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Sorry for the wait, back at school and its kicking my ass. Here's part four. It was gonna be one large part covering all of Christmas break, but I came up with too many ideas for Christmas, so its gonna be two parts. Thanks for reading. Read Part One HERE Read Part Two HERE Read Part Three HERE Liquid Manhood Chapter Four The Christmas Break had come, Thanksgiving had passed with Melvin leaving Chris alone with the elixir. Surprisingly Chris hadn't used it, and it appeared that the large jar was filling a lot slower now. The size draining jockstraps were either not being used anymore or had drained all they could. Melvin hadn’t seen any of the jocks running around, or he didn't recognise them anymore. Chris had vanished off one night, having locked up the jar with a padlock, so that Melvin couldn’t get at the elixir. He’d made them both promise not to take any of the elixir and use Christmas break to think out a plan. Melvin though was too curious about the elixir, so he’d learnt how to pick the lock It took him two nights, but he was able to get the padlock off the jar. He turned the faucet and filled up a sample cup of green liquid. He made sure he replaced the padlock. He even remade Chris’ bed after he’d messed it up by standing on it to get at the magical filled jars. Before Melvin left he searched the room for the leather bound magic book, he hadn't seen it in over two weeks. Chris must of hidden it, he knew he hadn't taken it, Melvin had pretty much packed Chris’ bags for him. He found a lockbox under Chris’ bed, he gave it a shot with the lock pick, but his parents turned up to collect him before he could get it open. Melvin returned the box and wrapped the sample cup in some clothes before gently packing it away in his bag. He locked up the dorm room and headed down to meet his parents, eager to get away from the dorms and out of Chris’ shadow so he could get a good look at the magic liquid in his bag. ——————————————————————————————————————————— He’d watered the strange cactus that sat erect and proud on his desk, he’d turned all his electronics off and even cleaned his room. Two bulging bags of empty bottles and candy wrappers were carried out to the trash only this morning. Sean’s PS4 was packed away. He wished he could bring his TV, but it would have to wait for him here in his dorm room. His one piece of luggage for the train ride home was more videos games than clothes. Mostly because very few of his clothes fit him anymore, Sean’s growth spurt was still continuing and didn't show any sign of stopping. He was already 6’3 and his body had leaned out, all the extra fat gone from his frame. His stomach was flat and he’d spent nights jerking off while feeling the light ridges of his now visible ab muscles. His hair was now permanently styled, even in the mornings he looked like he’d just had a stylist go through it with all manner of products. Sean’s skin was still pale, but like marble and completely clear of spots or blemishes. Sean was now getting a lot of looks, he knew whatever was happening, a second puberty or something, it had changed his face more than anything else so far. His lips were pouty and his jaw had squared slightly. The loss of his fat had allowed cheekbones, that Sean never knew even existed, to strengthen the bone structure of his face. In class he’d found girls giving him longing stares, he’d just smile nervously and they’d melt. He was getting a lot of people asking for tutoring, which wasn’t a surprise to him, as he was top of his class, just now he caught girls popping a button on their shirts before they came to ask him. The guys were a bit different in their reactions to him, he was getting invited to more parties and even a few of the sporty frats were making enquires if he wanted to consider joining. He’d attempted to play frisbee with a few guys after class once, entirely because of one boy with big eyes and ass that bounced when he walked. He was very nervous, but found himself catching the frisbee every time, even running to catch it. Sean had never exercised in his life, or even played a sport, but he was good at frisbee. He’d never played it since then, his sudden skill and athletic ability had scared him. Sean was spending all his time in his room, even though he now looked like the guys he jerked off over he was unwilling to try his new looks out. Sean zipped up his luggage, tossing a shirt with Captain America's shield plastered across it that wouldn't fit inside his bag onto his bed. He checked that he had his train ticket, it was in the back pocket of his jeans. Which were being pushed out by Sean’s ass having gone from a fat mess to a tight rounded perky butt. He gave his room one last look over, the green tinge that everything seemed to have was so familiar to him, he didn't even know that no other room in the dorm building looked like his. Sean left, locking his door behind him. A slow drip started the second the door clicked closed, a green stain started to spread across the light blue fabric of the shirt Sean tossed onto his bed. ————————————————————————————————————————— The house was emptying, the fraternity has already lost a few members, not because they had returned home for Christmas, but because they’d left the university all together. Danny had been the first, he’d lost over a foot of height and could barely run without losing his breath. It had been horrible to see him shrink, going from a guy who could run miles without breaking a sweat to wheezing after walking up some stairs. The college reacted pretty quickly, calling in many doctors. A viral disease that caused genetic damage, primarily bone contraction, hormone deficiency and muscle wastage was the official reason for the sudden collapse of the Lincoln football team. They’d even had the Center for Disease Control turn up, taking blood samples and running tests. They’d concluded it was something in the athletic department, so the entire place had been closed for nearly a month as it was deep cleaned and tested for anything and everything, but the damage had already been done. Coach Peters had suspended the football team and more or less abandoned all of them as he tried to rebuild from the slim pickings left on campus. Big Ben, or just Ben as he was being called now was probably taking the changes the best. He peeked out of his window down at his frat brothers being collected by their parents. The unaffected towering above a few dozen tiny slim boys. Guys of their size used to get Ben rock hard, but now his monster cock was tiny. He could jack it with two fingers when he used to need two hands. His tastes had changed along with his stature. Ben found himself getting rock hard around his still big frat brothers, he’d also spend every jerk off session of his with his face buried in his old jock strap. Sniffing in the musk of his old horse cock. Speaking of his new tastes, Yuri was on his bed. Shirtless, his toned swimmer's torso glistening with sweat. The taste of Yuri’s cum still lingering in Ben’s mouth. Ben had dropped straight facade and found that no one gave a shit that he was gay. Yuri was becoming a regular in Ben’s room nowadays, he was adamant he wasn't gay, but he sure loved to fuck Ben’s tight throat. Ben was holding out for the chance to ride Yuri’s Russian meat stick, but Yuri was the cum and go kind of guy. “What you looking at” Yuri asked, checking the time on his phone Ben turned and walked back to the bed, perching his slender ass on the edge. “Just watching the guys leave” He replied, his voice no longer a rumble It was almost musical, but only a few days ago it was jumping octaves, like his voice was breaking all over again. “You not gonna be lonely in this big house all by yourself” Yuri asked, poking Ben with a foot playfully Ben chuckled “I’ll be ok, got all those chores to keep me busy, Mr President” Yuri had taken over as Frat President, Barrett had quit last week. Ben was sure the diminishing quarterback wasn't going to come back to college after Christmas. Yuri though was very happy with the new arrangement, and seeing as Ben was the only one remaining over the holiday he’d given a long list of chores for Ben to do. Since around half the frat had almost halved in size the odd jobs had gone from being a ‘everyone pull your weight’ thing to a ‘do what I say shorty’ affair. Ben was sure that was a major part to why a lot of the football team had left college, they just couldn't deal with the sudden change in their social standing, Ben though was used to it. He had three brothers, all big like he'd been. He was used to being at the bottom of the ladder, though just not as far down the ladder as he was now. Yuri laughed loudly, sitting up and ruffling Ben's hair “Good boy” Ben blushed, his cock stiffened a little in the gym shorts he borrowed from Danny before he quit college. He still had to pull the drawstring as tight as possible to make them fit. “I’ve still got an hour before I have to leave for my flight” Yuri said, his cock rising up Ben licked his lips, his eyes running over the length of the seven inch dick in front of him. He remembered when he was nearly that big soft. “You want to suck a couple loads out before I go” Yuri asked already pulling Ben’s head down into his lap Ben didn't even have a chance to reply before his mouth was full of cock. —————————————————————————————————————————— Chris was spending Christmas on the Haber family’s personal yacht. The Gold Standard, a pure white ocean going monstrosity with gold highlighting. It was a triumph of affluence and gaudy taste in decoration. He was alone with just the crew and a gaggle of tag along ‘friends’ as company. His mother was in Milan with her Italian lover that she didn't think anyone knew about and his father was probably running the universe from his office in the Haber building on Wall Street. He was sailing along the French Riviera and had already lost what most people would make in a year at one of casinos in Monaco. Like Melvin he’d broken the promise not to use the elixir. He’d filled himself a few sample cups and was continuing his tests, still uneasy and unsure about the nature of the green liquid. Chris had already dosed one of his ‘friends’, a picture perfect European boy of noble birth for a title that didn't exist anymore. His family ran an arms company or something. He was Swiss, or maybe French, Chris didn't know, only that he claimed to be in line for the French crown. Jean was slim, short, but with a head of rich brown curls and bright silvery grey eyes. Chris couldn't deny an attraction, and if the boy was more interesting he’d might of made a move. Instead Jean became a target, but it had been the luck of the draw. Chris had dosed a glass of champagne on the first night he’d arrived in Europe, and it was Jean who took it from him. The changes took a few hours to take hold, firstly Jean appeared to be develop a fever. He was sweating buckets as the party started on the yacht’s deck. Then the exhaustion set in. Chris had even helped Jean to his cabin, the crew almost in shock at seeing Chris help another human being. Chris would pop into Jean’s room throughout the night, trying to keep suspicions low by still appearing at his own party. Each time Jean was different, he hadn’t gotten any taller, but he’d bloated with beefy muscle. Becoming a fireplug of a man, his chest and arms thickening with muscle. His curls got longer, becoming a mane, though they lost their rich glossy colour. Darkening to a dull simple brown. His noble features, chiselled from years of selective breeding were hardening. Jean’s forehead jutted out, his jaw widening into a solid square. Hair was sprouting over his jaw and a tuff popped out from the collar of Jean’s shirt, which was struggling to hold back his enlarged pec and shoulder muscles. Chris could tell that hair was growing over Jean’s shoulders and down his stomach, he could see the mattered imprint appearing through Jean’s shirt. Chris even had to pull Jean’s shoes off, the changing boy looked in pain as his feet grew. Chris less worried about Jean’s wellbeing and more concerned with Jean waking up due to the discomfort. Jean’s feet now free of their shoes had already burst through his socks. The tattered remains clinging to his ankles. The feet though were hairy and massively oversized for possibly even a 7ft basketball player let alone a man of Jean’s small stature. Chris had Jean removed from the yacht, telling the crew that some gate crasher had got too drunk. He blocked Jean from his phone and had the boat moved to a new mooring, ignoring the complaints of guests who were now a fair distance away from their hotels and cars. Chris hadn’t expected the elixir to cause changes so uneven. Jean had grew massive muscles, but had stayed short. His features had hardened but there was no grace or manly beauty to them, just brutish shape. Chris would have to run some more tests, maybe he’d made a mistake with this elixir. ——————————————————————————————————————————— Barrett’s world had fallen apart, his friends were gone, his future in athletics were gone, and his family were treating him like a leper. When he returned home last week Barrett saw his father’s heart break, his dreams of creating a sporting dynasty were mostly dead. His mother was avoiding contact with him, which was easy to do when you lived in a mansion and Barrett never left his room. She did though leave food she, not the housekeeper, had cooked at his door. Barrett knew she cared, she probably just didn't know how to deal with everything. Barrett was barely 5’5 now. His entire body was now slender, near skeletal in some places. The muscle wasting disease had burned through Barrett’s body, nothing was left of the young stallion he’d been. He didn't even recognise himself in the mirror anymore, not only had the disease shrunk his bones it had cut away at Barrett’s chiselled bone structure. Barrett’s jaw was nearly nonexistent, his cheekbones were getting less pronounced by the day, like someone was smoothing them out while he slept. His bright eyes were darker now, his hair having taken on the texture of straw. He knew some guys had it worse, he had no idea what Big Ben must be going through, but then he hadn’t spoken to anyone from college since he left. He just lay in bed most of the time, though he’d taken to his old game console. He’d never really played it before, but it sure helped pass the time between sleeps. Barrett had even had a gaming headset and some new games delivered, he had an old picture of himself as his profile, so he could still pretend online he was a hunk. Apart from maintaining a sexy online persona Barrett had removed every other trace of his old self from his room. All the pictures were hidden away, his old sport trophies and framed high school quarterback jersey were packed away in the attic. His mother had brought him a load of new clothes, all sized for his tiny new body. His old wardrobe was either burnt to ashes or donated to goodwill, he had no idea what his dad had done with all the expensive designer gear. Barrett’s room looked alien to him now, look big and with a lot of empty space now that old Barrett was erased. He sunk into the imprint that his old self had left in the mattress, a new bed was the next thing Barrett wanted changed, and maybe new carpet. Barrett was sure his old smell was lingering in the carpet and it was messing with Barrett’s mind. It was the reason he kept getting rock hard at random times, his shrunken peanut cock getting turned on by his old self. He knew it was more that he was attracted to guys who were like he’d been. He liked muscle now, or at least athletic guys. Which made things weird when the housekeeper’s son came to see if he was ok. It was just him being nice to his mother’s boss's son, but it had screwed Barrett up a little. His name was Andre and Barrett knew he’d just left high school, he’d even gotten a full scholarship, which Barrett’s dad had helped him get. What was bad was the shape of Andre’s pecs against his shirt as he talked down to Barrett, who didn’t remember ever thinking of Andre as tall. Barrett had spent the rest of the day watching Andre from his window as the guy helped the elderly gardener rake leaves. This sudden attraction, or maybe it was an odd sadness at his own loss of manhood, must be why he kept his old jockstrap. He liked the smell, the stretched out pouch. He’d give it a sniff sometimes, or press his face into the cotton before remembering he used to be as straight as an arrow, banging multiple chicks at a time. Then his NFL player brother A.J arrived and things got worse.

Damon was up against a hard deadline at work when he felt the vibration in his pocket. The brochure design was due by the end of the day, so he really didn't have a spare moment to chat on the phone. Still, he should at least check to see who was calling. Slipping the iPhone from his pocket, he saw the name "Quinn Brooks" and Quinn's excruciatingly handsome face. Damon didn't often get calls from Quinn -- Damon was usually the one reaching out to "bother" Quinn -- so he figured it must be urgent. He raised the phone to his ear while continuing to work one-handed. "What's up, Quinn?" "I need your help. I've got an audition for a soap tomorrow and I'm really freaking out about it. You're the only person I could think of to call." Quinn did indeed sound stressed, which was unusual. Quinn tended to be the most easygoing person that Damon knew. "Calm down. I'm in the middle of a project here, but I should be done by six. Where can I meet you?" "Just come to my apartment. Really appreciate it, man." Quinn hung up. Damon went back to work, but his work on the brochure was decidedly half-assed as he wondered what could be bothering Quinn so much. At 5:59, Damon saved his file, emailed it to his boss and headed out the door. As the sluggish rush-hour traffic betwen Brentwood and Hollywood redefined the word "rush", Damon couldn't stop thinking about Quinn. They had met in college working on a production of "A Streetcar Named Desire". Damon, a senior studying graphic design, worked behind the scenes, helping with the sets and costumes and also creating the poster for the show, while Quinn, a junior theater major, played the Brando role of Stanley Kowalski. Quinn definitely had the magnetism and physicality for the role, gifted as he was with a hard-edged masculine face and a naturally muscular body that required little upkeep at the gym. But as Damon observed the early rehearsals, he wasn't sure Quinn would cut it. Quinn was so good-natured, friendly and low-key, it seemed impossible that he could find within himself the anger and menace it took to bring Stanley to life. Only when Quinn started trying on costumes did he start to find his performance. When he was just Quinn Brooks, big man on campus, standing on that stage in a polo shirt, chinos and Nikes, he was just a lackluster guy reading lines. But once he put on vintage tweed slacks with suspenders and a too-snug tank top, things began to click. Some Oxford shoes that his grandfather had worn which he found in the attic back home made him feel more grounded. Switching from wearing his usual briefs to period-appropriate boxer shorts made him feel more authentically like Stanley. Whoever said "clothes make the man" was dead right in this case, while lack of clothes brought out the animal. The director was aiming for a look close to Brando's in the film version, with Quinn wearing a soiled and torn tank top during the famous "Stella!!!" scene, but Quinn discovered in rehearsal that he could better tap into the character if he tore the shirt off completely. It was a wardrobe choice which was thoroughly appreciated by most of the women and many of the men involved in the production, including Damon who was still deeply closeted at the time. The fact that Quinn wasn't a gym rat meant he didn't have the deeply cut abs that were commonplace on campus, but even that made him look more authentic to the period setting. Damon was impressed: even Quinn's body was part of the costume. For the final touch, he dyed his blond hair black and trimmed it short, until Quinn essentially disappeared. He had become Stanley Kowalski. Audiences were floored by Quinn's performance, in which he tapped into a side of himself he hadn't previously known he had. At the party after opening night, Quinn was back to his usual amiable self, surrounded with well-wishers gushing praise over his performance. With the help of several glasses of red wine, Damon worked up the courage to speak to Quinn and tell him how impressed he was. Quinn could not have been more gracious or more generous with his time, complimenting Damon on the great work he'd done on the sets and costumes and poster. Damon couldn't fathom that Quinn actually knew who he was. Damon felt that his shyness served like personality camouflage, preventing others from noticing he was even in the room with them. Damon mentioned that he was planning to move to Los Angeles after his graduation in the spring. Quinn said he was debating whether it would be better to move to New York or Hollywood to pursue a career when he graduated. "Well, if you move to L.A., be sure to look me up!", Damon said. "You can count on it," replied Quinn with a wide grin. Damon backed away awkwardly, straight into a table with bottles of booze and a streetcar-shaped sheet cake. Catching himself, his right hand landed directly in the thick frosting of the cake. He offered his goop-covered hand in friendship, which Quinn good-naturedly shook, and they both had a good laugh as they went into the kitchen to wash their hands clean. They saw each other from time to time around campus after that, although they didn't run in the same social circles, mainly because Quinn had social circles and Damon didn't. Only after Damon moved to Los Angeles and knew that he absolutely wouldn't be encountering anyone he already knew did he begin to explore his sexuality anywhere but online. But when he went out to clubs, he still seemed to be wearing that camouflage of anonymity that had cloaked him in college. He was thin and youthful, but not thin and youthful enough to attract the twink aficionados. He joined a gym and began to work out for the first time in his life, putting on a thin layer of muscle, but not enough to draw much attention amid a crowd of West Hollywood beefcake. He got an entry-level position designing pamphlets and web pages for a non-profit, found a studio apartment in WeHo that ate up the bulk of his salary, and spent most of his weekend afternoons browsing through obscure shops around town, looking for cheap eclectic items to furnish his tiny room. After a year in L.A., Damon was absolutely shocked to get a call from Quinn, saying he was moving to Hollywood to pursue his craft. Damon could not believe that Quinn was following up on a half-drunken pledge he'd made at a party well over a year earlier. It made him admire Quinn even more. Damon asked where Quinn was planning to live, and Quinn replied that he was hoping to get some advice on that from Damon, since he didn't know anyone else who lived in Los Angeles. Damon felt a little less special after hearing that, convinced that if Quinn knew even one other person in town, they would have received this call and Damon would have been forgotten. But screw that, Quinn did call him, so he boldly suggested that Quinn camp out in his apartment while he looked for a place of his own. "I couldn't impose on you like that, man." "Not a problem at all," Damon insisted as he looked around the cramped apartment that already made him claustrophobic as its sole resident. Quinn arrived in town several days later, his possessions narrowed down to a pile of clothes on hangers laid across the back seat of his convertible, his shaggy blond hair tossed by the breeze en route. When Quinn saw the size of Damon's place, he knew he would get in Damon's way and offered to go find himself a motel, but Damon refused to hear it. "When you start getting on my nerves, I'll let you know." Moving Quinn's belongings into the tiny apartment took a grand total of three minutes, after which they went to grab a bite at Hamburger Mary's on Santa Monica Boulevard. Damon noticed some stiffness in Quinn's body language as he realized how many of the pedestrians and the patrons of the restaurant were pretty clearly gay. Damon had never sensed a whiff of homophobia on Quinn's part at college, but it was a fairly small college in a relatively conservative state. Quinn wasn't so much unnerved as overwhelmed, as if he had cracked open the door of his black-and-white house and was taking his first step into a Technicolor Oz. "So, is this like the gay part of town, or is all of L.A. like this?", Quinn asked with genuine curiosity as he wolfed down his Barbra-Q Bacon Burger (which he had attempted to order by just pointing to the menu, until the waiter forced him to say it out loud). "We're pretty close to Gay Central Station here." "And you like living right in the thick of it?" Damon's stomach quivered and his pulse went into arrythmia for a second as he mulled what to say. He had yet to come out to his family or to anyone he knew prior to moving to L.A., but if this was who he really was, he had to live it. He thought of saying something earnest or defiant, but he figured a lighter approach would work better. "The thicker the better," he smirked and raised his eyebrows, watching Quinn closely for a reaction. Quinn took a long swig of beer and fixed his sparkling blue eyes on Damon. He lowered the bottle with a nod. "Yeah, I kinda had you figured for that." "You don't have a problem with that, do you?" Quinn laughed. "I just got a theater degree and I want to be an actor. If gays freaked me out, I picked the wrong fuckin' job." That night, Damon pushed his luck and dragged Quinn to Rage, a gay nightclub. If Damon thought he was wearing camouflage before, entering a gay club with Quinn Brooks by your side was like wearing an invisibility cloak. Quinn definitely got an ego boost from all the guys coming over to ask him to dance (or more), but he bet he set the world record for saying the words "straight" and "girlfriend" in twenty minutes. Meanwhile, Damon nursed a Seven and Seven and contented himself with hovering anonymously near so many horny, sweaty hunks and vicariously wishing all their come-ons were coming his way. Eventually Quinn turned to Damon and shouted "Let's get outta here" over the pounding disco music. On the sidewalk, it felt twenty degrees cooler. Quinn's eyes were wide, like he'd just narrowly escaped being gored at the Running of the Bulls. "Is that what it's like all the time?", he asked Damon. "Yeah, that's pretty much a normal night for me." Damon offered his house guest the futon, but Quinn wouldn't hear of it, using his sleeping bag instead. Quinn went to pains to make sure he wasn't interfering with Damon's routine, although seeing a shirtless Quinn shaving every morning was a disruption Damon didn't complain about. Within a week, Quinn had landed a job as a waiter. Within ten days, he had found an apartment which was bigger and cost less than Damon's. They saw each other occasionally, usually when Damon thought there was a play or movie or band that Quinn might appreciate, but Quinn was usually waiting tables in the evening and had to pass. The last time Damon had received a call from Quinn was two months ago, inviting Damon and a guest to come to opening night of a play Quinn was doing in North Hollywood. Damon couldn't find a date -- or even a beard -- and ended up giving the spare ticket to a young woman in the standby line. She was pleasant but monosyllabic waiting for the opening curtain, but when Damon mentioned at intermission that he was friends with the guy playing the lead role, the woman became chatty as all get-out, peppering him with questions about Quinn which only ended when the curtain opened for act two. The woman, whose name was Renee, came along with Damon to the after-party and was hanging on Quinn's arm by the end of the night. Two weeks later, Quinn had dumped his girlfriend back home and Renee was spending her nights at Quinn's place. As far as Damon knew, they were still dating, but perhaps they had broken up. Maybe that's why Quinn had called today, reaching out to an old friend -- okay, marginal acquaintance -- for counsel as he nursed a broken heart. But even if Quinn hadn't managed to make other friends in his short time in L.A., surely any stranger he grabbed randomly off the street could offer more wisdom on romantic matters than Damon could. Damon pulled onto Quinn's shady street and checked the myriad of parking regulation signs, trying to figure out if it was legal for him to park in this neighborhood. Convinced that he could, he ran to Quinn's apartment and knocked on the door. "Co-ome i-in," sang an off-key attempt at a soprano voice from within. Damon swung open the unlocked door and was surprised to discover Quinn pacing in the living room, covered in flop-sweat and wearing a bizarre mixture of clothing. His hair was haphazardly bobby-pinned into something that in no way resembled an actual hairdo. He wore a linen sportscoat with a Chicago Bulls jersey underneath, checkerboard-pattern bicycle shorts and a pair of muddy workboots. Quinn was flushed with relief at seeing Damon. "Thank god you're here. I gotta be gay! You gotta help me!" He clomped over and hugged Damon, transferring a substantial amount of his sweat onto Damon's gray silk shirt. "What to you mean you've gotta be gay?", asked Damon. Quinn picked up a script from his futon and handed it to Damon. "This audition tomorrow. It's for a recurring role in a soap, which'd be huge for me, but the character they want me to play is gay and I don't know how to play it." "Play it like a normal person." Quinn shook his head. "You don't understand. I gotta feel like I'm seeing through this guy's eyes. I don't know how to look at another guy from a gay guy's perspective." "Sure you do," said Damon calmly. "Just look at the guy the same way you look at Renee." Quinn wasn't being persuaded. He looked distraught as he checked out his reflection in the mirror. "I was thinking if I could just find the right look, the character would come to me, but..." Damon shook his head as he looked at what Quinn was wearing. "You have met gay people before, right? You know we don't dress like we escaped from a mental ward." "I know, I know. I was just trying anything. I woulda tried on some of Renee's dresses, but I'm way too big for 'em." Damon stopped cold and leveled a glare at Quinn. "You also know we don't all wear dresses, right?" "YES!", Quinn insisted. "What you're seeing is the result of two extra hours of desperation because you couldn't get here right away!" "Sue me, I work for a living! Why couldn't Renee help you?" "She's shooting a commercial in Baja. She'll be gone for four days." "Okay, just calm down. We'll get through this." Damon began to remove the bobby-pins from Quinn's hair and asked, "So, describe this character to me so I can get a sense of what he should wear." Quinn grabbed the script and scanned the highlighted stage directions. "His name's Alexander and he's the black sheep of the family who was ostrich-ized..." Damon corrected, "Ostracized." "Ostracized...when his father discovered he was gay. Actually, he was apparently...ostracized...from the show 'cause he thought he deserved a raise. But now they want to bring his character back." "And there are no actual gay actors in Hollywood they could hire?" "My agent says I look a lot like the guy who played him the first time, so he thinks I got a real good chance at it." "So? There's your answer. Dress like the other guy did." "I tried that, but that guy used to just wear regular business suits, and putting on my own suits just felt like...like me wearing a suit. Plus, apparently they're writing him a lot more flamboyant now and I don't have a clue how to be flamboyant. That's why I called you." Damon glanced down at his gray shirt and charcoal pants. "Oh, yeah, you're talking to the male Lady Gaga right here. Go put on some normal clothes and we'll go shopping." Quinn nodded eagerly and walked into the bathroom to change. He leaned out, asking, "Sir Gaga?" "What?" "Wouldn't the male Lady Gaga be Sir Gaga?" Damon waved a get-a-move-on gesture and tried not to stare too blatantly at Quinn as he stripped down. * * * As Quinn drove frantically toward Melrose Boulevard, Damon sat in the passenger seat, scanning through Quinn's script. "This writing is terrible. None of it rings true. This guy Alexander is swishy one minute and butch the next. No wonder you were dressed like you just grabbed random items from the clothes dryer." "I just need to get a fix on who I think Alexander is. If I can nail the audition, then I'll worry about getting them to write the character better." Damon pointed to a parking spot in front of a quirky clothing store he liked to browse. Quinn screeched into the spot, pissing off another driver who was getting ready to back into the same space. Quinn shouted at the other driver, "Sorry! Sorry! Acting crisis!" Quinn looked berserk, the wind having buffeted his hair into a crazed mess as the convertible sped here. Damon led Quinn into the musty smelling shop. They were the only customers, and the older woman managing the register looked surprised to have any visitors at all. Quinn searched frantically through the racks of clothes in his size, trying on one vintage jacket after another, displeased with them all. "Not gay enough." Damon shook his head, amused but increasingly irritated. He was generally so fond of Quinn but couldn't believe how narrow his views were, as if there were only one kind of gay personality or fashion. He watched as Quinn pulled off his t-shirt, revealing pumped pecs and shallow but distinct ab muscles. Clearly Quinn's carefree attitude toward exercise had changed, and Damon couldn't say he disapproved. Trying not to seem TOO interested, Damon casually asked, "You been working out?" "Yeah, agent said I looked too doughy. Apparently, if they can't count your ab muscles on two hands these days, nobody's gonna cast you." Quinn pulled a multicolored vest over his bare torso and evaluated the look. He cringed. "Too gay." Damon felt like he was watching Quinn perform a one-man show of "Goldilocks", where everything was "too gay" or "too straight", but nothing was "just right". (They'd have to go back to cruising Rage later to find three bears.) After Quinn rejected a few of Damon's suggestions, Damon turned in light-hearted frustration to the old woman at the back of the shop. "Do you have a 'gay' section for my friend here? Maybe something in a size Gay?" Quinn swatted Damon's shoulder. "This probably seems silly to you, but it's my process, okay?" The woman behind the counter gestured for the men to approach. The old woman's eyes were drawn to Quinn, but Damon had finally quit fretting about his non-entity status in Quinn's presence. That Quinn was now shirtless and more built than ever only made Damon fade further into the background. "This might sound stupid, but I need something that'll make me feel...gay," Quinn told the old woman. She smiled wistfully. "When I was a girl, a nice new hat used to make me feel gay." Oh god, Damon thought, this was a terrible idea. Now we're about to be treated to this woman's history of how word meanings changed throughout the twentieth century. But instead, she reached under the counter and pulled out a wooden jewelry box. She opened it to display a collection of various rings. She studied them, then selected one with a silver band and a single black stone. She handed it to Quinn, saying "I think this will help you get what you desire." Damon seemed unsure that this simple ring screamed "gay", but Quinn shrugged his recently renovated shoulders and said, "You never know what'll give you the key to your character." He studied it and a flicker of recognition flashed in his eyes. "This isn't one of those mood rings, is it? My dad told me he had one back in the Seventies. The color of the stone changed to show what your mood was." "Very similar principle," the old woman nodded. "Go ahead, put it on." Quinn slid it onto his left ring finger. He liked how it felt. The metal weight in an unfamiliar place gave him an immediate sense of otherness, like he wasn't just wearing a piece of jewelry but was wearing part of a different person, a new character. He looked closely at the stone and could detect a slight swirling in the darkness which settled into a deep, dark blue. "Huh, what do you know? It turned blue a little. What does that mean?" He placed his hand on the counter so the shopkeeper could examine the stone. She peered through squinted eyes, then glanced over her bifocals at Quinn and said, "That means you're a little gay." Quinn laughed uneasily, which made Damon cackle hysterically. He kidded Quinn, "Don't worry, sweetie, everyone's a little gay." But truthfully, as long as you set aside the fact that Quinn was an actor, Damon had never met anyone as comfortable in his heterosexuality as Quinn, and the straight women in the theater department always appreciated that Quinn was the one exception to the "all the good ones are gay" rule. Hearing Damon speak, the woman turned to him, almost as if she had just realized he was there. "Are you two a couple?" Quinn shook his head and waved his hands, saying, "No, no, no, no, no." Damon felt a little insulted. "Five no's? Could you be a little more emphatic there, buddy?" Quinn started to apologize when the woman pulled an identical ring from the jewelry box and handed it to Damon. "You try." Curious but a little scared, Damon slipped the ring onto his left ring finger. If Quinn's ring said he was "a little gay", Damon's ring would probably start shooting out rainbows and sparkles and unicorns while blasting "It's Raining Men". But after letting the mysterious liquid inside the stone swirl and settle, Damon's ring turned only a slightly brighter shade of blue than Quinn's. He held it out for the woman to evaluate. "This can't be right." "Oh, no, it's right," she assured him. "It's always right." Damon stared at the blue gem curiously, while Quinn flexed his hand repeatedly, getting a feel for the ring's weight. He told the woman, "It kind of grows on you." She nodded sagely. "I'll take it," Quinn said, pulling out his wallet. Damon was starting to pull off his ring, but Quinn stopped him. "Keep it, man. It looks good on you." Damon felt funny about it. "Won't it be kinda weird, you and me wearing matching rings?" "I'm only wearing mine for the audition. I'm serious, let me buy that for you. It matches your eyes." Damon was surprised and even a little turned on that Quinn had noticed the color of his eyes. Then again, actors were good at studying other people. Damon shook it off. Quinn got his change and thanked the woman behind the counter for her help. "Do you need anything else?", she asked. Pulling his t-shirt back on, Quinn glanced around the store and said, "No, I think I'm good." He stepped outside, with a puzzled Damon at his heels. "That's it? You buy one ring and you've got the character?" "No, but I don't think I need more clothes to do it." Quinn leapt energetically into the driver's seat and noticed the flyaway mess that his hair had become. "But I gotta fix this hair. Alexander wouldn't have this haircut. Where's there a good hair stylist?" Damon had never gone anywhere more stylish than Fantastic Sams, but he had a feeling Quinn needed something a bit more specialized. Damon searched on his iPhone for nearby salons while Quinn drove. Damon found one place on Santa Monica Boulevard that was still open, so he gave Quinn driving directions. Quinn was driving with his left arm propped in his open window, showing off the definition of his biceps and triceps as they emerged from his t-shirt sleeve. Quinn could swear he was noticing a lot more guys staring at him, and Quinn was someone who was used to being stared at. He even waved at a few as he passed. Seemed like what Alexander would do. When they arrived at the salon, the guy behind the counter with a shaved head, a septum ring and gauged earlobes looked too exhausted to deal with another customer, but when he looked up to see Quinn's smiling, hopeful face, he began to change his mind. Quinn explained that he desperately needed his hair styled for an audition in the morning. He even put his hand atop the counterman's pale slender hand which was splayed on the counter. Wow, thought Damon, he's really laying on the charm. And it worked. Soon Quinn was seated in a chair and getting his hair shampooed. The stylist glanced across the room at Damon, who was slumped in a chair, flipping idly through Frontiers magazine. "You gonna want a cut too?", asked the stylist. "No, I'm fine," said Damon. The stylist disagreed with that assessment of Damon's pedestrian haircut, with an indistinct part and uneven strands of lackluster brown hair straggling over his ears, but he said nothing and turned back to scrubbing Quinn's lush mane. Once it was washed, Quinn moved back to a barber's chair and stared at his reflection, his long hair wet and stringy, falling past his eyes. The stylist asked what Quinn was looking for. "I need something bold. Something that'll grab your attention, but won't look too radical for a guy in a business suit. What's that one where it's all kinda scrunched up in the middle?" "A fauxhawk?", replied the stylist. "Yeah, I want one of those." Damon looked up from his magazine, surprised. Quinn had been so casual, so lacking in vanity about his appearance in college. Quinn was plenty hot without bothering with fancy technology like, ya know, a comb. Still, Damon could imagine how sexy Quinn would look with a fauxhawk. It was even giving him a chubby. He had a bad habit of being attracted to straight boys, and Quinn had always been his kryptonite. He knew that it was futile and self-sabotaging to allow himself to muse about relationships that could never happen. Yet he found himself lost in Quinn's reflection in the mirror as the stylist set to work. Quinn was also getting aroused as chunks of his long hair were snipped away. It was like the stylist was sculpting the disorganized wad of yarn glued his head into something sleek and beautiful. Yes, yes, he was feeling the character more and more, getting a better fix on who he should be playing. He could practically see himself becoming the character in his reflection. With a flourish, the stylist removed the apron from Quinn, who was staring lustily at his newly gelled and peaked hairdo. Quinn spun in his chair to get Damon's opinion, but Damon was already standing, pointing to a photo in a book of sample hairdos and showing it to the stylist. "I want a fade." The stylist's shoulders sank, as he thought he was done for the day, but Quinn gave him a quick wink and he agreed. As the stylist buzzed the sides over Damon's ears down to bare skin, Damon started to wonder how he'd look with a different hair color, but he knew he'd be pushing his luck to ask the stylist to start a major project like that at this late hour. But as his new style took shape, Damon began to grin. It wasn't a radical change, but it also wasn't the same old boring haircut that had stared back at him since high school. He glanced behind him, where Quinn seemed to be studying an issue of Playgirl. Damon blinked his eyes, thinking there must be hair in them. "What you reading there, Q?" "Interesting article," Quinn said deadpan. Damon figured Quinn must be doing research into what he thought a gay guy would read. When the two men stepped back into the cool evening air, they both felt pounds heavier as their scalps felt the breeze. Quinn looked down at his shorter friend and smiled. "Da-amn, boy, you do look cute." Damon looked at Quinn skeptically, thinking back to Quinn's gradual metamorphosis into Stanley Kowalski back in college. Maybe this was just his process. "Just so I'm clear, you're just trying to get into character, right?" Quinn wrapped a strong arm around Damon's slender shoulders. "Aw, my little Damie, never could take a compliment." Quinn leaned down o kiss Damon lightly on the forehead. If this was Quinn's process, he was certainly disappearing into the role already. Damon checked his phone for the time. "Maybe we should head back to your place and I can help you memorize your script." "Fuck the lines," said Quinn, with a ferocity strange for someone who could usually beat Jack Johnson in a mellow-off. Quinn spotted the Rage nightclub up the street and started to drag Damon in that direction. "Let's go dancing!" "I thought you hated Rage." "I did. But I don't think Alexander does." Inside the packed club, Quinn was much chattier than he had been on his first night in town. In fact, he seemed downright comfortable, chatting and laughing with everyone who approached him. Damon hovered close enough to hear Quinn introducing himself to people as Alexander. Quinn pulled Damon over and started introducing him as "my boy Damon". Damon had done some role-playing games online and always felt too self-conscious about it, but he was getting off on playing this role. Even pretending to be Quinn's -- or Alexander's -- boy was a thrill, and he was going to enjoy it while it lasted. Quinn had already shed his t-shirt and was flexing in time with the music. Damon unbuttoned his silk shirt down to the base of his sternum. Any further exposure of his pale pasty skin would risk causing blindness to anyone who looked at it, and he'd never found his clumps of unsightly body hair to be aesthetically pleasing. Basically, Damon believed that the more of his body someone saw, the less likely they were to desire him. Ideally, to avoid turning off potential lovers, he would need to walk the streets in an Iron Man uniform. Quinn was getting sucked further away into the swirl of bodies, but Damon noticed that Quinn was constantly looking back to check on him. Eventually, Quinn squeezed his way back and they spent the remainder of the night dancing as a couple. When the pace slowed slightly, Quinn wrapped his arms around Damon's butt and hoisted him until Damon was looking down at Quinn. Quinn planted his lips on Damon's and kissed him hard. Damon closed his eyes, ecstatic, letting himself believe for a moment that what he was feeling from Quinn was real and not research. Fueled by Red Bulls and vodka, Quinn and Damon stayed until closing time. Damon was sure he would have a hangover at work tomorrow, but at the moment he was carefree and full of energy, literally skipping along the boulevard. Quinn strolled behind him, swinging his meaty arms loosely. "Okay, now we'll go home and do lines." Damon looked hopefully. "Cocaine?" Quinn rubbed his knuckles through Damon's new hairdo. "No, you knucklehead. Lines in the script." Damon giggled as they climbed into the convertible and headed back to Quinn's place. As Damon picked up the script from the floor of the car, he noticed the glow of his ring. The color had lightened since he first put it on. It now sparkled like a sapphire. He glanced over at Quinn, but couldn't see his ring, as Quinn was hanging his left forearm down along the outside of the car and pounding on the door in time with the music cranked on the car stereo. When they got back to the apartment, Quinn grabbed a couple of bottles of beer from the refrigerator and told Damon to make himself comfortable on the futon in the living room. Damon took a seat, sipped his beer and opened the script to the proper page, only to gasp as Damon returned to the living room wearing nothing but a pair of amply stuffed black briefs. "Aw, Damie, I told you to get comfortable. You're my expert on all this. I need you to tell me what I should be doing." Damon quickly flipped through the script. "Isn't it just a dialogue scene? I didn't see any sex scenes in the script." Quinn grabbed the script and flung it across the room. It slammed into the wall, snapping the fasteners and sending the pages fluttering to the floor. "Fuck the script. I need to know what it feels like to be inside you." Quinn pulled down his briefs and his rigid cock began to rise and grow. He worked the scrap of black cloth down both of his bulging thighs, then down the shins. He reached one big toe up to pull the briefs the rest of the way off. Then, holding the shorts between his toes, he tossed them directly into Damon's face. Damon closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, amazed to have this chance to inhale Quinn's musky scent. He pulled the briefs above his eyes and left them resting atop his new haircut. He giggled playfully and stared lustily at the golden-haired tower of muscle looming over him, standing with legs spread and a nine-inch cock pointing straight up, slapping flat against his abs and seemingly as wide as Damon's wrist. Jesus, Damon thought, he's staring at me. Right at my pathetic little body. And he's got a hard-on that could shatter glass. Fuck, thought Damon, this guy is a good actor. Damon tore open his gray shirt, losing a few buttons in the process. He unbuckled his pants but struggled to get them down before Quinn leapt upon him. Quinn shredded Damon's trousers and ripped off his boxers to discover Damon's slim, six-incher, fully erect. Quinn grunted and smiled, then eased his own cock gently into Quinn's asshole. "How's that?" Damon whimpered, never having had something that large inside him before. Quinn brushed Damon's cheek and kissed him. "You tell me if I'm hurting you, Damie. I just want to make you happy." Quinn took it slowly, gradually inserting more and more of his engorged cock into Damon. Damon was getting short of breath. He glanced down and saw Quinn's massive left hand wrapped around Damon's cock, stroking it in rhythm with the thrusts of his hips. Damon noticed the glint of Quinn's ring on the hand. The jewel was now sapphire blue, just like Damon's had been in the car. Curious, he glanced at his own ring and it had now lightened to a dazzling cyan. He felt all his inhibitions slipping away and surrendered to the power of Quinn. Or Alexander. Or whoever. Who cares? Damon screamed out, "Just fuckin' fuck me!" * * * Quinn slept deeply through the night, but his dreams were vivid. Amazingly, he had already reached a state that usually only came after weeks of rehearsal: he was dreaming in character. He knew he was ready to play a part when he had so deeply inhabited them that he no longer dreamt as himself, but as Stanley Kowalski, or George in "Virginia Woolf", or Estragon in "Waiting for Godot". (Man, if you think your dreams are hard to follow, try having some "Godot" dreams.) Somehow, with this Alexander character, he had gone from panic to serenity in a single night. He felt the power of Alexander's suddenly unleashed sexuality, the newfound sense of freedom that gave him, the strength he sought to exert over others, yet the tenderness he could exhibit to those he loved, like his boy Damie. That last part caused a slight glitch in the dream, as Quinn suddenly realized he was in a dream and tried to remember whether Damie was a character in the script or... No, Damie was his friend from college. Little Damon. How had he never noticed what a cutie Damie was all these years? Damie was always so shy. He must have been waiting for years for Alexander to make the first move. Fuck, no, that's not right. Alexander is the character. I'm Quinn. That's right, right? It was all intermingled, and suffused with a sense of well-being that seemed to have calmed his spirit. Yeah, now he remembered. He was in a panic all day about...something or other...and his little Damie came and made it all better. And they fucked until they collapsed. A familiar xylophone melody began to repeat and repeat in Quinn's brain, gradually rousing him from his slumber. He snuggled against the bare skin of Damon's back as they spooned on the futon. Damon remained blissfully asleep in Quinn's arms while the fog lifted from Quinn's brain. That music...it was the alarm on Damon's iPhone. What time was it? Quinn squinted until he finally spotted something with a clock: his microwave. 