going to do regardless of how I respond, because you know I want it. So what would the point be of being coy? Yes, sir.
McKnight was pumping his fingers in and out now. It was to spread the lube, or maybe to desensitize Grimes' nerve endings so the cock would be less of a shock. And to stretch him open. Always to stretch him open. Grimes responded by rocking back to meet them, which made McKnight growl, which made Grimes rock even more. Cause, effect, effect, effect.
It was time to whine. Just a little.
McKnight laughed and got on his knees behind Grimes. "You want me to replace these?" He wiggled his fingers somehow, even thought they were stuffed into Grimes so tightly.
Grimes whined some more.
"You want me to replace them with this?" He shoved his cock forward so it grazed his fingers and smacked Grimes' ass.
That was a trick question.
If Grimes said yes, McKnight might tease him. He might withdraw not only his cock but his fingers, and then Grimes would be empty. Or Grimes could say yes and McKnight might agree and dive right in. Or Grimes could say no and McKnight would say 'tough" and fuck him anyway.
McKnight would not take 'no' at face value. They both wanted this too much for that.
But it still could go any number of ways, and trick questions deserve trick answers.
"I want anything you want, sir."
Grimes had meant to say 'I want whatever you want.' The "anything' just sort of popped out.
"Good boy," McKnight said. He eased his fingers out, commenting on the nice, wet, open hole, and started rubbing the head of his cock in circles around it. "Fuck, you're open now, aren't you? Nice, wet, open asshole." He rose to the right height and pushed the head of his dick against, not in, the nice, wet open but not big enough opening.
Never big enough. Just small enough to make Grimes flail. Since he was in the middle of the bed, Grimes didn't have to worry about knocking anything over, so he wasn't worried about anything at all.
"I know you can take it," McKnight said. "Time to measure up."
Grimes flailed.
Even before the widest part stretched him open, he flailed. There was no need to fail at that point, except that he knew what was next. His asshole knew what was next.
Pain is a shifty concept, pithily described by the classic rock adage "hurts so good." Pleasure and pain disappear, or meld, or are transcended when a cock like McKnight's enters an asshole like Grimes'.
First, and uncontrollably, there was the fear that it would not fit, and that Grimes would be torn to pieces. Irrational, but that's the same sort of fear you get at the top of a roller coaster. It didn't matter how many times they'd done it, or how many engineers had inspected the structure; Grimes always had that split-second of disbelief, and everyone always screamed a split-second before the car actually started to freefall. But Grimes never split open.
Then there was the burn of skin stretched to its limit, or so it seemed. A burn that made Grimes want to wriggle his ass or sit in a tub of cold water no matter how much it would pain his balls.
Then there was the realization that there was more. The head might be in, but as Grimes' asshole clenched just beneath it, when McKnight paused for a few seconds, Grimes always remembered that there was a whole cock yet to come, and while getting the head in is often the most difficult part of assfucking, the rest of McKnight's cock was not significantly narrower than the head. And while every nerve ending wailed at the recognition of this fact, Grimes' arms and legs would move of their own accord.
They tended to splay, because McKnight's cock in his ass made Grimes feel as he imagined a butterfly might feel pinned to a board. Skewered. Helpless. On display. He reached for something to stop the world from whirling. He sought a firmer stance.
McKnight shoved deeper and the dirty feeling came back. It was wrong and wicked and against nature, which made Grimes want to shit out this invader and then the shame of getting off on this sensation of needing to shit swept over him and he opened up, letting McKnight sink all the way in. His legs stabilized, his arms stopped wheeling, and the world stood still as Grimes' nerve endings and anal muscles and rectum and probably all his internal organs adapted to this huge, hard fat thing that had invaded his body.
Grimes whimpered.
"Now, that wasn't so bad," McKnight said.
"God, no, sir, not bad at all," Grimes said.
McKnight pulled back and all the sensations started up again, especially the dirty one, but instead of flailing at them, Grimes concentrated on them. McKnight eased himself back in.
"What would you say that is? How many inches?" McKnight dragged his cock out again in one-inch increments and counted. "That's about one inch... two inches... three inches..."
"Six!" Grimes blurted out. "Six inches."
He'd measured. Not McKnight's cock. He'd measured his hand, how long he knew McKnight's cock was against his hand. He'd done it from memory, so maybe it wasn't entirely accurate, but he'd done it. And then he'd measured his own cock. But he'd forgotten about the tailor's tape. Damn.
Does size matter? It does if you're built like Grimes and get off on that stretch.
He knew some guys demanded largeness. Others actually preferred a smaller, more manageable cock. He also knew that the reason a lot of guys did not care for large size was that they did not so much enjoy the fucking as they enjoyed the idea of fucking. They tolerated the fleeting pain and the dirtiness, so their partner could get off. Or so they'd get their turn to get off later. Maybe they lacked imagination and only knew how to fuck a hole, even when they didn't really want to get fucked in their own hole. And he knew some other men didn't like being filled at all. It hurt, or it didn't hurt but they didn't get off on it. Not the way Grimes did. And he knew some women did not enjoy being fucked by a big cock because it banged into their cervix. One of the women from the yoga class had said that, and then she'd apologized for saying it in front of Grimes.
Grimes had not been offended. He'd only wished it was socially acceptable for him to say, "I agree. I'm not tall enough for getting fucked by a ten-inch dick. That's why I'm so glad my Colonel has six inches of ridiculously fat dick because, ladies, it's the stretch that makes a good fuck so very satisfying."
Grimes knew how big around McKnight was. He only had to close his eyes and imagine, and his hand made a perfect circle the exact size of McKnight's circumference. He knew, even if he didn't know the exact number.
