When they got home last night he had had to help Jace change out of the Speedo - which was torn at the seam in the ass - and into cotton boxer-briefs. As Jace's junk fell out of the Speedo, something was definitely not right. The already huge penis seemed even huger. Jace had passed out the moment his body hit the bed, so must have been having a wet dream of sorts. While he had gotten a good look on Jace's cock when he was posing for Guillaume, now he had a chance to really determine facts. Jace seemed to have passed out, and, wanting to investigate, Tom lifted Jace's massive meat, amazed at its weight. From the swimming trunks he's worn at the party he took out his own flaccid penis, and, shifting himself so as to make it easier, compared the two.
He could not have been let down more. Holding his above average-sized cock up next to Jace's enormous dong was like comparing a finger to a bologna sausage. Finding a measuring tape - Jace was probably already familiar with it - he measured his own, completely flaccid penis, to four inches, three around. When measuring Jace's length, he found it at an astounding seven and a quarter inches - completely fucking flaccid! It was a lot thicker than he had estimated, too, at nearly seven inches around! Lifting Jace's testes, the sack overfilled his hand!
A new question bugged his mind. In principle, flaccid size meant little beyond showing the minimum erect length and girth. Would he do this to his best bud? Shoving all thoughts aside - he had to know - he began pumping his dick, and, simultaneously he lifted Jace's monster and began pumping it too. Swelling to erect length, his penis grew to a nice six inches, bent slightly to the right, five inches around.
Jace's dick grew to nine and a half. The gigantic, swollen, tan sausage - Jace tanned nude when Tom wasn't around - pulsed, and Jace shifted and murmured. Eight inches around. Holy fucking mother of shit. This had to be related to Guillaume, somehow, he just knew it.
He had seen enough. Envy and jealousy, and, a conspiring thought, torrented through his head. He found Jace some white cotton boxer-briefs, putting them on, struggling to get past the thighs, not caring if stuffing his junk in quickly hurt Jace. The underwear was tighter than it should be, considering that it was bought this weekend, but it did not falsely promise elasticity like the Speedo had. He rolled Jace into a safer position on the bed, and turned to leave the room. Then he turned again. Did Jace's muslce show so greatly just today? Did he seem bigger? As he touched Jace's forehead, he had to remove it. The man had a fever. Should he call an ambulance?