7:45. Fuck! The audition! When was the audition again? Quinn gently slid his arm out from underneath Damon, stood up and switched off the alarm. Morning wood slapping against his thigh, he wandered the living room naked in search of the title page of the script on which he had scribbled the time and place of his audition. Finally locating it, he discovered that he had a couple of hours of breathing room, although he still needed to memorize the lines. He wasn't worried though, because he already had the character. Quinn leaned down and kissed Damon on the cheek. "Morning, sexy. Time to get up." Damon grumpily opened his eyes and was rewarded with a view of Quinn's hard cock. He giggled sleepily and said in a lilting voice, "Mmm, is that for me?" "Not right now. Gotta get ready for my audition." "Can I help you?" "Not right now. I need to take a shower." Damon crawled across the futon with a smile, waggling his bouncy ass. "Can I help you?" Quinn felt tempted, but knew he had to get in and out fast so he could study his lines. He kissed Damon's forehead, then walked to the bathroom. Damon got hard just watching Quinn's broad back and dimpled butt cheeks as he left the room. That vision carried him to a speedy orgasm, spurting across the thatches of hair on his meagerly developed torso. He fell back into a giddy slumber, rubbing his fingers lazily through his own cum. Damon woke again when a shadow fell over his face. He looked up to see Quinn fully dressed in a gray business suit, the sunlight hitting the peaks of his freshly gelled fauxhawk. Quinn's cock rubbed softly against the material of his pants, as he'd decided that Alexander would go commando. Better to demonstrate his dominance over his rivals. Quinn nervously fiddled with a ring on his left hand, its jewel an entrancing bright shade of blue. "Gotta go, Damie. See you when I get back?" Smiling coyly, Damon sat up, knees pulled to his chest, arms wrapped around his hairy legs. "I'll be here. Kiss for luck?" Quinn leaned down and planted his succulent lips on Damon's. They both closed their eyes to fully enjoy the sensation. Neither noticed the blue glow of their rings brightening further. After Quinn left for his audition, Damon made his way to the bathroom where he took a long hot shower. The gushing water kept him from hearing his phone ringing, as his office called to find out why he wasn't at work yet. Damon stepped from the shower and wiped the fog from the mirror. He had to admit, he really did look cute with his new haircut, but he grimaced the further he looked down. Those clumps of hair on his chest and the wet, clingy hair on his legs did not look cute at all. He grabbed Quinn's can of Barbasol and lathered up his chest and legs. It took him two of Quinn's razorblades to shave his chest and legs clean and, after he saw how that looked, another blade plus the rest of the Barbasol to take care of his pubes. As he lay his sleek new body back down upon the futon, Damie wondered how Q's audition was going. * * * Quinn's confidence that he would be cast in the soap opera peaked in the millisecond before he opened the door to the casting office. Once inside, he discovered several other strapping young men much like himself. VERY much like himself. Clearly the call had gone out for any actor who looked sufficiently similar to the one who had originated the role of Alexander, and the results of that quest were seated in this room. Blond, handsome, tall but not too tall. Their minor physical differences were outweighed by their striking similarities. Quinn had gotten used to being the go-to lead actor back in college, but he was now facing the reality of being a tiny fish trying to navigate the biggest sea in the acting world. Quinn checked in at the front desk and took his seat among the other prospective Alexanders, who were checking him out, both to evaluate him as their acting competition and, for many of them, just to check him out. At least his fears about playing a gay character had been erased by last night's events. As soon he had found that ring in the shop where Damon took him, something clicked in his mind. Never before had a single item of wardrobe given him such a strong sense of a character. He had been immersed in characters before, but last night, he felt positively possessed, seeing the world through Alexander's eyes, doing things he had never done before -- things he would never have considered doing before. But as the night went on, he realized he wasn't simply acting out of curiosity as research for a role; he was responding to irresistible physical urges...and he had to admit to himself that it felt tremendous. He only hoped that Damon didn't feel used and exploited, although from Quinn's semi-drunken memories of the night, it seemed like Damon had a gay old time. He had never seen Damon so loose, so happy, so free. * * * Back at Quinn's apartment, Damon was restless. He had checked his voicemail and discovered several messages from his workplace, asking where he was. He finally called back, explaining that he had misread some parking signs and his car had been towed. He promised to get to work as soon as possible, but he had no such intention. He wanted to be waiting here when Quinn returned triumphantly from his audition, so he could leap into Quinn's arms, smother him in kisses...and then fuck, fuck, fuck the night away. Although Damon had known he was gay since before he even knew it was a thing to be, he'd never felt as obsessed with sex as he did this morning. Sure, he had thought about the subject plenty, more in abstract terms than in genuine practice, but his mind had never before been whipped into such an orgy of nonstop salacious thoughts. It still seemed like some impossible dream that he had actually had sex with Quinn Brooks...and multiple times at that. But uncharacteristically, Damon wasn't dwelling on why Quinn suddenly found him attractive (or at least fuckworthy) and wasn't making mental wagers about how soon Quinn would inevitably turn his attentions elsewhere and leave Damon in misery. All that percolated through Damon's mind this bright morning was looking his best for his man ("his MAN"!!!) when he got back home. The drab clothes Damon had worn last night were no longer an option, as Quinn had shredded Damon's slacks and underwear when he tore them off Damon's body. Damon's gray shirt was slightly salvageable, since it had only lost a few buttons. Damon slipped it on, rolling up the sleeves and knotting the tails of the shirt in the front to expose his smooth, hairless tummy. Not terrible, Damon thought, but pretty blah. Surely he could find something with more pizzazz. He peeked through Quinn's drawers for some shorts, but anything big enough to accomodate Quinn was ridiculously huge on Damon's slim firame. None of Quinn's clothes hanging in his closet were appropriate either, but Damon did notice that Quinn's girlfriend Renee had left a few changes of clothes hanging there as well. Not only was her body closer to Quinn's size, but he admired her fashion sense. He felt a forbidden thrill as he slipped a spangly blue-and-white-striped top off its hanger, held it in front of himself and studied his reflection in the mirror. He pulled his gray button down over his head and slipped on Renee's top, its neck so wide that it exposed the slope of Damon's shoulder. A smile slowly grew on his lips. Yesterday, he would have felt embarrassed to wear anything so shiny or so feminine, but today it gave him a kick. He squeezed his way into a pair of her black leggings and was glad that the bottom of the shirt concealed the growing boner trapped within them. He would have to wash the leggings before Renee returned to town, so she wouldn't wonder why there was a stain of dried pre-cum in them. At least his own shoes still fit, although they were a ludicrous contrast to the outfit above them. Clearly he would need to run out and buy some new clothes if he was going to look good for Quinn, and this mismatched outfit would allow him to go into public. With his paltry savings, he couldn't suddenly become an au courant fashionista...but, hey, he thought with a giggle, that's why God invented credit cards! Damon stepped out of the apartment, realizing too late that the door was locking behind him. A day ago, Damon would have been frantic about getting locked out and mortified to be seen in public the way he was currently dressed. But instead, he shrugged it off and sashayed (there was really no better word for it) his little kiester down the sidewalk to where he thought he had parked his beat-up piece-of-shit Mazda. He looked up and down the street with a sinking feeling. Well, what do you know? That lie about his car having been towed because he didn't read the parking signs? It wasn't a lie after all. But again, instead of freaking out, Damon calmly pulled out his iPhone. * * * Quinn leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closed as he went over Alexander's lines in his head for the millionth time in twenty minutes. He felt a vibration in his pants. He didn't want to be disturbed while he was so immersed in character. Still, what if it was important? What if it was a message from his agent? Or from Damon? He had to look. He slid the phone from his pocket and noticed that it was a text from Renee. He pushed the phone back in his pocket without reading the message. He couldn't lose his focus now. Besides, he had no clue what to tell her about last night. He probably shouldn't say anything. What if it was just a one-night fling, a dalliance fueled by an actor's need for new experiences to inform his performance? He still loved Renee, didn't he? Well, he liked her at least. After all, she was pretty and smart and understanding and... "Quinn Brooks?" Huh? What? Quinn heard someone calling his name. "Quinn Brooks?" The woman said it again, more impatiently. Quinn shook off his stupor and raised his hand. "Present!", he called, as if the woman were taking roll call. She gestured for him to proceed to the inner office. Quinn offered a hasty "Good luck" to his fellow actors in the waiting room and stepped inside. Three people seated behind a table stared at Quinn, impressed on first sight by his close resemblance to his predecessor in the role. They each informed Quinn who they were, but Quinn's mind was so scattered that all he heard was "words words name name words". Dammit, why had he looked at that text message? He was totally losing his focus. He brushed his left hand nervously through his fauxhawk, disheveling his carefully groomed look. The stone in his ring was darkening back toward a deep blue, verging on black. He gazed across the room at the three people evaluating him, as well as the bored guy manning a video camera behind them. Quinn found himself making friendly chit-chat. Dammit, that wasn't his plan! All morning, he had been in the zone. He had planned that, from the moment he walked into the audition room, he was going to take command of the situation and BE sly, conniving Alexander. But here he was, in front of the people who were going to decide his fate, and he heard his mouth on autopilot, lapsing back into friendly old Quinn, blathering about traffic and asking politely about getting his parking validated. Focus, man, focus! From somewhere, a voice asked Quinn to begin. He took a big breath and opened his mouth, but the words he had down stone cold just minutes ago were eluding him. It was the classic actor's nightmare of going dry. At least he wasn't naked too, although that would have given them something to focus on besides the lack of words coming from his mouth. Cringing, he put a shaky hand into the breast pocket of his suit coat and pulled out his script pages, hoping they would kick him back into gear. But he discovered they were in the wrong order and facing different directions. As he searched desperately for the first page, he could sense interest plummeting across the room. At last, he found the first line, which seemed dimly familiar. He cleared his throat and realized how parched he was. His tongue was practically cemented to the roof of his mouth. He grabbed a bottle of water that had been placed nearby for him. The cap was surprisingly tight and, when he finally loosened it, he was squeezing the plastic bottle so tight that a gusher of water shot out, dousing the crotch of his pants. Quinn stared at the dark wet blotch and wondered, where is cyanide when you need it? Quinn drained half of what remained in the bottle, then set it aside, glanced at the pages and began to recite his lines. Once he got rolling, the words were mostly there, so he only needed to consult the pages twice more for cues, but the character's voice, the one he had such a grip on all morning, was gone. It wasn't devious Alexander speaking his mind, it was just charming Quinn Brady lifelessly reciting some shit he had memorized. He may as well have been in a third-grade Earth Day pageant dressed as an oak tree for all the emotion he was investing in his performance. Once he finished, he was out the door in shame somewhere between when the casting director said "thank" and when she said "you". Quinn stormed through the outer office and into the parking lot, royally pissed at himself. He yanked off his necktie, wadded it up and hurled it into the backseat of his convertible. A voice in his head asked, "Is that really the best you can do?" Quinn told himself "no" as he struggled out of his coat. "I thought you were serious about this," said the voice. I am, Quinn insisted to himself. I love acting. "Well, then, show it, goddamn it!", urged the voice. I can't, I blew my shot, it's over, Quinn lamented as he stripped off his dress shirt. But the voice was screaming at him now, "Nothing is ever over unless you let it be over. You don't give up on what you need, you fight for it! Do you seriously think that I would just walk away?" Finally, Quinn realized the pep talk wasn't really from himself. It was the voice of Alexander, roaring back to life and asserting itself. The energy and intensity which had fueled Quinn last night were back, maybe even stronger than before. He marched back toward the casting office, still shirtless and with something to prove, flinging open the front door, crossing the lobby and barging into the inner room. An assistant chased after him, yelling that he couldn't go in there, but Alexander would not be stopped. Quinn pushed aside the startled blond guy who was in the middle of his audition and ignored the shouts from the folks behind the desk that this was unacceptable. "No, what's unacceptable is what I did before," said Quinn with fury. "I wasn't showing you who I truly was, what I had the potential to be. I had to get out of here and clear my head before I could see myself for who I am and realize I had unfinished business back here. I deserve to be here. Nothing is ever over unless you let it be over. You don't give up on what you need, you fight for it! Do you seriously think I would just walk away?" The words ran out. He had nothing more to say. His broad chest rose and fell with each deep breath, Quinn stared down the people behind the table, who looked like they had just witnessed a car bomb exploding. The bored camera guy was now alert and zooming in for a close-up of Quinn's face. The auditioner whom Quinn had interrupted felt compelled to applaud Quinn softly, realizing he could never have delivered a performance like that. Only as his adrenaline subsided did Quinn realize that everything he had said was actually from Alexander's lines in the script. But not only did they ring true for Alexander, they said what Quinn had needed to say. The folks behind the table consulted with each other in murmurs before the soap opera's director, a distinguished man with graying hair, a British accent and an approving smile, leaned forward and told Quinn, "Well, this is the part of the audition where we would usually ask you to take off your shirt, but you seem to have jumped the gun on that, dear boy." Quinn's piercing blue eyes gazed right back at the man. He radiated immense confidence, knowing that he had nailed it. He brushed his left hand slowly down his sweat-soaked chest and abs, unaware that the gemstone on his new ring had shifted back from a deep onyx to a blue lapis lazuli. * * * At first, the stylist did not recognize the waifish man getting out of the cab in front of the salon in the striped shirt, leggings and black Oxford shoes. But the stylist tended to have a good memory for his own work and, once the customer entered, he realized from the conservative brown fade that this was the meek pal of the gorgeous blond who had entered with such urgency the night before. The man walked gracefully to the counter and grinned conspiratorially at the stylist. "Remember me?" "Yeah, sure," said the stylist. "You were in here with that other dude last night." Damon liked being remembered for once, even if only as an afterthought to "that other dude". Actually, being remembered as having been "WITH that other dude" gave Damon quite a thrill. "I want to go further. Try something really radical." Damon described the look he was thinking of, then asked, "Do you do piercings here too?" Damon was surprised how long the process took to achieve what he wanted, but he knew it would be worth it, if only to see Quinn's reaction. As he waited for the process to complete, he decided he might as well get a mani/pedi while he was waiting. The cute boy tending to Damon's nails suggested a facial to clean out Damon's pores, so that was added to the credit card too. When Damon finally stepped outside, it was after noon. He checked his phone but hadn't received a call or text from Quinn. He hoped that was a good sign, but didn't want to jinx it by calling Q and asking. Catching his reflection in the salon window, Damon could hardly believe he was looking at himself, but these hand-me-down rags from Renee were not cutting it. He knew just where to go, so he phoned for another cab. The white-haired old woman was behind the counter at his favorite funky clothes shop again. In fact, he never remembered seeing anyone else working the register in all the times he'd shopped here. Well, browsed. He loved looking at the clothing, and had enjoyed trying on some of the milder outfits in the dressing room, but he never dreamt of wearing any of it out of here. Today, though, he wanted to buy everything he tried on, no matter how outlandish. All that held him back was a nagging voice in the back of his head reminding him that his credit card did have a limit. He brought a pile of items to the counter. As he pulled out his wallet, the woman behind the register noticed a familiar ring on his left hand, silver with a shiny turquoise stone. She studied Damon's face and was amazed. She knew the effects her jewelry could have, but had never seen such a radical change in a customer in such a short time. "Oh, it's you! I take it you are pleased with the ring." Damon held up the back of his hand and looked at the stone, mesmerized by its color. "I absolutely love it." "And your friend?" "Oh, yeah, it was exactly what he needed!" The woman was relieved. Although she had known immediately that the man before her was gay, albeit very introverted, she was a bit worried when the friend's ring had turned only slightly blue. She bought all of her jewelry from an old hippie living in an abandoned filling station near Ojai who had hyped his products by saying they had magical powers which would help the wearer become "self-actualized" and "live their life to its greatest potential". He ascribed different miraculous abilities to his various rings and necklaces and bracelets. The shopkeeper had been in the business long enough to have lived through the fads of crystals and pyramid-power, to have gone to EST seminars and had herself tested with an e-meter, so she figured this guy was just trafficking in another new line of bullshit, but she liked his designs, so she bought a few samples. The rings she had sold to the men last night were part of what he called his XY line. The jewelry maker claimed that they could detect the wearer's position on the sexuality spectrum. If the stone was pitch black, the wearer was uncontrovertibly heterosexual. The bluer the stone became, the more the wearer embraced their homosexuality. The storekeeper initially assumed the jeweler was just trying to unload crates of unsold mood rings from the Seventies with a modern angle that might make them appealing to gay couples getting married. (He also offered an XX line for lesbians, which accounted for the hot pink stone on the saleswoman's ring finger.) But the jewelry maker assured her that what made the rings mystical was their power to nudge the wearer along that sliding scale until they reached the point where they felt most comfortable in their own skin. At first, that seemed like an extravagant claim, but the saleslady had seen the jeweler's promises borne out hundreds of times now and, from the evidence before her, Damon had become far more comfortable with his gayness since last night. After she finished ringing up Damon's items on the antique cash register, the saleslady asked if Damon needed anything else. "Or perhaps a gift for you friend?" Damon would love to surprise Q with a gift, but he hesitated, informing the saleslady, "I don't want to buy him any clothes, because they might be too small for him. If he gets this new job today, they're probably going to want him to pack on a lot more muscle." She heard the magic word and brought out her jewelry box, selecting a pair of wide bracelets made from leather and silver. They had a very rough-hewn macho look, like something a gladiator or Thor would wear, and Damon thought Quinn would look fierce in them. "I'll take them!", he shouted without even asking the price. The saleslady rang it up and noticed that Damon was still studying the jewelry box in search of something else. "I don't suppose you sell...another kind of ring." "What kind of ring?" Damon blushed, his freshly-cleansed pale skin serving as a flesh-and-blood mood ring, turning practically scarlet. Although no one else was in the store, Damon still felt embarrassed to ask, so he whispered his request in the saleslady's ear. She nodded and gestured for him to follow her into the back of the shop. * * * Quinn was pumped! After Quinn's cloudburst of an audition, the director asked him to remain in the area for a while until they finished seeing the other actors. So, for a couple of hours, Quinn wandered the parking lot, picked up a protein shake from the Jamba Juice at the mall across the street, then returned to his car to wait until the director needed him again. God, he loved it here. Back home, the leaves would be falling soon and the air would be turning crisp already, while he could sit in his convertible with the seat leaned back and his shirt off, working on his tan. An assistant finally came out to tell Quinn they were ready for him. When he started to put his shirt back on, the assistant told him, "That won't be necessary." Quinn returned to the audition room, expecting to do a full audition, since he'd only said about ten sentences during his earlier tirade, but the director informed him they had heard enough. Quinn felt dejected, like he was being held after school to get a scolding on the way real professionals behave. Instead, the director informed Quinn that he had the role. Inside his head, Quinn felt like leaping ten feet high, but he retained his reserved Alexander-ish demeanor and simply stated, "You won't be sorry." Once he was on the studio lot, Quinn would have a personal trainer in the show's private fitness center, but since Quinn's first episode wouldn't shoot for a couple of weeks, they wanted him to hit the gym heavily in the meantime. His body was well on its way to perfection, but for maximum tittilation value, the soap writers set a high proportion of the show's scenes in bedrooms, bathrooms, locker rooms, saunas, massage parlors, laundry rooms -- anyplace that the male actors could conceivably display a lot of skin. For a story arc about an academic cheating scandal, the writers had even bandied about the notion of a clothing-optional library. Wags in the press had long ago dubbed the show "Topless Hospital" and "The Hung and the Shirtless". "As a gay character," the director said to Quinn, "it would seem unlikely that your physique would be less spectacular than the straight characters, wouldn't you say? You do feel comfortable playing a gay character, don't you?" "Absolutely," said Quinn as his ring became a touch more brilliant. Quinn wanted to share the good news with Damon immediately, but he didn't want to do it over the phone. He wanted to see Damon's face. He leapt into the convertible without even opening the door and sped back to his apartment. Climbing out, he slipped on a ribbed purple tank top from his gym bag, slung his dress shirt, suit coat and tie over his arm and walked toward his front door. A veritable bunker of shopping bags was piled by his front door, and extending from behind them were two alluringly slim, smooth legs, feet in blue flip-flops with blue painted toenails. Had Renee already returned from her commercial shoot in Baja? Shit, she did send him that damn text message this morning and he never even looked at it. But why was she sitting outside, when she had Quinn's spare key? "I'm sorry, baby. You been waiting long?", said Quinn as he rounded the corner. "I don't mind," said the soft-voiced man seated on Quinn's welcome mat. Quinn leapt back, startled by the stranger, then became even more startled when he realized this was no a stranger. It was Damon, but he was virtually unrecognizable from the sexual dynamo he'd left on his futon this morning, let alone the shy and awkward man he had he known since college. "I didn't see your car out front," said Quinn, as if that was the reason for the look of shock on his face. "Fascist cops towed it away. I must have parked where I shouldn't have. Far as I'm concerned, they can keep it. I can't be seen in a monstrosity like that." Damon struggled to his feet and pointed to some of the shopping bags surrounding him. "Can you help me with these, babe?" Quinn grabbed two bags and unlocked the door. Damon preceded him into the living room, and Quinn was hypnotized by the waggle of Damon's ass in white short-shorts that ran out of fabric before his glutes ran out of curves. A baby-blue fishnet tank top covered Damon's now hairless torso, and silver studs now adorned both of his earlobes. His fingernails were coated with the same navy-blue nail polish as his toenails, and his face had a refreshed appearance that made him appear even more boyish than usual. But it was Damon's hair that commanded the most attention. Although it had been buzzed to the scalp on the sides last night, the top had been left fairly thick and messy. Now, the hair on top was dyed a rich shade of blue that matched his eyes and stood in dozens of gelled spikes. Damon couldn't help admiring himself in the reflection on the microwave door. "Maybe I read too much anime as a kid and had too many crushes on cartoon Asian boys with blue hair, but I fuckin' love it. Don't you fuckin' love it?" He could never have imagined it, but Quinn had to admit that it did work with the rest of Damon's new look. "I do, but it's so...different." "Different is what I want. I've had 23 years to be the same." Damon sat his little butt on the edge of the futon and leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees as he looked up expectantly at Quinn. "So...how did the audition go?" Quinn wanted to draw out the suspense, but he was so eager to share the news, he was about to burst. He spoke softly with as blank an expression as he could manage. "I got it." Damon's high-pitched squeal triggered a frenzy of barking from the dogs next door. Just as he had envisioned, Damon leapt into the air, wrapping his slender arms around Quinn's neck and his bare legs around Quinn's waist. Quinn gave Damon a soulful French kiss and inhaled deeply. "What have you been drinking? You taste like Kool-Aid", he asked when he pulled his mouth away from Damon's. "Oh, I'm wearing fruit-punch-flavored lipstick," Damon explained. "Just a little. Also a little eyeliner. And some mascara. You like?" "As the actor in this relationship, I thought I'd be the one wearing the makeup." He smiled, then noticed Damon's expression suddenly turning serious. "What's the matter?" Damon seemed ready to sob. "You just called this a relationship." He grinned as a tear formed in the corner of his eye and, for the first time in his life, Damon had to worry about runny mascara. Quinn hugged Damon's thin ribcage tightly, fearing he could snap the poor little guy if he squeezed any harder. "Oh, I got you a gift," Damon declared, motioning for Quinn to lower him to the floor. "To congratulate you for getting the part." "But you didn't know I'd gotten the part." "Positive thinking!", Damon shouted as he rummaged through his shopping bags. Quinn thought Damon was nearly broke, but he had clearly gone on a massive shopping spree. Damon flung bright pastel shirts and gold lame vests and sequined socks onto the floor. Quinn even thought he spotted Renee's striped shirt and black leggings among the pile, but he was sure he was mistaken. Finally, Damon found what he was looking for and handed the two leather and silver cuffs to Quinn. "For my macho macho man," Damon said. Quinn looked at them, impressed with the craftsmanship but unsure if they were exactly him. "Thank you so much, Damie, but you really shouldn't have." "I should have and I did. Try them on!" Quinn unbuckled them and strapped them onto each wrist. Just like when he tried on the ring last night, he felt a comforting warmth in his body as soon as the cuffs were in place. Maybe they weren't Quinn's type of accessory, but he could certainly see Alexander wearing them. They felt like battle armor, like something Alexander the Great might have worn leading his troops. Maybe Alexander in the soap sees himself as a modern-day Alexander the Great, Quinn thought. Not that Quinn knew much about Alexander the Great, aside from that stupid movie his girlfriend at the time made him watch where Colin Farrell and Jared Leto had the hots for each other. "Mmmm, Colin and Jared," thought Quinn. "Maybe that movie was better than I gave it credit for." A slight buzz and heaviness spread through his muscles, as if he had just finished a heavy workout -- which reminded him... "I gotta go work out. They said I'm gonna have a lot of shirtless scenes, so the show wants me to get more ripped." Damon grinned. "My heavens, I am gonna watch this show on a constant loop." "You wanna come work out with me? Then afterwards, we can have a celebratory dinner." Damon, for whom working out had always been a slog, clapped excitedly, then searched his bags for his new workout clothes. When they arrived at the gym, for once it was Damon drawing the curious eyes. Not that Quinn was completely ignored, but here he was but one of hundreds of muscleheads. As far as Quinn could tell, Damon was the only blue-haired pixie in a Madonna "True Blue" t-shirt with the sleeves torn off, old-fashioned scrotum-length running shorts and electric-blue Chuck Taylors. As Quinn headed toward the free weights, Damon hung back by the treadmills. "Aren't you coming over to lift with me?", Quinn asked. "I'm gonna work on my calves. You go play with the lummoxes. But I'll have my eye on you, Q, so don't get too friendly with any of them." "Promise," Quinn said, rushing back for a kiss and another dose of Damon's fruity lipstick, which he would continue to taste throughout his workout. Quinn was practically delirious. He was prone to falling into relationships quickly, with his swift courtship of Renee being the most recent example, but he'd never felt quite so smitten with anyone as he was with Damon. Then again, it's not like they rushed into this. They had been acquainted for several years already, but until yesterday Quinn hadn't even acknowledged certain tendencies in himself. He always was a little slow to catch on. Quinn worked his way in with the muscle beasts whose inflated bodies made him feel puny. He never wanted to look that absurd, and would draw the line if the show suggested that he take steroids or any other drugs. He wanted any muscle growth to be natural -- unaware that, as soon as he began to lift wearing the new cuffs that Damon had given him, they would start to work their own mysterious magic on his muscle tone. It started slowly, as he noticed that the usual weights he could curl and bench felt surprisingly easy today. He attributed that to his great mood and the adrenaline rush of landing the part on the soap. But when he moved up to the next heaviest weight, that too was a breeze. He had to go up a full fifty pounds before he started feeling any strain at all. With each set of curls, his arms were swelling massively, his biceps veins snaking in sharp relief on top of them. By the end of his workout, he was handling as much weight as the WWE wannabes surrounding him, and his bulging muscles were testing the limits of the seams on his tank top. Sprinting on the treadmill, Damon watched with fascination, turned on by the sight of Quinn's expanding lats within his purple tank. When the two men hit the showers together, Damon didn't even attempt to hide the erection he was getting. Quinn had never been one to check out other guys' dicks in the locker room, but he figured Damon was fair game now. He was amazed to see that Damon's cock was several inches longer than it had been last night -- bigger than Quinn's now! -- and was that...a cock ring? Yup, the silver beauty that Damon had been afraid to ask for out loud was now working its own form of magic on Damon. Back in the locker room, Quinn attempted to pull on his plaid flannel shirt, but it was tight on his arms in a way it never had been before. When he tried to pull the buttons toward the buttonholes, he heard loud ripping sounds as the sleeves separated at the shoulder and his lats tore a slit straight down the back. He was maintaining an incredible post-workout pump, with a deep crevice between his pecs and sharper definition in his abs. His briefs were a tighter squeeze than usual. He had to lie down on a bench and pull like hell to get his pants over his quads, and there was no way his zipper was going all the way to the top. His sneakers were the only things that fit remotely well. He lay on the bench, defeated and barely clothed. "I'd say our Q needs to go shopping again," said Damon, hovering over him, amused. Quinn looked up and witnessed the latest incarnation of Damon. He had washed out the gel, so his blue hair now hung across his forehead in choppy bangs that grazed his eyebrows. He wore a silver button-down shirt with the short sleeves rolled up to display his modest biceps, a vintage hand-painted necktie, tight tweed slacks turned up at the cuffs, baby-blue socks and black-and-white wingtips. Quinn suddenly felt like a schlub. "I'll only go shopping if you pick out what I buy." Quinn entered Damon's favorite shop wearing sweatpants and no shirt. The same saleslady was at her usual post, and she noticed the cuffs on Quinn's wrists and the dramatic renovations they had already performed on his body. Quinn wasn't nearly as fussy as he had been last night. With the ring and now the leather cuffs, he felt he'd truly found his center as Alexander...and he felt pretty secure as Quinn too. The selection of clothes that fit Quinn's new size was limited, but when he tried on a blue sharkskin suit, Damon swooned. Quinn didn't want to invest in more clothes right now, not knowing if today's growth spurt was a one-time event, but this ought to do for tonight. They found a romantic French restaurant where they only had to wait two hours for a table, giving time for the men to have their longest sustained conversation ever. Damon's memories of his own past seemed to be receding like a bad dream, with only the past 24 hours feeling real to him, so they mostly talked about their hopes for the future. After an extraordinary candlelit dinner fueled by much wine, Damon asked if he could drive the convertible home. Quinn asked, "Can you drive a stick?" Damon cupped a hand under the newly hefty bulge in his pants and assured Quinn that he could. Damon tooled down Wilshire Boulevard, frequently glancing over at the sharp-dressed hunk in the passenger seat and smiling. When he passed the usual turn-off, Quinn asked, "Wasn't that my street?" Damon just smirked and kept driving toward the setting sun. When they arrived at the coast, a jazz band was playing a free concert on the Santa Monica Pier. Damon parked the car and led Quinn toward the music. They hung on the edge of the crowd, Quinn with his arms around Damon, taking in the sights and sounds of the band and the sky and the ocean and the carnival rides, while remaining in their own little world. As a slow song began to play, Quinn asked if Damon would like to dance. "I thought you would never ask," said Damon. "Literally." Having been performing in musicals since he was in seventh grade, Quinn was by far the superior dancer, but he took it easy on his partner, just swaying back and forth as Damon rested his blue hair against Quinn's chest. Quinn stared at the darkening sky and wondered how it was possible for his life to have changed so radically in a single day. He had no idea that Damon was thinking the same thing. When the concert ended, they returned to the convertible. This time Quinn drove, with Damon reclining so his head rested in Quinn's lap. He offered to blow Quinn as he drove, but Quinn did not want to end this perfect day by plowing into a freeway overpass while cumming on his windshield. Damon agreed to wait until they got home, contenting himself with nuzzling the hardening bulge under Quinn's shiny pants. Once they reached Quinn's place, they had almost completely undressed each other in the short distance between the car and the front door. They stumbled inside and fell immediately onto the futon. Damon's cock grew stiff and rigid as he kneaded Quinn's impressive new muscles. He pushed Quinn down and straddled him, guiding the head of his cock toward Quinn's ass. Quinn flinched. "What're you doing down there, young man?" "I'm taking my new pink Cadillac for a test drive," Damon grinned. "First you drive my convertible, now this? When did you get so aggressive?" "Since I realized what I wanted." Damon eased the head of his cock into the virgin territory of Quinn's tight hole. Quinn shouted, his arms spread wide to grip the sides of the futon, his ring now a bright turquoise, just like Damon's. Damon bent down and kissed Quinn's chest, whispering, "It's okay, baby, it's okay." As Damon's cock pressed deeper inside of him, the agony shifted to pleasure for Quinn, as he experienced a feeling he never knew he could crave. He spread his powerful hands over Damon's ass cheeks and helped provide thrust for Damon. When Damon came inside Quinn, they both moaned with satisfaction. After cuddling for a while, Damon offered to let Quinn fuck him, but Quinn took a rain check, already having had more excitement today than he could have possibly expected. "In that case," said Damon, "I need to take a leak." He leapt from the futon and scurried naked into the bathroom. Quinn lay spread-eagled, toying with his semi-hard cock and suddenly feeling envious of Damon's endowment. Moonlight filtered through the venetian blinds, illuminating the floor which was scattered with their discarded clothes and Damon's purchases from earlier in the day. Quinn noticed a shadow moving past the blinds, but thought nothing of it until he heard a key sliding into the lock. He scrambled to find something to wear as the door swung open and Renee switched on the lights. She was lugging two suitcases and looked haggard, her usually stylish hair now a straggly mess. Quinn had only managed to get one leg of his sharkskin pants up to his knee. "Renee! You're here!", shouted Quinn, trying to make up in volume what he lacked in enthusiasm. She rubbed her eyes with exhaustion. "The shoot was canceled because a hurricane was heading for Baja. Didn't you get my text?" Oh fuck, Quinn thought, I never did read that fucking text. "Yeah, of course I did. I just didn't expect you back so soon." Renee glanced at the shambles of the room and said, "No, apparently not. What the hell happened here?" "I, uh, just went on a shopping spree to celebrate. I wanted to wait to tell you when you got back. I got the part on that soap!" "You did? That's great, honey." She walked over to hug Quinn, who gave her a friendly hug back. Renee was amazed by Quinn's size. "My god, how did you get so huge?" "What do you mean? Just good diet and exercise." Renee cast a skeptical eye. "I've only been away for two days. Nobody balloons like this in two days." She looked at the slim-fitting clothes strewn about the floor. "I'll tell you one thing, you're never going to fit into any of these baby clothes you bought. Didn't you try any of them on before you bought them?" Just then, Renee noticed her own striped shirt and leggings among the other clothes. She picked them up and showed them to Quinn. "What are these doing out?" "I don't know. Honestly." And he WAS being honest. About that. Renee heard a flush in the bathroom and her eyes turned accusingly toward Quinn. "Do you have another woman here?" "What? No. NO. Absolutely not. Listen, why don't you go back to your place and get a good night's sleep and we can talk about all this in the morning when we've got clearer heads?" He tried maneuvering her toward the front door, but she outflanked him and dashed toward the bathroom door. She was about to knock when some naked twink with blue hair and a silver cock ring swung the door open. He smiled with surprise upon seeing Renee. "Oh, hi!", he said, grinning. But as Renee reeled, looking back and forth from Quinn to Damon and trying to piece together what was going on, Damon put a hand to his lips and said, with concern, "Oh." Renee felt like she had stepped into an alternate universe. The last thing she expected when she returned to L.A. was to discover her boyfriend Quinn's body had suddenly become so jacked. No, that's not true. The last thing she expected was to discover a blue-haired boytoy hiding naked in Quinn's bathroom. Scratch that. The last thing she expected was to discover that the blue boy in question was that sweet mild-mannered guy Damon who had first introduced Renee to Quinn. She was now seated at Quinn's kitchen table across from Quinn and Damon. As soon as Damon emerged from the bathroom, Renee demanded an explanation. Quinn said she was owed that, but asked if they could at least get dressed first. Quinn pulled on the pants of the sharkskin suit he had bought earlier in the evening but he remained distractingly shirtless. Damon poked through the piles of his new clothes that were scattered around the living room floor, his pale white butt pointing up as he bent down. Renee turned away, embarrassed...after first taking an astonished look at Damon's surprisingly hefty penis. She would never have suspected he was so gifted down there, proving that you can't judge a cock by its cover. Damon finally slipped into a bowling shirt and a pair of fashionably pre-torn blue jeans and walked over to the table, handing Renee a blue-and-white striped shirt and some black leggings. "These are actually yours." "Yes, I know." Renee tossed them aside. "Do you have anything else that's actually mine?" Damon shook his head silently. Damon took a seat beside Quinn at the table. He wanted so much to lean against Quinn's powerful shoulder for support, but that wouldn't be helpful in this situation. Instead, he brought his left foot onto his chair, placed both hands upon his hairless knee where it poked through a hole in his jeans, then rested his chin upon his hands. Quinn sat upright with his hands folded on the tabletop. Arms crossed, Renee took a deep breath and tried to speak as calmly as possible. "So, can you tell me what exactly I walked into here?" Quinn and Damon looked at each other with puzzled expressions. Neither was quite positive how to describe what had happened in the past day and a half. Damon deferred to Quinn, who took his best shot. "Well, you know I was having trouble getting a fix on this character I auditioned for." "The gay guy," said Renee. "Right, the gay guy. I just wasn't feeling like I had a grasp of who he was, what he would look like, how his mind worked, what his needs were. So I asked Damie...Damon to come over and give me his advice." "I see. And where did he give his advice first? In your mouth or in your ass?" Both Damon and Quinn were outraged by this remark and shouted loudly. Renee immediately regretted it, and she motioned for the guys to quiet down. "I'm sorry. That was rude. But I think you can understand that this all has me a little...shaken up." Quinn reached over and held her right hand in his left. "I do understand. These past couple of days have been a whirlwind for us too." Renee looked down at Quinn's comforting hand and noticed the unfamiliar turquoise ring on his finger. Confused, she glanced over at Damon and saw an identical piece of jewelry on his hand. She let go of Quinn's hand. "Are you guys wearing matching rings?" Quinn pulled his hand back, and Damon covered his ring with his chin. Quinn insisted, "It's not what you think. It's not like we're a couple or anything." Damon glanced at Quinn, miffed. It may have been a whirlwind, but Damon had indeed begun thinking of them as a couple. "Oh, so you're not a couple," said Renee. "You just happen to have bought each other identical rings." "We didn't buy them for each other. I bought them both," said Quinn, not exactly helping. Renee looked