Jack looked down at his phone, with his typical cocky smirk. Yeah, Musky Jack was back, but he wasn’t exactly finished. He was only getting started. He needed his crew back: Palms, Leon, and Ollie. With a chuckle, he dials and kicks back. The person answers the phone, and Jack wastes no time. With the shadiest voice and tone, he lures the person into a sense of excitement, daring him with his hypnotic tongue to meet him at the park at dawn. Hanging up, he knows all to well what’s about to transpire. Out of his backpack Jack pulls out a well worn pair of Nike AF1s. He puts the ratty old sneaker against his face and inhales the scent of his old pal Ollie. Soon, he’ll be kicking it with Ollie in person!
—
George looks at the coordinates on his phone. He’s in the right spot. He sits against a rock, giddy with excitement. He finally is gonna be recognised as a pro skater. Never mind all those douches that said otherwise, calling him a poser. So what if he can’t kick flip or shred a half pipe? He has the spirit. That’s what counts, right? Suddenly, a figure begins to walk close to George. He racks his brain throughout all the skateboarding knowledge he has and instantly recognises the infamous Musky Jack Mars! He recalls for a moment the stories of his death, along with his crew of rebellious cronies.
Jack sits down next to George, and lights up a joint. They talk about skating, and how George could be a pro skater by sunrise. Of course, George agrees, shaking Jacks calloused hands. “Man, you can’t skate in those.” Jack points to George’s pristine DC’s and laughs. “They’ll get destroyed. You need some that are beaters. You know, broken in.” He pulls out the white Nikes and rips off the DC’s. “These belonged to an amazing skater, bro. They’ll bring you luck. Here, check ‘em out.”
Handing George the sneakers, he notices a sharp change in George’s demeanour. He stares blankly at the shoes, almost reverent. George inhales a little whiff of the stench from them, instantly getting hard. “Ahh, bro. You like that stink? I bet you do. It’s the smell of a bro. One of my bros. They don’t call Musky Jack for no reason. I surround myself with guys who can match my amazing scent. And Ollie definitely could.” He takes one of the shoes and forces it onto George’s face. The smell of rank feet and sweat permeates George’s mind, numbing him even further.
Suddenly, a green mist begins to emit from the shoes, forming the silhouette of a lean, toned man. Jack smiles at the ghost of his friend, and winks. He unzips George’s cheap skinny jeans and pulls out a raging 6 in hard-on. The ghost laughs and begins sliding into the piss slit, causing George to yelp and squirm, his face still buried in the shoe. A loud deflating sound echoes throughout the park, mirroring the sight of the green ghost invading the boys body. Jack smirks as he begins gently pumping George’s cock and massaging his tender balls.
The ghost slides in seemingly easier and quicker, and loud *slurp* the entire entity disappears within his cock. George begins to shake and convulse, as the ghost takes control. Underneath his skin, outlines of hands and arms and feet slide effortlessly into place. Eventually, the conclusions end, and George sits motionless on the side of the sidewalk. Then, almost as if on cue, his body begins to stretch and crack. Sounds of stretching elastic begin to echo now, as he grows from his measly 5'3 to 6'2. Jack is now fully sucking the cock, as George takes the liberty of holding the sneaker against his face himself. His feet burst out of his socks, becoming nice size 12s.
His torso stretches into a lean, cut six pack. The strange, curly red hair straightened and sinks back into his skull, creating a mass of messy, black hair. In his mouth, Jack feels the cock growing and growing, eventually capping off at a full 8 ½. He feels two hands grab his head, and begin to face fuck him. This, of course, is so utterly familiar to Jack. He hears the scratchy voice of his friend moaning and gasping, just like he used to. As a fountain of sticky, thick cum coats his throat, he looks up to see Ollie, shirtless as usual and grinning from ear to ear. Jack tackles him in a passionate kiss, each guys tongue exploring the others mouth. He takes in Ollie’s sweaty smell, and sighs in relief.
“Fuck dude. I missed that smell,” Jack gasps. “Nowhere near as rank as I am, but pretty damn close!” Ollie laughs, as he puts on his trashed Nikes, sliding his hand into Jacks pants. While Ollie gets down on his knees to return the favour, Musky Jack sees a figure hiding in the bushes, and winks. He knows exactly who Palms will be taking.
Comments
Post a Comment