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Taking Care of Randy


erinbbby

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Here is a very rough draft I was working on a few years ago. Thought I would share. For visual reference, here is an example of how Randy looks to me: tumblr_o07fa7lxW41r2l8i8o1_400.jpg 

 

The trailer shook as if a small earthquake was rolling through the ground. I lost my place on the book’s page but felt no alarm. I knew it was Randy coming to get me for some chore. I felt him slow his pace as he shimmied sideways down the hall, his massive muscle gut audibly brushing the vinyl wood-veneered walls of the double-wide trailer. 


“Hey boy, I need you to do me a favor” he said as his gargantuan frame filled the doorway, hairy gut partially protruding into the room. 


I looked over to see him shirtless, in nothing but the custom briefs I made for him and his trademark aviator sunglasses. The outline of his swelling cock was obscene. Randy wasn’t even close to full-mast but his dick sat plump in the elongated front pouch at a heavy 11 inches and thick as a beer bottle. It rested high and dropped off of two mango-sized testicles, the whole package straining the white fabric to near transparency. I knew what he wanted; I’d be coaxed into emptying his balls to help relieve the pressure. 
“It’s been close to 24 hours now. I ain’t gone this long since the first time I ever came”


My body was shadowed by the bunk above me, and I felt safe here in my small room. It was only big enough for the bunks and a dresser. It was a crammed little space for sure, however it had one critical feature: the door frame was too small for Randy. The narrow entrance framed his gut, hairy chest cleavage and some of his traps, while the rest of him extended far past the threshold. Going in sideways did not work – his muscle gut and pecs projected off of his body to such a degree that he could not squeeze through. 


“I’m feeling tired and I really don’t want to clean all that up, Randy”


“That’s alright. You can just swallow all of it this time” he smiled. 


We both knew that was not going to happen. Randy had a problem – he produced semen at an absurd rate, outpacing a normal man by 50 times. He needed to be relieved at least 3 times a day to not be in pain. Despite having numerous clients on the Strip each night, and pumping out a couple of ounces each time, he would usually wake up in a warm pool of his own sticky load meshing and tangling his hairy belly and bush.   His clients almost always took care of emptying him through the night, but I was around to handle the morning cleanup – as well as a host of other responsibilities. 
“How come you don’t just stroke it yourself Randy?”


“We out of towels boy. This is gonna be big dump too, I need your help. Don’t want to clog the fucking toilet again either”


I was going to stand my ground. I did a lot for Randy, and though I was always turned on by his body, I did not want to deal with the mess tonight. My routine for him was already grueling: I would wake him up each day, him stinking and covered in his own cum from several wet dreams. I’d help him in the bathroom, which was designed like a wet room for a person with disabilities. The room was essentially a large shower (bigger than my room mind you) with a mirror, sink and extra-large toilet. It was a light yellow-cream color and the entire floor slopped to a drain in the center. A flexible hose with shower head attachment plugged into the wall. I would take off his cum soaked briefs and through them in the corner with a heavy slap. I would then proceed to wash off his body, scrubbing off the thick semen with a cloth, being sure to clean his 9 inch soft cock and bull-like balls. 


“Randy, the answer is no. Just use one of the empty milk cartons” 


“Come on now. You know I can’t jerk it and hold something in front of my dick at the same time. I need you boy” he sounded more serious.


After washing him, I would then help him dry off and put on a clean pair of briefs. He would adjust his massive package to a comfortable angle. The coffee would have been brewed by now and I would immediately begin his breakfast. First the shake, which was easiest. Whole milk, oats, 6 cups of protein powder, cottage cheese, yogurt and some peanut butter. It was gross to be sure, but it was nearly 300 grams of protein. A “quick snack to start the day” he would say. As he stood behind me, naked expect for the briefs barely capable to handle his bulge, I would cook his 10 eggs, full pack of bacon, 12 pancakes and jug of sliced fruit (my idea to help him keep regular). 


“Go outside then” I said turning my attention back to my book. He grunted like a bull – I was winding him up.


He enjoyed watching me cook while he drank his shake and coffee for some reason, only sitting when I had finished and placed all the food on one large platter for him. He would eat like an absolute pig while I cleaned up the kitchen, saving myself a tiny portion in comparison to satisfy myself. Usually Randy would finish before I was done cleaning and would swagger up behind me, leaving his plate and fork by the sink. His big gut would brush up against me in the small space, and many mornings he would grab my plate of food and inhale it in a few bites, not knowing (or caring) that it was reserved for me. I would pause to help him slide on some shorts (again, custom made by yours-truly) and he would squeeze out the front entrance to lift the weights scattered about the trailer roasting under the hot Las Vegas sun. He would be out there for at least 3 hours. During this time I would handle the remaining cleaning duties.


“Boy, if you don’t watch yourself, I’m going to do it right here and cover this floor” 


I would clean the rest of the kitchen and then head to the bedroom to strip the bed and remake the sheets. The fitted sheet and mattress pad would be congealed with his cum, and I would have to separate the fabric from the plastic sheet underneath. This layer was critical for keeping the king sized bed salvageable. It was a laborious task considering the size of the bed and cramped space. With the bedding balled up and sticking to me, I would place it in the washer, always making sure to grab his briefs that were now crusted in the corner of the bathroom. Several servings of detergent was necessary to clean the load (no pun intended). With the wash started, I would then scrub the plastic sheet and tidy up the rest of the trailer. Then I would begin preparing lunch.


“Please, let’s not do this tonight” I replied meekly. “Come on, I am exhausted”


“That ain’t what I pay you for, boy”


Yes, I am essentially Randy’s full time care-giver now. He just couldn’t keep up with the tasks of taking care of such a hulking body alone. At an even 6’0 and 430 pounds of bulging muscle, Randy was an absolute giant of a man. He consumed 20,000 calories a day, went through several changes of clothes and had to figure out some way of disposing of the copious volumes of cum he ejaculated throughout. He needed help.