at the clock on the microwave. It was 2:17am and she felt ready to collapse. "Can you just tell me if you two have been...doing this since we started dating?" Before Quinn could reply, Damon reached across the table and took Renee's hand. "No, Renee. I would never in a million years try to break up a couple." Renee stared at Damon's painted nails, then looked him in the eyes. "Isn't that precisely what you've done?" She then turned to Quinn and said, "I guess I can't be totally surprised. I've dated enough actors to know...that I should stop dating actors. But you're such a regular dude. I have a hard time picturing you being happy with..." She tried to come up with an apt description of the blue-haired waif across the table. "With some refugee from a rave." She stood, taking her shirt and leggings in her arms. She crossed the room, opened the front door, grabbed her suitcases and said, "I'll come back tomorrow and pick up the rest of my things. Let me know when you two won't be here. I wouldn't want to interrupt anything." She walked outside and the door closed behind her. Quinn stared at the door, feeling sad for Renee without feeling any remorse for what he and Damon had done. Damon also felt bad for Renee but had no regrets. He and Quinn had merely been carried away by irresistible, repressed longing for each other, right? Right? Quinn had run out of words for the day. He walked over to the futon and fell onto it face-first. Within a minute, he was snoring. Damon walked over, sat beside Quinn on the bed and slid his hand gently across Quinn's broad, well-muscled back. Damon glanced at his clothes scattered about the floor and began to put them back in his shopping bags. He slipped on his flip-flops, quietly carried his bags outside and gently shut the door behind him. On his iPhone, he looked up the address for the city impound lot, then called a taxi to take him there to get his car. * * * In the morning, Damon woke up alone and naked on his own futon, back in his own crummy apartment. He looked at the pile of shopping bags heaped by the front door and knew he had to go back to work today to start building up the money to pay off his credit cards. He walked into the bathroom and took a look in the mirror. He had looked so different the last time he was at work, a mere two days ago. He was bound to be the talk of the office today, walking in with blue hair and pierced ears. He could minimize the impact by removing the blue nail polish and wearing some of his lackluster old clothes, but he'd be slipping right back into the old camouflage that had kept people from noticing him for so long. He didn't plan to hide himself any more. Let them talk. Damon could handle it. The arrival of the new version of Damon in the office was almost a non-event. Partly it was because Damon had chickened out a bit and worn the least showy of the various outfits he had bought yesterday, even if a coral polo, white cargos and leather sandals were nothing like the nondescript clothes he typically wore. Partly it was because they were in L.A., where it seemed that most of the population lived their lives in a constant quest to be noticed, discovered and given their own reality show. But mostly it was because no one was really surprised that Damon was gay, no matter how meek and restrained his behavior had been. The blue hair was a surprising choice, but perhaps he had needed to make a bold, definitive statement. Most of his co-workers just felt relieved that they could stop using neutral pronouns when asking Damon if he had a "significant other" of if he had any plans to do anything with "anyone" on a holiday weekend. * * * Quinn's dreams were stressful all night. When he woke up, he felt like he'd just spent six hours watching Renee, Damon and Alexander have one non-stop argument. That's odd, thought Quinn. Why was Alexander in the fight and not me? But Alexander had been more forceful in defending his position than Quinn had been when he was trying to explain things to Renee. Alexander was unapologetic. If he wanted something -- or someone -- he found a way to get it, and felt no regrets for anyone who got hurt in the process. Much better than wishy-washy Quinn who might put on a tough act but, as soon as the performance ended, went right back to trying to be everyone's friend. Right now, Alexander's viewpoint had greater clarity, and seemed to be more defensible. Quinn noticed the time and would have to hustle to get to the studio for his first meeting with the cast and crew. No time for a shower, and as he reached for his deodorant, he realized he felt no need to cover up his natural scent. Checking himself in the mirror, he could swear he looked even more pumped this morning. His serratus anterior were much more clearly defined over his ribs, and the V leading into his shorts was more prominent. The stay-at-home moms of America -- as well as the gay guys with DVRs -- were going to enjoy seeing Alexander back on their favorite soap. He pulled on the white Oxford shirt he had worn last night, rolling up the cuffs to expose the bracelets that Damon had given him. His chest must have expanded overnight too, as the top three buttons of the shirt couldn't reach their buttonholes. He tucked the shirt tails into his sharkskin pants, the only pants he owned that would fit him any more. Quinn felt his ego swell as he gave his name at the gate and was waved onto the lot. Sure, it was only a soap opera, but he could tell you a dozen great actors who served their time in soaps on their way to the Oscars. All he needed was a platform where people could notice him and he would be on his way. A staffer from the show met him and guided him to the soundstage, where he spotted Lionel, the British director he had met yesterday at the audition. He was reintroduced to the show's producer and head writer, Betsy, who had also been there. She complimented him on his performance. "I've never seen anyone rebound from catastrophe to triumph quite so spectacularly. That's just what we want to see in Alexander." Lionel breezed over and asked Betsy a quick question before the next take. He was delighted to see Quinn. "Why if it isn't our Alexander! Good to see you again, my boy. And aren't you fliing out that shirt nicely today. Don't get too used to that. You know our motto here: It's either 'no shirts' or 'no show'." Betsy led Quinn on a quick tour of the set and introduced him to more people than he could ever hope to remember, including the cameramen, makeup people, even the other writers. When they got to wardrobe, two costumers sized up the new arrival. "It'll be a pleasure to dress you," said a slender young man, while his older female counterpart remarked, "Before the writers figure out how to undress you." "Yeah, I've heard that clothing isn't a big chunk of the budget here," said Quinn. Betsy asked Quinn to take off his shirt. "Maybe it'll give our designers here some ideas." Quinn did as he was asked, although he figured the male costumer was already getting ideas before Quinn disrobed. Betsy was surprised to see how pumped Quinn looked today. "That's funny. We were a little worried that you weren't buff enough yesterday, but I can't imagine why we thought that." "Ooh," said the young designer, "I really like those leather cuffs. You'll have to tell me where you got them. And what an interesting ring. Is that sapphire?" "Honestly, I don't know what it is. But I was hoping I could actually wear these things on the show. They seem like the sort of stuff that Alexander would wear, and they really helped me find the character." Betsy nodded and said they would consider it. As the designers took initial measurements for Alexander's wardrobe. Quinn idly fiddled with his ring. His fingers had grown beefier, like the rest of his body. They might be forced to let him wear the ring as part of his costume, because it didn't seem like it was going to budge. He heard a knock on the door and saw three very fit and handsome young men hanging in the doorway. "We heard there was new meat," said the swarthy one in the front. "Welcome to Topless Hospital, Alexander." * * * At the end of the workday, several of Damon's co-workers asked if he wanted to join them at happy hour to celebrate the end of the week. Damon was surprised and attributed their friendliness to his new look and attitude. If he thought back, he would have recalled that they were all very friendly to him when he started on the job, frequently inviting him to go drinking or to come to someone's party, but after Damon consistently turned them down out of shyness and insecurity, they stopped asking. Damon still turned them down tonight, but at least he had a genuine excuse to offer for once. "I think I'll be doing something with my fr...my BOYfriend," he smiled, shutting down his computer. He felt light on his feet as he strolled to the parking garage and called Quinn. Damn. Voicemail. "Hi, babe, it's Damon. Damie. Hope everything was extra special on your first day! I was thinking we could go out for sushi and then I saw online there's a big dance at Arena which we might want to do after." Maybe he was being too bossy. Didn't want to spoil things by pushing too hard. "Unless you've got other ideas. Whatever. Anyway, give me a call and let me know, okay? Okay, byeeee." He hung up and considered texting too, but he didn't want to seem too needy. Quinn was probably still busy at the studio. Damon was sure he would call back when he got the chance. * * * "More tequila!", shouted Enrico, who played a brooding but sexy doctor on the soap. He was seated at the innermost side of the round booth at the Mexican restaurant, with each arm hanging over the shoulders of a large-breasted young woman. "And more chips!", shouted Terry, who played a streetwise but sexy doctor on the soap and whose entire left hand was currently inserted below the waistline of the tight jeans worn by the buxom young woman who was currently nibbling his ear in the booth. "And more salsa!", shouted Chad, who played a naive but sexy doctor on the soap and was currently "Lady and the Tramp"-ing a nacho chip clenched in his teeth, crunching his way toward the giggly young woman attempting to keep the other end of the chip between her front teeth. "And more tequila!", shouted Quinn, who had just spent his first day getting to know his future co-stars and was now getting a first-hand glimpse of the kind of raucousness one could drum up on a Friday night with the benefit of minor televised fame and a secure paying gig. Not that outgoing, handsome guys like these would have had trouble making friends at any bar they entered, but they became even more popular when they told these girls that they were footing the bill. Terry leaned over to Quinn and whispered, "We know you're not on salary yet. We'll cover you too. Just have fun!" At the moment, Quinn was having fun with the petite young woman sitting on his knee who was rubbing her hand across the smooth skin of Quinn's chest through the gap in his open shirt. She couldn't stop telling him how much she loved men with big muscles. Someone else at the table must have felt the same way, as Quinn felt bare toes sliding their way under the cuff of his pants and along his shin. At first, he suspected "Lady", but she was sitting fully on the bench of the booth with her feet tucked underneath her butt. No, the mystery footsie player was "the Tramp". Chad may be playfully eating chips for the rest of the world to see, but his tootsies were privately making moves on Quinn. The woman on Quinn's knee took Quinn's sudden erection as a compliment and gave him a big kiss, but Quinn kept his eyes fixed on Chad. When the four actors finally staggered out of the cantina, Quinn had ditched the petite woman and was having trouble finding where to insert the key into the lock of his car -- even thought it was an unlocked convertible with the top and windows down. Chad wandered over, asking if Quinn needed any help. Quinn informed him, "I'm fine." "You sure are," Chad whispered in Quinn's ear, discreetly sliding his palm across Quinn's crotch. Quinn turned instinctively to kiss him, but Chad pulled back. "Not here. Come with me, I've got a beach house." Chad yelled to Enrico and Terry, "Looks like the newbie's a lightweight. I'm gonna make sure he gets home. See you guys on Monday!" Quinn followed Chad to his car, which turned out to be a red Corvette. It took all of Quinn's remaining self-control not to ejaculate then and there. He climbed into the passenger seat and placed his hand lovingly on the stick shift. Chad shut his door, put his hand on top of Quinn's and planted a kiss on Quinn's lips. Quinn felt like his body was liquefying. As the Corvette roared away toward the coast, a faint buzz was emerging from the trunk of Quinn's convertible back in the parking lot. When Quinn had gone to pump some iron with the other guys at the show's full-service exercise room, Quinn had tossed his cell phone into his gym bag. Where it still sat. In Quinn's trunk. * * * Damon hung up, frustrated that Quinn wasn't calling him back. Maybe he'd "come to his senses" and gone back to Renee. Damon started to beat himself up for becoming so attached so quickly to Quinn, when Quinn obviously could have pretty much anyone he wanted...of any gender. But before he could sink into depression, Damon rallied his spirits. While draining the last of a bottle of white wine he had bought on the way home, a bottle he had hoped he would be sharing with Quinn, Damon was modeling for himself in the bathroom mirror, trying on various items of his new wardrobe. He wrapped his arms around his smooth body, pursed his lips and waggled his semi-hard cock which hung loose through his fly. "Suck my dick, Quinn Brooks," he shouted defiantly. He stuffed his phone and wallet into a kicky little man-purse, grabbed his keys, and headed out the door and into the night. Damon found a parking spot on the street a mere six blocks away from the club. He had gelled his blue hair so it jutted straight forward, hanging off his head like an extended cliff in a Road Runner cartoon. He wore a sheer short-sleeved shirt, Levi cut-offs so short that the bottom of the pockets were hanging out, and a pair of navy-blue Keds. If he was at all hesitant about his first solo excursion into gay bars since his big transformation, it wasn't evident in his purposeful stride and steel-eyed glare. Tonight, he was definitely on the prowl. After 45 minutes waiting in line, Damon was reconsidering the wisdom of a sheer shirt and shorts on a chilly September night. By the time he got in, he was sure his skin was now color-coordinated with his hair, but it felt good to finally be indoors and surrounded by hundreds of male bodies which were both hot and warm. His energy level was high, he was making flirty eye contact, he was taking the initiative to start unintelligible shouted conversations as the beat pounded relentlessly and the floor periodically filled with fog. On the surface, he was having a good time, but it wasn't the same without Quinn nearby. Damon headed to the bar for another glass of wine and pulled his phone from his bag. Still no messages. Even when Quinn used to blow off all of Damon's invitations to go out and do something, he had been unfailingly polite in promptly getting back to Damon. This wasn't like him. At least it wasn't like the old him. Damon shoved his phone back into his bag and pulled out a wallet to pay for his drink. He heard a husky voice behind him say, "I got this one, cutie." Damon turned around and discovered an enormous bear of a man looming behind him. His long dark hair in a ponytail, the man wore a leather vest, pants and boots, and heavy silver chains around his neck. His chunky arms and chest were heavily tattooed, but it was hard to make out any of them due to his heavy body hair. Damon was pretty sure that was a mermaid on the guy's forearm, but the hair made her look more like a werewolf. "You look cold, little buddy," the man said as he paid for Damon's drink and ordered a Miller Lite for himself. "Maybe you could warm me up," said Damon, leaning against the bar and sticking out his ass provocatively. Damon didn't think this guy was really his type. Then again, he was barely out of the closet. How could he be so sure what his type was? He clinked his wine glass with the man's beer can and smiled, wishing Quinn would return his calls. * * * The Corvette reached Chad's oceanside home astonishingly quickly, or maybe Quinn just hadn't been paying attention to the time or the traffic. Through the entire drive, his eyes had been fixed on Chad, his collar-length strawberry-blond curls, his slightly pug nose, his plump lips, the whisps of facial hair, the freckles on his suntanned skin, his toned biceps and triceps which flexed every time he turned the steering wheel, his strong hands wrapped in leather driving gloves. Quinn had never felt free to ogle another man blatantly like this and he was enjoying the sensation. Sure, he had been checking out Damon's body over the past couple of days, and he appreciated Damon's loyalty and friendship. Maybe he even loved the little guy. But Alexander would never let a prime cut of meat like Chad go undevoured. And could Quinn really give an authentic performance as the sexually omnivorous Alexander if the only gay sex he'd ever had was with one twink? Chad kept the lights low as they entered his cozy beach house. The sound of the waves, crashing then receding, provided a constant pulse that echoed through the building. As he followed Chad, he couldn't help but notice how many framed photos of Chad lined the walls and were propped on the furniture. No photos of Chad with anyone, just solo shots of him fishing or surfing, plus plenty of publicity headshots. Most of the living room had been made into a home gym, with windows offering an amazing view of the ocean to the west and floor-to-ceiling mirrors lining the south wall. "Want anything?", Chad asked from the kitchen. The refrigerator door was open, stocked with healthy foods and protein shakes on the lower shelves but an entire shelf of various beers at the top. Quinn also noticed that Chad had casually shed all of his clothes on the way to the kitchen, and the refrigerator light was now illuminating Chad's impressive musculature and outlining the shape of his substantial cock. Quinn stripped off his shirt and strode confidently into the kitchen, tilting Chad's head back and wrapping his lips around Chad's. Chad loosened Quinn's belt and tried to nudge Quinn's pants down, but Quinn's muscles had grown again today and the pants would not slip easily around Quinn's now massive glutes. Quinn grabbed one side of his open fly in each hand, pulling apart and shredding the fabric enough that he could step out of his pants. Chad tried to say something, but Quinn's tongue in his mouth made him unintelligible. He pulled back and breathlessly instructed Quinn, "The bench, the bench," pointing across the room to the home gym. The two impressive physical specimens made their way across the living room without ever letting each other go. Quinn sat down on an exercise bench and lowered Chad's ass onto his now erect penis. Quinn was rock-hard and was really getting off on Chad's body. Chad was also getting off on Chad's body. Chad moaned with pleasure as he gazed at his ecstatic expression in the mirror. He reached up and grabbed the lat pulldown bar on the exercise machine, both to steady himself and to study how beautifully the refrigerator light outlined his exquisite deltoids and biceps. He pulled down the bar to give himself a little extra pump to admire. After Quinn came the first time, they switched over to the inclined press bench. After that, the sofa. Then, the carpet. Eventually, the beach. Occasionally, Quinn would try to ask a question, but Chad shushed him quickly each time, not wanting to be distracted from his own sensations. By the time the sun rose, Quinn felt he knew every inch of Chad's body and barely anything about Chad's brain. Inside his own brain, Quinn could hear Alexander asking, "Isn't that enough?" * * * Before he even opened his eyes, Damon knew something was wrong. The sounds around him were unfamiliar, for one thing. The din of freeway traffic was so deafening that he felt like he must be lying on an exit ramp. The mattress beneath him was so lumpy and uncomfortable, he thought it must be stuffed with bowling balls, and he could feel an errant spring poking through the fitted sheet and scratching against his stomach. His asshole felt raw, his stomach queasy, his mouth parched. As his tongue explored his mouth, it detected notes of alcohol, tobacco and rubber. His whole head felt funny, beyond a typical hangover. He felt drained of energy and lacking in confidence. In that respect, Damon felt just like...old Damon. He finally risked opening his eyes, which weren't ready for the blast of sunlight shining freely through the room's nearly transparent curtains. Damon was in a shabby motel room, with unexplainable splotches staining the stucco ceiling, decades of cigarette residue coating the wallpaper and god knows what mixture of bodily fluids clinging to the matted strands of green shag carpeting. He was lying naked on a double bed with grimy sheets and several used condoms. Careful where he stepped, Damon stood up and peeked through the drapes. No wonder the traffic sounded so loud -- the freeway couldn't have been more than forty feet away. Damon walked gingerly to the bathroom, where soggy towels covered the floor. He leaned against the sink and checked himself in the mirror for any damage, but his face and body were still smooth and pale, except for the thin pink scratch mark across his tummy from the bedspring. He had major blue bedhead and had lost the stud from his left ear somewhere, but his cock ring was still in place. He couldn't put a finger on what was missing until he noticed his finger. His left ring finger. His ring was gone! He tried to remember who he might have been here with. He knew it wasn't Quinn, although he wished it had been. The last thing he could remember was drinking far too much wine at the club with...some big hairy guy. A big hairy guy who was paying a lot of attention to Damon, pawing his skinny arms and his perky butt. Could he possibly have come here with that guy? He sucked on something caught in his front teeth and pulled out a short, curly, black hair. Not exactly DNA proof, but that pretty well confirmed his suspicions. He wondered how long ago the guy had left, and whether he would be returning. As Damon looked around the room, he couldn't find his clothes. He checked under the bed. No clothes, but he saw a few other items there which were currently in the midst of decaying. Nothing in any of the dresser drawers except for a bible, from which someone at some point had torn out the entire Old Testament. The people who used this room probably didn't consult the Ten Commandments all that often anyway. No clothes in the bathroom, no clothes behind the TV, no clothes hanging on the lampshade. Damon even poked his head out the door, but saw no clothes outside. Shit, did the big guy ditch him here and take all of his clothes as well as his ring? Why would anyone do that? Unless... Damon suddenly got a sinking feeling. He hadn't noticed his man-purse anywhere in the room either. Where he kept his iPhone. And his keys. And his wallet. With his credit cards. And his driver's license. That showed his home address. Which the big guy could be ransacking at this very moment. Wrapping a soggy bath towel around his skinny waist. Damon ran to the motel office and spoke to the woman working behind two sheets of bulletproof glass. He shouted through the slot at the bottom of the window, "Were you working last night when I checked in?" The woman droned, "Yes, sir." She couldn't say she spent much time studying the faces of the motel's guests, but she was fairly confident that only one scrawny blue-haired white boy had registered last night. "Do you remember who was with me? Maybe a big hairy guy? Leather vest?" She shook her head. "I don't recall anyone with you, sir." Damon banged his head against the window, rattling the bulletproof glass. He leaned down again and called weakly through the gap, "Thank you for your help." The woman said, mechanically, "You have a nice day, sir." Damon's bare feet slapped against the cement as he made his way back to the room. When he tried the knob, he realized that the door had locked behind him. But there hadn't been a key inside the room anyway. Besides, he had no belongings left in there to retrieve. Tying a tighter knot in the towel around his waist, Damon took a seat at the side of the motel's drained pool, dangling his feet into the air at the deep end. Sure, he felt ripped off and dejected, but there was something more bothering him. Those feelings of pride, confidence and self-worth which had elevated his mood in the past few days were totally gone and he had reverted back to the same old meek, self-doubting Damon. He had felt so great dancing with Quinn on the pier. No, the good feeling came earlier, when they were at the French restaurant. No, it was definitely earlier than that. When they were fucking, Damon thought, starting to wonder if he could really have been that lucky to go to bed with Quinn Brooks. But, no, he was feeling positive about himself even before the fucking. Way back in the old lady's shop when Quinn bought him... ...the ring! * * * Quinn woke to something hard beneath him and something sticky on his face. As he felt around, he realized he was flat on his chest on Chad's redwood balcony, his naked buns baking in the mid-morning sun. He reached up to his forehead, where a Post-It note had been attached. Quinn peeled it off and tried to read Chad's nearly illegible printing. "OUT 4 A GUN BRITE BUCK"? With a little more study, Quinn deciphered it as "OUT 4 A RUN. B RITE BACK." Quinn stood up, giving the neighbors brunching on their deck next door a clear view of Quinn Junior. Quinn just smiled and waved. "Morning!" Quinn slid open the balcony door and stepped into Chad's living room. He couldn't resist checking out his reflection in the wall of mirrors. Damn, you just keep getting better, he thought with a wicked smile, grabbing his cock in one hand while he reached for a banana with the other. He peeled the banana and devoured it quickly, then scoured the kitchen for more food. His metabolism must be going nuts with his body's sudden growth, as he was famished. He whipped up a protein smoothie, and then another, before he felt even slightly satisfied. The idea of a run along the beach sounded nice. Maybe he would catch up to Chad. He searched the house for running gear that would fit him. He located some Speedo Jammer shorts that he could just barely squeeze into and hit the beach barefoot. He was still getting used to carrying so much extra muscle, but his endurance seemed to have increased along with it, and he found himself racing along faster than he had ever run in his life. He spotted another runner sprinting ahead of him, his lean muscles clearly visible. If it were possible, this guy might have negative body fat. Quinn shifted into overdrive to catch up with the guy, then eased back to stay even. The runner clearly felt challenged, so he kicked it up and pulled away, but Quinn wasn't going to let him get away. For the next mile, the lead seesawed until Quinn finally hit the wall and collapsed on the sand. The other runner laughed, victorious, then jogged back toward Quinn, still moving to avoid cramping up. "You move pretty fast for such a big guy," the runner told him. Quinn would have responded, but he was still panting too heavily. "You got that much endurance at everything?" Quinn stared at the runner's shock of red hair, his gaunt but handsome face, his fit body and the bulge under his fluorescent yellow running shorts. Five minutes later, Quinn was underneath a pier, leaning against a support column with his hands clutching the runner's shoulder muscles. The runner's red hair bobbed back and forth as he worked his tongue along Quinn's arching shaft. Quinn brushed a thumb gently along the runner's cheek. When did I become such a slut?, Quinn wondered, but at that moment, he shot his load, dislodging any deeper thoughts for the time being. * * * It's amazing what people throw away, if you just go looking for it. Damon knew he wasn't going to make it all the way back to West Hollywood barefoot and wearing nothing but a towel. His car hadn't been in the motel's parking lot, meaning either the hairy guy had stolen it or they had driven here in the hairy guy's vehicle, reducing Damon's current options to walking or hitchhiking. He checked in dumpsters and trash cans as he walked along and, one by one, found discarded bits of clothing which more or less fit him. He ignored the stains and the stench that coated the sparkly stretch pants and the One Direction t-shirt. He spotted several pairs of sneakers hanging from their laces across telephone lines, but couldn't figure out a way to retrieve them. Eventually, he located a bamboo sandal for his right foot and a zebra-striped Vans slip-on for the left. Frankly, he had worn sillier outfits in the past few days. By the time he reached Melrose Avenue, he must have walked ten miles. He desperately needed water, he was developing blisters on his right foot, and his pale skin was guaranteed to be lobster-colored and painful by tomorrow morning. But it was worth it. He had finally made it to the old lady's store. He could get an answer to why both he and Quinn had experienced such radical changes, and why Damon had suddenly lost his mojo this morning. He reached the door and tried to open it, but it wouldn't budge. He noticed a little sign on the inside of the door bearing the face of a clock, declaring "WE'LL BE BACK" with the hands set to 2pm. Damon slumped to the sidewalk, exhausted. Enough pedestrians took pity on this pathetic-looking guy and tossed him spare change that he was able to buy himself a bottle of water at a convenience store across the street. Walking out of the store, he saw the old lady unlocking the door. Seeing a disheveled crazy man bolting through traffic mid-block and heading straight toward her, the shopkeeper hurriedly got inside and slammed the door in his face. Damon screamed through the front window, "You gotta tell me what's going on! Look, remember me?" He pointed to his blue hair. She finally realized who it was. "Someone stole my ring. I need your help!" The storekeeper unlocked the door and let him inside, reeling from his pungent aroma. When he moved toward a rack of delicate vintage clothes, she said, "Please don't stand by those. I'd never get the stench out." He looked too weak to stand, so she led him to her stool behind the counter. Damon finished off his bottle of water and took a minute to catch his breath before speaking softly. "I need you to tell me about those rings you sold us. What do they actually do?" She composed her thoughts. "Well, to put it simply, they help you become the person you want to be. They free you of your inhibitions and let you explore your options." "So the ring didn't make me dye my hair and everything else? It just gave me the balls to do it?" "The ring may have given your balls a little...nudge. The color of the ring showed where you were on the scale from black being totally straight to bright blue being totally gay. Only you can say where on that scale you feel the most genuinely yourself." Damon thought back. Before he put on the ring, he was barely acknowledging his sexuality, let alone embracing it. After the ring, he felt like he could be wild and try anything, no matter how outrageous. Maybe he had gone a little overboard, probably overcompensating for years of self-repression, but somewhere in the turquoise range, Damon felt like he was in a comfort zone, living his life the way he had always wished he could. "So if I want to feel that way again, I guess I need to buy another ring?" The woman took Damon's hand and assured him, "If the ring taught you who the real you is, then just be the real you. You don't need a ring for that." Damon considered that. Maybe the ring had helped him realize that he did have the strength to be himself. "But what about the ring you sold my friend?" "He asked for something that would make him feel gay. Didn't it work?" "It worked great. But he wanted to ACT gay! For a role! On TV! He didn't want to BE gay in real life!" "Are you sure about that?" Damon still wasn't, entirely. Quinn definitely embraced his changes once they started happening, but Damon was never sure if that was just research for his character. "So once he takes off the ring, I guess he'll go back to acting the way he did before?" "Maybe. Unless he decides he likes his new self better." Damon shook his head. If he hadn't seen and experienced these changes personally, he would never have thought them possible. "You really should've explained all this up front." "Ah, but life is all about unexpected discoveries. Think of all the fun you would have missed." Damon looked down at the hodgepodge of stinky clothing he was wearing and didn't feel very fun right now. "How about the other stuff you sold us? Like that cock ring? Did that read my mind too and adjust my cock to the length I liked best?" "No, that just made your penis bigger," she said, matter-of-fact. Damon shoulders sagged. "Could I borrow your phone, please?" She pointed Damon to a rotary phone on the wall in the back room, then had to talk him through how to use it. He wanted to call Quinn and check up on him, but he had no clue what Quinn's number was or really what anyone's number was. They were all stored in memory on Damon's stolen iPhone. Instead, he got the number for a cab company that could take him the rest of the way home. He borrowed money from the shopkeeper to pay for the taxi. When he reached his apartment, all he wanted to do was walk inside and collapse on his futon. But he got a bad feeling when he saw the key stuck in the front door. Damon turned the knob, swung the door open and discovered that the big hairy guy had indeed come by and stolen most of his belongings, including the futon. All of Damon's new clothes were gone, leaving behind only the dullest or most unsightly relics from his past. He really would be starting from scratch, but at least he now had a sense of where he wanted to end up. He wasn't likely to be as flamboyant as he had gotten in the past few days, but he would never go back to being Mr. Camouflage. * * * After his blowjob under the pier, Quinn kept strolling toward Venice Beach. When he reached the outdoor weightlifting area known as Muscle Beach, he stopped to watch the bodybuilders working out for the enjoyment of the spectators passing by. Quinn's own muscles had grown huge enough that he could fit right in, and he found himself itching to get in there and lift. He felt a gigantic palm on his chest as he tried to enter and a towering muscleman asked Quinn if he was a member. Quinn explained that he was just passing by and didn't have any money on him. A short but powerfully built man nearby shouted, "Tramon, let him in. I'll pay his fee for the day." Tramon let Quinn onto the hallowed ground, and Quinn approached his benefactor. "Thanks, man. You didn't have to do that." "Call me curious. I wanted to see if all those muscles were just for show." He extended his hand, told Quinn his name was Dwayne, and offered to spot Quinn on the clean-and-jerk. Half an hour later, Quinn and Dwayne were back at Dwayne's condo, smoking pot and jerking each other off. After a while, Quinn asked to borrow some clothes from Dwayne, then continued on his walking tour of the coast. He found himself locking eyes with every cute guy he walked past. Most of them looked away in disgust and embraced their girlfriends as proof of their lack of interest, but he did end up making out with three of them (two as a couple) before the sun went down. His needs were growing insatiable. He fell asleep on a bench and spent most of Sunday wandering up and down the beach, trying to remember where Chad lived. Eventually it occurred to him to call the office of the soap opera and ask if they could give him the address. When he finally convinced the operator that he was really a cast member on the show who had just started on Friday, he was patched through to a frantic production assistant, who immediately connected him to Betsy. "Where have you been? We've been trying to track you down all weekend!" "I dunno," said Quinn, "just kickin' back." "Everyone was so excited after meeting you that we've decided to introduce your character sooner, in the episode we shoot tomorrow. I've already emailed you the script pages." "Actually, I'm not at home and don't have access to a computer right now. Is there any way I can get a hard copy?" "Of course. Where are you?" Quinn looked around for a landmark. "I'm by the ocean." "Could you narrow that down a bit? At least tell me it's the Pacific." Quinn walked to the nearest streetcorner and gave her an address. A production assistant arrived within half an hour, and he asked the PA to drive him to the Mexican restaurant where his car was still parked. He went inside and ate a few burritos while he studied his script, then sat in the convertible for a few more hours, reading and rereading his lines. By the time he arrived at the studio in the morning, Quinn was locked in the zone, thinking like Alexander, being Alexander. Betsy was relieved to see Quinn and led him toward his dressing room, where she proudly pointed out the star bearing the name "Quinn Brooks". "What do you think?", she asked. Quinn seemed ambivalent, which surprised her. "You look unhappy. It's usually a pretty big moment when an actor gets his own dressing room for the first time." "No, it's great," Quinn said in a tone that conveyed it wasn't great. "Is there any way you could put Alexander's name on the door instead? It might help me to stay in character." "Maybe you won't want to stay in character. Alexander is kind of a dick." Betsy laughed lightheartedly, but Quinn took it personally. "I don't know. I think he's got a lot of admirable qualities. He's a bit all over the place in the script, but I have some notes on how we can make him more consistent." Betsy smiled stiffly. Was Quinn unaware that she was not only his boss but also the person who had written that "all over the place" script? "I look forward to that," she lied, and led him to wardrobe. Quinn took off his shirt and the male costumer gasped as he saw how much bigger Quinn had become over the weekend. As Quinn tried on his first outfit, he couldn't even get his arms through the sleeves. The female costumer sighed and informed Betsy it was going to take them a while to alter Quinn's wardrobe. Betsy nodded, then placed a hand on Quinn's shoulder. "I know I said we wanted you buff, but maybe you should lay off the exercise for a bit. We wanted a hunk, not the Hulk." Betsy was called away, but the male costumer whispered to Quinn, "Can you tell me what you're taking? I've never seen results like this." Quinn looked indifferent, so the costumer returned his attention to measuring Quinn's inseam. Lionel, the director, walked past wardrobe and noticed Quinn. "Oh, there's our dear boy. Big first day, eh, Quinn?" Quinn glanced away from the mirror where he was admiring his physique to address Lionel. "I'd prefer if you would call me Alexander." Lionel chuckled until Quinn's expression convinced him the request was serious. "Oh, by all means, Alexander. We shall await you on the set. Verily." "I'll be there whenever these two are done," pointing toward the costumers. Lionel nodded and left. When he encountered Betsy on the soundstage, he informed her, "Mr. Daniel Day-Lewis would prefer that we call him Alexander for the duration." Betsy rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know. I'm trying to cut the kid a break. Maybe it's just first day jitters." The production was running an hour late by the time Quinn reached the floor, the costumers still making some last-minute alterations. Chad approached Quinn and asked quietly, "Where did you take off to the other day? I was worried sick about you all weekend." Quinn waved a hand at him dismissively. "Please, I'm trying to focus." Chad fumed, thinking several words which he would not be allowed to say on the show. Lionel began to block the first scene, but as soon as they reached the first line, Quinn -- ahem, ALEXANDER -- loudly voiced his concerns about some of the dialogue. "Does any of this seem far-fetched to the rest of you? I realize it is only a soap opera, but come on. Can we get the writers in here to punch this up a bit?" Lionel pulled Quinn aside and whispered, "I don't disagree that you might have some valid points. Unfortunately, we're already behind schedule, Quinn." "Alexander", said Quinn. "Yes. Quite." Betsy walked over, asking what the problem was. "The problem," said Quinn, "is the words and the fact that I have to say them." Betsy bristled, trying desperately to control her temper. "I'm afraid there's no time for rewrites right now, so if you can just deliver the lines as written, maybe we can talk about future scripts when we have a bit more time to think." "Yeah, but this is the first time that people are going to see me and they'll think that I'm the one who's bad because I'll be the one saying these shitty fucking lines." Betsy was seething. Although she was a foot shorter than Quinn, she brought all of her anger and passion to bear and told him in a low but firm whisper. "I am going to let you go home and rest, because you are clearly not in the right frame of mind to work today. And while you are there, I would like you to think long and hard about whether you want to stay there, or whether you would prefer to come back here and do your job. You can call my assistant when you've decided." She spun on her heel and exited the silent soundstage. Lionel nervously called for an early lunch. * * * Quinn drove home in a fury. If he encountered any red lights along the way, he certainly didn't notice or obey them. He screeched his convertible into its parking space and stormed into his apartment. He had blown it. He'd submerged so deeply into his character that sensible, fun-loving Quinn wasn't even on that soundstage today. Just Alexander the arrogant prick. Quinn looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and was sickened by what he saw. Everything about him seemed phony, like he was looking at someone he no longer recognized. He ripped off Alexander's shirt and pants and stuffed them in the garbage. He yanked the leather and silver cuffs off his wrists and flung them across the room. Immediately, he felt a weight lifted from his shoulders. Exhausted, he flopped face first onto his futon, his arms hanging limply over the side. He sobbed into a pillow and breathed heavily as he found himself relaxing, unaware that his body was deflating like a popped Macy's parade balloon. The giant muscles that had exploded on his frame since last week gradually receded, their sculpted definition softening, his former leanness returning to his frame. When he reached the size he had been when this all began, the ring on his left hand was pulled downward by gravity and fell onto the floor. Quinn let out a deep exhale and fell asleep. Hours later, after the sun had set, he was awakened by a tapping on his door. He stretched his arms and shouted, "Who is it?" "Damon." Quinn smiled. He needed a friend right now. He walked to the door and opened it. Damon stood on the welcome mat with a look of concern. His hair was still blue, but without any gel and combed straight back, looking about as conservative as blue hair can look. His skin, by contrast, was sunburnt red. He still had a stud in his right earlobe, but wore no eye makeup. His skinny unadorned arms hung slack from the sleeves of a white v-neck t-shirt, tucked into tight black jeans. His nails still had blue polish, with his toes wriggling in flip-flops from the discount bin at CVS. The first thing Damon noticed about Quinn was that his old body was back and that the cuffs were off his wrists. He was happy to see that, since he never had any complaints with the way Quinn looked to begin with. He also saw that Quinn was no longer wearing the ring. "Hey," said Damon, optimistically. "Hey," said Quinn, exhaustedly. "Just hadn't seen you in a few days. Wanted to make sure you were okay." "That's nice. You're probably the only person in L.A. who gives a shit." "Oh, come on, there's..." Damon thought. "I'm sure there's lots of people. How are things going on the soap?" "I was a complete jackass today, so they sent me home." Quinn fell heavily onto his futon. "Sent you home? Did they fire you?" "Not exactly. They told me to think about if I wanted to come back." "And you're gonna tell them yes, right? You can't just blow off an opportunity like this." Damon risked sitting on the futon beside Quinn, but didn't make any physical contact. He had no idea how much of the past few days Quinn even remembered, or if he'd be embarrassed or ashamed about how intimate the two of them had gotten. "I don't know. I'm not sure I want to be that Alexander guy." "I know this isn't my specialty, but do you really have to BE him? Can't you just, like, ACT?" Quinn laughed for the first time all day. He reached up and slapped Damon on the shoulder, giving his body a friendly shake. "I can always count on you to put me in my place, Damie." Damie? Quinn had never called Damon that until he started wearing the ring. Quinn repositioned himself so he was kneeling on the futon. He put his arms around Damon's shoulders and kissed his neck. Damon got goosebumps, but knew that he had to tell Quinn everything he had heard from the shopkeeper about the magic ring. After hearing Damon's explanation, Quinn leaned back on his elbows and stared at the ceiling to process this new information. "So everything I did while I was wearing the ring was just me exploring my sexuality so I could learn what felt the most honest and real?" "Yeah, basically." "Kind of the way I figure out how to play a character. I keep doing the wrong things until I finally stumble into what feels right." "If that's how it works. You're the actor here." "Oh, I am? Does that mean I can be the one who wears the makeup again?" Damon turned with a smile. "I'm still wearing the fruit-punch lipstick." "Really?", Quinn asked. He leaned in and gave Damon a quick kiss on the lips. "Mmm. Still as good as I remembered." Damon didn't want to set himself up for getting hurt. He looked Quinn in the eyes and said, "All those feelings you've had over the last few days, you know they might just have been you trying to figure out how to be Alexander. They might have nothing to do with what the real you wants." "Yeah, but the real me is here right now, and he finally knows what he wants." "Seriously?" Quinn grinned. "That woman at the store was right. I've always been a little gay. I just refused to acknowledge it. But for the right guy, I think I can be a lot gay." He pushed Damon back onto the futon and kissed him. Damon yelped a bit as he pulled the v-neck over his head, as the fabric brushed against his sunburn. Quinn helped him wriggle out of his jeans, but they had only been making out for a couple of minutes when Quinn stopped. "Second thoughts?", Damon asked, his worst fears confirmed. "No, I just realized I've really got to act tomorrow. I need you to help me memorize my lines. But first, I'm taking you out to dinner. Just give me a minute to shower up." Quinn hopped to his feet, kissed the top of Damon's head and went into the bathroom. Damon's heart was skipping. He looked down from the edge of the futon and saw Quinn's ring lying on the floor. Damon picked up the little troublemaker and examined it. Hard to believe something so small could cause such huge changes. Damon clutched it in his hand, stood up and walked to the front door. Standing naked in the doorway, he hurled the ring as hard as he could, with no clue where it landed. He was just glad to get rid of it. As he walked back in, he noticed the leather-and-silver cuffs on the floor and pondered what to do with them. Quinn jumped out of the shower, wiped off the mirror and smiled, happy to see himself looking back again. He felt tremendously calm and, for the first time in his life, certain about himself. "Q?", Damon called from the living room, a hint of worry in his voice. "What, D?", asked Quinn as he swung open the door. Damon stood in the middle of the living room, wearing the cuffs on his wrists. In the brief time since he had tried them on, the cuffs had already enlarged the skinny young man's muscles so he resembled a competitive diver. His arms actually had distinct bulges, his pecs and abs had the beginnings of true definition, and his legs, already his best feature, gained significant size and tone. Damon smiled at Quinn and asked, "Can you help me pick out some clothes?"