He'd just wanted to know if McKnight knew. He'd wanted to imagine the tape measure and McKnight's hand on his cock and the perplexed look McKnight might get when he found out his cock was not longer than average but was significantly larger around. The perplexedness would come from some fuzzy calculation of manhood in relation to others. McKnight would try to figure out what percentile he was, and whether girth was more important than length, and even though he'd always known he had a big cock, the numbers might be surprising.
But instead of that, Grimes had McKnight's cock buried inside his body. As it turned out, that was infinitely preferable to math.
McKnight started to move again, gracefully, guiding Grimes' hips with his hands. Not a hard, desperate fuck meant to make him come as soon as possible; it was a very deliberate fuck designed for one thing only: to make Grimes come just from the fucking.
The ladies at the yoga class claimed it was impossible to come just from the fucking. They said is a woman came while being fucked, it was because the man was doing other stuff to her with his hands, or that her clit was being rubbed by his cock as he went in and out, and that was coming from getting the clit rubbed, not from the fucking.
The yoga class was not obsessed with sex. These discussion did not take place during class time. Once a month they had 'ladies' night out', and on several occasions Grimes had given in to their pleadings, since McKnight had been out of town anyway, and had agreed to be their designated driver. So, while Grimes nursed one beer all night long, the ladies got themselves absolutely shitfaced and the things they'd talked about... things that if they were ever repeated, if they ever became public, marriages would end!
Grimes mostly felt smug after ladies night out, because his commanding officer was thoughtful and attentive and had the perfect cock, and also because Grimes had something the ladies did not have. He had a prostate gland.
They may have had g-spots, but g-spots were not as reliable as Grimes' prostate gland, from what Grimes could tell.
The very best thing about McKnight's cock was that angle was not everything. Sure, McKnight could shift the angle and make Grimes scream. McKnight knew how to finesse the fucking, and did so often. But being fucked by a cock that fat meant Grimes' prostate was almost constantly stimulated not matter what.
Grimes struggled to raise his head and shoulders off the pillow. He straightened his arms and one of McKnight's hands shot up to trace the muscles of his back. Grimes' cock quivered against his stomach. McKnight kept up his firm, deliberate strokes.
"Motherfucker, motherfucker, motherfucker," McKnight rumbled. He needed to make Grimes come, but it was getting to him, wasn't it?
Grimes put all his energy into squeezing his asshole around McKnight's cock.
"Jesus!" McKnight said. He snapped his hips, breaking the rhythm.
Grimes whined.
"Aw, fuck!" McKnight roared, and he threw his body over Grimes' and, what do you know? Angle matters. It's not everything, but it fucking matters.
"Danny!" Grimes gasped. "Danny! Please! Like that! Just a little harder, sir! Oh, fuck."
McKnight obliged. He fucked hard.
Grimes started to flail once more, but not the flail of invasion. It was the flail of giving it all up.
He gulped in air because the orgasm is better when more oxygen is being carried by the blood to the clitoris. He didn't have a clitoris, but he figured, in this situation, not even being touched, his cock might be functioning a little bit like a clitoris, and that his prostate was like a very efficient g-spot, which was the root of the clitoris, and damn it, size was great but it was probably all about angle, at least for those ladies who couldn't come just from fucking.
Since it was Grimes being fucked, size did matter because the stretch was exquisite and McKnight was moaning in his ear about how tight he was.
"Danny, Danny!"
McKnight bit his shoulder. That meant he really wanted to come.
Grimes was afraid he couldn’t do it. He was horrified for one second that he could not come just from the fucking. Goddamn. Why couldn't he? He had before. It had happened lots of times. He must have made a mistake, either to think of his cock as a big clit or to think that his prostate made that much of a difference. It was the wrong attitude. Now he was just like anyone else getting fucked, and you can't come just from being fucked.
And then McKnight rammed into him and grabbed his hair and pulled his head back and growled at him to come.
Grimes panicked. He was disobeying a direct order.
McKnight clarified the order.
"Motherfucker! Shoot your fucking load so I can fill your tight ass with my come!"
Ah, the mental aspect of sex should never be underestimated.
And the fullness.
Being full.
Coming.
Being filled.
And the fullness.
Never discount the fullness. There was the physical sensation of the fullness, tied in with the stretching and the dirtiness, and then there was the metaphoric aspect.
He had a hole; McKnight filled it. Consequently, the sheets were sprayed all over with his come, and McKnight's weight was pushing him down into the mess.
He grunted when he hit the sheets. McKnight's cock twitched inside him.
After a while, and a good deal of heavy breathing, McKnight groaned. "You did that on purpose."
Grimes wiggled his ass. McKnight's cock slithered out of him and nestled messily between his ass cheeks.
"What, sir?"
"That whole measurement thing. You had it all planned." McKnight rolled off him. "Fuck. No more ladies' nights out for you."
How the hell did McKnight know about that?
"Sir, ladies' night out was two weeks ago, and it has nothing to do with-"
"You said they got drunk."
"Yes.
"You said they were raunchy."
"Yes."
"You said size was mentioned."
He had.
"I put two and two together."
McKnight put two and two together, and Grimes got fucked. Maybe math wasn't so bad after all.
Grimes reached for the stack of hand towels under the bed. McKnight took one from him and wiped between his legs gently. Then he grabbed another towel and wiped himself. "You need to go downstairs and clean up?"
Grimes blushed. "Uh, yes, sir." He got up carefully. McKnight knew everything, didn't he?
McKnight pulled Grimes down to sit on his lap. He licked across his cheek, and then he licked across his lips, and then he kissed him long and slow.
"Six and a quarter," he whispered.
"Sir?"
"I'm six inches long. Six and a quarter inches around."
Grimes felt faint.
No wonder Grimes always flailed.
"I figured you'd ask sometime."
McKnight knew everything.
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