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This one’s for Devoid.



It was a night like Pfeiffer had never dreamed it to be. Down on his luck after an unfortunate series of simoultaneous tragedies, he turned to the only shoulder he could find solace upon, the only place he knew he was still loved. On a night such as this, there were things that only one man could satisfy.

Pfeiffer knocked on the door. His eyes darted back and forth, scanning the street, making sure that no one would see his entry. Lips trembling and tears just held back, he hoped beyond hope that someone would answer. He heard the lock turn, the gentle twist of the knob.

A mane of wizened gray hair, alabaster skin that seemed to glow in the moonlight. Emerick opened the door only part way, the chain as tense as the air surrounding the two men. He looked, for all his years, as young and vibrant as he had that first day Pfeiffer had laid eyes upon him.

“I… I need a friend right now.” A smile played around the still smooth lips that graced that aged face. A knowing look, a heartened glance between them.

“Come in.”

The door closed only to be reopened, the chain now latched and away. Pfeiffer entered, trembling still but not from the fear he’d felt before. Here, in this place, he felt at ease. A calm washed over the pair as they made their way to the dining room table, the heads of state Emerick had conquered mounted upon the wall as they basked in the gentle glow of the fireplace. The pair sat, and drinks were poured. Pfeiffer only watched as Emerick took his glass and raised it to those supple lips of his, the golden honeyed liquid passing smoothly across them. He set his glass upon the table, and looked at Pfeiffer.

Pfeiffer was himself a sight to see. The light danced upon his ivory skin, white as the snow from years of lacking sunlight. The short brown hair upon his head was unkempt, ruffled by years of pulling and hands having run through. His now faded Boy Scouts jacket, two sizes two small, was wet with the salty sweet tears which he had failed to keep back.

“What’s on your mind?” It was a careful question from Emerick. No note of concern. Just that same knowing smile which playfully danced about his face.

“It’s just been too much recently. I can’t take it all. I try my best, but I don’t know,” he took a sip of wine, the fragrance calming him into a reassuring peace of mind, “I feel like I deserve more.”

“You do.” Pfeiffer looked up. The smile had grown, the lips now drawn apart to show the curving teeth which lay in wait behind the still youthful skin. A hand, drawn across the table, rested upon Pfeiffer’s swollen lap. Chills, softer as the feet of angels, ran up along his spine as his lips fell slightly apart. “I think you can take it all,” Emerick whispered moving closer along the fur lined sofa cushions,” I just think you need a helping hand.”

His lips drew forth to Pfeiffer’s, his hand drew higher to his thighs. And then they were upon him, a delicate brush at first. And then the hand began to work up and down along the ridge of the jeans, the lips began to trickle along to just behind Pfeiffer’s ear. A gasp; Pfeiffer couldn’t believe it was finally happening. Emerick took his other hand, drawing it along the rounded jaw of the man he now held close in his arms, and brought the face across from his closer towards his.

Lips met, as two strangers whose eyes have only dared to dream on one another from afar, and they quickly found the taste of one another to be pleasing in every way. Pfeiffer was the first to offer tongue, the soft butterfly suck of Emerick’s lips racing along the Mountain Dew stained ridges. The hand on Pfeiffer’s lap worked harder, an easy bravado of well-timed pushes and pulls.

For Pfeiffer, the moment felt ever longer. The dance of tongue and lubricating spit between them grew as a flood. Finally, Emerick drew back, a twinkle upon his eyes.

“Let’s not have only one of us keep all the pleasures to himself.” A wink. A nod from Pfeiffer, his mouth still held apart in awe, longing now for the treasure he knew Emerick now presented.

They shifted, Emerick taking the couch, Pfeiffer now down upon his knees. “If you think you deserve it,” Emerick said, a quiet laugh behind the words, “you’ll need to earn it.” The two exchanged a look that defied all questions of length and time. The moment passed, and Pfeiffer nodded again and proceeded to draw the belt from around Emerick’s waist.

A quick zip, a wiggle, and the top of the scales revealed themselves to the light of the fire. It was like a rainbow being drawn from cloth, a sight only Pfeiffer could have dreamed of. Still, no member could yet be seen and now a full laugh came from Emerick as he looked down on Pfeiffer with an affectionate pity. “There’s more to it than that, you know. You’ve got to really work if you want it to get out.”

Pfeiffer reached his whole arm down the pair of suede trousers. It was a snug fit, made no easier by girth of Pfeiffer’s arm. But he struggled, and through the torrent of scales he finally felt something. Upon his touch, it extended, blowing forth the cloth from round Emerick’s waist and laying across the floor.

It’s size was legendary, a length no man could fathom. It seemed endless in its shining glory, and Pfeiffer could only look on as it continued to extend itself around the room. Eventually the movement ceased, and it lay as a splendid beast does in its den. Emerick only shook his head, the laugh threatening to again break forth. “Well?”

A Scout’s salute, and Pfeiffer went to it. It was difficult to pleasure such a thing or even plan how he might attack it, but Pfeiffer’s resolve was as steady. Disrobing himself, he stretched his rolls upon every inch he could manage and began rubbing his whole body along it. The chafing was something no man should experience, but thankfully the fat shielded Pfeiffer from most of the pain. He twisted along its every surface, starting at the base and kicking off. He worked around the edges, the scaled spine, the soft underbelly. Emerick only smiled, a slight groan escaping his moistened lips here and there.

And then Pfeiffer reached the head of the beast. A gargantuan mouth, a size no man could handle. No man, except the implacably firm Pfeiffer. He sucked gently upon it, using his rolls to still work it as he moved up and down. Now sounds truly made their way out from Emerick’s lips, and he closed his eyes as Pfeiffer strained harder to perform. Wet and sticky, Pfeiffer worked tirelessly. The sweat beaded off him, only providing more moistening to the already damp surface. Emerick ridged his back, his breath quickening.

“Yes,” he sighed, “tell me you were always looking at my forum PMs.”

“I always have.” Pfeiffer pressed harder against it, forcing himself to work through the pain he now underwent.

“Say you should never have run for President.”

“I never should have.” The air vibrated, stifled with the moisture it now had. Pfeiffer went harder, the rolls flying upon the head’s surface. The beast stirred, growling in the throe of Pfeiffer’s onslaught.

“It was always you. I only ever sniped… for you.” A thrust, running along the length of the behemoth, and then the walls were coated in a sickly sweet white that cascaded upon every surface. The two collapsed, Emerick from the amount of concentration and blood which now coursed through the beast, Pfeiffer from the strain and burns he now let air in the thick coating of juices all about.

It seemed an age before they composed themselves. No cuddling was to be had, no words be said. Once he had composed himself and cleaned up the room, Pfeiffer departed, a contentment the likes of which he had rarely known. Emerick saw him off to the door and watched as Pfeiffer made his way down the street, the smile now back to a silent hint that only might be around those supple lips of his. And as Pfeiffer’s swollen form now drifted away into the dark of the street and night, Emerick closed the door, the chain sliding back once more into place.



I’m taking requests for the next write up. Just PM me or find me on IRC.

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Stay frosty.