Mr. Lee had become adept at guessing what his customers wanted before they asked for it, but the man who had just stepped through the front door of his shop was a puzzler. He cut an imposing figure: a muscular six-two, arms crossed, hands tucked under rock-solid biceps. From Mr. Lee's vantage point, the man was a study in blackness, with deep ebony skin, a shaved head, impenetrably dark sunglasses, matching black polo shirt (with no logo of any sort to break up the uniformity), sharply creased dress pants, and thick-soled black boots. Even under normal circumstances, little light filtered through the shop's intentionally grimy windows, but with this man standing between Mr. Lee and the glass, it was like Mr. Lee was caught in the shadow of a solar eclipse. "May I help you?", asked Mr. Lee curiously. "I understand you fulfill unusual requests," said the man in a low, clipped, all-business tone. "How unusual?" "I hear that you can change the human body in ways that most people would consider impossible." "I may have a different definition of impossible than most people." "Let's say, for example, that someone, on short notice, wished to appear older. Or more muscular." To Mr. Lee, the man appeared to be in his early-to-mid-thirties and was extraordinarily fit for a man of any age -- not the sort of customer who would typically ask Mr. Lee for either of these transformations. He added, "I'm asking for a friend." Mr. Lee nodded. Usually someone "asking for a friend" was merely too embarrassed to say they wanted the changes for themselves, but in this case it was plausible -- in fact, more understandable -- than that the man would want such modifications for himself. "Yes, I can do what you ask." The man let down his guard slightly, stepping closer to Mr. Lee and removing his sunglasses -- the whites of his eyes finally providing a contrast from the man's all-black color scheme, although his irises were such a dark brown that they might as well have been black too. His speech patterns retained the staccato rhythms of a military man or police officer, and his tone continued to suggest that the matters they were discussing were of world-shattering importance. "Can you be trusted to maintain the utmost secrecy?" "Of course," said Mr. Lee firmly. "What happens within these walls is private. I never reveal anything about my customers. Even to the police." The man in black allowed himself the slightest of grins, appreciating how Mr. Lee slyly fished for a hint of whether he was being visited by a police officer. The man reached behind him and unclipped a walkie-talkie (black, of course) from the waistline of his pants. "Send in King Joffrey." A black SUV with tinted windows screeched to a halt in front of the shop. The man inside Mr. Lee's shop swiftly swung open the door. A slight figure bounded nimbly from the vehicle, a black hoodie shielding his entire head from view. As soon as the newcomer was inside, his advance man closed the door and the SUV sped off. The man who had been speaking with Mr. Lee looked with concern at the dirt-covered windows which allowed in some light, and could allow outsiders to peer in. "You got any shades on those windows? I don't want any bypassers to see my friend here." Mr. Lee merely raised his hands in the air and the opacity of the windows changed to 100%, leaving the three figures in the shop illuminated solely by a single spotlight shining on the slender figure in the hoodie. "That's awesome," he said in a boyish tenor. "We should work an effect like that into the stage show!" He lowered his hoodie to reveal a youthful man with an enormous, carefully shaped cascade of blond hair. "You gotta tell me the trick." "No trick. Magic. You are a magician, maybe?" "I ain't no magician," the young man scoffed and looked up into the eyes of his protector, who towered over him by a solid six inches. "Dude doesn't even know who I am?" The large man turned to Mr. Lee. "I'm sorry, I should have done the introductions. Mister...Lee, is it? This is Billy Farrow. Perhaps you've heard of him?" "Pleased to meet you, young Mr. Barrow." Mr. Lee preferred to feign ignorance in such cases. If he was thought to be merely an ignorant, out-of-touch old Chinese man, people tended to be more willing to trust his vow of secrecy. But Mr. Lee had grand-daughters, and anyone in America within earshot of a girl between the ages of 9 and 13 was aware of Billy Farrow. He had first gained notice as a precocious 12-year-old by posting Vine videos: a new six-second song every day. This led to his major break the following year as a contestant on the music competition show, "America Wants S'more", in which viewers voted whether to let the singers continue performing or to drop them into a vat of liquid marshmallow. Billy Farrow survived to be the only contestant not "creamed" during his season, and the cult of Billy exploded. His fans were almost exclusively tween girls (who called themselves "Farrow-noids" and whose frenetic outbursts at concerts had been dubbed "Farrow-moans") and twink-loving gay men. Both groups loved him for one simple reason, and it wasn't his music: Billy Farrow was beautiful. In those first crude videos, he was unquestionably cute, but it was the fragile baby-fat cuteness which the horrors of puberty could potentially mangle into something truly unsightly. But by the "AMS" finale, it was obvious that this kid was developing into a fine-featured stunner. His trademark was the Farrow Flop, a swoop of sunkissed blond hair that hung over his right eye all the way down to his elegant cheekbone. Rumors abounded on the internet that he did not actually HAVE a right eye, which merely intensified fans' curiosity. Since it would be such a letdown to reveal that his hidden eye was simply an ordinary eye (albeit one sparkling purple in color, like the other), his manager had decided to maintain the mystery until such time as Billy's fortunes began to wane and he needed to do something dramatic to attract publicity. For a while, Billy tried to come up a signature gesture he could do whenever taking a picture on a red carpet. One such concept consisted of pointing both index fingers at the camera and winking his left eye...but since his right eye was hidden by the Flop, it just looked like his eyes were closed. Billy had recently turned 18 but was retaining his androgynous beauty remarkably well. Hormones had lowered his voice a bit, although he could still hit the high notes of his earliest hits. His fans still adored him and enough were continuing to buy his music rather than steal it that he had become a phenomenally wealthy teenager. His hard-nosed manager, Alan Wiseman, who had leapt aboard the Billy bandwagon after hearing just six seconds of his music, was insistent that Billy would not become another Justin Bieber or Lindsay Lohan or...god, the length of the list he could compile was truly depressing. Therefore, Billy's public image remained unsullied, if a bit whitebread. He spoke of loving his family and steering clear of alcohol and drugs and saving himself until he finds the right person because his life these days was "like bonkers cray-zee with traveling and recording and stuff". Yes, he said "stuff". That's how squeaky clean his public image was. He had been allowed to get his ears pierced, because tween girls thought that was "hot", but tattoos were vetoed after a focus group deemed them "gross" and "too street". But Wiseman was mindful that Billy was now officially an adult and was starting to chafe at some of the restrictions which had helped make both of them very wealthy. That's why, before Billy's frustrated desires had a chance to erupt into some grotesque and embarrassing spectacle that would be all over TMZ, Billy's chief bodyguard, the monumental Reese Boudreaux, had brought Billy to a whispered-about shop near Chinatown while they had a night off between gigs in San Francisco. If the rumors were true, perhaps Billy could have his own equivalent of the Amish tradition of rumspringa and get some of the rebelliousness out of his system. Reese informed Mr. Lee that Billy was a well-known celebrity who had trouble going out in public without being recognized. Fans had managed to see through previous attempts at disguises and mobbed him wherever he went. Mr. Lee nodded. "So you are not looking for a permanent transformation?" "You can do that?", asked Billy, eager to hear more. Reese poured cold water on Billy's enthusiasm. "Yes, sir, just a temporary change. But one that's foolproof enough that no one will realize that it is really Mr. Farrow." Mr. Lee walked behind his counter and opened a cabinet which seemed to be filled with junk jewelry, neatly organized by color. "For a temporary change, I use these bracelets. They allow you to try out a change to see if you like it before you commit to it for good. So, what would you like to change about yourself, Mr. Darrow?" Billy's success had spoiled him, so that he usually was able to get whatever he wanted, but it was beyond his imagination that he would ever be able to make radical changes to his own body as his whims dictated. His first wish came to mind immediately. "I wanna be taller. Like...six foot...two?" His voice went up, as if he was asking for something impossible with his very first request. Mr. Lee was unfazed. As he sorted through his collection, he instructed Billy, "Please remove all of your other jewelry and take off your clothes." Billy shot Reese a leery look, which Reese translated to Mr. Lee. "Why exactly does he need to get undressed?" "He is about to gain six inches of height. I assume he does not want to ruin his nice clothing." Billy didn't need to hear another word. He took several bracelets from his arms, rings from his fingers, and silver hoops from both earlobes, handing them to Reese, who pocketed them for safe-keeping. He then pulled his hoodie and a designer t-shirt over his head, kicked off his Nikes and slithered out of his skinny jeans. He was about to pull down his red silk bikini briefs when Mr. Lee raised a hand. "You can leave those on for now." Billy seemed relieved that he could maintain a slight amount of modesty. He stood in the spotlight in the center of the store, feeling a little chilly. He glanced at himself in a full-length mirror across the room. Despite the best efforts of a full-time personal trainer who toured with him, Billy's 18-year-old body remained scrawny with only the barest hints of muscle tone. At least the full-body tan he'd gotten during his last vacation in the Virgin Islands hadn't entirely faded. Thanks to a private rooftop suite, he managed not to get a tan line, although a sunburn on his penis had led to a jerking-off hiatus of several excruciating days. Mr. Lee handed a slim metallic red bracelet across the counter to Billy. "Please put this on your left wrist and close the clasp." Billy excitedly slid the bracelet up his slender forearm and clasped it together. As the two sides of the bracelet connected, it triggered a surge of energy to shoot through Billy's body like nothing he had ever experienced. Reese looked concerned as Billy cringed in pain, but Mr. Lee assured him, "The pain is very brief, followed immediately by euphoria." Sure enough, Billy smirked, then grinned, then beamed his famed toothpaste-ad-worthy smile as a warm sensation flooded through him. Although his bones were still holding his body erect, he had the sensation that they had turned into gelatin and were morphing into longer shapes. The change was gradual but dramatic as his body grew upward like a vine. His arms dangled loosely from his shoulders and his spindly legs wobbled a bit at the knees before the calcium resolidified and he once again felt sturdy. Billy opened his eyes and laughed like a kid when he discovered he was now staring eye-to-eye with his stoic bodyguard. "Check it out, Reese! I'm as tall as you now!" "Yeah, yeah, very nice, spaghetti boy." He pointed toward the mirror and Billy spun to admire himself, only to be horrified by the sight. If he felt skinny before, he was now basically a skeleton wrapped in skin, with only a thin band of red silk wrapped around the middle. It was like looking in a carnival funhouse mirror at a gawky, emaciated version of himself, but there was nothing wrong with the mirror. Billy spun toward Mr. Lee and made his next request frantically. "Muscles. I gotta have some muscles." Mr. Lee nodded. "How much muscle? On a scale of zero to ten, where ten is your friend Mr. Reese here, and zero is...you." Billy pondered the choice carefully. He didn't need to be a human tank like Reese, but the idea of suddenly becoming as buff as he wanted was making him greedy. "Eight. Wait, no, six." Mr. Lee went to grab the proper bracelet when Billy blurted out, "Seven. We'll go with seven." Mr. Lee's intuition had already led him to grab an orange bracelet. "Seven it is." Billy put on the new bracelet and again, as soon as he closed the loop around his wrist, a jolt of agony was followed by a soothing sensation in his muscle tissue. He kept his eyes open this time and watched the transformation in the mirror. What no amount of time in the gym had been able to accomplish was suddenly happening spontaneously throughout his body. It was as if someone had hooked his body to a bicycle pump and was inflating him. His neck widened to match his broadening shoulders. In the mirror, he was admiring the swell in his pecs when his eyes fell upon his suddenly visible abs and the deepening V below. Extruding from the bottom of his tautly-stretched silk shorts were now bulging quads and calves that would be the envy of anyone on the Tour de France. The little shop seemed even smaller to Billy now and he was delighted to discover that he could extend his long muscular arms and touch the ceiling with his fingertips. He felt incredible, but this he-man still had the smooth face that was known around the world. "You gotta do something about my face." "But your face is so pretty," Mr. Lee smiled. Billy could wretch. "I'm sick of having a 'pretty' face. I wanna be rugged. I wanna be dangerous. I wanna be a MAN." Mr. Lee understood. "How old this man?" Billy thought a moment. "Young enough not to have wrinkles. Old enough not to get carded." Mr. Lee raised his finger, muttering, "I have just the thing." He handed a yellow bracelet to Billy to put on. He braced himself, now fully prepared for that first jolt, then watched his reflection as his facial features contorted themselves beneath his skinn. He nodded approvingly as his bones gained heft, disrupting the soft contours and smooth jawline that his fans loved and turning him into a brooding hunk with thick eyebrows, a sharply angled jawline and a five-o'clock shadow. He rubbed his immense hand across the bristles on his cheek and fingered the depth of his new chin cleft. He smiled, delighted, and noticed that this new face had killer dimples on top of it all. Billy got goosebumps. He knew what had to come next. He ran his hands through the golden avalanche of hair atop his head. "We gotta get rid of this stupid hair." Mr. Lee frowned. "I have only limited hair to choose from. Maybe you go to a barber and ask for exactly what you want?" Billy was thrilled by the thought of a barber giving the chop to the famous Farrow Flop, but Reese intervened. "No, I'm under specific instructions that he has to emerge with his hair intact." Billy had a concert tomorrow night, and there was no way that Wiseman was going to let his star go onstage without his signature coif. Mr. Lee rummaged around before coming up with a green bracelet. "You try this one." Billy snatched the bracelet from Mr. Lee's hand and snapped it on his wrist immediately. It was hypnotic to watch his carefully fashioned hairdo as it seemed to be absorbed back into his scalp. When only a few millimeters of hair remained above the surface of Billy's scalp, the hair suddenly darkened into a black buzz cut. Without the distraction of the Flop, the stunning masculinity of his new face was even more apparent. Billy's excitement at seeing himself modified was escalating. He needed more, and fast. "Body hair!", he snapped, and Mr. Lee forked over a blue bracelet. In moments, Billy had a lush new layer of wall-to-wall carpeting on his arms, chest, abs and legs. Curious, he looked inside his silk undies and was pleased by the dark bush of pubic hair he found there. But it was obvious that one part of his old body had stubbornly resisted any change so far. "I just gotta have a bigger cock." Reese covered his eyes and shook his head. He could never have envisioned a moment like this when he signed onto the security detail for Billy Farrow three years ago. Mr. Lee kept any obvious reaction hidden, but he had expected this moment to come. Seemingly every man who entered his shop walked out with a larger penis. Even if they had other perceived imperfections that they wanted to fix first, they always seemed to tack on "bigger penis" at the end of their requests, as if they were making an impulse buy at the checkout stand of a convenience store. "Yeah, I need a pack of Marlboros, a fifth of Ketel One and...while you're at it, can you toss in a huge fuckin' dong?" And their size demands often demonstrated a lack of basic knowledge of the dimensions of the orifices into which they would be sticking these penises or the limits of haberdashery to properly accommodate such an enormous member. Nevertheless, Mr. Lee always did his best to give his customers what they wanted. "Bigger length or bigger circumference?", asked Mr. Lee. Billy mulled it for a second, then said hopefully, "Both?" It was always both. Mr. Lee handed an indigo bracelet to Billy, who waved it at Reese. "Hey, Reese, look at the size of my cock ring!" His wrist was now getting crowded with all of these narrow bracelets, but he made room for the new one. The intensity of the rush he got from this one startled Billy, as a flood of testosterone swelled his penis and balls to such a massive size that his silk underwear burst into tatters which fell to the floor...and he wasn't even hard. Even Reese was impressed by what Billy was now packing. Reese turned appreciatively toward Mr. Lee. "I think that covers everything. You happy, Billy?" Billy was so entranced as he stared at his new meat dangling halfway down his thigh that he was only able to nod. "You forget one thing," said Mr. Lee. "His voice." Billy and Reese were amazed they hadn't thought of it. Billy's tenor voice was immediately recognizable to his fans, and it also seemed incongrous emerging from the strapping nude man now fondling himself in the middle of the store. Mr. Lee offered a violet bracelet which Reese snapped onto Billy's forearm. "Thanks, man," Billy grunted in a baritone rumble. His eyes widened and he looked up. "Did that come outta me?" He tested his singing abilities with the first line of his biggest hit, "Baby, You're My Baby". He seemed to have retained all of his vocal skills, just in a lower register. He looked at the rainbow of metal rings on his arm and shook his head in amazement. He felt like a new man. Hell, he WAS a new man. Reese leaned on the counter and pulled out his wallet, asking Mr. Lee, "So, how much do we owe you?" "Free trial. When you decide if you want to make any permanent changes, you come back here and return the bracelets, okay?" "How do you know someone won't just run off with the bracelets and never come back?" "You asked if you could trust me. Now I am trusting you. It is a matter of honor." Reese smiled. He liked people who stood by their promises. The towering stud at the center of the room reached across the counter and gave Mr. Lee a firm handshake. "This is a miracle, Mr. Lee. Thank you so much." Mr. Lee nodded humbly. "Don't mention it." Reese shot back with a grin, "Don't you mention it either, Mr. Lee." Billy started walking toward the front door when both Mr. Lee and Reese shouted simultaneously, "Stop!" Billy looked puzzled until Reese gestured toward Billy's body. "If the goal here is not to be noticed, going outside like that is a bad way to start." Billy was so comfortable in his new skin, he had completely forgotten that he was totally naked. * * * In the back room of Mr. Lee's shop, Billy grabbed some clothes that fit his new body, but the selection of hand-me-downs from Mr. Lee's previous clients was less than spectacular. He chose an apparently authentic Lakers jersey bearing the name "RODMAN", camouflage khakis and a pair of size-14 work boots just so he could get out the door, but once they got into the van, Billy told Reese the name of a trendy clothing store he wanted to visit. Their driver took them to the store and Billy waited for Reese to open the SUV's door for him. Out of habit, Reese stepped out and slid the door open. Billy peeked out cautiously, then out of habit, rushed toward the store to avoid being mobbed. Reese laughed and yelled, "Hey, slow down, big guy!" Billy stopped on the sidewalk and turned back to Reese, who whispered loudly enough to be heard over the traffic, "Nobody recognizes you." Billy took a moment to let this sink in. After living his life for years with the knowledge that fans or paparazzi could pop up at any moment, he hadn't truly realized how liberating it would feel to be ignored. Reese motioned for the SUV driver to find a place to park, then strode over to the sidewalk, planning to enter the store with Billy, who always delegated the actual dirty work of spending money to Reese, Wiseman or someone else in his entourage. Noticing Reese side-by-side and shoulder-to-shoulder with him, Billy stopped. "Let me go in by myself, okay?" Reese nodded. Giving Billy a break from the routine was the whole point of this experiment. He didn't need Reese tagging along to look after him. "You're gonna need some money." Reese pulled out his wallet and gave Billy a couple thousand bucks. "Can I have more?" Reese figured $2,000 should be enough to buy some new clothes, but then the stores Billy Farrow shopped in were a bit pricier than the ones that clothed Reese Boudreaux. He removed the rest of the cash from his wallet and handed it to Billy, with the instructions, "Call me on your cell phone if you need anything." "Okay, Dad." Billy winked his left eye at Reese and shot him two upraised middle fingers. The whole world seemed different to Billy now, like he was suddenly looking at it in 3D. He then realized that after years of having that damn Farrow Flop blocking his right eye, he actually HADN'T been seeing the world in 3D since he was thirteen. That alone made this transformation, however temporary, worthwhile. Reese stood on the sidewalk, feeling like he was watching Billy take his first steps as a man. It warmed his heart almost as much as when he had seen his own daughters take their first steps many years ago. They were now twelve and nine, firmly in the Billy Farrow demographic, so Reese was like a god to them. Well, actually, Billy was like a god to them, but their dad got to work for god, and that earned him major brownie points. It almost made up for the ribbing he took from his former colleagues when he took the gig "babysitting" Billy. Reese used to be a cop with the San Francisco Police Department, but he had to resign when the nagging knee injury he got playing college football began to cause him major grief and hamper his effectiveness on the force. Fortunately, the position on the Billy Farrow security detail came along. At first, he took the gig because it seemed cushy and the pay was good enough to cover his child-support and, until his ex remarried, alimony payments. But as the years progressed, he had truly come to like Billy and tolerate his music. Frankly, given the circumstances, it was a miracle that Billy hadn't turned into an industrial-strength douche. Reese tried to imagine what it would be like to have been famous since the age of twelve, to constantly be fawned over, to have every whim catered to, to never hear the word "no". Even Reese and the rest of the security team were guilty of coddling him, taking it easy when Billy would challenge them to play basketball. They let him believe he was kicking their asses when they actually could have creamed him if they weren't worried that he could have them all fired. Not that Billy would do that. Despite the code name of "King Joffrey" that security had given him, Billy was generous and friendly to everyone he worked with. So when Reese heard rumors from his old buddies on the police force that there was a mysterious shop near Chinatown that performed miraculous transformations, Reese was the one who pitched Alan Wiseman on giving Billy a day of anonymity as his reward for years of hard work, dedication and toeing the line. Reese paced on the sidewalk outside the clothing store for close to an hour. He knew how particular Billy was with his clothing, so he must be having a great time playing dress-up with a brand new body. Even so, Billy had never needed to fend for himself in the real world, having been under the wing of Wiseman for almost a third of his life. Perhaps Billy could use Reese's assistance but was too proud to ask for it. Reese wandered in, pretending to look at the clothes, even though one shirt from this store would probably cost a month of Reese's pay. A salesman swooped over to ask Reese if he needed any help. Not spotting Billy anywhere in the store, he asked, "I'm looking for a friend. Little white guy. Well, actually, he's about my height...now." The salesman's eyes lit up. He most certainly did remember that gentleman. "Yes, I think he took several outfits to the back to try on." Reese smiled appreciatively and made his way to the dressing rooms. Reese startled a sad-eyed middle-aged man who was trying on a leather thong, but most of the other dressing rooms were empty. The final one had a locked door. Reese knocked and whispered Billy's name, but got no answer, so he knelt down, wincing as he put pressure on his bum knee. Stared through the gap below the door, he couldn't see any legs, but he did see the clothes Billy had worn from Mr. Lee's shop strewn about the floor. Reese asked if the salesman could unlock that dressing room for him. "Official business," said Reese with enough authority that the salesman was too afraid to ask what kind of official Reese was. The salesman fumbled for the right key. Finally, the door swung open and the dressing room was empty. On a chair, Reese found Billy's wallet with an I.D. and credit cards, a stack of cash (with a note to the store attached that said "Thanks for the outfit"), and Billy's cell phone. On the screen of the phone was an unsent text message: "Hey Reese, Smell ya later, BF." Reese asked the salesman, "You got a back door?" The salesman pointed and Reese ran outside, limping on his aching knee. Billy was nowhere in sight. * * * "He escaped?" Alan Wiseman was apoplectic even in the best of times. Right now, you could take his pulse simply by looking at the veins trying to leap out of his sunburnt forehead. Alan was completely bald, just like Reese, although in Reese's case it was a style choice, not a genetic inevitability. Reese hobbled along the sidewalk, furious at himself but more furious at Billy. He had to hold the phone several inches away from his head to prevent Wiseman's screaming on the other end from bursting his eardrums. Across town, Wiseman paced in a frenzy around his hotel room. "I knew this crazy idea of yours was a risk, but I thought you were gonna keep tabs on him." "I was just trying to give the kid some space. How can he relax if he's got a bodyguard breathing down his neck the whole time?" Wiseman countered, "Well, how can I relax knowing that the kid whose career I fucking built, who pays all of our fucking salaries, and who has a concert tomorrow fucking night is wandering around this city in some unrecognizable fucking body?" "I thought I had taken appropriate measures," Reese explained. "I put a GPS tracker on his cell phone, but he left the phone behind in the dressing room at the clothing store. Plus I had another GPS tracker sewn into his underwear." "He left that in the dressing room too?" "Uh...no, sir. The underwear actually...burst into pieces." "How does underwear burst into fucking pieces?" "Sir, that happened when, uh...when his cock...roughly tripled in size." Wiseman beat his head against the window, looking down at the city. "Fuckin' San Francisco. Okay, get back here to the hotel. You and I are going to scour his room for clues as to where he might have gone. But as far as anyone else knows, everything is normal. Billy is just down with a twenty-four hour bug and is staying in bed all day." "Yes, sir. I'm on my way," said Reese, hanging up his phone. The SUV pulled over to pick him up. Reese ordered the driver to take him back to the hotel. "We gonna pick up Billy?" Reese turned to the driver excitedly. "You know where Billy is?" The driver looked puzzled. "I thought we left him back at that shop in Chinatown." Reese sagged, then tried to cover. "Ah, right. No, he took a taxi back to the hotel already. He wasn't feeling himself today." "Aw, poor kid," said the driver. "What about that guy we dropped off here?" "Wha...? Oh. No, he's gone too." "That's too bad," the driver said, pulling into traffic. "He was fuckin' hot." When he arrived at the hotel, Reese went straight to Billy's room. He tapped lightly on the door and Wiseman let him in. "Find anything?", he asked Wiseman. Wiseman yelled, "I don't even know what I'm fucking looking for." Reese shushed him. "Stop panicking. Everything will be fine. At least until a mysterious body is found floating in the bay." Wiseman was in no mood for jokes. "Don't even kid about that." At five-six and two-fifty, Wiseman was a heart attack waiting to happen, so Reese should have known not to raise his ire further. But sometimes it was a fun game to poke Wiseman with a stick just to see how outraged he could become. Reese risked getting down on his bad knee again to look under Billy's bed. There, he found a baggie containing a small amount of pot and some ecstasy, which Reese was frankly surprised Billy hadn't taken with him. Even further under the bed was a laptop. That was strange, thought Reese, since Billy already had a laptop lying above the sheets of his unmade bed. This second laptop was just within reach of Reese's fingertips. He snagged a corner and dragged it out, then carried it over to a desk where he booted it up and began to search through the files. Wiseman hovered over his shoulder and asked, "Finding anything?" Reese wasn't a computer whiz, but he did have some training from his days on the force. "Most of the files look encrypted to me. We'd have to bring in someone who knows what they're doing to crack those, and I'm not sure you want to bring in any outsiders on this. Looks like there are some video files in this folder. Let me click on one." Suddenly the screen was filled with amateur-shot footage of two men in a bed. The larger, beefier man was wearing leather and pounding the bejesus out of the ass of a younger, slimmer man. Wiseman cringed and looked away, until he had a thought that made his temples throb. "Please tell me that kid's not Billy." Reese squinted at the grainy footage. The young man being rammed sure didn't look like Billy, although he definitely qualified as a pretty young thing. Reese clicked on another file, which was a different video with the same basic subject matter and lack of plot. The younger man in that footage also did not look familiar. Just to be sure, he checked a few more of the files. "Doesn't seem to be Billy in any of these. But I guess we know what Billy's been watching all those nights when we thought he was playing 'Grand Theft Auto'." * * * Billy felt a little guilty about running away from Reese like that, since Reese was such a stand-up guy. But as soon as he heard the crazy idea of giving him some free time in another body, Billy had been making plans for what he would do in the unlikely case that this bizarre transformation actually worked. Once he turned 18, Billy had been using his secret second laptop to set up bank accounts under other names around the world, accounts that only he had access to and which Wiseman knew nothing about. He slipped some of the debit cards from those accounts into his wallet this morning, then took them with him when he escaped from the clothing store. Those, combined with the cash he'd gotten off Reese, ought to get him through the evening's adventures. Now he was sitting in a sidewalk cafe, running up a tab on a card bearing the name "Liam Fortune", and truly relaxing for the first time in months...maybe years. Just knowing that Wiseman had to be freaking out somewhere and that, for once, Billy didn't need to hear it, was almost a vacation in itself. He was determined to take advantage of the amazing opportunity he had been given. He leaned back with his feet propped on another chair, wriggling his toes in the flip-flops he'd picked up at the clothing store, luxuriating in the feeling of stretching his long and powerful legs. The shiny, neon-colored outfits that Billy characteristically wore would have looked bizarre on the sturdy and studly Liam Fortune, not to mention too attention-getting, so he went casual. He wore a black silk vest with no shirt underneath, allowing him to display enticing hints of the newly acquired pelt of body hair on his newly acquired broad chest. Relaxed black jeans covered his legs and his massive junk, which was riding commando down his right pantleg. Billy had never cared for the taste of beer before, but right now it tasted like freedom. And it really showed off the rock-hard peak of his biceps whenever he tilted back the bottle for another swig. He had been checking out the redhead two tables over for the past ten minutes, and felt no need to be subtle about it. For years, he'd never managed more than subtle glances and coy smiles that led nowhere, as his whole career might be in jeopardy with even the slightest hint to his mobs of tweenage admirers that not only did they not have a chance with their dream boy, but that no one with their type of genitals did. Finally, the redhead rose from his table and headed directly toward Billy's table. Billy's heart raced and he thought about standing up and asking the boy if he was interested in hooking up, but he felt like Liam was more the type to kick back and let the ginger beg for the opportunity -- hell, the honor -- of betting fucked. Billy/Liam took a healthy mouthful of beer just as the redheaded boy walked past. Under his breath, he blurted out, "I did see you looking at me, and I'm very flattered, but I'm afraid you're too old for me." Liam burst into a laugh, spewing his beer explosively across his chest. He sat up, dabbing away the beer and foam from his chest hair and his vest with a napkin. The redhead was easily five years older than Billy in reality, but "Liam" must look to him like an ancient man...of 27 or 28. Billy was starting to make a distinction between his brain, which still felt like Billy, and his new body, which seemed more like a Liam, although even that dividing line was becoming less clear the more he drank. Liam was definitely the one craving more beer, so he signaled the waitress to bring another as his eyes began to roam again. A seriously cute bike messenger in a white tank and royal blue bicycle shorts was waiting for the light to change and scoping out Liam's body approvingly. Liam's cock began to stiffen in his pants as he studied the curve of the bicyclist's ass. He pointed both index fingers at the messenger and gave him his standard wink. The biker snorted a chuckle at the corny move and weaved back into traffic. Billy was puzzled. He was so used to everyone who he encountered being awestruck just to be in his presence. Even with all the obvious merits of this designer body, it seemed like Billy would have to work harder to get Liam laid. At the moment, though, Liam was starting to get hungry. Although he had passed through San Francisco on tour several times, Billy had always been driven wherever he needed to go and usually got his meals from room service or backstage at the concert. He paid for his beers and set out on foot to explore the city and search for a restaurant. He quickly discovered that flip-flops weren't the wisest choice for tromping up and down the city's hills, so he handed them to a homeless man and entered the Nike Town store barefoot. One of the staff stopped him at the door. "You can't come in here without shoes, sir." Billy chuckled at being called "sir", then told the employee that he was here to buy shoes. "The fact that I don't have shoes is exactly why I need to buy shoes." Billy was accustomed to dressing however he wanted, wherever he wanted. The last time he had shopped here, they had opened the store for him after hours by special request and he came in wearing nothing but sweat pants. When the employee stood firm and threatened to call her manager, Billy went outside and asked the homeless man if he could have his flip-flops back. The man clutched them in his arms and refused to hand them over, so Billy offered to buy them. Reaching into his pocket, he discovered that he had nothing but hundred-dollar bills. It was unlikely that the homeless guy would have any change, so he gave him a Benjamin for the flip-flops, then returned to Nike Town and bought a pair of Air Jordans...and a second pair that he gave to the homeless guy on his way out. Billy usually demanded nothing more than the junkiest of junk food, but Liam seemed to be craving a thick, rare steak. He spotted an upscale steak house and headed inside, only to be halted at the door again. The place had a dress code, and a silk vest, jeans and basketball shoes was not one of the approved ensembles. Instead of arguing, Billy decided to stick with what he knew and found the nearest McDonald's, where he wolfed down three Big Macs, two large fries and two large shakes before Liam was sated. The tables near him were occupied by young girls who probably had Billy Farrow posters on their bedroom walls, but they didn't waste a second glance on Liam. Give them a few years and they would appreciate the assets Liam had on display, but for now they were only obsessed with things that were cute. Their nonstop jabber about cute boys and cute clothes and cute backpacks while they shot cute selfies was giving Billy acute nausea. He was tempted to ask the girls what they thought of Billy Farrow, but didn't want to seem like some kind of perv. Little did they know how safe they were from his advances. Billy returned to the street, slapping his tight abs with satisfaction after his meal. He knew what his next destination would be, but had no clue how to get there. He asked a passing police officer how to get to the Castro. The friendly cop offered detailed directions, and even suggested a couple of clubs he might check out. Billy could have hailed a cab if he had known how to do it. Instead, he followed the stranger's directions and ran there. His old body had great stamina for cardio, which undoubtedly kept him so skinny and helped him through a heavily choreographed ninety-minute concert several nights a week. But Liam's powerful muscles gave him a true runner's high as he pounded the pavement in a three-mile sprint to the neighborhood where he hoped to pick up the pace of this evening's events. Pumped and musky from the run, yet amazingly not short of breath, Billy unbuttoned his vest and walked into the first gay bar he found. His stomach churned with excitement and half-digested Mickey D's at the thrill of entering forbidden territory for the first time, but unlike at the stores he visited, no one here stopped Liam from entering because of the way he was dressed. For the first time since the changes, he started to feel the familiar sensation of attracting the immediate attention of strangers just by walking into a room. They may not have known who he really was, but the clientele of this establishment were definitely fans of the man who he was tonight. Billy was so used to strangers approaching him that he discovered he was surprisingly inept in the art of initiating a conversation. Also, he knew the type of guy who turned him on, and none of the other drinkers here seemed to fit that template. The closest match was the bartender, a clean-cut athletic type with no shirt and Greek Letters tattooed on his left pec. After a shot of Jagermeister (possibly a mistake, Billy thought) and another beer, Liam's tongue became looser. He pointed to the bartender's chest. "So, are you from Greece?" The jock laughed and said they were the letters of his frat. Billy hit his forehead with his fist, annoyed with his stupidity. He informed the bartender that he had played Greece recently. "You played Greece? Like, in what, soccer?" Billy realized that Liam needed to be less accurate in his descriptions. Unlikely as it might be in this body, he didn't want to tip anyone off to the fact that they were really talking to Billy Farrow. "I mean I traveled there. I traveled all over Europe." "Cool. Were you studying abroad?" "If I wanted to study a broad, would I be in a bar like this?" The bartender groaned. "Walked right into that one, didn't I?" Liam's lips curled into a seductive grin as he continued to survey the bartender's well-toned body. After a bit more chit-chat, he gestured for the bartender to lean in closer, lowered his voice and asked, trying to be clever, "When do you get off? Work, I mean." The bartender had dealt with this situation countless times and knew just how to dash a customer's hopes gently. First, he assured Liam that he took it as a compliment, and he understood that he was probably sending mixed messages by standing shirtless in a gay bar, but he was in fact straight with a great fiancee. "But I can't imagine a guy like you has any trouble finding new friends in your travels." "More trouble than you'd think." That was definitely Billy talking, as he drained his beer. This adventure was going south fast. "Well, don't make any sudden moves, but if you like the way I look, there's a guy who came in about five minutes ago who's been doing nothing but staring at you since he walked in. Look casually at eight o'clock." Billy was getting drunker and his thoughts sillier. "Eight o'clock? Can't I look sooner?" The bartender groaned and told Liam to check over his left shoulder. Liam swiveled his stool to the left and tried not to be too obvious, but it was clear who the bartender meant. Sitting alone on a stool at a tall table was an adorable guy with lightly tanned skin, wearing a white muscle shirt, jean shorts and cowboy boots. His shaggy brown hair with highlights hung in bangs across his forehead. Looking extremely bored, he hopped down from his stool and crossed the room to the jukebox, allowing Liam to admire the grace with which his lithe body moved. Like a gymnast. Or one of the many sexy backup dancers who Billy never risked getting to know better. Or one of the taut-muscled bottoms in the dom/sub videos he secretly liked to watch at night on his private laptop. Liam was still hesitating, so the bartender handed him another shot of Jager. "This one's on me. To apologize if I led you on." Liam slammed the shot, placed the glass upside down on the bar, and summoned the courage to walk over to the jukebox. He liked the way this boy's firm tight ass filled out those shorts and the shape of his legs approached perfection. One of his cowboy boots was crossed behind the other, calling attention to his sculpted calves as he leaned on the jukebox and pondered his selections. Liam moved closer and pretended to look at the song titles as well, but he was furtively checking out the young man, who