“Randy, taking care of you is more than a full-time job. I need a break every now and then”


“I understand that boy, but you need to help me out right now. I am in pain”


Randy and I first met a while after he developed his “condition”. He rang up the private, at-home care dispatch I worked for saying he needed someone discreet and willing to work a messy job for good pay. I had been with the company for some time by that point and had seen it all – paraplegics, old-timers, mentally deficient, you name it. My boss trusted me with any client so I was an obvious choice. But I had never had a gig like taking care of Randy. 


“You know, when we started this whole thing, we had a contract. Eight hours a day, 15 days off a year, and reimbursement for travel. I don’t get any of that now” I said, obviously frustrated.
“I pay for your gas!” he replied, as if that remedied the situation.


I will always remember the first day I had pulled up to his double-wide trailer, some dump tucked away in the only remotely industrial part of Las Vegas. As I pulled up in my car, I was immediately floored by the colossal man lifting weights in the front “yard”, shirtless and drenched in sweat under the hot sun. He wore sunglasses, cowboy hat and jeans that were ready to burst from the size of his legs. At this point, Randy was only 320 pounds. He stood up to greet me when I exited my car, my hand dwarfed and encased by his sweaty, calloused palm. I was in sheer awe and he could easily tell. His pecs sat like heavy slabs of beef on his torso, casting twin shadows over his hairy belly. Randy’s body glistened with sweat, a stream running down the crevice of his massive chest down to his gapping belly button. I had never seen a man that size before and something in my gaze made Randy smile. 


“Randy, it ain’t happening so just leave me alone”


He was scowling now “boy…you think these flimsy little walls can keep me out?”


He informed me then that his testosterone production rivaled that of a large bull, a condition that had randomly begun in adulthood. He told me that he had always been a big guy, but in only 2 years he had gained a remarkable 60 pounds of pure muscle. Our working relationship began slowly but soon spiraled out of control to the situation I find myself in today. Originally I was cooking his meals and helping him with simple chores like laundry. Now I am officially his personal chef, maid, grocery shopper and tailor (a skill I'm still working on). 


As time went on, Randy kept getting bigger. Though he sports a massive hairy gut, it tougher than iron - a caress while blind-folded and you would swear you were rubbing a marble statue covered in fur. And in spite of his gut's titanic proportion, his chest has kept pace and still exceeds his gut easily with a measurement of 78 inches. His nipples are constantly plump and would be clearly obvious in any shirt he would wear, that is if he still wore shirts. Randy spends about 90 percent of his time shirtless, his hairy belly, bulging pecs and basket ball sized arms on display, usually in a film of sweat that I am expected to towel off. 


"Little boy, you have one more chance to get off your ass and come drain these balls or I'm going to get in here and pump you full of cum" he growled. His voice dropped a few octaves and I actually started to get butterflies in my stomach. He seemed pissed.


Being gigantic is intoxicating for him, and he is always talking about getting bigger. But his size no doubt creates numerous challenges, aside from what I have already groaned about. For starters, Randy is a spectacle no matter where he goes. He typically wears a stringer tank top when he goes out and they hardly cover anything. His burly chest, fat nipples and the top half of his power gut are on full display. The bottom portion of the tank top clings to his gargantuan gut and is tight like a drum over his gaping naval. As for pants, he is always in shorts - fortunately, clothing for the obese fits him well so covering his nether regions is no problem...until you consider his manhood. 


I turn to look at he strips offs his briefs and proudly allows his veiny cock to enter my room. He is now sporting an erection at 15.5 inches and nearly as thick as a bottle of wine. His cock head features an obscene piss hole which can pump out thick streams of hot cum. The bull is ready. 


I basically plead with him to wear underwear. Otherwise, his cock and bull balls tend to flop all over the place and sometimes even drop out from the bottom of his shorts. I can still vividly remember us together at a buffet several months back and him standing up too fast - his shirts had ridden up his legs and his colossal hairy balls dropped out of his shorts for the whole restaurant to see. He didn't even notice as he swaggered up to the buffet for the eighth time. All eyes stared as his big balls bounced in the shadow of his gut. Now, the downside of the custom briefs I have made for him is there is no hiding his plump and protruding bugle in public. I routinely see people's jaws drop as they scan his body and focus in on the fruit basket straining his shorts. 


Randy's baseball glove-sized hand takes hold of his python and he begins to stroke with a smirk. Only his hands are large enough to wrap around his cock. Mine look like a child's next to his erect phallus. "OK boy, you had your chance. I'm dumping this load over you and this little rat hole you're hiding in!" 


I plead with him to stop now. It'll take me hours to clean up the sticky mess he'll leave behind. No luck. His smirk has turned to a full grin as he pumps his cock harder, preparing to unleash more cum in one go than he ever has in his life. His dick is rock hard and the veins run down his shaft in thick snake like patterns. His hairy bull balls hang low and are swinging with the motion. 


"HERE IT COMES BOY!" he laughs. 


I get down to put my hand in front of his cock, and in an instant I can feel the force of his ejaculation as he roars in releif. It stings my hand as if being shot with a high pressure hose and soon my hand, arm and most of my front half is doused in thick ropes of sticky hot semen. I cover my face as I feel it flow into my hair; it runs down my forehead and gets in my eyes. A pool of the stuff forms before me as Randy's heavy grunting slows and he catches his breath. 


I open my eyes and we both look at disbelief at the volume of cum that Randy has just unloaded on me. He can't even believe it. His semen is all over me and the floor. 


He begins to laugh in a big booming voice. 


"I warned you boy! Now clean yourself up and get me a protein shake!" 

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