was having trouble concealing a smirk. "See anything you like?" Liam answered with a drawn-out "mmm-hmmm" which left no doubt that he wasn't thinking about what songs were on the jukebox. The kid (who technically had to be older than the real Billy just to get in the door here legally) pressed a couple of buttons and waited for his selection to play. Billy expected to hear something by Lady Gaga or Kesha or, based on the young man's footwear, some country song, but the jukebox began to blast Ray Charles's "Unchain My Heart". The agile young man stepped away from the jukebox and began to gyrate to the upbeat music. Billy watched him admiringly. The guy was clearly not a professional dancer, but he had good intuitive moves. The young dancer cast his pale blue eyes on Liam's violet eyes. "You gonna join me, or are you just gonna watch, big man?" Liam was definitely getting bigger the longer he watched. He scooted across the floor in his basketball shoes. All the drinks he'd been consuming had added sloppiness to his dance moves, but his new dance partner nodded approvingly. He shouted over the music, "What's your name?" The name "Billy" was just about to cross his lips when something made him realize the mistake he was about to make. Instead, he said "Liam". When the word came out, it just felt right. This was going to be Liam's night. Billy was just along for the ride. "Hey, Liam. I'm Todd. My friends call me Todd the Rod. Or Todd the Wad. Or Todd the Bod. Or Todd the Odd." "And which do you prefer?" "Todd the God," he smirked. "I agree," Liam shouted over the music. They danced without further conversation. Liam enjoyed being so close to Todd and was ogling him without shame or hesitation. Todd's shirt clung tight to his skin, so Liam could make out his general contours, but he was sure he'd appreciate the additional details that would be visible once the shirt came off. The song faded out and Todd eyed Liam. "What next?" Liam's mind was swimming with possibilities, which Todd dashed with a grin. "What SONG do you want to hear next?" Todd waggled his hips exaggeratedly as he crossed back to the jukebox. Liam followed like he was on a leash. Wait, wasn't he supposed to be the one in control tonight? He leaned his hands on the jukebox, surveying his options. "Holy shit!", he thought as he noticed that "Forever Girl", one of his own hits, was on the jukebox. He selected it and, as the opening notes kicked in, launched into a sloppy version of the introductory dance step he performed to open the song during every concert. Todd watched Liam's moves and shook his head. "What, you don't like my choreography?" Todd shrugged. "Guess I'm not a huge Billy Farrow fan." Liam stopped in his tracks and became a little agitated. "Why? What's the matter with him?" Todd leaned back against the jukebox, surprised by Liam's intensity. "Chill out. What, are you the president of his fan club or something?" Liam realized he needed to take down his attitude a notch, and not take it so personally. "I just think he's really talented. For a kid." "He's definitely cute, if that's what you're into. And he can sing, no question. But that hair of his is a joke. And his songs..." Todd stopped before he got too wrapped up in his tirade. "No, tell me, what about his songs?", asked Liam in more measured tones, his curiosity growing. "They're just so antiseptic. It's all a bunch of generic bubble-gum nonsense. Ray Charles, you could hear in his voice that the man had lived. You get the feeling Billy Farrow's never had a real emotion in his life." Liam leapt vehemently to Billy Farrow's defense. "He's got emotions..." Whoa, a little strong there, buddy. Back off. "...I'm sure." That's better. "Maybe he's just so isolated from the real world that he's not as experienced as he'd like to be. But look at all he's accomplished. He sold twenty million albums before he turned eighteen. What had Ray Charles done by that age?" "Went blind, for one," Todd said calmly. Liam had to laugh, realizing that he may have gotten too worked up over the subject, and that Billy Farrow, talented as he was, was no Ray Charles. Certainly not yet. "You got me." "Is that a promise?" Todd moved closer to Liam with a grin on his face, hips swaying to the beat of the song. Maybe he was more into this Billy Farrow song than he was letting on. He took Liam's hands and guided them toward Todd's hips. Liam had a four-inch height advantage on Todd, but they didn't seem like an odd pair. Todd pointed to the nine bracelets around Liam's left forearm. "Those are nice." "Thanks, I just got them today. Actually, I got all of this today," he said with a gesture that he meant for Todd to understand as "this entire wardrobe", although lurking in the back of his brain, Billy secretly meant "this entire body". As Billy Farrow's recorded voice faded out, Liam strode over to the jukebox to make another selection, but Todd took his hand. "If you really feel like dancing, there are better places than this dump. Come on." Even after admiring the definition of Todd's compact muscles, he was surprised how strong the shorter man was. He nearly dislocated Liam's arm yanking him toward the door. Soon Todd had led him to a building up the street which looked unimpressive from the outside. The youthful-looking Todd was asked for an I.D., but Todd whispered something to the bouncer, who nodded and let him pass. Liam was just waved through, as if his age was obvious. The vast space inside the building was filled with fog and spotlights and thumping noise and men and sweat. Billy had performed in plenty of venues this size early in his career, but the dominant noise was high-pitched screaming and the crowds were much younger and monolithically female. Billy might have been overwhelmed (and swamped by admirers) if he had wandered in here, but Liam seemed prepared to handle it. Todd had worked his way to the bar and brought back two beers. He handed one to Liam and proposed a toast. "To new and interesting experiences." They clinked bottles and drank. "Follow me," said Todd, dragging Liam behind him as he maneuvered across the tightly packed dance floor to the DJ booth. Todd climbed up and had a shouted conversation with the DJ that Liam couldn't make out over the pounding music. The DJ shook his head at Todd's request, and Todd returned to Liam dissappointed. "What's the matter?," Liam asked. "I wanted to surprise you and get up on one of the dance poles, but he said they're for the professional dancers only. Insurance reasons or something." Liam would certainly be interested in seeing what contortions Todd's limber body could do on a stripper pole. He decided to test his dominance by walking over to the DJ and making his own argument...in the form of cash. Liam returned to Todd victoriously. "Apparently, for a thousand dollars, insurance reasons can go fuck themselves." The DJ gestured for Todd to come up onstage as the current song faded and made an announcement. "We've got a special treat for all you sexy, sexy boys tonight. Stepping up to shake his gorgeous ass on the silver pole, we have..." Off-mic, he asked the dancer for his name again. The DJ misheard and announced, "Todd the Cod!" Todd smirked at Liam and shrugged a "Whatchagonnadoaboutit?" He peeled his sweaty shirt off his torso, to the approving roar of the crowd -- the deep bellow from Liam being the loudest and most enthusiastic of all. Todd tauntingly unbuttoned his shorts, but left them on, as well as his cowboy boots. He took hold of the pole and waited for the music to begin. The music sounded extremely familiar to Liam, yet he couldn't immediately place it. The hook kicked in and he realized it was a remix he'd never heard before of "I'm Your Boy", the first single by a very young and very high-pitched Billy Farrow. The DJ got a few catcalls, but most of the crowd was delighted or at least amused for nostalgic reasons. Liam couldn't help but wonder how many of the men in this room had first realized they were gay when they saw pretty little Billy Farrow on "America Wants S'more". Todd leapt in the air and suspended himself with one knee wrapped tightly around the pole as his arms swung free. Damn that skinny boy could move. The crowd was enjoying his performance tremendously, and Liam (actually, in this case, more Billy than Liam) felt left out. That was HIS song being played. Much as he was enjoying watching Todd gyrate, he craved some attention too. He stepped over to the DJ and asked to borrow his mic. Liam's cash supply was getting perilously low, but another hundred persuaded the DJ to surrender the mic. While everyone's eyes were still focused on Todd's acrobatics, Liam's deep sexy croon came over the speakers in a perfectly harmonized duet with squeaky little Billy Farrow. One of the spotlights found Liam in the darkness at the edge of the stage, where he started to move. Between the alcohol in his system and the bulkiness of his new body, Liam's moves weren't nearly as slick as Billy Farrow's would be, but he was still an impressive hoofer. As the crowd egged him on, Liam pulled his vest slowly off one shoulder, then off the other and flung it into the crowd. He reached the chorus and bellowed "I'm Your Boy" directly at Todd, who was currently suspended upside down on the pole, his face at Liam's eye level. Liam walked over and kissed Todd's upside-down lips, and the crowd went berserk. Billy Farrow's anthem of puppy love suddenly took on a whole new meaning, especially for Billy Farrow himself. When the song ended, the crowd cheered boisterously. Liam carried Todd offstage in his strong arms, stopping at the booth to ask the DJ where he'd gotten that version of the song. The DJ said it was his own remix, and Liam complimented him on how great it sounded. Liam stepped down from the stage, remarking on how light Todd felt in his arms. Todd giggled and seemed to be contemplating the wisdom of his next move before committing to giving Liam another kiss. Their tongues connected between their parted lips and the kiss continued far longer than either of them had expected. When they finally separated, Todd asked, "What do you want to do next?" Liam knew what he REALLY wanted to do next, but he was having such a good time, he hated to leave the club so soon. The two stuck around for another hour, dancing in the middle of the crowd as one man after another made their way over to praise both Liam and Todd for their performances. Todd's face seemed to be blushing permanently, while Liam's heart was warmed by the praise. Billy Farrow had never gotten good reviews from critics, and he had reached the point where he never knew if he could trust the opinions of his fans or his entourage, because everyone seemed to have a reason to suck up to him. Even factoring in that a few of these people could be bullshitting in hopes of getting into Liam's pants, most of these compliments seemed entirely genuine. Eventually, Liam and Todd left the club, both bare from the waist up. Liam wrapped his meaty arms around his smaller companion to keep him warm. "What now?", Todd asked. Liam's booze-soaked brain came up with what seemed like a great idea. "Let's steal a cable car!" "Calm down there, big guy. Why don't we go to Coit Tower and look at the city lights?" "Mmm, that sounds romantic. How do we get there?" "If you don't mind riding behind me, we could take my motorcycle." "Holy shit, you got a motorcycle?" Billy's youthful excitement had momentarily overwhelmed Liam's reserve. Wiseman had absolutely refused to let Billy get a motorcycle for fear of that Billy might get in an accident, doing irreparable harm to his career...and to Wiseman's bank account, Billy always added mentally. Rounding a corner near the bar where they met, Liam saw a late model Harley-Davidson parked on the street and resisted the temptation to drool. "I've only got the one helmet," said Todd. "So, if you ride with me, we'd technically be breaking the law. I don't know if we should risk it." Liam gave his answer by straddling the bike's seat. "Get on, babe. I'll handle any cops." Amused, Todd wriggled his way onto the seat in front of Liam, his compact butt fitting snugly between Liam's spread legs. Todd tightened the strap on his helmet and roared the engine. Todd could feel Liam's giant cock pressing hard against his right ass cheek. He steered the bike into traffic and set them on a course for Coit Tower. Halfway there, he leaned back and shouted, "You steer. I'll tell you where to turn." Liam removed his arms from around Todd's waist and placed his hands upon the handlebars. Despite all his fame and all the celebrities he had met, Billy Farrow had never felt as full of life as he did right now. They reached the top of Telegraph Hill and sat together on the grass in Pioneer Park. After thirty seconds of marveling at the panoramic view, Liam rolled Todd back on the grass and they began to make out. Liam's erection seemed to have been in a constant state of getting harder and bigger since the first moment he met Todd, and he knew he needed release soon. As he began to kiss Todd, he became short of breath and light-headed as his backlog of cum urgently pumped its way into his pants. Liam slid his bare chest across Todd's as he rocked back and forth in coordination with his ejaculations. When the surging finally stopped after emptying what seemed like a liter of jizz, Liam collapsed like dead weight atop Todd. Todd was more amused than upset. Having flashbacks to the movie "Weekend at Bernie's", Todd managed to lug Liam to the motorcycle and prop him up on the seat. With Liam's furry chest pressed onto Todd's bare back, the motorcycle slowly wound through the city streets. Todd found a cheap hotel and got a room, dragging Liam to bed and undressing him before collapsing with fatigue himself. * * * Billy woke up to the faint sound of something vibrating. At first, the noise seemed to be inside his head, which felt like it had been stuffed with cotton during the night. As he cracked open his eyelids and saw the naked hairy body stretched out on the bed before him, the events of the previous night began to filter into his head. A smile crept across his lips as he looked at the jumbo cock laying heavily atop his granite abs. He could get used to the sight of "Liam's" body first thing every morning. But how had he gotten here? And where was that cute guy from last night? The buzzing sound hadn't stopped, and Billy realized it must be his second phone vibrating in the jeans that were folded neatly on a chair. He wasn't as hungover as he might have expected given everything he drank last night, but it was still a struggle for him to slide off the bed and extract the phone from his pants pocket. He looked at the screen, which indicated that the caller was blocked. But who could even have this number? No one knew this phone existed. Billy thought of ignoring the call, but his curiosity was too strong. He answered it. "Yeah?" Oh, that's right, he remembered upon hearing his husky new voice again. "Good morning. Is this the fugitive?" It was Reese. "How did you get this phone number?", Billy asked, peeking through the drapes to see if anyone was spying on him from outside. "I have connections. Don't forget, I used to be a cop here. So, you had your fun. Are you ready to come back to reality?" Billy stared admiringly at the reflection of his body in a mirror on the wall, rubbing the heavy stubble on his cheeks, then letting his hand slide down his hairy torso and finally onto his cock. "You know what? Tell Wiseman I'm not sure I'm coming back. Ever." Reese sighed. "Then we're gonna have a situation. If you don't come back soon, people are gonna start to wonder what happened to Billy Farrow." "Tell the world that Billy died. In a fiery motorcyle wreck. He could only be IDed by his hairdo." Billy brushed his hand across his bristly buzz cut, loving that he could climb out of bed and not need to spend 45 minutes gelling "the Flop" into shape. "I've got money stashed away. I've got enough money for a normal person to live on the rest of his life." "You're kidding yourself, Billy. In a week, you'll be begging to get your old life back. You knew going in that this was a one-night deal, only you didn't hold up your end. You know how much Wiseman reamed me out for letting you escape?" "I never meant to get you in trouble, Reese. You've always been super-nice to me. But I can't give up this body. I'm enjoying it too much" "You have a concert to perform in twelve hours. You have obligations. Trust me, we will find you, the same way I found this phone number." Billy realized that Reese was probably right. Wiseman was not going to let Billy simply walk away from his lucrative career. Billy suddenly had a brainstorm. "I know, tell Wiseman he can manage the new me. I've still got my voice, only it's a lot sexier now. And every once in a while, I can take off the bracelet that lowered my voice and record a 'lost' Billy Farrow album that Wiseman can release posthumously!" There were several seconds of silence from Reese's end. "Get serious, Billy. Tell me where I can find you and we'll go back to Mr. Lee's store and put everything back in order." Billy thought it over. He simply was not ready to surrender his new freedom. "No deal, Reese." Billy hung up, opened a window and flung his phone into the street, where a car promptly ran over it, grinding it to bits. Billy felt liberated. He also desperately needed to take a leak. He stepped into the bathroom and sighed with almost orgasmic pleasure as he pissed. When he heard the door to the hotel room opening, his piss stopped flowing. Could that be Reese? He felt completely vulnerable, standing naked, so he grabbed a bath towel and wrapped it around his waist. If he needed to, he would fight Reese for his freedom. Reese might be a tower of muscle, but Liam's body gave Billy at least a fighting chance. A lyrical tenor voice called out, "Liam? Are you here?" Billy peeked through the gap between the bathroom door and the jamb and saw his friend from last night's adventures, Todd, with two paper cups of coffee and a bag of croissants. He seemed to be alone. Billy exhaled with relief and walked out of the bathroom. "Boy, am I glad to see you. I thought you ditched me." "Nobody gets away from me that easily," said Todd, still wearing his shorts and boots from last night, with the addition of a touristy San Francisco t-shirt which Todd filled out nicely. "I had to buy a shirt in the gift shop. For some stupid reason, most places require you to be dressed when you enter." "So I've learned." Todd set down the breakfast items and stood on tiptoe to kiss Liam, who hung his arms over Todd's shoulders. Billy felt Liam taking command of the situation as Liam's towel tented in the front. "Listen, my memories are kinda sketchy from last night. Did we...?" Todd shook his head with a wistful grin. "You conked out before we could." "That's what I thought." Liam's powerful hands gripped the back collar of Todd's t-shirt and pulled hard in opposite directions, shredding the shirt and yanking it off his body. Todd looked shocked. "Don't worry, I'll buy you a new shirt. I'll buy you ten if you want. Now drop those shorts." Todd suddenly became shy and hesitant. "Do I have to rip those too?" Todd shook his head. Liam flung his towel to the floor and leapt onto the bed. He leaned against the headboard, hands clasped behind his head as his cock rose majestically to a right angle. He watched Todd unbutton his cut-offs and pull them down his sleek legs slowly. He stepped out of them, then pulled off his black thong in a similar manner. Todd's cock was fully hard, maxing out at five inches, but it looked proportional with his compact body. Todd jumped onto the bed and straddled Liam. "Aren't you gonna take off your cowboy boots?", Liam asked. Todd shook his head. "Never." Liam didn't mind. He sat up and pushed Todd's body backwards, then flipped him face down, ass up. He stroked his hardened cock and maneuvered it toward the depression between Todd's sweet ass cheeks. He pounded his way in, causing Todd to yelp loudly in an equal mix of pain and pleasure. Todd's hands gripped tightly onto the bed's footboard, his knuckles turning white. Liam felt incredible. The strength of this new body and the sensitivity of his new dick were overwhelming him. He leaned forward, pressing down on Todd's well-built shoulders for leverage as he worked to get as much of his mighty cock as possible into Todd's hole. The metal bracelets on his left arm slid and clanked against each other with each heavy thrust of his body. Todd's wails became higher pitched as both men drew closer to climax. Liam finally shot his wad inside Todd, while pulses of thick creamy cum flowed onto the bedsheets from Todd's cock. Liam lay his heavy body atop Todd, blissfully spent. After a couple of minutes, Liam rolled off and spread his arms, one palm resting cozily atop Todd's ass and giving a squeeze. Todd leaned over to kiss him and asked if he was satisfied. Liam nodded weakly. Todd smirked and said, "Well, I'm not. Sit up, I want to try something." With effort, Liam rose into a seated position. Todd directed him to turn around and lean against the headboard. Intrigued, Liam followed orders. Todd hopped off the bed, his boot heels clopping on the floor as he walked toward a bag that Liam hadn't noticed before. Todd must have gone shopping for more than breakfast while he was out. Todd bent down to look in the bag, flaunting his bubble butt in Liam's direction. He pulled out something which he kept hidden behind his back until he reached the bed. "Put your hands up by the railing," Todd instructed. Liam complied, and Todd revealed a pair of handcuffs which he promptly latched around Liam's right wrist. It was harder to find room on the left arm, with all those bracelets, but he finally managed. Liam was now securely fastened to the headboard and smiled in anticipation of Todd's next kinky surprise. Todd stared at the multi-colored bracelets on Liam's arm and said, "I think I'd like you better without the bracelets." Liam panicked. "No, don't touch them!" "Why not?" "They're just...I never take them off. Kinda like you and your boots." "Let me just take off one." Liam wriggled ferociously, but he was firmly shackled to the heavy wooden headboard. Todd unlocked the violet bracelet and placed it on the bedside table. Liam shuddered, then plead to Todd, "Please stop." He was startled to hear Billy's voice once again emerging from this body. "Wow, listen to that. You sound like a whole different person. Wonder what would happen if I removed the next one." Todd sprung the latch on the indigo bracelet, and Liam whimpered as he saw his cock shrink back to Billy's usual size, which was a little smaller than what Todd was packing. Liam was practically screeching now. "Who sent you here? Was it Reese?" Todd spoke calmly as he continued to remove Liam's bracelets one by one. "That wasn't a nice thing you did to Reese. You know, giving you this makeover was his idea in the first place. He sympathized with your predicament. He wasn't going to be a buzzkill. He had to tail you, but he planned to do it from a discreet distance. He wanted to give you your space to explore. But you had to run off on your own. You must have known that someone had to keep an eye on you, to make sure you didn't put yourself in too much danger. You're too valuable an asset not to have some protection. Reese even gave you one last chance to come back voluntarily this morning, but you refused." Liam's head was abuzz. How did Todd know about Reese's phone call? Liam felt his impressive muscles sagging and disappearing. His bones creaked as they contracted and his body hair retreated into its follicles. He was practically weeping as he watched the change. "So what happened? Wiseman hired you to tail me?" "Wiseman doesn't know about me," Todd smiled. "Reese used his connections with the police force to keep an eye out for a man with your description. Your new description. When they found you, they called Reese with the location. And then you met me." Todd looked down at the lovely young man on the bed, who had surrendered to his fate and was no longer squirming. "My god, you're Billy Farrow! Oh, wait, not quite. One bracelet left." Todd removed the green bracelet, and the dark buzz cut regrew into the Farrow Flop in its full glory. Liam -- no, wait, he was without question Billy now -- sagged his slight shoulders in defeat. "Just tell me who you are. Some male prostitute that Reese hired?" "Let's just say that all those videos on your computer gave Reese a pretty good idea of your 'type'. Since you'd changed yourself into a dominant type body, that must be who you fantasized being when you were watching those videos. So you were probably on the hunt for a submissive. Based on your preferred videos, that meant probably a slender guy with a pretty face who looked younger than his years. In other words, someone who looked a lot like Billy Farrow. You literally wanted to go fuck yourself." Todd kicked off his cowboy boots. Clasped around his left ankle were a number of colored bracelets, just like the ones that Billy had been wearing, although wider to accommodate the size of leg bones. Todd bent over and began unsnapping them. Immediately, his body grew inches taller, his muscles bulkier and his cock longer and thicker. Billy had never seen a cock so big, certainly not in person but not even on the internet. As Todd continued, his face grew more menacing, his hair receded fully into his head, his eyes turned deep brown and his skin darkened to a rich black. Finally, he removed a violet ring and his voice shifted from Todd's high tenor to the familiar low Ving-Rhames-y tones that Billy had just heard on the phone earlier this morning. "Surprise." "Fuck me," said Billy. "Can't now. You've got a show to get ready for," said Reese, all business as always. "While I was out getting breakfast -- and handcuffs -- I picked up some clothes for you. Some for me too. I can't guarantee they're fashionable, but they'll fit well enough that we won't have to leave the hotel naked." Billy hung from the headboard, limp and shellshocked, his pathetic arms still held loosely in the air by the handcuffs. He noticed there was still one metal band left on Reese's leg. "So that last bracelet, is that the one that made you act all gay?" "Who says I needed a bracelet to be gay?" Billy was floored by this revelation, then grinned. "Holy shit, Reese. I just fucked you in the ass." "No, man, you fucked me in the ass yesterday when you ran away. This morning was my reward for putting up with your shit. I don't think Wiseman needs to know about anything you and I did together. Do you?" Billy unleashed the radiant smile that adorned so many little girls' bedroom walls. "You and me? We didn't do a damn thing. But Liam and Todd had a blast." Reese's face betrayed the hint of a smile as he removed the cuffs from Billy's wrists and handed him his new clothes. * * * Reese stood across the counter from Mr. Lee, who was examining the bracelets that Reese had just returned. "One missing," said Mr. Lee. "Oh, yeah, I wanted to keep the one you gave me for my bad knee. It feels brand new. You can't imagine the things I was able to do with two good knees." "I try not to imagine," Mr. Lee said with the merest smirk. "What do I owe you for it?" Reese pulled out his wallet. Mr. Lee waved him off. "You kept your promise to bring back the bracelets. Consider this my thank-you for your honorable behavior." "Come on, man. You got no idea how much money I've paid doctors to fix this knee, and they never did jack. You fixed it with one little bracelet." "If you insist on paying me, I only barter for what I need for my transformations." Mr. Lee gestured to the glass jars full of unusual substances on the shelves behind him. "What do you have that you could spare? Some of your muscles, perhaps?" "No, man, I'm a bodyguard. I gotta stay strong." He thought, then thought of something. He spoke in a whisper, even though no one else was in the shop to hear him. "It's a little embarrassing, but I've gotten some complaints over the years that my dick is...too big. Maybe you could make it smaller." Mr. Lee's eyebrows rose slightly. "Smaller length or smaller circumference?" Reese cleared his throat and said, "Both? I know, I know, stereotypes and all that, but seriously, it's gotten in the way of me finding a good steady relationship. It's too much for most people to handle. Literally." Mr. Lee asked, "May I see?" Reese extracted his cock from his pants. Mr. Lee was usually an expert at hiding his thoughts and feelings from the customers, but his jaw dropped. He extended his hand and said, "It's a deal." Outside, the SUV was idling with Wiseman in the front passenger seat and Billy sprawled in a custom swivel chair at the back, with stereo speakers embedded in the headrest and videogame controls in each armrest. Billy was surfing the web and discovered that someone had posted a shaky video of Liam's "I'm Your Boy" performance from the night before. Billy looked wistful, watching Liam and Todd having so much fun. Billy passed his iPad to Wiseman and said, "I want to do this arrangement of 'I'm Your Boy' tonight." It was a bit harder-edged than anything in Billy's usual set, but Wiseman liked it and thought the fans would enjoy it too. Just as long as Billy's delivery wasn't as raunchy as this anonymous shirtless guy in the video. Wiseman agreed to find the DJ who had done the remix and make sure he was properly compensated. Billy sat in his comfy throne at the back of the SUV and told Wiseman, "I also think it's time for me to get rid of the Flop." Wiseman turned around, livid. "You can't. It's your signature." "It's a joke. I look absurd. What we'll do is I'll get my hair cut off and donate it to one of those cancer charities for the kids who lose their hair getting chemo. We'll give 'em a big check too. Lots of positive publicity!" Wiseman pondered the notion. Maybe it was time for the Flop to go. Despite running away yesterday, Billy was acting more mature today. Maybe his image should mature too. The side door slid open and Reese hopped into the SUV, showing more agility than he had since college. "Everything copacetic?", Wiseman asked. "Yup, we're all clear. I want to put the shopkeeper and his grand-daughters on the list for backstage passes at tonight's show. And, here, I got something for you." He passed a thin green bracelet to WIseman, who looked at it skeptically. "Uh, thanks, I guess. I'm not big into jewelry, ya know." "I know, but I wanted to get you a thank-you present for not firing me. I think you'll like it. Put it on your left wrist." Curious, Billy leaned forward, resting his chin on Reese's shoulder as Wiseman slapped the bracelet onto his forearm. He yowled from a strange jolt shooting through his body, then calmed down as a cooling rush spread through his body and localized in his head. Although Wiseman hadn't realized it yet, Liam's buzz cut had now taken root on Wiseman's previously naked scalp. Reese looked amused and Billy cackled, but they both thought it actually looked pretty good on him. Wiseman looked back at them with annoyance. "What's so funny?", Wiseman asked as he gestured for the driver to pull away from Mr. Lee's little store.

Not exactly my wheelhouse, but wrote this at the request of a furry friend. He is probably going to post it elsewhere too, in case you happen to come across a similar story. “Hey Chad.” Chad rolled over languidly on the couch to face Andy. Summer had just begun, and Chad wore only boxers as he woke up from his mid-day nap. His prodigious girth bulged through the thin fabric unapologetically, his head starting to peak through the rim. Chad had been unable to work out for the past year due to his herniated disc, but his body still reflected his formerly jockish stature. While he had lost a fair amount of mass, he still had above average musculature and tone. His chest stuck out proudly above where his abs had been, and his arms, though softer than before, still filled the sleeves of his shirts nicely. Chad was unsatisfied with this, but there was not much he could do about it in his condition. His cock, in the meantime, was unaffected and made this fact known at every opportunity. He grinned mischievously. Andy had been upstairs working on a “secret project” for the last few hours, and Chad had already started throbbing in anticipation. As Andy strolled down the stairs and into the living room, Chad admired his lithe body and smooth, young features. His deep jade eyes held a playful expression. “What have you got there?” Chad said, eyes intently focused on what Andy was holding behind his back. Andy grinned in kind, revealing his red panda suit. “Put this on, for starters. I made some changes I think you’ll like. I’ll go grab the head.” Chad hurriedly started donning the suit, careful to avoid aggravating his injury, and had just finished when Andy returned. So far he hadn’t noticed anything obviously different. Eager to find out what Andy had devised, he placed the red panda head over his own while Andy finished strapping up the last of the Velcro. “Okay, now don’t freak out. The spell I bound to the suit is going to start when I say the trigger word, and it might be kind of intense,” Andy said. “What? Why would I…?” Chad started to say. “Zanzibar,” Andy whispered. In spite of Andy’s warning, Chad started to freak out just a little. The suit tightened around his body when Andy had released the spell. While the fabric wasn’t constricting him, it started to conform perfectly to the outline of his body. “What did you do?” he said, a note of panic in his voice. Andy just smirked and watched as the transformation began. Chad first felt a warmth in his groin that slowly radiated outwards across the rest of his flesh. As it spread, his muscles tensed and relaxed rhythmically beneath the fabric, growing slowly with every flexion. The suit continued to alter its shape to accommodate the changes. It expanded where his swelling biceps and burgeoning triceps fought for space on his arms, while it shrank in the waist as his abs tightened into thick cords of muscle. It failed to keep up around his torso, however, momentarily constricting his breathing. His chest pushed relentlessly outward, growing rounder and fuller by the second, and his back pulled the fabric in the opposite direction giving a nobility to his stature. Ultimately it caught up, providing the contour for his heavy set of pecs and fitting perfectly taut along the jutting lats. It seemed to fare better with his quads and calves, even though they were ballooning at an equally dizzying rate. His legs rubbed together as he finally stood again and took a few steps towards Andy. “What the hell just happened?” Chad asked, still in shock. “What, you don’t like it?” Andy said. Andy couldn’t help but appreciate the results of his work. He guided his hands across the powerful chest and down the row of abdominals leading to thick, meaty quads. He kind of regretted not making the fur softer than it already was; some of the changes were hidden behind the thickness of it. Even still, he realized he had overcorrected (perhaps on purpose), and Chad was a little larger and better defined than he had been before his injury. Chad attempted to answer the question, but before he got his first word out the second part of the spell had started to take effect. The warmth that began in his groin intensified to a sensation near orgasm, his head flaring and pre leaking from his slit. His eyes, though not visible to Andy, began to roll back in his head and he fell to his knees from the overwhelming pleasure. It was a few minutes before Chad came back to his senses. Andy was not really in a rush to help him, either. Watching this indomitable stud he had created fall to his knees as the result of his work had him more than a little hard. Chad then lifted his head and gave Andy that lusty look that the costume had been designed for. Andy froze in anticipation. They held eye contact for what seemed like minutes before Chad rushed in on Andy and immediately began to disrobe him between grinding sessions. “How does your back feel?” Andy asked. Chad didn’t have time for questions like that. He was too busy running his claws across Andy’s back and humping him vigorously. The spell had given him some prehensile control over his tail, and he used it to wrap around Andy’s waist and rub it along his crotch. He then threw Andy down on the couch, noticing for the first time the newfound strength that had been missing for so long. And he relished in it. Andy was now his plaything, a vessel to shove his cock into anytime he wanted. The look on Andy’s face was still a little smug, though, as far as Chad was concerned. That wouldn’t do. Chad picked him up from under his legs, shoving him into the wall by the fireplace. They hadn’t done this position since the injury, and now Andy felt like a feather in his burly arms. He started to frot against Andy through the suit, the firmness of his cock apparent to Andy’s bare skin even through the fabric. After he couldn’t take it any longer, Chad slipped his dick through the opening in the crotch. His head pressed gently against Andy’s hole as it begged for release from the confines of the suit. “You’re going to cum soon if you keep going at this rate,” Andy advised. Chad didn’t seem to be paying much attention. “Alright then, you asked for it. Heel, boy.” Chad felt something like a rope slide around his wrists, shoulders, legs, and ankles, lightly at first and then just shy of painful. He couldn’t see anything physically binding him, but he guessed that Andy had constricted the suit at those points to allow control over Chad’s motions. Andy descended to the floor as Chad’s wrists drew closer to his ankles, and by the time his feet hit the ground Chad was already hogtied with his knees on the floor. “Let’s just take this nice and slow, okay?” Chad stared intently at Andy already knowing full well he could not disagree. He was using the full strength of his new body to pull against the binds to no avail. The more he flexed the tighter the binds became, and it was only making him harder. “I added that command in as a precaution in case you got a little too frisky, but I think I like you better this way. It reminds you who’s really in control here…” Andy trailed off. Chad’s cock still stuck out of his suit, full mast and dripping with pre. Andy knelt down gently and worked the tip of his tongue across his slit, slowly lapping up the sweet fluid that flowed steadily down his shaft. He carefully brought his lips down to meet the head as his tongue slid further down the shaft until his entire head was held inside Andy’s mouth. His tongue explored fluted edges of the expanding head, which always grew dramatically as he approached orgasm. Chad still held every muscle in tense opposition to the binds, starting to moan involuntarily as Andy held him constantly on edge. It might have been a byproduct of the spell, the fact that he was bound, or just from the absence of the pain that had plagued him, but the motion of Andy’s tongue incited more erogenous sensation than he could recall ever experiencing. All of his conscious thoughts were absorbed in the ecstasy of that moment. Andy pulled his mouth off of Chad’s dick, making a popping sound as his lips slid over the edges of the head. Now that Andy had released him from his blissful stupor, Chad slid slowly back into reality. He managed to angle his head so that he could look down at his cock, still pulsing, and noticed that it had not grown to match the rest of him. With some clarity finally returning to his thoughts, he managed to blurt out his burning question. “Andy, why didn’t you make me any bigger down there?” “Christ, aren’t you big enough?” Andy replied. Chad started to whimper in protest. What good was this body if it didn’t have the cock to match? Andy couldn’t help but smile at the behemoth who knelt entangled before him, begging him for more. “Hold on,” Andy said, flicking Chad’s cock hard with his middle finger on his way to emphasize his helplessness. Andy returned a few minutes later with a large, leather-bound book, leafing through the pages. Chad was still in binds, fully erect, and as far as Andy could tell still growing. Andy flipped through the pages of his tome looking for the addition to the spell that he needed, meanwhile allowing Chad to stand briefly before binding him again to a nearby chair. Ergonomics were important, after all. Once he found the incantation he was looking for, he studied it momentarily and began to recite it softly in the direction of the suit. The musical tones that escaped his lips were low and guttural, like a toad attempting a song in bass. The hair on the suit stood up as Andy made the changes to his previous spell. Within the first few notes, Chad’s dick started to throb with greater fervor than he thought possible. Each pulse left his dick just a little bit harder, thicker, longer, larger. The massive inflation of his already gigantic cock was almost painful, but Chad watched in ignorance of this as his dick grew larger by the second. “Happy?” Andy inquired after Chad’s cock had stopped growing. If Andy had to guess, it had gained about a third of its original size. Chad just stared at Andy through his lusty panda eyes. The renewed pre flowing exuberantly down his shaft like a small stream answered his question for him. Andy grabbed Chad by his joystick and started again where he had left off, realizing that his fingers barely fit around the shaft. Andy could feel Chad’s urethra pumping in his hands as the pre continued to flow. A few precursory strokes were followed with an attempt at fitting the massive rod in his mouth, but Andy was having some difficulty even fitting the head in. He had probably made Chad a little too large, even if Chad was too lost in ecstasy to recognize it. Andy made a mental note of things to change for the next time around. Without warning, Chad exploded into Andy’s mouth. While Andy did his best to swallow all of it, the force of his spray was augmented by the spell and the greater part of Chad’s cum spilled out through his lips, leaking back down onto Chad’s cock and groin. After gently removing his mouth from Chad’s head, Andy licked his lips. Slowly Chad’s convulsions died down and the semen stopped flowing. Andy and took a minute to clean himself up while he admired his handiwork. Chad’s body seemed as though it had not entirely finished growing, and even though he was still snugly bound Andy enjoyed watching his muscles tense as he resisted in futility. Meanwhile Chad had not quite finished his ejaculation, and shot a few extra spurts across Andy’s face. Andy chuckled a bit. The cum he was wiping off his nose and chin was nothing compared to the volume that ran down Chad’s shaft and soaked his groin. Andy took a few seconds to take in the whole scene, and then decided it was time to come to a close. “Kookaburra,” he whispered softly into Chad’s ear, citing the trigger word to inactivate the spell. Chad was perhaps too incapacitated to notice the changes, but Andy watched as he returned to his previous size, his cock the only feature that remained hard and proud as it returned to its former stature. His arms deflated, his chest sank, and his back shrank as the magic that had sustained his gargantuan body returned to the suit. Chad came back to his senses right around the end of the transformation. He removed the panda head, still reeling from the orgasm. Andy kissed him gently, the taste of Chad’s cum still fresh on his lips. “When can we do that again?” he asked. “Any time you like, big guy,” Andy said.

Three Fear filled Tristan's widened eyes as he was slowly span around to face Brock. He tried resisting and fighting back but his 124 pound body was totally overpowered by his brother's 241 pound buddy. His more-than-half-hard cock slapped against his skinny left leg while he was turned around. He quickly held his hands in front of it and looked up into the 5'8 man's eyes. "Just relax, man", Brock said as he looked down in the 5'5 little guy's dark brown eyes, "Don'tcha think it's time we had a real talk? Things can't go on like this. Yar bro and I are trying to help ya out". A pleasant warmth began flowing through Tristan as he listened to Brock's deep baritone voice. He felt his 5 incher harden fully beneath his hands as he was mere inches away from the amateur bodybuilder physique he'd admired for several years. Brock noticed the fear disappearing from the small boy's eyes and a hint of what seemed like a smile forming on his frail lips. A shiver travelled down his spine and his sight went dark for a second while he felt a tingling sensation between his meaty paws and the skin of the skinny guy's bony shoulders. He blinked his eyes to refocus his gaze. Tristan perceived pearls of sweat forming on the huge athlete's forehead. A faint moan escaped his mouth as the warmth increased exponentially throughout his frail body. He closed his eyes in pleasure. Brock looked down at the guy in front of him while the last black dots disappeared from his sight. His sight still was a bit foggy as if the steam in the shower zone kept him from seeing clearly. He noted the small, flat pecs and wondered why Tristan always wore baggy clothes: he looked decent enough like someone that had started working out a few months earlier. The tingling sensation made him look at his own paws and noticed the frail, yet squarish looking shoulders beneath them. He looked further down to discover the thin yet strong looking biceps with a prominent blue vein. The small guy had the typical surfer look with his nice tan. Brock looked back at the small boy's chest. He would have sworn the flat pecs looked bigger than a couple of minutes earlier. Tristan let out a second, louder moan as the warmth seemed to slip inside his bones and muscles. He reopened his eyes and stared at the meaty rack of hard muscle atop Brock's chest. The thought that the protruding pecs seemed less impressive than he'd imagined, flew through his mind. His cock felt harder than ever before and it throbbed behind his hands. Brock stared at the growing boy in his grasp in disbelief and blinked his eyes again, but the foggy ring at the edge of his gaze only got more intense and prevented him from seeing anything else than the frail boy in front of him. "Ya're getting bigger, T.", he said as he noticed the hardening four-pack. He looked up and saw the now even thicker pecs swelling with every breath the small boy took. He felt the bony shoulder beneath his paws hardening and thickening. Brad's little brother now looked like a surfer who had spent too much time in the gym. The tingling sensation between his meaty fingers and the swelling shoulders increased some more. Tristan heard the huge man's remark and looked down at his body. A disbelieved gasp escaped his mouth as he stared at his muscular and still growing physique. He'd gained a good 40 pounds and it showed clearly: every muscle on his body was bigger, it was like he was going through puberty once more right there. His hands fell away from his cock and a throbbing hard, 6 incher stood up straight in front of him. He looked up at the man holding him and noticed that Brock no longer looked like an amateur bodybuilder but more like an overbuild fitness model. Brock's gaze was glued to the growing guy's rock-hard cock and a jolt went through his own dick. "Fuck. Ya're getting big like yar bro", he said in a slightly higher voice. The tingling sensation expanded through his body and seemed to invade every one of his meaty muscles. A hint of fatigue made a tremor course through his thick quads, but he was too busy admiring the hardening physique in front of him to notice it. Tristan noted the much less rich baritone and looked at his brother's huge friend's face. He gasped when he saw Brock's face: his prominent jaw line was getting softer and made his squared masculine face beginning to look rectangular. He also realized he was looking straight into Brock's eyes. His mind quickly processed this realization and he suddenly knew where his new size was coming from: the prophecy he'd read in the frat house library was right. He was now just as tall as the guy that once towered 5 inches above him. Their bodies now weighed exactly the same, but looked clearly different: Tristan's was bulging with pure, ripped muscle and growing where Brock's was shaggy and somewhat blobby looking and obviously shrinking. Brock couldn't believe his eyes: the wimpy, frail boy before him was now looking like a contest ready physique competitor. The shoulder beneath his hands were broadening and thickening and began pushing open his fingers; the once flat pecs were now a nicely protruding rack of striated muscle atop a deeply grooved six-pack; the stick-like arms were replaced by strong looking, muscle-filled pipes that had to be around 18 inches. A throbbing motion made him look down and he saw the thick, rock-hard 8 inch cock protruding proudly from Tristan's body. The thick fog at the edge of his sight began dissipating and as he looked down he noticed his own chest. "No", he mumbled in a hig-pitched tenor voice, "where did my muscles go?". "Here", Tristan said in a now way deeper voice than Brock. His thickly muscled arms reached forward and he grabbed hold of his brother's friend's armpits. Instantly, more warmth rushed through his ever growing body. The tingling sensation from Brock's hands also appeared where Tristan's hands made contact with his body. A wave of exhaustion and weakness seemed to come over him as he felt his muscles being siphoned into the other man. "Let me… go", Brock said in a breaking voice and tried squirming free. He fought with every ounce of strength left in his weakening body and manage to loosen the grasp around his ribs. Tristan felt his brother's friend breaking his hold but quickly replaced his hands in his armpits and applied more pressure. His growing body got stronger with every passing second while Brock's diminishing one only got weaker. "Feed me your size!", he boomed in his deepening baritone voice and let the energy and mass flow into him. Brock tried freeing his hands from the swelling shoulders but they were fused to the now boulder-sized orbs of muscle. His eyes widened as he felt his feet leave the floor: the guy he'd outsized by nearly 120 pound just minutes earlier now held him effortlessly in the air. "Put me down, T.", Brock pleaded desperately as his body now sank below 160 pounds. He fought and squirmed but the grasp around his torso got stronger and stronger. "Ya still have more left to give", Tristan replied as he enjoyed the feeling of being all-powerful and dominating the huge stud he'd luster after ever since he'd first seen him. Brock just stared at the ever-growing beast that held him, tears flowing from his eyes: Brad's little brother was quickly closing in on his own old size and showed no signs of stopping. His heavy, striated protruding pecs heaved bigger with every breath and each time maintained their new size, the tanned skin was stretched tight across the inflating mounds of meat and stretch marks began appearing at the top and sides of the massive rack as the quickly growing muscles pushed the paper-thin skin to its limits; the arms that held him up were perfectly round and bulged with muscle and snaking veins as they now clearly surpassed the 23 inches he once had; the six-pack had evolved into an impossibly deeply edged eight-pack; his once stick-like legs now were pillars of strength that easily supported his growing body and his rock-hard cock was closing in on a double-digit-length and the girth of a coke can. "Please, give my muscles back", he pleaded in a girly voice. Tristan looked into the tear-filled eyes of his brother's best friend. A smirk formed on his lips as he realized how easily he held the once huge athlete up: the once huge Brock felt like a feather in his swelling 25 inch arms. Brock's intimidating, masculinity-oozing body had shriveled down to the same pathetic size he'd been minutes earlier and kept getting weaker in his grasp. His own, now huge body felt energized and strong as warmth and mass kept flowing into him and fed his growing muscles. "Fuck. This feels so good", he said in his rich, deep voice. Brock noticed the hungry look in Tristan's dark brown eyes and he realized the guy wasn't going to give his muscles back. His own eyes widened as he marveled at the guy's body: the wimpy boy he'd always known now surpassed his size at his prime. The muscles bulging all over the man's growing body kept amassing more mass. The man holding him up wasn't simply huge, he was growing beastly: shoulders now twice the size his had been and perfectly round, gave him an impossibly intimidating v-taper. Fatigue began overwhelming his own diminishing body as he sank below 100 pounds. Tristan felt his growth coming to an end and summoned the last ounces of strength from the weak body in his grasp. "FUCK YEEAH!", he boomed in a deep bass that echoed against the tilled walls and rattled the wimpy frame in his grasp. He tossed the now 80 pound Brock aside and looked down at his own 284 pound body. He looked like an ultra-heavy weight bodybuilder ready to compete: every muscle on his 6'1 frame was pumped, hard and ripped and rippled beneath his paper-thin tanned skin. His 12 inch cock exploded against the tilled walls, flooding the shower zone with his sticky man juices. He abandoned the wimpy Brock and swaggered out of the shower zone, his heavy footsteps echoing through the frat house. Brock lay down on the cold, wet tilled floor and waited for the sound of the heavy footsteps to fade. He got up slowly, his skinny legs quaking with fatigue: he felt like he'd just gone through a grueling workout. He avoided looking at his reflection in the mirror, put on his shirt and sighed: the once skintight tank top now hung like a tent around his 80 pound body. He wandered over to his room and stumbled backward as he saw the huge Tristan coming out of it with some of his clothes tossed over his bowling ball-sized left shoulder. He waited a few seconds and went into his room. All his clothes were tossed around the place. He picked the now way too big shirts and pants up, put them back in the closet and heard his phone vibrating. He went for it and noticed a text from his buddy Brad. Got my bro's text. Seems like ya guys having a great time. Will be spending the night at Emilys. Have fun. B. Brock put his phone aside, got in bed and cried himself to sleep. The next morning Brad came back to the frat house with a smile on his face. He'd spent a very good night with Emily, like they always did. "Just in time for my morning workout with Brock", he said as he entered their mutual room. "Who are you?", he said as he saw a small guy standing in the center of the room. Brock jumped up at the sound of his best friend's voice. He turned around and had to look up to look at Brad's face, his best friend was now a full head taller than him. "It's me", he said, his weak voice breaking as he began crying. "Brock?", Brad asked incredulously as he recognized the patheticly skinny boy, "What happened to ya?". "Your brother… in the shower… my muscles…", Brock muttered in between sighs and sobs. Brad closed the distance between them and put his hands around his best friend. "It's okay, man. I'm here for ya", he said as he gently patted the frail back. Brock let his best friend comfort him. For the first time since he'd lost all his muscles, he actually felt safe. His now 100 pound heavier friend's embrace filled his weak body with warmth. "So, my brother did this to ya?", Brad asked, "but how?". "Don't know", Brock peeped in his girly voice, "my muscles just flowed into him when we were in the shower last night." "I'll go talk to him. He has to give yar muscles back. I'll make him do it!", Brad said. "He won't listen to you", Brock replied. "Don't underestimate me, buddy", Brad said and flexed his 17 inch right arm, "Come on, let's go talk to him!". "You don't get it: he's huge now. Way bigger than you are", Brock stated as he looked at his buddy's flexed arm with envy. Brad noticed Brock staring at his arm and quickly relaxed his pose. "No worry, buddy. I'm his big bro. He has to listen", he said as he gently ruffled his best friend's hair and went to the door. He stepped through the frat house to the part where his brother was staying, his buddy Brock following close behind him. He slammed open the door of the first room and stormed in, Brock right behind him. Someone had pulled the mattresses from the two beds and placed them together in the center of the room. But otherwise the room was deserted. "What are ya runts doing here?". The deep, thundering bass rumbled against the walls, rattled the windows and resonated in Brad's and Brock's bodies. They spun around and saw Tristan entering the room. The small Brock retreated behind his bigger buddy as the beastly teen came in. Brad looked in awe at his younger brother: every huge muscle on his body seemed ready to jump through the skintight hoodie he was wearing; the prominent vein snaking along his upper arms was clearly visible through the fabric. Not wanting to show his intimidation, he stepped up to his brother to confront him. He gulped as he had to look up slightly to stare him in the eye and he noticed that his brother's insanely wide shoulders were more than twice as broad as his own. "You took Brock's muscles?", he asked as deeply as possible. "Yep", Tristan replied matter-of-factly", I also took his hoodie". "Give them back", Brad stated, ignoring how his brother's deep bass drowned his own voice. "Or else what?", Tristan replied and put his hands on his hips and flared his lats, making his body double in width. The stretched hoodie protested with a tearing sound as it split open under the pressure of the beastly teen's wide back. Brad couldn't help it and took a step back instinctively. "Just give them back, bro", he said. "Ya're gonna make me?", Tristan asked coldly and inhaled deeply to make his huge chest expand. More tearing sounds came from the hoodie and the zipper at the front was pushed down by the massive mounds of striated muscle. "I… ehm", Brad began but words died in his throat as he laid eyes on the deep cleavage between his huge brother's thick pecs. More intimidation flowed through him and he had to summon all his willpower not to take another step back. Tristan saw the look of doubt in his older brother's eyes and a smirk formed on his lips. "Well?", he said. Before his brother could react, he shoved him in the chest. Brad didn't know what hit him. One moment he was standing in front of his now massive brother, the next he flew through the room and crashed down on the mattresses. He coughed as he got up to his knees. A huge paw grabbed hold of his shirt and lifted him up. He stared in disbelief at his younger brother as the beastly teen held his 185 pound body effortlessly up with his right arm. "Ya're in no position to tell me what to do, bro. Got it?", Tristan boomed angrily. Brad clutched at his brother's massive arm, trying to break free. "Guess I'm no longer 'little T.' like ya called me. Seems like 'little B.' is just a bug in my grasp", Tristan said as he shook his brother back and forth, "I'm calling the shots now. Got it, little bro?". Brad nodded, knowing full well he was no match for his beastly brother. He'd never felt more scared. "Now get lost!", Tristan boomed and tossed his brother into the corridor. Brock sprinted toward his best friend and the two of them quickly got away.

One "Come on. One more, buddy!" Brad grunted from the effort, his face beet red as he curled the 100 pound barbell up. "10", he groaned between his teeth as he completed his rep. "Nice job, man", Brock said as he helped his buddy lower the barbell back down and place it on the floor. Both aged 21, the two had been friends ever since their first day in kindergarten and had always been in the same class up until university. Even then, they had both chosen Orchid University. After setting their first steps in the gym at age 15, they had continued working out together on a daily base and joined their high school's football team. Now they we're both among the star players of the university football team. Brad controlled his fast breathing and looked down at his former roommate grabbing the 120 pound bar from the rack. "Come on, final set!", he said to his buddy as he sat down on a bench, exhausted from their workout and took a sip from his shake. "Fuck yeah!", Brock growled as he began curling the barbell with perfect control. "Grow", he said to his arms, his big biceps swelling with every rep as more blood flowed into them. "8, agh, 9, agh, ten…", he groaned, "gimme a spot, man!". Brad got up from the bench and stood in front of his roommate. He placed his fingers underneath the middle of the barbell and assisted the movement. "Come on, one more!", he said to encourage Brock. "Eleuhven…", Brock grunted. His body trembled as he lowered the barbell back down. "Tweuhlve". Brad's eyes widened as his roommate went on to complete twenty reps before he helped him put the barbell down. While Brock grabbed his towel from the nearby bench, Brad looked at his own reflection in the mirror. He grinned and raised his right arm in a flex. The pumped bicep hardened atop his meaty arm, blue veins snaking along the muscle. "How big are those guns?", Brock asked as he emptied his shake and looked up at his buddy. "Just under 18 inches pumped", Brad replied and hardened his flex some more. Brock moved next to his friend and raised his right arm to copy his pose. His bicep, pumped and red from the workout, mounded upward as he brought in his lower arm. The peak pushed against his skin and a web of blue, thick veins fed the steely orb. "Nice man", Brad said while he stared at the obviously bigger arm. "22,5 inches all pumped", Brock stated with pride. "Let's hit the shower, man", he said as he relaxed his arm and strutted toward the exit. "Yeah", Brad answered. "So, any other news?", he asked as he caught up with his buddy. "I told ya a million times, man: I'm not the president of the frat. Just be patient", Brock said and patted his buddy on the back. "I've been waiting for an invite ever since we've got here three years ago. You got in during the second semester of our freshman year. This year is my last shot", Brad went on. Ever since Brock had been allowed into the Dexameni-frat, the most exclusive frat on campus that housed most of the top athletes, he'd been jealous. He'd been checking his locker for an invite every day since his best buddy had gotten in. Brock turned to face Brad, grabbed his shoulders and made him look in his eyes. "Your chance will come, buddy. Be patient!", he said in a loud tone to cut off Brad. He released his friend and continued his way to the locker room. Brad sighed, knowing his friend was right and followed him inside. The locker room was completely deserted. They took off their sweaty workout gear in silence. Brad was down to his boxers and reached for his locker when he noticed the little black envelope. "No way", he mumbled and took it. His hands trembled as he ripped it open and read the piece of paper inside. You've proven worthy to join the ranks of the Dexameni-frat. Report to the frat house this Friday at 1900h "Good news?", Brock asked, keeping his back to Brad as he stripped completely. "I'm in!", Brad blurted out. "Told ya to be patient, buddy. I'm glad for ya", Brock replied and strutted toward the shower zone. He turned on the shower and let the hot water cascade down on his muscular body. He looked aside to Brad standing under the shower to his right. "Did ya bulk up during summer?", he asked, "Ya look bigger than last year". "Yeah", Brad answered, "I'm up to 182. I'm catching up, buddy". Brock smiled at the reaction. Even though Brad was a tad taller, 5'9 to his own 5'8, their bodies looked different. Brad had the muscular physique of a ripped fitness model, while he had the heavily muscled look of a bulky amateur bodybuilder. "Still some work ahead, buddy. I've gained some mass too: up to 229,3 pounds." Brad turned to his side and faced his buddy. Every muscle on Brock's body looked fuller than his defined ones. "Ready to burst through the 230 mark, he big guy. We'd better change your nickname from B-rock to B-wall", he said. "My abs look better though." He caressed the grooves of his ripped six-pack. A smug grin appeared on Brock's face when his friend used his nickname. He'd always liked being called b-rock; it made him feel even bigger than he was. "Ya know what they say", he said playfully, "abs on a skinny guy don't count". He flexed his abs in response, making his somewhat protruding muscle gut harden. "You're lucky we're friends. I should have kicked your ass for that remark", Brad stated with a smile. They always fooled around but he knew his buddy always had his back. "Kick my ass? You and what army?", Brock answered in an amused tone. He turned to his right and faced his friend. Brad's defined muscles gave him an athletic look. His own muscles were clearly fuller and rounder, his shoulder's half again as wide than his buddy's. "Think ya could challenge the b-rock?", he asked as he threw a most muscular. Brad stared at his 229 pound friend flexing right in front of him. The bulky muscles hardened all over his broad frame: his thick arms digging into the rack of pecs atop his muscle gut, his meaty quads pushing against each other. "At least, I'm taller", he said with a smirk and stood tall to stretch out his 5'9 frame. "Ya have to have something to attract some female attention", Brock replied playfully, " otherwise no one would notice ya next to me." He relaxed his pose and gently punched his friend in the shoulder. "Na. You're lucky to have your big muscles. Your ugly face scares off anyone", Brad answered. "Thanks for helping me get in the frat. I really appreciate it, man", he said and thankfully patted his buddy's broad back. "I'm happy I could help. See ya on Friday for the initiation", Brock said as he turned off the shower and strutted away from the shower zone, water sliding along the crevices of his bulky muscles. Two days later, Brad made his way over to the Dexameni-frat house. His legs quivered slightly with every step he took and his stomach clenched together: it felt like his first day of school again. He looked up at the façade of the mansion he'd passed nearly daily since he's been on campus. Two flexed, muscular arms were painted on the wide door and the name of the frat of his dreams sat atop it: DEXAMENI. Brad inhaled deeply to calm his nerves and stepped up toward the entrance. He knocked three times and waited. What seemed like an eternity passed before the heavy wooden doors opened squeakingly. A muscular, bare-chested figure appeared in the dark corridor. "Come in!", a deep baritone boomed. Brad sighed, he had recognized Brock's deep voice and eagerly entered the frat house. "I'm glad it's you, Brock", he said, "I'm…". "Silence!", Brock rumbled, "you only speak when spoken too! Follow me!". Brad jumped up as the heavy doors closed behind him and by the harsh tone of his best friend. He nodded and followed the big guy through the long, dark corridor. Brock opened a door on his right and entered, his smaller buddy following right behind. "Strip down to your boxers", he said and folded his meaty arms in front of his protruding pecs. Brad obeyed and stripped off his clothes until he was standing in his American flag boxers in front of his friend. "So what's next?", he asked. "SILENCE!", Brock roared. Brad shivered, his friend's deep baritone rumbling inside his stomach. Brock led his friend into another room and made him wait by the door while he stepped up to the center of the room. He stopped at the base of a wooden staircase that led to an altar with a throne behind it. "O great leader", he said as he looked up to the figure in the throne, "I bring you a new recruit that wishes to join the ranks of our noble frat." "Bring him before me", the leader replied. Brock walked back to the door where Brad was standing and brought him to the center of the room. Brad's heart pounded nervously but the feeling of his buddy standing behind him, comforted him. "Step forward, brothers", he figure on the throne said. The other frat members appeared from the shadows and formed a circle around Brad and Brock. All of them were bare-chested like Brock and looked at Brad. Brad looked around and recognized Orchid University's star athletes. Their muscular torsos glistened as if they had been oiled up. He saw two of his teammates from the football team, the three top wrestlers and some other athlete's he didn't know which sport they played. He looked up at the figure on the throne and recognized him as the captain of the swim team. He wondered why the clearly smallest guy in the room was the leader of the frat. Keith, the frat leader, stepped from his throne and looked down at Brad. "Everyone that wishes to join the noble DEXAMENI-frat needs the advocacy of a senior member. Step forward he that backs this recruits acceptance!". Brad looked around nervously, but none of the frat members moved an inch. He felt his heartbeat going up, seeing his long awaited dream shattering before his eyes. "I support his candidacy!" Brad inhaled in relief as he heard Brock's voice and felt his buddy's paw atop his shoulder. "Very well", Keith said, "You have the support you need, recruit. Now let's see if you're truly worthy of joining the noble DEXAMENI-frat!". Before Brad could react, his boxers were yanked down and he stood fully exposed amidst his fellow athletes. He felt the blood race to his face and his cheeks started reddening. He moved his hands to cover his cock but two frat members moved in and tightly held his arms at his sides. He felt Brock's left paw grab his side and steady him. He inhaled deeply as his best friend's right paw grabbed his soft cock and began stroking it. He felt his cock harden and swell inside the strong paw that clenched around his inflating shaft. Within seconds he was rock hard. He looked down and saw that his fully hard 8 incher was completely engulfed by Brock's meaty paw. He noticed the tension on the corded muscles atop his friend's lower arm as the paw kept clutching his cock. His breathing fastened more and more as he felt on the verge of orgasm. "UGHN", he groaned as Brock gave his rock hard 8 incher a final, very hard squeeze and his balls spewed out their load. Six heavy blasts shot from his cock in an arch through the air before splattering down several feet further. He felt his muscles relax but the strong grasp of the two frat members that were holding his arms, kept him upright. He sighed in relief as Brock released his softening cock and grabbed his sides with both hands to steady him. "Seven feet and nine inches far", Keith said, "He's worthy of joining our noble DEXAMENI-frat!". The other frat members cheered as their leader grabbed the chalice from the altar and moved in front of Brad. He nodded at Brock. Brad felt his buddy release his right flank and grab his half-hard cock again. "Ughn", he grunted as his cock was stroked back to hardness. His drained balls stabbed in protest as a second orgasm was milked out of them only minutes after the first. His entire body went rigid as the warm, meaty paw grabbed his balls and clenched them together. Three watery loads leaked from his nearly fully hard cock into the chalice Keith held at its end. He would have collapsed as Brock hadn't grabbed his left armpit so secure him. He looked down and saw his buddy pull up his boxers before the warm right paw grabbed his other armpit. A feeling of relief went through his exhausted body. Keith shook the chalice, held it above his head for all the frat members to see it and placed it back on the altar. He turned around and looked back at Brad. "Welcome to our ranks, Brad!", he said, "now, let's party!". The frat members howled loudly and left the chamber. Bard followed them, not caring he was in his boxers. The feeling of finally being part of the frat filled him with joy.

Seven Chris shot up in his bed, his heart pounding in his heaving chest, his pajamas slick with sweat and his cock half-hard. He turned on the light and inhaled deeply in relief as he discovered his own hotel room. He scanned the room intently but didn't find any trace of Jeremy or his cousin. "Just a dream", he said to comfort himself and laid back down on the bed to try and get some more sleep. Hours later, he awoke from a deep. He put on his clothes and went down to get some breakfast. He entered the almost abandoned restaurant, quickly filled his plate with a tiny, half-sized serving and installed himself at a table in the furthest corner as far away as possible from the few other couples that had come in to eat. He absentmindedly played with the food on his plate as he tried to think back at what really happened a day earlier. After his dream, he was not sure if he had worked out with Jeremy or just dreamed that as well. "This seat taken?" The baritone voice pulled Chris back to reality and he looked up. Jeremy stared down at his diminished rival with a casual grin on his lips. He put two overly stuffed plates on the table and returned to the buffet to get some more food. Chris stared at the 265 pound athlete that walked back toward his table. The grey tank-top hung loose around the man's tight waist but clung tightly around the protruding rack of pecs that stretched the fabric and hugged his wide lats on his broad back. Jeremy put two more overly filled plates on the table and sat down. He dug in with great appetite, emptying the first plate quickly. "That all you eat?", he asked as he attacked his second serving and noticed the small amount of food of his fallen rival, "I wouldn't last half an hour on such a small breakfast". "No, not feeling too hungry today", Chris replied and stared at the big man's bulging arms that brought the food to his mouth. "You're not sick, are you? You left so soon in the gym yesterday too", Jeremy said as he continued wolfing down the food. "No, but…", Chris blurted out, "I ehm… I'm done. Going back to my room" He got up from his seat. Jeremy's paw grabbed hold of his forearm, encircling it completely. "Bring back two more plates for me. Got to fuel my body for my workout", Jeremy said and released his rival's arm. "Okay", Chris said but the big man had already returned his attention to his food. He wandered over to the buffet and randomly chose food he piled on two big plates. He returned to their table, glancing and marveling at the defined muscles bulging at the back of the huge guy's shoulders as he put the two servings on the table. "Thanks, man", Jeremy said as he shoved the empty third plate aside and attacked the fourth pile of food without looking up, "You're going to keep staring at my back or sit down?". Chris shook his head and sat down quickly, staring at the 265 pound bodybuilder in front of him. It struck him how good Jeremy looked: his chiseled, manly face oozed masculinity atop the muscle-filled frame. He had never noticed it before, not even when he had gone up against the guy. But his rival's face sure had evolved to match his beefed up body. Chris felt his dick inflate slowly in his pants. "I'm stuffed", Jeremy said as he put the sixth, empty plate aside and gently patted his strong six-pack. He turned his look on his diminished rival and noticed the small guy ogling his muscles. Enjoying the admiring look, he pretended not to notice and casually scratched the back of his head, intently making his 22 inch right arm bulge in the process. Chris just kept staring. His gaze followed the meaty arm as it was raised upward, his eyes widened at the pace the magnificent ball of muscle hardened and so did his dick in his baggy sweatpants. Jeremy continued looking the 100 pound smaller guy in the eye, his mind busy savoring the feelings the admiration of his former rival formed in his body. He could feel his cock starting to go plump. He simply raised his right arm in front of his protruding chest and flexed it. The 22 inch orb of steely power, crisscrossed with blue veins jumped up into a stony ball. "Wanna feel?", he asked as he saw the lusty look in the smaller guy's eyes. "I… ehm…", Chris said and looked around carefully. "It's fine. No one can see us in this corner. Go ahead", Jeremy stated and hardened his flex some more. His cock inflated further in his pants. Chris slowly extended his trembling hand. He felt the heat radiating from the hard ball of muscle as his fingers reached for it. "Was everything okay?" Chris looked at the waitress that appeared at their table straight in the eye, his hand frozen mere inches away from the flexed, bulging bicep. The girl stared back in the athletic guy's eyes. Her gaze dropped a bit and followed the 159 pounds man's arm that was reaching out over the table. Chris followed her gaze. Feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, his face turned beat red, he pulled back his hand and stared down at the table. The girl instantly knew what was happening by Chris' reaction and the smug grin on the huge bodybuilder's face. "You guys, enjoy your day", she said as she grabbed the empty plates and disappeared into the kitchen. Chris looked back up, a hint of disappointment in his eyes as he noticed that the 265 pound bodybuilder had relaxed his arm. "Where you going?", he asked as his now huge rival got up slowly. He drank in the sight of the body stretching the tank top snugly across the strong, protruding pecs, the nice, perfectly round delts sticking out widely to support the hard-looking, arms with veins snaking along the solid masses bulging on his upper arms. He also noticed the outline of the huge man's plump cock in his workout shorts. "Time to hit the gym.", Jeremy replied and swaggered away without looking back. Chris' gaze followed his now 100 pound heavier rival who strutted proudly through the restaurant. Most of the few people that were still in there did the same; some of them commenting on how gross and apelike the guy looked, others simply shaking their head in disbelief. "I thought those freaks didn't exist anymore", a woman said to the man as Chris passed by their table. "Some insecure people never mature and overcompensate. To immature to handle the real world and seeks excuses in the gym. You should actually feel sorry for that weak boy in his grotesque body", the man replied. Chris shook his head slightly as he heard the remark, his mind still filled with the image of the veiny, rock-hard ball of muscle and his cock still half-hard hidden in his baggy sweatpants, not understanding how someone could not appreciate such a physique. He went up to his room to get his thoughts straight. Whatever he tried, his mind kept going back at the bulging body of his rival. After half an hour of futile efforts, rearranging the few clothes he'd brought several times, he gave in to his urges and headed for the gym. He carefully looked around when he reached the entrance and quietly entered the surprisingly silent hotel gym. Since the hotel was owned by one of the major sponsors of the LTB, the gym was equipped with the latest machines and lots of free weights. Chris cautiously walked through the totally deserted cardio area with two rows of vacant bikes and treadmills. He heard some faint grunts and the familiar clanging sound as he neared the adjacent room marked: "The pit". The habitual scent of sweaty musk filled his nose when he entered the land of iron he'd once ruled. Careful not to get seen, he slid against the wall toward the source of the sound. Hidden by the machines, he sat down silently on the floor opposite of where the only other living being in the room was training. "Yeah! One more!", Jeremy grunted between his teeth as he lowered the bar of the smith machine to his chest. He pushed the bar back up once more and racked it with a loud clang. Chris inhaled sharply as the huge man sat up: his bulky rival was working out shirtless, giving him a clear look of his heavily muscled torso. Striations exploded across the protruding rack of pumped pecs as Jeremy swung his arms back and forth to stretch the muscle. He stood up and grabbed two more plates to add to the bar, his vein-crossed arms hardening as he pulled up the weight and placed it on the bar. Chris drank in the sight, not believing how huge his formerly smaller rival had gotten. His mouth hung open in disbelief, respect and lust; his flaccid cock filling with blood as it swelled inside his baggy sweatpants. Jeremy got back under the bar and lowered the weight slowly to his pumped chest. He cranked out five perfect reps before his arms started shaking slightly. He puffed and grunted as he lowered the bar a sixth time. Chris saw the bodybuilder's face turn red and the struggle in his movements. He feared that the guy would get caught under the heavy bar and started to get up, even though he knew full well he could never budge the bar since his rival was benching more weight than he had done at his prime. He froze in his movement, his eyes widening in amazement as he saw the bar moving up. He slumped back down against the wall in awe, his dick slowly swelling past half-hardness. Jeremy pushed with all his might, his protruding, pumped pecs burning in stabbing pain and his thick triceps bulging at the back of his thick arms. "YEAH!", he growled as his mighty muscles pushed up the heavy bar. He racked it and rested atop the bench, his strong arms hanging relaxed at his sides and his pumped chest heaving up and down as he took in deep breaths. Chris simply stared at the sight, his hand slipping automatically in his sweatpants and grabbing his nearly completely hard cock. Driving by instinctive urges, he began stroking his still swelling cock. After about a minute, Jeremy's well-trained body had nearly recovered and the 265 pound man got up from the bench. He laid down on the floor and began doing pushups to complete his training. The masses of hard muscles on his torso bulged as he forced them to crank out perfect reps. Striations exploded across the surface of his wide chest, his six-pack formed a hard, deeply grooved armor and veins snaked along the muscles of his thick arms, even his traps bulged thickly aside his neck. Chris kept stroking his now fully hard 7 inch cock as he marveled at the scene. His heart skipped a beat and his hand froze in its movement as his huge rival suddenly stared directly in his eyes. Jeremy was focusing on his form but a faint sound made him look in front of him. A look of disbelief followed by a smug grin formed on his face as he made eye contact with his fallen rival. "Enjoying the show?", he asked in between breaths as he noticed the action the smaller guy was in. The thought of turning on the guy that had dominated him the last two years sent a jolt of energy through his body and he upped the pace of his pushups. He could also feel arousal pumping through him and hardening his already plump cock in his shorts. Chris jumped up and rushed out the gym, his hand still around his hard cock. He jumped inside his room, locked the door and laid down on his bed as he jerked off thinking about the majestic body of his rival pumping ironing. "Yeaughn, Jeremy!", he groaned as he came minutes later, a meager load of cum splattering from his 7 incher onto his shirt. Jeremy was strutting back to his suite, his chest pumped after his grueling workout. He had gotten up right after his small rival had rushed away, grabbed his tank top and left the gym bare-chested. He was walking by the door where Chris had bumped into him the other day when he heard the lust filled, orgasmic moan followed by his name. His own hard dick jolted in his shorts, tenting them obscenely, as the thought of making his former rival get off by his body hit him. He grabbed the tank top resting atop his wide, round delt, rubbed it under his armpit to get his scent on it and left it in the middle of the hallway. He knocked on the door of his rival's room and headed for his own suite without waiting. Inside, he stripped and stepped into the shower, enjoying how the hot water cascaded down on his pumped torso and stroking his throbbing 7 incher. His rock-hard cock exploded five thick loads against the tilled wall. A wicked smile formed on his lips as an idea crossed his mind. He turned off the shower and grabbed a towel. The knock on the door made Chris jump up atop his bed. "Who's there?", he asked as he got up and tried to wipe the small cum stain off his shirt. The dark patch on the blue fabric only got wider and he quickly pulled the shirt off. "Who's there?", he asked once again as he pulled on another shirt and opened the door. He looked around but didn't see anyone but his eyes were drawn to a grey object in the middle of the corridor. It looked strangely familiar and he grabbed it. The scent of sweat and musk invaded his nose as he lifted it up. His flaccid dick jolted faintly in his pants as he realized he was holding his huge rival's tank top. He brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply, taking in the manly stench. He went back into his room, carefully laying his new trophy on the chair. Another, louder knock on the door ended Chris' trail of thoughts. He opened the door and automatically shuffled backward a step as he saw his now huge rival standing there. "Hi man", Jeremy said, "you didn't see my tank top, did you? I lost it. Already looked in the gym but it isn't there. It's my favorite one, that fits just right." Chris didn't react. He was too busy taking in the sight of the 265 pound bodybuilder standing mere inches from him. His rival was only wearing a pair of black sweatpants, so he had front row tickets to the exposed, still pumped torso. "Well, did you see it?", Jeremy said and slightly bounced his pecs. "I… uhm", Chris muttered as the protruding chest danced a little and cut off his speak. "Oh, you found it", Jeremy said as he noticed his tank top nicely draped atop the chair. "Ehm… yes", Chris replied and reluctantly pulled his gaze away from the muscle-covered torso. He turned around and went to fetch the tank top. He jumped up as he heard his door shut. He turned around and saw his huge rival locking it. "What are you doing?", he asked as heard the clicking sound of the lock jumping into place. "You didn't really think I lost my shirt right in front of your room, did you?", Jeremy asked and folded his thick arms across his chest, making the muscles bulge into each other. "Ehm… What… what do you mean?", Chris mumbled as he felt his heartbeat going up. Fear and arousal were fighting in his mind. The object of his lust standing a few feet away but he knew he was no match for his rival if the guy would decide to beat him up. Jeremy saw the look in his former rival's eyes and put his hands on his hips as he spoke: "Yesterday during our workout you were more into staring at me in the mirror than into working out. This morning you didn't take your eyes off my body at breakfast. And then you sneaked into the gym to stare at my during my workout. Then you jerked off thinking off my body, didn't you?". Chris lowered his head as he muttered "yes" and put his hands up in a defensive reflex, knowing full well he didn't stand a chance against the 265 pound man. "Thought so", Jeremy replied, " You're damn right. My body's just so much better than yours. Bigger, broader, more muscular. That your victory tank top. The one you got when you became world champion?". "Yes", Chris mumbled weakly as his rival grabbed his customized red tank top from his bag. He lowered his arms and stared at the huge bodybuilder putting it on. "See how tiny it looks on me", Jeremy said. Chris nodded in response and took in the sight: the tank top only covered half of his rival's chest, the wide, protruding muscles spilling from it at both sides and even his hard, downward pointing nipples were exposed; his broad, round, cannonball-sized delts stuck out completely from the fabric that did hung loose around the bodybuilder's waist. Chris instinctively stepped a bit back as he realized just how massive his rival had become: the tank top that had fit him like a glove at his prime, looked ridiculous on his rival and made the guy appear even bigger. His flaccid cock pulsed slightly inside his baggy sweatpants as it swelled slowly with blood. His diminished libido prevented him from sporting wood right there after his recent jerk off. Jeremy looked back into his fallen rival's eyes and noticed the mixture of fear and pleasure had been replaced by a lust-filled look. He enjoyed the feeling of totally outsizing his once bigger rival. The way the smaller guy reacted on his own, upgraded body sent another jolt of pleasure through him. His own soft cock was already half-hard again in his snug fitting sweatpants and inflating further steadily. "This thing's too small", he said and pulled off the small tank top. He stepped out off his black sweatpants, tossed them aside and turned back to face his fallen rival, wearing nothing but a pair of dark briefs. "Well, what do you think?", he asked and looked his rival straight in the eyes. Chris scanned the sight in front of him: the huge body oozed masculinity. The stunning symmetry and perfect proportions of the striated, clearly outlined muscles simply looked divine. "You look way beyond me at my prime", he said in awe as he mentally compared his contest ready physique to the perfect man. Jeremy grinned smugly at the remark and put his hands together in front of his briefs, causally flexing his protruding chest and thick arms in the process. "Let's compare", he said and moved in to remove the smaller guy's clothes. Chris didn't resist. He knew he was no match for his now huge rival and was too busy admiring the sight of the mounds of muscle flexing and bulging on the big body as it moved to him. The big man gently took off his loose shirt and pulled down his baggy sweatpants. He let the big man strip him, enjoying the feeling of not being in control. Soon enough he was in the same state of the 265 pound bodybuilder, standing there in just his black and red boxers. Jeremy took a step back and grinned as he looked at the diminished body of the man that outsized just weeks earlier. "I look like a boy next to you", Chris said before the huge bodybuilder could speak, " We're still the same height but your shoulders are twice as wide as mine." "Nice cannonballs, aren't they?", Jeremy replied and shrugged his shoulders, making striations and veins explode across the round surface of his wide delts. "And your arms, man. Way bigger than mine ever were", Chris went on as he inspected his rival's physique in detail. "22 inchers. Real boulders!", Jeremy answered and went into a doubled bicep pose. Veins snaked over the round rocks as they swelled into hardness atop his arms. He felt his cock harden fully by the lust-filled remarks and appreciative looks of his former rival. It clearly tented his dark briefs. "Man, none of the others stand a chance against you. You'll dwarf them all!", Chris said and noted the tented briefs on the huge bodybuilder. His lust took over and he moved in. He squatted down in front of his divine looking rival, pulled down the strained briefs, grabbed the turgid 7 incher that smacked against the armor-hard six-pack and took it in his mouth. "Oh fuck", Jeremy groaned in surprise as his 100 pound lighter rival began sucking on his rock-hard cock. "Never thought you were a cocksucker", he moaned and caressed the pepper and salt colored hair of the small guy as he looked down on him. Chris licked and sucked the throbbing 7 incher in his mouth. He turned his eyes up and stared into squared face looking down on him past the protruding rack of pecs. A grin formed on Jeremy's lips as he noted the covetous look in the piercing blue eyes of his fallen rival and he realized the smaller guy was awaiting his approval. "Go on, little guy. Suck", he grunted and grabbed the back of his rival's head to push his 7 incher in completely. Chris gagged a little as the rock-hard entered his mouth totally, but the approval of the divine bodybuilder just intensified his actions. He placed his hands on the strong ass and sucked with all his force, his tongue licking and teasing the shaft in his mouth while his nose was pushed into the trimmed pubes. His own cock hard and oozing precum in his boxers. "YEAUGHN!", Jeremy bellowed as orgasm exploded through his 265 pound body and all of his mighty muscles flexed. Four thick blasts of his sticky cum geysered from his cock into his small rival. He released his head and let him slump down to the floor. He inhaled deeply, his protruding chest heaving in post-orgasmic bliss and noticed the wet stain on his rival's boxers. "Unexpected, but the best head I've ever had" he said as he sat down on the bed, his hyper-trained body recovering quickly from his second orgasm in half an hour. A smile of joy formed on Chris' lips at the bodybuilder's remark. He got up on his knees and crawled toward the big object of his lust. He positioned his own frailer body in between the beefy, deeply grooved quads, roaming the surface of the steely muscles with his hands. He stared up and smiled in reverence at the huge man. Jeremy looked down as his small rival installed himself between his tree-sized legs. He noticed the submissive look in the blue eyes and once again patted the still athletic looking guy's hair. His cock jumped back to full hardness in mere seconds as his mind assessed the new situation: not only did he totally dwarf and dominate his once bigger rival, the guy was lusting after him. "You don't mind being number two?", he asked as he gently groped the smaller athlete's shoulder, easily digging into the muscle that felt soft under his touch. Chris nodded 'no' without taking his eyes off the huge bodybuilder's masculine face. "We're rivals no more, man. I'm a boy next to you. No way I'm in your league anymore. I've always enjoyed how my muscular physique turned on others", he said, "but you look way better than I ever did. I bet I wouldn't look that good if I weighed the same you do now. You're so aesthetic, simply… perfect." Without saying anything else, he took the throbbing 7 incher in front of his face in his mouth and sucked it again with all his force. "Fuuuuuck", Jeremy moaned as his former rival went down on his dick again. He placed his hands to his sides on the bed, making his titanic triceps flared out at the back of his thick arms. "Doesn't get any better than this", he grunted as he realized he now dominated the fallen star of his sport both physically and sexually. Pleasure flooded his 265 pound body, his balls convulsed and blasted three sticky loads through his 7 incher into the eager mouth. His own mouth hanging open in a silent scream as a third, powerful orgasm flooded his senses. Chris gulped down the salty tasting spunk, enjoying the feeling of the bulky quads, quivering and flexing under his touch. The thought of pleasing this perfect looking muscle god filled him with pleasure and joy. His half-hard cock leaked a meager dribble in his boxers. Unlike with his beastly cousin, he felt secure in the presence of this huge man. He licked the last drops from the still hard 7 incher and slowly pulled back his mouth. Jeremy grabbed the smaller guy's armpits and effortlessly hoisted him up, his 22 inch arms bulging in the process. "You'll be my personal trainer from now. You'll take care of my needs", he said and laid the athletic 159 pound guy on the bed next to him. Chris smiled and nodded 'yes', eagerly accepting his new position at the side of the guy he once outsized but that now eclipsed him in every way. A week had gone by since the switch in role and Chris had never been happier. Even when Trisha had worshipped his own, once intimidating physique, he hadn't felt the same as he did now in the presence of Jeremy. The feelings the huge guy's godly body sent through him were way better than anything in the past. He even enjoyed not having to workout daily to maintain his muscular physique. He still went to the gym every day, but most of the time he just admired the meaty muscles of the stunning bodybuilder working hard during his grueling workout. The guy used his personal record weight as a warm up and the volume of sets and reps he cranked out, was simply unbelievable. Chris carried out everything he was asked, bringing water or protein shakes or even whipping the sweat of the pumped muscles. At the end of every training, Jeremy hit a few poses, radiating strength and masculinity and smiling at the smaller guy in the mirror as Chris gave him some pointers to make his godly physique stand out even more. Then, both of them would go back to the suite they now shared, where Chris worshipped the bodybuilder's pumped muscles under the shower. These sessions always ended with Chris sucking off the huge god once, twice or even three times in a row. Unlike his beastly cousin, the huge Jeremy never fucked him. The new bodybuilding season started and as expected, Jeremy strolled through it. His physique dwarfed anyone else's and simply flattened his competitors. Even standing several feet behind the others on stage, he still outsized them. He piled one victory on another, always coming back to the hotel where he let his trainer suck him off when he wore nothing but his gold medal. Jeremy felt on top of the world as he advanced to another final, his tenth in a row, where he would once again face Tom, the guy that had beaten him twice the last season but now always came in second after him. The final lasted a good ten minutes. Tom threw pose after pose, highlighting every ripped muscle on his 205 pound physique. Jeremy just stood next to him, his relaxed 265 pound body making his "rival" look flat. Then, Jeremy turned around and did a back double bicep pose, the signature move of Chris he had taken to a completely different level. the mounds of muscles bulged into each other on his broad back, his thick arms rising up and outward as they swelled into their 22 inches of power. Another victory was declared. He now had broken Chris' record of 9 consecutive victories and was eager to go celebrate. As he drove back to hotel and swiftly swaggered inside, he didn't notice the small car that had been following him since the contest…

Read Part One HERE Liquid Manhood Chapter Two The bed shook, the headboard banging against the wall. Big Ben liked having his fraternity brothers know when he was beating the monster. His battleship-sized feet hung off the end, his 50 inch TV blaring out the moans of some porn he’d stolen from another brother. But in Big Ben’s huge meaty hand was his phone, a blond twink choking down a fat cock drawing all of the giant linebacker’s attention. His other hand was furiously pounding at this swollen meat stick; his hearty bull nuts bouncing against the sweaty sheets. A load of cum was already drying on his heaving pecs. Big Ben was so grateful he wasn’t hairy. The flood of cum he shot every time he jacked off would’ve been hell to clean up. The look of his pecs having rich brown hair on would be sexy, and it only made Big Ben jack off harder. The room reeked of him, he was still covered in the gunk and sweat from practice the night before. He’d shower after he had come. After that he would wipe down his pecs, wishing he could get some guy to do it for him. He’d returned from practice and slept the rest of the day, more exhausted than usual. He could hear his brothers starting to wake, it was nearly time. Big Ben always timed his pre-shower strut so that he caught a couple of his brothers waking up. His heavy footfalls getting their attention as they wiped sleep from their eyes. They always laughed, though Big Ben could see some fear in their eyes as he thudded down the hall. Comments like, “Thank fuck my girlfriend isn't here” or “Taking the beast for a walk huh” would be uttered. Big Ben would just grunt or make some comment about the guy’s girlfriend. Then he’d get into the shower and as silently as possible he’d cover the tiles with cum thinking about doing the same to his fraternity brothers faces. Big Ben bit his lip as he shot. Cum splattering over the cold load from before, his balls unleashing an epic load. But Big Ben sat bolt upright, his hand looked odd on his cock, his fingers were wrapped around his fat cock, still rock hard and waiting to go for two or three more times. His fingers though were touching they hadn’t touched since he was 15. The floor shook as he got to his feet, wiping the cum off his thick chest with his blanket. He looked down as his now soft cock, the shock having killed his boner. It looked slimmer, not as salami fat as it used to. Even though he was near to grazing his head on the ceiling and making the oak floor struggle under his weight, he, Big Ben, the hulking linebacker, felt small. He grabbed his jockstrap from the floor and gave it a sniff, holding the reeking pouch against his face. The musk, his musk calmed him, the cotton tickling his stubbled jaw. He pulled it on, heading to the shower as quick as he could, for the first time in his life not wanting to be seen. ——————————————————————————————————————————— Melvin woke not to the sound of Chris’ alarm waking him hours before he needed to be woken, but to a horrific painful smell in his nose. He coughed and spluttered as he breathed in, it tasted like a locker-room. Reminding him of the smell of his fingers after handling Big Ben’s jock strap. “Good you’re awake” Chris said, he was already dressed and looked like he was heading out. Melvin let out some sort of sound that was meant to be words, but he was still too tired. “I’m going to check in on the jocks, I’ve got an hour or so spare.” He grinned, “Oh and check out Bert.” Melvin blinked a few times trying to get his eyes used to the bright light, Chris had opened the curtains and Melvin was blinded. He watched as Chris left, slamming the door. Melvin climbed out of bed, his baggy pajamas hiding his frumpy shape. He popped open a window. Must be the elixir making that smell. As he pulled back from leaning over the best he felt a strip of wetness spread down his shirt. It was Bert, or a cactus that must be Bert. Gone was the small little cactus, now a thick almost throbbing green foot of plant sat in the pot, two bulbous bulbs at its base. A large bright red flower had erupted at the tip, oozing ripe sap. Melvin sniffed the wet sap on his shirt, it smelt like the funk he’d woke up choking on. The door suddenly opened, Chris was back. “Bert…” Melvin started “He….” Chris butted in, “Looks like a penis. Yeah, I noticed” “So the stuff works,” Melvin asked excited. Chris nodded and stepped over to the desk picking up Bert’s pot, trying not to get reeking sap on himself. “What are you doing” Melvin asked following Chris as he headed to the door “I’m throwing Bert out, not having our room smell like a jockstrap,” Chris said and he turned, poking a finger into Melvin’s chest. “Don’t touch the elixir. We know what it does to a plant, but not what it does to humans.” Melvin nodded, “But can you buy me a new Bert?” Chris smiled sweetly, “Sure.” And he left, taking Bert with him, Melvin knew he’d never get a new one. ——————————————————————————————————————————— “19, 20, 21,” Barrett counted out loud as he continued his morning exercise routine,clad in only pajama shorts with the straps of his jockstrap peeking out from the waist line. His body dipped down and up with each push up, he was already sweaty, and feeling tired. He’d woken up refreshed, but oddly stiff, like he’d overworked himself at practice. But he hadn’t. He’d barely pushed himself. “25……..26...” he started, but his arms gave way half way through the last push up. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, the sounds of his frat brothers waking up echoing through the house. A second ago he’d heard the unmistakable sounds of Big Ben’s monstrous frame thudding past his room. He wondered if Big Ben was feeling just as odd as he was. It seemed that everyone at practice was off, and it wasn’t just because of the over partying on the weekend before. His room was massive, it had been his older brother’s when he was a member of the fraternity. A floor to ceiling mirror decorated one wall, hiding a closet. Barrett always hid how often he’d stare at himself in the mirror, flexing a bicep, arrogantly smirking at himself. But today as he sat up he looked at himself with concern. Even though he’d slept longer than normal he still looked tired. Greyish bags hung heavily under his eyes. Barrett stood up and stepped close to the mirror, flexing his bicep. It looked odd. It felt stiff, but looked softer. The skin wasn’t as taut over the muscle as it had been. He scratched at his balls with his free hand. “Gotta be sick,” he said to himself. He popped open the bedside table, ignoring the half full box of condoms he grabbed an assortment of pills. Throwing back his head he swallowed them down, covering all the bases: flu, allergies, headaches, he wasn’t letting this illness get any further. Barrett went to leave his room, time for breakfast, he stopped though and looked down at his ripped bare chest. He sighed, and like all the other footballers he grabbed something to cover himself up, unsure about his own perfection. He flexed his arm one last time, the sleeve of his shirt not near to bursting as his muscle bulged. He jogged down the stairs, whistling, putting on his cocky demeanour. The kitchen was alive with big beefy jocks grabbing their breakfast, barely any bare chests. Only the best built non-football players were shirtless. Barrett grabbed a piece of toast another brother had cooked for himself, the guy wouldn’t complain, at least not to Barrett’s face. He leaned against a kitchen counter, watching the group. His fraternity was a house of beasts, all the main guys from the football team in one place, and most of the other star players of other sports, with Barrett as the top dog. The rest of the football team’s massive roster were in lesser frats or lived off campus, Barrett couldn’t think of any freshmen still living in dorms, maybe one or two of the new guys hadn’t been sucked up by the fraternities yet. He scratched at his balls while he ate, his fellow football players looked just as tired as he was. Bags under their eyes, paler than normal. All with hunched shoulders and dim looks on their faces. “Gotta talk to Peters,” Barrett muttered Maybe they needed a break, whatever illness Barrett had looked to be spreading around the frat. He’d have a word with Coach Peters about an easier practice schedule. ——————————————————————————————————————————— Next door to Chris and Melvin, their rarely seen neighbour was still sleeping as the clocks passed noon. His name was Sean and he’d worked all summer so he could afford to pay for a single room. He didn’t want to share his personal space with anyone. His single room was dark with only the dull glow of his PS4 on standby lighting the room. The curtains were pulled tight and were dusty, never having been opened since he moved in. A plush gaming armchair sat in front of the rooms desk facing a large top of the line TV Sean had got from his parents for winning the scholarship to Lincoln University. An indent of Sean’s fat rounded ass was visible on the seat’s cushion, the fabric tainted with Dorito dust. Sean was a nerd, a massive gamer, and an avid reader of comic books. He was a stereotype. He was also a loner. He only left his dorm to use the bathroom, for classes and food shopping. He was greasy, spotty, and rounded with limp plump fat, but he was a nice guy. Always helping classmates in class, even though he hated public speaking. If he was a little more sociable he'd have a lot of friends, he’d already been invited to join a couple of fraternities and his professor wanted him to run for the student council, but Sean just wanted to be alone and play games with people on the other side of the world he’d never have to talk to. He was snoring loudly, the weight of his fatty chest causing the choke sounding rumblings as he lay on his back in bed. His greasy bright red hair plastered to his spotty forehead. Only his head was visible from behind the covers. He was only 5’6. Even the dorm room’s small single bed was too big for him. Drip, Drip, Drip. Drops of green liquid fell onto Sean’s blankets, above Sean a line of green was spreading over the ceiling. Rising up from a crack in the wall, a patchwork of vein like green stains were stretching out from behind a set of shelves cluttered with books and PS4 games. With an almost sentient intent the green liquid grew out over the ceiling, it drips moving further up Sean’s blankets till the drops started to land in Sean’s gaping maw. The drips increased in intensity, and size, soon it was like a steady stream trickling from the ceiling down Sean’s throat. He didn’t splutter or gag, the liquid quickly vanishing into the walls of his mouth and throat. But the taste was horrid, a foul salty taste. Like drinking cool sweat. Sean’s eyes fluttered behind his eyelids and the dripping stopped. In the dark though the green stains on the ceiling and the wall wasn’t noticeable, even with a bright light it would be hard to notice against the darkly painted room. Sean made a moaning sound and sat up slowly. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, a hand then wiping green liquid from his lips and onto his pajama shirt, thinking it was just drool. The chubby nerd climbed out of bed, his hand reaching for a cola bottle on the small snack table next to his gaming chair. He took a long swig from it and then dropped his fat ass onto his armchair. His console controller already in hand he flicked the PS4 on and started to play, he had a couple hours spare before class. With Sean’s attention on his gaming the green liquid snaked its way over the ceiling. A fat raindrop of the elixir fell, landing in the open cola bottle, just as Sean reached over to pick it up to take another sip. ——————————————————————————————————————————— Barrett was on the treadmill in the college’s expansive gym, he’d just gotten the shit verbally kicked out of him by the Coach. How dare he ask to lighten the load, the Coach had bellowed at him. He was even threatened with losing his captaincy, and again compared to his older brother. How his older brother would never have asked for something so stupid, especially when there was so much competition this year from other teams. He was being punished, half an hour on the treadmill. It was meant to be easy for Barrett, more a punishment that would screw up his schedule, but Barrett was struggling. It was like all his stamina was gone, he was sweating and panting. His balls were so itchy, the cotton of his jock rubbing his hefty balls and was making them beg for a scratch. He’d almost fallen over whenever he went to itch them, and it was messing with his mind. It was like when he was doing laps at practice, he just felt drained. He’d have to get an appointment with a doctor. He was sick. With still 10 minutes left Barrett slowed down the treadmill, now walking he coughed out and spluttered. He gripped his chest, under his toned pec muscles his heart was racing. He’d never been his unfit, he’d never struggled like this. His free hand scratched at his balls, they were overheating like the rest of him. Slick with sweat and so itchy, he’d have to wash his jock. His face was bright red as he dragged his worn out legs to a water fountain. His arms screamed as he braced himself against the fountain to take a dozen or so mouthfuls of cooling water. “Barrett” a voice asked Barrett stopped drinking and sighed, it was Yuri the captain of the college swim team. He was a frat brother. Barrett pulled himself up, standing tall to look down at his frat brother and rival. It was an unspoken rivalry, but Yuri had wanted to head the frat, but Barrett beat him to it. He was sure that Yuri hadn’t let it go. “Yuri” Barrett smiled “How you doing” He was trying to be cocky, trying to be Barrett, but he was still red faced and sweating through his shirt. “You ok” Yuri asked, the ripped half Russian looking amazing in his workout gear “You look sick” “Yea… I think I’m coming down with something” Barrett said dropping his attitude Yuri held out his full water bottle and Barrett took it. “I have a spare, drink this on the walk back” Yuri said with a smile Barrett knew it was sign of submission, he was showing weakness to someone he was fighting with, even if the fight was all in Barrett’s head. Yuri turned and headed further into the gym, Barrett watched him leave. He felt deflated, but he took a long swig from the water bottle. He took a few deep breaths, feeling his energy coming back. Barrett left the gym, his footfalls slow and laboured. His shirt felt a little loose, maybe it was just cause it was being weighed down by all the sweat. He scratched his balls, he had two things to do today get a doctors appointment and wash this itchy jock. First though he needed to sleep. He hadn’t planned on getting this worn out today, but if he had it wouldn't be on a twenty minute jog. He yawned as he stepped out of the gym and his shoulder thudded into a shorter very well dressed guy. “Sorry” Barrett muttered as he hurried pass The first time he’d apologised for such an action, usually he’d berate the other guy. Instead he continued back to the frat, swigging from the water bottle. ——————————————————————————————————————————— Chris stared as Barrett walked away from him. He rubbed his shoulder, Barrett was still solid, but the reaction was a change. He’d seen Barrett explode in anger after someone just looked at him wrong. But he apologised, the powder was working, not only draining Barrett’s size and strength, but taking more. It was sapping away at Barrett’s ego, his confidence, and it had only been a day. The powder worked fast, Chris could only imagine what would happen in a week or so. He sent a text to Melvin, saw Barrett the guy looks sick, it read. He was being careful, Chris didn't know where the magic book had came from. For all he knew there was an entire magical world which wouldn't look to kindly on him playing in their world. So he was being as normal as possible and he’d warned Melvin about doing the same. No mention of the stones or the plan on any computers or phones. Only the notes he’d written down in the magic book. He took a quick lap of the gym, only seeing Yuri the swim team captain on a rowing machine. Chris wondered whether he should move his sights onto the other sports team after the football team were drained. But then what would he do with all the elixir, it wasn’t like he and Melvin would need very much to get the bodies they deserved. That was if Chris even let Melvin have any elixir.

New story, been in the works and then forgotten about for a while. Came about after chatting to another member of the forum about how muscle-lost or muscle-theft wasn't getting much screen time here, so I thought I'd give it a shot. Got three parts written and got three more parts planned, tell me what you think Liquid Manhood Chapter One “Hold this” Chris ordered and stuffed the flimsy plastic bag into Melvin’s hands Melvin held the bag away from him, slightly wary of its contents. His hands like Chris’ were gloved not just to mask fingerprints but to stop any contact with the grey powder inside the bag. He was still unsure of the plan, but Chris had talked him into it. Melvin didn’t even think it would work, how could a powder do what Chris promised. “It’s gonna work” Chris said like he’d read Melvin’s mind “I’m sure it will” Melvin said his voice crackly like it had never fully broke during puberty “You saw what happened when I carved the symbols onto the stones” Chris stated turning back to look at his smaller roommate Chris stared down at Melvin, some menace in his dark eyes. He was trying to sense doubt, but Melvin won him over. Chris smiled and Melvin sighed internally. Chris could be intense at times. Melvin followed his roommate down the winding corridors of their university’s athletic department with the bag held an arm’s length ahead of him. The memory of the stones that the two had crushed into easy to transport powder was fresh in Melvin’s mind. They were just normal pebbles taken from the college green. But when Chris flicked out a pen knife and scraped strange runic symbols into the greyish surface of each pebble they changed. One blue, one red, one yellow and pink. Their hard grey surface flushed with their new colouring, and then how Chris had carefully crushed them with the but of his penknife. They reached the doors leading into their college’s locker rooms, a roaring cartoon lion had been painted on the doors. The Lincoln Lions, the 8 time championship winning football team. Chris hated them, and Melvin didn’t like them any better. Chris held out a lean hand and muttered something, there was a crack and the locked doors swung open. “The book hasn't failed me yet” Chris grinned and stepped into the dimly lit locker room. Melvin just nodded, the book scared him. Chris was obsessed with it, a massive, ancient, leather bound tome. He would spend hours reading it, translating vast passages into English, testing countless times the various spells and incantations, half of which barely worked. But this time it turned out the ‘lock pick’ spell worked just as it said it would. Maybe these ‘drain’ stones would work as the book claimed. “You’re more confident now aren't you” Chris said, and Melvin could hear the smile in his voice Chris strode confidently through the lockers. He knew what he was after. He must have staked out the place, Melvin thought. “Here we go” Chris said gleefully He pulled a wheeled laundry basket out from a small alcove between two rows of lockers and gently pushed it towards Melvin. “Hand me the bag” Chris ordered and Melvin passed it back “You search the laundry” Melvin nodded and watched as Chris tore the bag open. The grey powder pooled in the centre of the ripped plastic and Chris looked around for something to scoop the powder up with. Melvin started to look through the laundry for their desired prize and he grimaced. “Here, will this work as a scooper” He tossed a large sweaty athletic cup to Chris Chris frowned and let the cup drop to the floor before picking it up and scooping a cupful of powder out of the pile with it. “Ready,” he said as Melvin searched deeper pass the large jerseys and padded pants Wordlessly he tossed a jock strap over his shoulder, he’d rather bathe in the magical powder then touch the cock sweat soaked cotton. Chris grabbed at the jock eagerly and emptied the powder filled cup into the pouch. The powder glittered as it fell and then slowly seeped into the cotton as it made contact. Melvin watched... it was really working. “How….” He started. Chris anticipating his question started before he could finish speaking. “It’s the sweat, it’s why we needed to catch the laundry before it had been washed” Chris explained filling the cup again “The powder fuses with the fabric only if its been in contact with biological matter” “So the player's cock and balls,” Melvin said, tossing another jock over his shoulder “You got it,.” Chris smirked, tainting another strap with the powder Melvin knew he needed to find 83 different jockstraps to get the entire roster of players. Even then some might slip through the net. Their chances of getting them all had only been boosted because Coach Peters had ordered a full team practice in full uniform, the first one since the freshman year had started. Melvin knew that Chris had been ready to do this from the first day of the year, but he was waiting, waiting to get them all. He remembered when Chris had explained the plan to him, it was after he’d got drenched by a water balloon tossed by Barrett Wington, the golden blond captain of the football team and alpha frat boy of Lincoln University. Melvin knew Chris was manipulating him, getting him more and more angry at Barrett and the other jocks. Almost getting Melvin to beg for a way of getting revenge. He hadn’t expected such a massive plan, such a damaging plan, but at least he was getting back at Barrett and in turn every bigger man who had fucked with little shy Melvin during high school. “How many is that” Melvin asked, tossing another jock into the tainted pile. He’d already found another laundry trolley after emptying the last one of all the jock straps. “82,” Chris said. “Maybe one didn’t come,” he shrugged. Melvin gave the trolley one last look. “Nope… here it is.” He pulled the jock out from the laundry and hooked his fingers under the straps. It was a monster, a basket of cotton, and it reeked. “Who the fuck do you think packs himself into this,” he asked. “Damn,” Chris laughed. “Gotta be Big Ben.” Big Ben was a 6’10 linebacker, a walking wall. “You’d hope, cause no one else has the size to warrant a cock this big,” Melvin sniggered, tossing the tent over to Chris. It almost parachuted down into Chris’ hands, and, with a moment of thought, Chris poured what was left into the jock. “Big guy is gonna need a little more to bring him down,” He explained With the dirty jocks glittering slightly the two gloved freshmen tossed the jocks back into the laundry trolleys. They covered their tracks by pushing the trolleys back to their original places. “No evidence,” Chris said, washing the ripped plastic bag under a shower head before tossing it in the trash. Melvin nodded and traced his steps back, finding nothing to hint at their presence. The two left the locker room and, with a soft thud, the locks popped back into place as Chris pulled the door closed. “When will we know if it has worked,” Melvin asked when they returned under the cover of darkness to their shared room. “When the jars start to fill,” Chris said pulling off his gloves. The jars were four large glass cylinders with taps at the bottom. They sat on a high shelf on Chris’ side of the room. Each with a sticker with the different symbols of the stones they represented. Chris had explained that each symbol had a colour for what it would drain. Blue for Fortitude, or strength and agility. Red for Dominance, or attitude and power. Yellow for Stature, or size and grace. Pink for Virility, or looks and charm. These stones, when combined, would drain everything that makes a man a man. The inside of the jars had what Chris called a ‘condenser’ stone glued to the top. Chris had spent hours explaining the magic to Melvin since the start of the year. The ‘condenser’ would receive the stolen essence from the tainted jocks, and, in turn, the essence would drip down into the jars. When the jars were filling the taps would turn on and slowly empty the essence down the pipes into a larger jar on the shelf below. This jar was the ‘Master Jar’ as Chris kept calling it. The stolen essences from the four stones would combine into a complete manhood elixir. Chris would always end this explanation looking like he was about to cum. He was obsessed by it, but Melvin too was beginning to obsess over it too. “Should happen on Monday,” Chris explained. “There is a practice then, so it should start draining the first of the jocks then.” Chris dropped onto his bed and flicked off the light, leaving Melvin to find his own bed in the darkness. ——————————————————————————————————————————— Barrett swaggered down the corridor, his size 15 sneakers stomping across the floor. People stepped aside when he came towards them. It was almost enough to get his swinging cock hard. He was the big man on campus, a god, and part of a proud dynasty. Barrett Wington was only the latest Wington to come to Lincoln, but it was his older brother who’d left the biggest mark. Andrew Jackson Wington, or A.J. to most, was the captain who’d taken a terrible football team and made them champions. He’d started the team’s 8 year winning streak, which had continued under Barrett. He brushed a hand through his thick blond hair and then slapped his older brother’s football helmet which sat in a shrine outside the athletic department. It was a tradition, before every game and practice the helmet got slapped. But the shrine’s oversized picture of A.J in his Dallas Cowboys uniform made Barrett feel like he was a 10 year old again, only downside of being a Wington in Lincoln was that A.J would always be looking down at you somewhere. The guy was a hero, even though he’d only won two championships, while Barrett had won three. Then again, the added weight of three super-bowls really made A.J. a legacy to compete with. Barrett rolled his shoulders as he passed into the locker room, most of the guys were already there and changing. He stopped at his locker, his entire uniform was freshly washed and waiting for him. He smiled and started to strip. He decided to go shirtless today, the cheer team would be practicing on the other side of the field, he wanted to impress. Shirtless and with his tanned abs glistening under the locker room lights. He dropped his basketball shorts, his soft cock swung a little as he slipped his big wide feet through the straps of his jock and pulled it up. A chill ran down his spine, what the fuck were they washing these jocks in he wondered. He rearranged his packed pouch. “Better” he muttered in a smooth voice He led the team out onto the field and they started some stretches. His 6’4” frame appeared more bendy than many expected. Giving anyone watching a good view of his athletic ass as he stretched out his legs. The guys though seemed unfocused today, probably the hangover running through from the party on Saturday. “Light weights,” he muttered. A shadow fell over him. “What was that, boss,” Big Ben asked down to him. “Oh shit,” Barrett chuckled, spinning round. “How the fuck can you sneak up on someone?” Big Ben just laughed deeply and gave his crotch a tug. A grimace on his square face. “You ok,” Barrett asked then poked Big Ben in his solid stomach. “You feed that thing today?” Big Ben didn’t laugh. “Yea, I’m cool,” and he stomped over to do his warmups, the ground shaking with each massive step. Coach Peters appeared, a cigar in his mouth and a baggy sweat suit pulled over his flabby frame. “Boys…..” he bellowed and the team gathered Barrett gave his cock a scratch through his shorts as he jogged over. Big Ben looked like the monster was trying to escape with how rough he was rearranging himself. “It was a tough practice last week. No one let me down,” Peters continued chewing on the end of the cigar. “Today we are gonna be a little lighter, some cardio, then hit the gym.” Barrett smirked. “Some cardio” was code for “as many laps as you can do before you fall down and then five more.” Peters was a slave driver, a hard ass, but he was the best. Barrett led the pack of built, hulking athletes, his thighs flexing with each long stride around the field. He’d quicken his pace when he passed the cheerleaders though, get some distance between him and the other guys, make it look like he was always miles ahead. The entire time though he had this scratch at the base of his balls that he just couldn’t shake. No matter how many times he palmed his swollen nuts it was still there. “Man, I can’t go on,” Danny one of the players said as he caught up to Barrett. “Fucking off my game, I’ll see you in the gym.” Barrett slowed and watched Danny walk off the field.Others were joining Danny. “WHAT THE FLYING FUCK,” Coach Peters screamed at Danny. “My mother can run more laps and she’s been dead for decades!” Barrett winced. Peters could reach a high pitch when he was pissed. “Weird, isn’t it,” Big Ben said as he thudded to a stop next to Barrett. “Danny usually is the last to stop running.” “Fucking prides himself on it,” Barrett added. Both jocks scratched at their ample manhoods. “Something is up,” Barrett said and they looked curiously at each other. “No more parties,” Big Ben offered. “Damn right, can’t start getting sloppy,” Barrett answered and the two headed into the gym their hands deep in their sweaty jock pouches. ——————————————————————————————————————————— Melvin was crooked nose deep in a fantasy novel when Chris burst into the room. Chris was tall, about 6ft and very wealthy, dressed in all designer clothes he looked like he’d come off a runway usually. But today he was sweating, excited and red faced. “It’s happening,” he exclaimed and knelt on his bed and looked to the jars on the shelves. “What,” Melvin questioned, gently placing the book back on his own shelves above his bed. “I saw the football team in the gym. We should be getting some essence,” Chris said in a rushed voice. Melvin looked to the jars. They were filling, blue, red, yellow and pink liquid dripped from the stones at the top of the jars. About an inch of colourful liquid was filling each jars. “Shit,” Melvin said, awestruck. “I knew you doubted me,” Chris grinned as he checked out the master jar and its pipes. He pulled the jar back and then pushed it back further onto the shelf. He didn't want it falling off. A hairline crack appeared on the underside as it gently hit the wall, but neither Chris or Melvin noticed. With great excitement Chris turned the taps on each jar and the two roommates watched as the liquids slowly flowed down into the master jar. “Green,” Melvin said as the colours mixed and a rich emerald green colour emerged. “Never thought green would be the colour of manhood,” Chris chuckled lightly. Chris jumped past Melvin and grabbed Melvin’s potted cactus, “Bert”, from their shared desk. “What are you doing,” Melvin asked, trying to get Bert out of Chris’ hands. “Testing the elixir, we can’t just swallow it down, can we,” Chris explained. He held the pot under the master jar’s tap and turned on the flow, a couple drops oozed out and soaked into Burt’s surrounding dirt. Chris turned off the flow and handed Burt back to Melvin. “Give it till tomorrow morning,” Chris said and he just sat and watched the liquids mix. Melvin placed Bert back on the desk, next to “Ernie” his fellow potted cactus. “If Burt dies you’re buying me a new one,” Melvin sighed. Chris didn't respond.

So sorry for the long wait between "VIALS" I had a very busy almost two weeks... Enjoy all my pups, cubs, and muscle brothers! {VIAL 3} I woke up the next day for school and got out another vial from the side of my night stand drawer. I got my things together and thought to myself, maybe I should try out this vial a bit earlier in the day instead of waiting until lunch or after school. I went down the stairs after my backpack was filled with the day’s books for my classes, where I headed to the kitchen. My biological father had already left for work again, so thank god I didn't have to run into him. On days where he had off of work, I would be ridiculed for being a pain in his side and then he’d make me do all the household chores and told me if I didn't he would use all the social security money he received from the state in order to buy himself more booze and other luxuries that didn't benefit my young child needs for nourishment and growth. I went to the kitchen and made my way to the fridge to see if I had anything I could mix the powder into this time. Luckily there was some orange juice. I found an empty water bottle on the counter, which I popped the top off and poured the 3rd vial of powder into it and stuffed the empty bottle into my pocket, followed by me filling up the rest of the bottle with orange juice. I shook the contents up, making sure the entire bottle was mixed before I put the remaining orange juice back into the fridge and I headed out the door. As I closed the door, Andrew startled me by already standing on the porch. “Hi Seth!” his voice cracked a bit as he spoke. “I thought I would meet you here instead of having to just run into you on our usual walk to school.” I was a bit giddy with excitement. “Thanks, bud. Well I already have the drink prepared for you.” We started to make our way to school as we walked down the sidewalk. “I think I want you to drink it before class starts Seth. What do you say about that?” Seth beamed up at me with his happy go lucky smile. “Well sure that sounds like a good idea. However do you think it’s wise? Each one has caused something in me that was pretty noticeable. Who knows what each vial will do.” He had a point. I remembered the empty vial I had stuffed in my pants pocket and pulled it out to see if at least any of the words or letters were readable, since the last vial was pretty much illegible. Sure enough the words on this bottle were entirely intact. I smiled, very relieved. “I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” I handed over the empty vial and the bottle of orange juice and powder to my smaller friend. He read it and then looked at me a bit nervous. “Seth, you do realize that once I drink this, it is going to change a huge dynamic in our relationship.” I stopped walking for a minute, placing a hand on his shoulder. He stopped and looked up at me as well. “I know it will, Andrew. But this is something that I have actually always wanted in a person that I know.” He unscrewed the top of the bottle giving me a huge grin. “Well, I guess its bottoms up!” He put the bottle to his lips and chugged it down as if it was liquid courage. Well, if you guys really want to know what it was he just drank, it pretty much was courage in a bottle. Andrew made sure not to leave a single drop of it left We continued to walk our way to school and I swear, the kid stood taller, prouder then I have ever seen anyone stand before. As we got to the gates, Andrew turned to me and put his hand on my shoulder, something I don’t remember him ever doing before. “Meet me behind the gym. Let’s eat our lunch quick and maybe try to squeeze in a workout, Seth.” I gulped. “Um sure…” “Awesome! I know football season is almost practically over right now and how you have always wanted to try out for the sport. So maybe if the two of us work out together, we can motivate you to join the team next year.” “A-Alright Andrew,” my heart almost jumped out of my chest from his words. Andrew actually is trying to push me like an adult role-model should do. He released my shoulder, giving me a wink, before running up the steps of the school. Classes went by faster than normal today as I couldn't wait for the bell to ring for lunch. When it finally did I practically ran to our usual lunch meeting spot. Andrew was standing against the wall with his backpack strap around one shoulder. He looked really damn cool. “Hey Seth! I already ate lunch during my last period. Hurry up and eat, I want to show you a few things to help you in your workouts.” I didn't know what to say so I just nodded and pulled out my lunch, quickly tearing into my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Andrew laughed a bit, “don’t eat so fast, bud! It’s not healthy for you to do that.” So I slowed down a bit and finished my lunch normally. I’m already starting to see a huge change in our dynamic. Before this morning it was me who was the one to make decisions and give advice. Andrew grabbed the door at the back of the gym and pulled it open, holding it for me to enter first. I walked inside with him following right behind me, and then he started to quicken his pace as he walked over to a weight bench loaded with 20 lbs on each side. Something told me that he was in here a bit before the lunch period started. Andrew walked to the back of the weights and grabbed a pair of lifting gloves from the floor and tossed them to me. “Put those on and have a seat.” I did as I was told and slipped the gloves onto each hand and adjusted the strap before I sat down on the bench and then laid under the bar. He bent down, put his hands on my upper arms, and guided my hands gently to the bar. I gripped the bar tightly. “Now before you lift, you want to make sure each of your arms and hands are straight. Also make sure they are at a good distance apart. If you lift incorrectly you can injure yourself.” As he guided me with his voice, he also guided me with his hands, as the bar slowly lifted and went down to my chest. “Remember to Inhale when you lower the bar to your chest, and exhale when you push the bar up.” I did as he told me and I began to learn how to weightlift for the first time in my life. The rush of testosterone and adrenaline filled me, as this was new and exciting! We did this until the end of our lunch, when the bell rang. “I’ll see you after school, Seth! I’m going to do my homework and then I will meet up with you at your house later tonight.” “Sounds awesome, Andrew!” We both parted ways again as we went to our own classes. After school I went right home, where I found myself greeted with the loud noise of auto-racing on the television. My Father was home. “Hi…” I walked past the living room heading for the stairs. Hoping he wouldn’t respond to me. “Home from school, faggot?” He blurted out, belching from the beer and chips he consumed. I cringed at that word. “Yeah, I’m going to go do my homework.” “Nah you’re not. Go grab me another beer and then I want you to clean the kitchen and the garage. They are a fucking mess.” “OK, sir.” I walked over to the fridge and pulled a beer out bringing it over to him. I placed the beer on the table and began to walk away when he stuck his foot out and tripped me. As I fell, I knocked over his bowl of chips, spilling them all over the floor. “What the fuck is wrong with you, you dumb fuck?!” He chuckled. “Clean this shit up too now!” “Sorry, sir!” I stooped down and began to pick the chips up off the floor when the doorbell rang. “Go answer that, if people are selling candy, use your allowance and buy me some!” I got up and made my way to the front door. I opened it to be greeted by Andrew. “How’s it going, Seth!” He smiled up at me. “It’s not a good time, Andrew.” I tried to close the door of fear of what my father might do, but Andrew pushed his way inside. “Hi Mr. Davis!” He said walking into the house. My father looked at Andrew with disgust before turning at me with a snarl, “Tell your girlfriend to go home, faggot!” “I’m not going anywhere, Mr. Davis,” I never heard anyone go up against my father before. “I’m here to help Seth get his work done. And then my family and I are going on a little trip this weekend, and I’m here to invite Seth along.” My father was a bit shocked from this little challenge set forth by my small friend “Whatever, as long as you two little shits are out of my hair for the weekend its fine.” “I have a name, sir.” Andrew spoke up again. “It’s Andrew. And your son has one as well.” My father started to laugh again. “Whatever! Seth, get your little fag friend out of here before I put a boot in his ass myself!” I grabbed Andrew by the arm. “I’ll see you tomorrow at school, Andrew. And then we can go on this family campout.” As we were now out of earshot from my father, Andrew grinned up at me. “Sure thing. Remember to pack a bottle for the morning. And one last thing. The family “Trip,” it’s going to be just some Dad and Son bonding time. He gave me his big smile and a soft pat on the back before I watched him walk back across the lawn and into his house. NEXT UP - VIAL 4 VIAL 1 – HYPER-TEST – Initiate Puberty / Hyper-Testosterone Booster VIAL 2 – 400 INTELIGENT QUOTIENT – 400 IQ / Hyper-Intelligence VIAL 3 – HYPER-CONFIDENCE VIAL 4 - ??? VIAL 5 - ??? VIAL 6 - ??? VIAL 7 - ???

Part One "Hail the conquering hero" smiled Henri as Porthos trotted into Musketeer Headquarters adding "So, are you the strongest man in Europe?" Porthos simply smiled as he dismounted and as he did, flexed his arm for the cadet who he considered a brother. As Henri wrapped his hands around the bulging arm, he nodded and at the same time sighed saying "I know it's pure wishful thinking, but, I hope one day I shall be able to do the same!" Porthos rubbed the cadet's head with his hand saying "You will, my lad, it just takes time!" and with that Henri led Porthos's horse back to the stables. As Porthos watched his friend, he knew that Henri was a good lad. He's joined the corps as a cadet six months previously, on a secret mission from the Duke of Buckingham, to establish how much of the Duke's dalliances with the Queen were public knowledge in France, but in those six months his honour, his bravery and his swordplay were never in doubt. What was in doubt was Henri's sense that he would never be more than a tiny cog in the wheel that was the corps, and yet on numerous occasions Porthos could see just a glimmer, especially when Henri got angry, of what the lad was capable of. That's why he had entered the competition because he knew that the winner would receive a prize greater than any number of livres, a prize that was whispered by everyone who took part, the fabled Amulet of Athelstan. The amulet, forged in the time of dark magic, was crafted for the ancient King of the Britons in an attempt to prevent the Vikings from constantly invading his nation. Whoever was in possession of it would, on the word of command, drain the strength and power from the most powerful person within fifty yards of the owner. And now, he was in the possession of it. But Porthos wasn't going to use it for himself, no, he was going to be the victim of it, and as he imagined the pain of his strength and power surging out of him, he started to moan. All that was needed was the right recipient of that power and that recipient completely unware of the Titan's designs on him. "So, Sandy" smiled Henri as he took the saddle of Porthos's horse, "did you have a nice time in Bavaria then?" The horse, named for it's colour, nodded and neighed as Henri brushed him down. Of all of the cadets, Henri was the most in tune with the horses of the corps and on several occasions, it was almost as if Henri could understand every sound they made. As he continued to brush the horse, the two seemed engaged in a conversation and seemed to be recounting Porthos's triumph in the contest to find the strongest man in Europe. Giving Sandy a final brush down, Henri smiled "There, fit for when the Titan rides again!" and turned around to find Porthos standing next to him with a smile on his face. "Ah" smiled Henri, picking up the saddle, "are you to ride again?" and was about to place it on Sandy when he knocked out cold by a right hook that seemed to come from nowhere. As Porthos caught the cadet in his arms and picked him up, he started to moan. Moans that became more amplified as he entered the headquarters and started to make his way down into the dungeons and by the time he reached the deepest and darkest dungeons the moans were now easily heard. "Oh, Henri" Porthos moaned, "you are going to love this!"

Tagline: A jock finds an ancient artifact to gain the godly powers of a race long extinct. Author's Note: A sequel to my old story from 2012 (now in the archive). This is the third of my bad boy corrupted stories, where guys get corrupted by supernatural powers and things of that sort. I have a bad habit of writing too many of these stories, but I tried my best to vary this one up a little bit, and I left it open for another chapter. Let me know criticism or even ideas for other stories like this. I like the whole muscle growth superpower story and don't see a ton of them around anymore, so hopefully it is fun for some of you guys reading. If it is a bad story, let me know that, too always trying to improve what little I do write these days. The Jocks Rule II Marcello thought he was going on a hike with his sporting buddies. He thought they were going to do a little hunting, a little swimming, a little camping for the weekend, something to celebrate their senior year's spring break. He never knew that his buddy Daniel had worked another plan in, and that Marcello would become a key part of it. When he hopped into Daniel's old VW Golf, he nodded to Larry already in the coupe's old back seat. “What's up, man?” Larry asked. School had been keeping Marcello busy and he was busy trying to get his academic requirements in order before college next year. “Ugh, just busy, dude,” Marcello said. “I'm lookin forward to spending a weekend with you guys. I had to miss track practice last week so I could get these college interviews in. Whatever.” Daniel and Larry exchanged glances with each other. “What?” Marcello asked. “Larry, did you bring your rifle and clay pigeons?” Larry cleared his throat before explaining to Marcello their plan, “Okay man, we're not exactly going to just hike and shoot and stuff. Last weekend, while you were out of town, Daniel and I found this sick cave under Lake Sereno. It's fuckin nuts man, but there's some cool shit in there but since you're the smartest and all that, we gotta show it to you, you might be able to understand what some of the shit on the walls and artifacts say. I don't want to say too much because you probably will think we're crazy, but just bear with us.” Daniel stepped on the gas as they pulled onto the highway out of town, Daniel was more excited to get there than Marcello realized. “Where is it?” Marcello asked. “We've gone fishing at that lake for years I've never seen anything like that.” “It's underwater,” Daniel answered, calmly. “Maybe a half mile out from the Forest Deck Pier. I think for a long time it had been covered by a rock or a sandtrap, but I accidentally anchored over it and it caused the dirt to cave in, that's when we discovered the cave.” “Hang on, hang on,” Marcello answered. Marcello was a critical thinker and a smart guy, and none of this made sense to him. “First, how could you get into the cave if it's underwater, you don't have any scuba tanks. And second do you really think you're the first person to discover something like this? Don't you think if you found something with valuable shit inside it it would have already been discovered?” Daniel simply nodded his head. “Nope.” He said. “The underwater portion is small, it only takes about 10 seconds to swim through and you're above the water line again, it's not flooded. And I don't know or care if anyone else has discovered anything there before, it's fuckin cool and there's shit in there that I want you to see.” Marcello just nodded his head. “Alright. But I didn't bring anything to swim in.” “We didn't either,” Larry said, “doesn't matter, we all know each other well enough.” Daniel pulled his car into the parking lot. “It'll be a quicker access if we walk to the other side of the lake, there will be less people to see us too, it's way more remote over there.” Daniel and Larry led Marcello through a familiar trail of thick, evergreen trees and shrubs on their way to the pointe at the lake. Marcello liked his friends well enough, but he and his buddies knew that, for a jock, Marcello was the smart, sophisticated, calm, less impulsive of the group. He must have gotten those traits from his mom, because his dad was always a redneck, impulsive, jock loving athlete who had conditioned Marcello to play and condition at every sport he could. Marcello enjoyed the competition too, but he knew he was always a little different from his friends and fellow athletes. Now in his senior year, Marcello was looking forward to finishing the year strong in his track and field sport—Daniel and Larry meanwhile wanted to slow down time and hopefully never end their high school careers. On the walk out Marcello's buddies continually talked about their meet the next day, the schools they'd be competing against, and who would have the biggest muscular mass to show off during the meet. Marcello finished his senior year strong, all honors classes, a good university acceptance, he played Football in the fall, Wrestling in the winter, and now track and field. He enjoyed track the most, it was easy and running as well as pole vaulting allowed him to work more automatically. Larry and Daniel led the way out to the shore before taking their shoes and socks off, undressing for the swim out to the cave entrance. Marcello knew these guys since his freshman year, they were always more into being athletic and building tough bodies, something Marcello happily took part in but never gave as much attention to it as his buds. They were also way more assertive and often acted like the class bullies in PE and with non-athletic outsiders. “Outsiders,” they called them, Marcello thought, nodding his head “no.” “Do you guys mind getting naked today? I have a towel in my trunk but I don't want your underwear soaking through my car,” Daniel requested. “If we get naked we can dry off once we get back and our clothes will already be dry. Obviously.” Larry chuckled as he dropped his gym shorts. “Dude, your car is a piece of junk! Who cares?” Marcello tossed his own t-shirt to the side as he sat on the soft, moist dirt to untie his tennis shoes and pull off his socks. “We've seen each other naked every day for nearly 4 years, I think we'll be fine,” he said. Larry just nodded his head in a appreciative “yes.” “Yeah we do know how to get naked,” Larry responded. Marcello looked up at his friend. Larry was a gymnast since his youth and continued to condition himself that way. He had a thick layer of muscle on his body though he was a shorter guy at only around 5'8”. “Have you been shaving yourself?” Marcello asked as he stood himself back up. Marcello towered over Larry with his own 6'3” frame. Marcello looked down at his own bare chest to see a decent amount of dark, curly hair branching from his breastbone out toward his thinly defined pecks, a treasure trail going down to his waistline. Larry nodded his head, “yeah man, the chest hair is bugging me. I don't mind it on my legs, but not on my uppers,” he said. Marcello could see the pores where Larry's hair used to be, but his masculinity showed itself below his waist, with his shaped quads and shins covered in blonde hair. Marcello's own body was nearly the opposite of Larry. Marcello hit both a second wave of height spurt as well as a hair growth a year or two ago. He now stood fairly tall but the resulting growth made him fairly lanky. Marcello's own muscle definition was there, but was much less defined than Larry or even Daniel's own. As Daniel stripped down to his own boxer briefs, Marcello briefly brought his attention to his other friend. What Daniel lacked in muscle definition he had in more noticeable masculine traits. His black hair covered his legs and chest in full force. The guy was a hairy fiend. Unlike Marcello and Larry, who tended to wear boxers, Daniel always wore dark, spotted boxer briefs, and he wasn't afraid to show its key defining part: his obnoxiously large package. “What?!” Daniel would always say as onlookers brought their attention to his stuffed balls and dick. He liked the attention his dick brought him, and he wasn't afraid to show it to girls or guys. Marcello had only been with a girl a couple of times, his on-and-off again girlfriend Cheri, but Daniel seemed to get laid all the time. And for the dudes? He used his packing authority to intimidate and ridicule, sometimes to Marcello's own amusement. Larry was the first to strip naked and tug on his flaccid dick. Marcello followed and Daniel soon followed after him, his large package flopping out as he pulled his briefs down to his ankles and rolled them into a ball. “I'll hide the clothes under this rock, here, guys,” Daniel said, motioning for his naked friends to toss them their own underwear. Marcello stretched himself and looked out to the shimmering lake to his right. Larry stepped into his view and carefully walked over the sticks and washed up rocks before wading into the lake, his hard, square ass rocking with his bulked quads. “Nice n' warm, dudes!” he said before taking the last step off the shore and into the deeper water. Marcello followed him turned to see Daniel closely behind him, holding his hand over his eyes to keep the sun's reflection from shining out his view. Marcello took a long dive into the deep water and dove under, enjoying the refreshing feeling of the water against his naked body. He could hear Daniel doing the same. Larry grabbed Marcello's shoulders and quickly shoved him under, horsing around as quickly as he could. Daniel soon followed suit and the three guys got into a combo splashing and free water wrestling match. Marcello couldn't easily be pulled under because his height enabled him to quickly evade his would-be captors, but Larry easily got hold of Daniel and held him under for a second before Daniel punched him in the abs, forcing him to let go. “Shh!” Marcello said, sinking his head close to the surface of water. “There's some fishermen out on the other side of the lake.” Daniel didn't seem to mind, “No biggie man,” he said, continuing to whisper. “here, let's wade over this way, I'll show you what we found.” The guys quietly kicked over to the center of the lake, carefully evading the fishermen off the shoreline. Marcello would have never known to look in this area of the lake for anything, his buddies very well may have found something special. “Alright, we have to dive under, you'll see the hole it's about 3 feet wide, swim into it and as soon as it makes a U-shaped turn back up, you'll notice it turns from sand to smooth stone, like a cave wall, you'll be able to get there in 10 seconds or less.” Marcello interrupted. “Wait,” he said. “let's go one at a time so if we can't find it we can turn back around again to breathe. Count to 15 before going next.” “Good idea,” Daniel said. “I'll go first,” and with that he dove under. Larry gave Marcello another playful splash. He looked at his friend and couldn't help but think this entire activity was silly, from looking for lost caves to swimming naked in the middle of the afternoon. But Marcello seemed to be able to do silly stuff and come out of the situation better off, so he figured, what the hell. Larry dove under and worked his way toward the cave. Marcello looked around and noticed the fisherman were gone, they must not have noticed three naked men in the lake. If he or his buddies got lost or drowned, it would take days for people to find them. Finally, Marcello dove and despite the murky water, he was able to find this 3 foot wide hole and he worked his way inside, quickly turning back up toward the surface and surprising himself into an open and clean smelling cave. He took a breath and saw his buddies ahead of him, dripping water down their naked bodies as Daniel had his arms crossed and Larry had them at his side. Larry turned around and offered Marcello his hand as he lifted him up from the entrance pool. “Damn, you guys were right,” Marcello said. He walked silently around the open cave. It was huge. And brilliant. Light shined in from a translucent glass ceiling on the corner of the cave, flooding the room with sunlight. The area where he entered was mostly empty, but Marcello saw as he approached the other side a lot of bizarre and interesting items: carved benches, odd shaped weapons, swords, shields, and magnificent and old paintings scattered around the floors and the walls. “You guys already saw all this, right?” Marcello asked, shaking himself dry as he carefully inspected each item. “Yeah,” Daniel answered, following him, “I'm sure there's more around here, but we saw a lot of stuff, we didn't take anything though, we couldn't understand the script that was written next to each item, and everytime we tried to take something...” Marcello found out as he picked up a sword on the ground and electric shock burned into his hand and he let go, snapping the weapon back into its held position against the wall. “What the fuck?” he asked. Daniel continued, “...yeah, that happened.” “Alright,” Marcello said, thinking critically, “let's see if we can read some of this.” Writing was scattered everywhere, but it was in a script that seemed to be a mix of Greek and some strange, hieroglyphic-like symbols. Marcello didn't really study either language so he wasn't familiar but toward the back of the cave stood a strange, rounded-shaped relic, and on the floor were foot marks where someone had stood, apparently long enough to erode the very rock beneath the floor. Marcello examined the footprints and carefully placed his two bare feet into each, Daniel and Larry carefully looking behind him. “We didn't go back this far earlier,” Larry said. The imprints shifted and molded against Marcello's feet and he felt a strange sensation within his own head, as if someone was reading it. Suddenly, the wall's language began to shift, the lettering and symbols moving and morphing into a new script. Latin script. Something Marcello could understand! His eyes opened wide at the paranormal occurrence happening before him. He couldn't believe it. As the lettering slowed, the rock moved one again away from his feet and Marcello stepped toward the wall and carefully read what had been translated, he assumed, for him. A Human. Here. After so many years. Welcome. We are the Zets, we have placed our lifeforce here for your kind to one day find. Some have discovered this place before but none were worthy. Until you. When our race was conquered by the Ledomites, we were forced to flee our home planet, and deposited our artifacts across your planet waiting for the perfect species to merge with. You will be our first. We were warriors once, ultimate immortals, and we need the same strength and character to carry on our purpose. An athlete. A man who is capable of athletic pride and competition, who has the character of a warrior and the shamelessness of his body. You are the first to walk to our presence in your One True form. Because of this, You shall gain our gifts of power. Marcello couldn't believe what he was reading. It was absolutely ludicrous. As Larry and Daniel approached more words began to appear under the script. Two more men of honor arrive with their True Form ready. Once the First of You merges with our power, the other two will have the ability to earn our gifts. Take these and only these. After you have merged with us you can come back to this place, your new sanctuary. The rock bench shifted in front of Marcello and his friends and like an earthquake three distinct cracks formed and three previously hidden artifacts emerged from the bench. “Holy shit,” Marcello whispered, “Guys, what the fuck is happening.” Out of the bench three green, rocky half cylinders morphed and dropped in front of Marcello. They were small, rounded half shaped cups, almost like a cup put into an athletic supporter. Once again the writing shifted. These are our first artifacts. Each of you take them. The first of you must wear it first in front of a human victim, any male form with which to power yourself. Then the second must repeat, and finally the third. You must do this in your True Form, and your victim must be in his own True Form. You must make a pact to do this within the next 3 moon cycles, lest you forfeit our powers and our gifts. Marcello was in a daze, partially brought on by the writing in front him, partially brought on by this situation in the first place. What was this place? Daniel took a step closer and nodded his head. “Yes, of course,” he said in a daze. “What are you talking about?” Marcello asked, pushing his friend back. “I don't know what the fuck this is, but you saw what's happening here, there's fucking powers built into this place, and into these jock cups, they are made for us. Young men who are jocks and happy to be naked. Of course we're going to take them, of course we're going to use them. “And what the fuck is this talk about human victims?” Larry asked, joining the whispers. “I don't know yet,” Daniel said, “but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to join this society of, uhh, Zets. Short of killing someone, I don't think anything bad will happen, I think we need to put these things on our dicks in front of some other naked dudes, we use some of their lifeforce to gain the Zets powers.” “Are you FUCKING NUTS?!” Marcello asked, looking around to see if anyone had followed them in. “We are standing NAKED in a cave with magical words morphing in front of us, and it's says we need to steal someone's LIFE to gain the powers!” “No, it didn't, it just said 'victim',” Daniel said. “And anyway, we can figure that out later, let's take these things then we'll figure out what to do next.” Daniel reached out to grab the rock and bone-encrusted cup but when he grabbed it he immediately grabbed his arm and doubled over. “Oww!” he said. Looking down at his arm, Marcello noticed a roman numeral “II” tattoo grow onto his skin, and another one onto his waist near his pubic hair. Daniel moved his hand and touched his waist. “I'm number II,” Daniel said. “You've gotta be I Marcello, and that makes you III, Larry.” Marcello breathed a sign of stress before reaching his own arm out and grabbing the cup, it too burned his hand but the cup easily lifted off of the bench and into his possession. When he did so, Marcello had a brief flash, like a dream, of a powerful and immortal soldier, someone who seemed to be able to do essentially anything. “Woah,” Marcello said, stepping back. The fantasy grew inside him, it was orgasmic. Feeling more enthusiastic about his own potential powers, Marcello smiled. “Okay guys, let's take these,” he said. Daniel lifted his arm back and grabbed his own cup, feeling the same fleeting fantasy as Marcello had. Larry followed third, and earned his mark as well as his own vision. “Oh fuck yeah,” Larry said, now more enthusiastic as was Marcello and Daniel. The three jocks smiled at each other but quickly their attention was brought back to the writing for one last time. As men of strength in your True Form, you must make your pact. Deposit your seed into our artifact and find your human victim within 3 moon cycles. The bench before them shifted once again and stretched into a mini altar, one each in front of Marcello and his friends. Marcello looked to the left and the right and saw a strange, claw like table form, a hand directly in front of each of their crotches, perfectly positioned to hold the cups each of them had in their hands. “What is it saying, exactly, Marcello?” Larry asked. Daniel answered for him, “it wants us to swear an oath to ourselves and to the Zets that we will do this within 3...moon cycles...” “Full moon cycles,” Marcello said, staring at his alter. “That's 3 months or so, plenty of time,” in a daze, Marcello continued. “We need to promise to ourselves and also to the Zets. And we need to jizz into the cups now so that they become a permanent part of our being.” The guys looked at their own cups before setting each of them down onto the claw-like altar pedestals. The hands closed on the cups and held them in place. “Holy shit,” Marcello said. Daniel ran his hands from his shoulders down his chest and toward his package, closing his eyes and dreaming of the powers he could soon gain. “Guys, this isn't going to take me long, I hadn't wacked in a few days because I thought I was gonna get laid tonight, but, this is way more important.” Marcello had masturbated in front of his friends exactly one time before and it was a drunken, limp biscuit-style prank they were playing on the non-jocks to see who could jizz the fastest. This was completely different, but Daniel was already growing a stiffy and positioning himself. Marcello turned back to Larry who was dazzlingly tugging at his own member. “We gotta, dude,” he said. The vision had of Marcello's powers were making him horny, and his friends own erections were adding to his enthusiasm. Marcello set both of his hands on his waist and rubbed the sides of his butt before moving his hands toward his package, lifting his flaccid dick and feeling his balls, tenderly touching them as his dick started moving outward and higher. His balls pulled against his body and a shudder of pleasure went through Marcello. His breathing increased as he started pumping his dick, rubbing his left hand against his balls as he started jerking himself faster and faster. “Okay,” Daniel said between breaths, his eyes shut, “I'm almost ready, I want the power, the power!” he said louder. “Just a second,” Marcello said, his own breathing increasing, “I'm almost there,” “Make sure you're, hmm, umm, aiming,” Larry added, opening his eyes. The three jocks moved their feet and positioned their cocks in front of the waiting cups. “Fuck yeah!” Daniel whispered as his cock chocked and spewed his semen onto the cup, his body quaking in orgasm. The sight trigger's Marcello's own orgasm as he followed suit, Larry to the right of him following right behind. Marcello kept his attention on the cup as his dark yellow and clear liquid fell onto the cup, the cup soaking it in as it began to glimmer. Daniel wiped his dick into the cup and Marcello and Larry soon followed, getting the last of their seed onto the artifact. The altars snaked back into the wall, dropping the cups onto the floor. Marcello picked his up and noticed the same roman numeral I inscribed on the inside of the cup. Its shape changed somewhat, shrinking just slightly in size to match his flaccid package. Marcello was tempted to wear it immediately but Daniel stopped him. “Wait dude!” he said. “We need to do this outside of the sanctuary, and in front of another naked male. We can find some guys to try this on tomorrow after PE, but not now. Marcello looked down at the cup before looking at his naked buddies examining their own, each with their own personalized numerals. “Okay then,” Marcello said, agreeing, “I'll try it first tomorrow, then you guys can follow. But who do I try it on?” The three of them began to smile in union: “Evan,” they said together. Evan was a short man syndrome, crazy, hyper active non-jock who was in their PE class. The guy was short, skinny and vastly underdeveloped, but he didn't let that stop him from being intrusive, rude, petty, mean and selfish. He beat up on everyone even when he couldn't actually hurt anyone and always started fights. He was particularly mean to Larry but had picked more than a few fights with Marcello and Daniel. Marcello never picked fights with anyone and only saw Evan as a mild annoyance, but perhaps it was time for Marcello to show the dweeb who was boss. Marcello led the way back through the cave entrance and to the shoreline. Their clothes safely sat near the shoreline as the jocks toweled off. “Okay,” Daniel said, planning their time tomorrow, “we're all getting naked in the showers tomorrow. Hide your cups in your towels and once we corner Evan, Larry, throw Marcello his cup. Once Marcello changes I don't think we'll have a problem finding another victim for me or you.” “You take PJ, I'll take Charlie,” Larry added, “they should be easy targets.” “If I gain these powers right after putting this thing on,” Marcello added, “we'll have everyone's solemn attention, it's going to be a complete hypnotic show.” Marcello's dick started rising again with the thought of merging with the Zets powers. He didn't know who they were or where they came from, but that vision was real enough for him to try this. – PE class did a round of ultimate Frisbee in the muddy, rainy afternoon, so it was easy for the class to take time to shower after class. As the guys and girls separated, Marcello, Daniel and Larry gave themselves long glances as they rethought their plan from earlier. Larry would carry in all three artifacts under his towel and the three guys would be the last to walk in. No one ever took the shower-head next to Evan because he immediately started fighting with them, so Marcello knew it would be the perfect time to corner him. Daniel and him would take the shower head next to Evan and when he started fidgeting Daniel would corner him, giving him room for Marcello to place the artifact on his crown jewels. The guys lined onto their lockers and stripped of their PE uniforms. Marcello asked Daniel, “this might be the last time we're clothed,” as he pulled off his compression shorts. “The Zets were naked warriors, you remember what we saw yesterday?” Daniel nodded peeling down his own compressions and removing his t-shirt, “I love being naked, that's why we were chosen. That's why were the men in 'True Form' heheh.” Larry unfolded his towel and the three naked jocks set their artifacts into the towel, larry closing it. The three of them walked toward the shower corridor, hearing already Evan taunt and bother everyone near him. He was singing his song “You're a piece of shit...” something he made up while he flung soap onto every guy bypassing him. He would get shoves from the bigger guys around him, but nothing to really stop him from his menacing behavior. Daniel took the showerhead to the right of Evan as Marcello parked himself next to Daniel. Evan turned around to look at the two jocks and smiled, “Clean up, bitches!” he shouted, throwing his soap bar onto Daniel's forehead. His face quit smiling, however, when Daniel approached him. Daniel shoved the smaller Evan into the corner as Evan kneed him in the naked dick. “Ah, shit!” Daniel said between breaths, “you're...gonna, fuckin pay for that!” Larry unrolled the cup from his towel outside the gang shower and tossed it like a frisby toward Marcello, catching it easily with one hand. “What the fuck are we doing here, guys? Maybe we should let Evan alone, he's just a little twerp.” Marcello said. Larry shook his head no as he joined Daniel in holding the little guy in the corner of the shower with one hand. “Stay put you, we have a purpose for you,” he said before turning his attention back to Marcello. “Dude, we made a pact last night, this thing is centuries old and the ceremony requires it to be this way. You were the chosen one. Just try it on.” Marcello's surroundings drifted away as he stared into the intoxicating void within the cup. It seemed to encircle his mind with its power, its neverending attractiveness. “Okay,” He said looking back ath the jocks. Turning around he noticed the guys around him starting to look over Marcello's shoulder. Wondering what he had in his hands and what he was doing with hit to Evan. Marcello had reached the point of no return, if this didn't work he would be screwed, probably expelled, if it did work all of their lives were going to change forever. He lowered the cup toward his package. “You're the man!” Daniel shouted, “put it on and show Evan who's the boss.” Evan couldn't stop from taunting the lanky tall guy in front of him. “You're fucking idiot, Marcello.” he said, “when that thing makes you look like a dork I'll be the one tackling you to the ground.” Marcello's heart started racing as he pushed the cup closer to his dick, he could hear a voice begging him too, promising to reward him of powers he had never before imagined. He turned toward Daniel with a smile on his face. “You gotta look at Evan. You're tall enough to corner him don't look at me, dude!” Daniel said, remembering the instructions carefully, and carefully trying not to get himself hurt. “Point your artifact toward him!” Marcello turned back to the naked Evan, preoccupied with trying to fight Larry off of him. “As soon as it goes on, I'm backing away, look right at Evan,” Larry added, ignoring the little guy fidgeting with his arm. Marcello took a step closer to him, the two men, though both naked, couldn't have been more different. Evan was a feisty, underdeveloped, loud, menacing looking kid who pushed what little weight he had around to disturb and annoy as many people as possible—common short man syndrome traits; while Marcello was tall, skinny, hairy, quiet and had a secret and quiet strength to him, his muscles just barely defined underneath his dark, bronze skin. “Just stay still for me, Evan, this will be over in a minute,” Marcello said, chucking, his legs switching, his body asking him to put on the powerful artifact. As expected, the cup suctioned onto his dick and peeled itself onto his balls as soon is laid against his body “Woah!” Marcello shouted as it began folding over his package, the wooden and bone artifact liquifying itself into a putty-like mass as it spread over his balls and deep into his crevices between his legs. Marcello started feeling it around on his balls; his first reaction was to pull it off, the substance was menacing, disturbingly scary even, but he remembered what he heard last night, what the ceremony required, what he needed to continue to do. The cup stretched around his dick and up his pubes and started cracking like dry sticks, pieces of wood quickly liquifying into a puddle of soft energy, the power finally breaking free from its mold. The energy was surging his body with new thoughts, dark thoughts that he had never before even dreamed of; thoughts of evil, of dominance, of being a master of all things. The thoughts flooded his mind incomprehensibly, but he was surprised to find he could somehow make sense of it, though he could also feel his humanity leaving him, emotions and empathy falling away into purpose and control. He didn't mind at all, it was making him happier than he had ever been before. He was the Man! He was the hottest shit around, he told himself. He had a newly-formed purpose and an ability formerly inconceivable before now. Marcello loved the act of getting naked with his buddies, but this somehow felt different. He felt as if being naked and putting on this artifact of an all-powerful race was perfectly meant for him. And the energy filling him seemed to agree as well. Marcello watched the mass fold outward toward his legs and between them to his ass crack. The liquid energy pushed like puddy out to his waist and began branching around his skinny butt, stretching over it like a pair of briefs. Or a loincloth. Marcello was happy to witness it, he felt great, he loved being naked and loved having the attention of his friends right on him. The ceremony had a purpose and the purpose was to push the naked powers of the Zets into Marcello himself. Marcello let his hands go from the cup and enthusiastically allowed it to envelop him. As the artifact started cracking and liquifying, a dark green light started flashing like a spotlight at a stage, a bright, directional light. He could feel its purpose exactly. “Evan, of course!” Marcello told himself. His victim! His sacrifice. He directed his dick toward Evan and let out a scream of pleasure, a foreign and frightening sound, a mix between a shrieking horse and a deep, low rumble of thunder. Marcello's back twisted in the direction of Evan and his foot automatically stepped toward his victim, Marcello moving automatically, the power itself now directing him. His hips rocked forward as the putty thined around his ass, connecting on his backside. Marcello's dick was now clearly visible behind the thin powerful substance, and electric green light flashing right onto Evan. Evan, for the first time, had a flash of horror cross his mind. Up until this point he thought he had a silly prank he could play on the naked jocks. But for the first time, a strike of fear hit him as the green light felt like an oven wave of heat flash across his own naked stomach and waist. “What?! Oh my god, get me out of here!” he shouted. The dark green light crossed his bare chest and focused on his waist, lighting it and his small dick with a dark, mossy color. Evan's eyes opened wide with fear and pain. He couldn't look away. Larry and Daniel found themselves in shock and horror as well. Their friend's calm and stable demeanor was quickly turning into pure ferociousness. Marcello took another step toward Evan as the light brightened against Evan. “Oh God!! ARGH!” Evan shouted in pain, tears flowing from his eyes. “What's happening to me!!” Evan looked down at his hands as Marcello's friends and the other PE guys surrounded the scene unfolding before them. Evan's skin was turning gray and pale, he seemed to be aging quickly. Drying out. His skin loosened and dried, cracking like wood. His eyes glassed over as his muscular frame flattened into a skinny, dry twig. Evan's small dick started folding up and into his body as his hair folded back into his skin. His teeth receded as his body stiffened like an old board leaning against the side of a building. His breathing stopped as he froze into place. “Oh my god, it's actually working. Back up, guys, back up!” Daniel shouted. The guys tried backing away but couldn't look away at the horrific scene unfolding. The body that was Evan mummified into a decaying, skeletal corpse as his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his hair receded, the flashing green light now completely encompassing the decaying body, hardening into dust. Daniel turned his attention to Marcello as his friend's body started gaining height. His loincloth powered friend walking, in a trance, closer to Evan. “You're mine, human, come to me!” Marcello groaned under his deepening voice. Evan's body started dissolving into a dark green dust as is swept and surrounded Marcello, wrapping over his body like a tornado, folding into the cup as the cup itself wrapped over and wound tightly onto Marcello's loins. “Heh, heh, HAHAHAH!” Marcello started cackling. “Yes, I am complete, the powers, yes THE POWERS!” Marcello's back started cracking and growing as the tornado swept him into a fierce firestorm of power. As it did, Evan's lifeforce entered into his body causing it to explode with power and muscle. His cackling got louder as his body expanded with muscle, sinew wrapping down his tall, dark back and exploding his shoulders and pecs, lengthening his spine and thickening his neck. As he extended his arms his biceps pumped with a thick contours of sinew building a hard rock over his arm and pushing his veins out to his skin. His hands cracked and grew as he turned himself around in his powerful glory to look at his friends. The cup was electricifying over his dick . Marcello's chest pushed out as his nipples grew in size, the light fuzz of chest hair over him growing now growing further, thick and manly down to his quickly deepening abs. Marcello's thin and tight body was pushing out with hard muscle, six well-defined abs separating from each other topped at his pecs and down to his waist, just in time for his quads to tighten and push out, creating football-sized muscles on his upper legs. Marcello started twisting his body more quickly as his hair filled out over his pubes and down to his quads and shins, his lower legs quickly lengthening and growing in size, pushing the jock to 6'6” height. “Oh fuck yes! MORE! MOOORE!” he shouted as his dick started twitching. It lengthened and dropped low as his balls followed suit, the cup stretching with his massive package, his virility growing with his body as his testicles gained weight and mass. Marcello couldn't help but touch it and as he did he felt his circumcised head quickly folded behind his new godly foreskin, regrowing over his dick. Hair grew between his quads and back to his ass as it filled with muscle, matching the power of his thick legs. The material of the cup snapped into tendrils of power as the electricity engulfed Marcello's loins, feeding their way into his body by way of his ass and pecker. Now free to touch, Marcello grabbed his erected dick with force and pulled, each stroke of his hand vibrating his body with surges of masculine pleasure. He couldn't help it nor did he care that he was masturbating in front of his friends, the pleasure was too much. Every pump afforded him a shudder of pure orgasmic pleasure, each pump heightening his sensations and opening his mind to the powers his body was gaining. With every pump Marcello left the confines of human thinking—his formerly stable, mature and sensitive self was giving way to the cup of the Zets, a powerful and corrupted race, Marcello now realized. Marcello all too eager to gain it. But his friends were unfamiliar with the corruption wrecking their former friend. The naked beast started generating a blue electric glow around him and quickly a burst of electric light flashed out of Marcello's crotch as he began to crest, hitting Daniel in the chest, throwing the jock to the other side of the open shower room. Daniel landed on the floor, holding his head. “What the fuck?” he said, trying to get up, dizzied by the burst of power that pushed him. Larry started backing away from Marcello as the transforming god realigned himself toward Larry, throwing another burst of power-laden light onto him, slamming him into the shower wall. “Ugh, fuck,” Larry said, dazed out. The other jocks began to flee the shower corridor, running as quickly as they could away from the transforming god. One jock, Jonathan, couldn't get out of the corridor before the masturbating Marcello grabbed him with his arm, throwing him onto the shower floor. Jonathan's naked butt slammed onto the floor and slid back toward Larry, still trying to lift himself from his own knocked out daze. They stared up at Marcello as his eyes formed now a glowing red. Marcello, or the corrupted god Marcello was becoming, made a menacing smile as the jock's muscular legs began to buckle at the orgasm of his own pleasure. As his quads quivered and knees shaked, Marcello's left hand moved ever faster over his erected dick, droplets of precum starting to drip from his massive head. “What the fuck?!” Larry shouted as he grabbed Jonathan and slid him across the floor. They reached the back of the shower but to his dismay Larry found the rear fenced door shut. He had to remove the padlock, but his hand wouldn't fit through the gate to turn the combo. “Oh shit, we gotta get out of here! HELP HELP US!!” he shouted, Jonathan trying to lift himself up. As soon as he turned around, however, he grabbed Larry's shoulders, “FUCK DUDE!” Jonathan shouted, “he's right behind us!” But to their surprise, Marcello stopped of any further violence. The blue streaks of electric surrounded him completely as he continued to jack off, the human growing further and further in size and strength. Marcello could feel the Zets immortal powers sink into his body, and he was completely content with his new corrupted state. He let out a low groan as his dick began spewing onto the tile floor, volleys of cum landing on the shower floor, “MMM YESS!” he shouted, lost in his own masculine pleasure. The blue streaks of electric power sapped back into its master's body as Marcello let go of his erected dick. Taking the time to examine his new form in all its naked, godly glory. Larry couldn't help but stare, the warrior was perfect, his hair covering his legs and ass, the treasure trail perfectly snaking up to his curly chest, deep adonis belt pointing directly down to his massive package. He was the definition of a masculine immortal. Marcello stretched and smiled in his newfound powers before smiling at Larry and Jonathan at the end of the hall. “Oh Daniel,” he shouted, “it's your turn...” Larry had calmed from the calamity that was happening moments before, but he was afraid to continue onward. Daniel's corruption would be 10x as worse as Marcello's with his enthusiasm for the power already in full force. When coach walked into the shower room to respond to the fear and telling of Marcello's classmates, he sensed the panic and disorder running through the Coach's mind. Marcello reached his arm up and knocked him out, putting him into a tranced sleep so they could continue undisturbed. Daniel walked beside his power-ridden friend, holding his own cup and ready to go. He tossed Larry his III cup. Larry cleanly caught it and stood staring at the artifact, waiting now for his turn, entranced by the powers it held within. “Jonathan,” Daniel said, “you're the only naked one around and I really want these powers.” “What the fuck?” Jonathan asked. “Daniel, wait,” Larry said, “we can find someone else. Jonathan is your friend.” Marcello stopped Daniel. “I locked the doors in the back of the locker room. Everyone is trapped. Go find PJ or Charlie. Jonathan is a naked jock, we will have join join our ranks shortly.” Jonathan felt relieved as he looked into Marcello's eyes, he could feel the powers that Marcello meant to give him. He wanted it more than anything. Marcello forced open the rear gate to the corridor and Daniel stepped casually through to find a victim for himself. Marcello pulled Jonathan toward him and slapped his ass. “You can become a god too, you have the body and the personality.” Marcello realized his new mission, to transform as many humans into Zets as possible, and to spread his new race's powers. He could sense one other man from far away already transformed, and as soon as his two friends met with their powers, they would join up and determine a plan to conquer the humans. Larry watched as Daniel walked the corridor to the lockers and cornered CJ. He lifted the cup toward his now-erected dick, ready to try the powers on for himself. In an automatic motion, Larry grabbed his own cup and followed, ready to be the third.

Hey everyone, I‘m kinda feeling a bit of writer‘s block concerning my other series „Dear Diary“, so I decided to churn out this one-shot here. I was inspired by this quote: “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms.” ― Henry David Thoreau, Walden: Or, Life in the Woods As always, comments, criticisms, and suggestions are welcome. I would especially like to know if I‘m smearing on the prose a bit too thick, and also if the proportions and descriptions sound realistic. Enjoy! Wild At Heart The sunlight filtered through the trees, the green and yellow hues of the leaves glowing like the stained-glass windows at the local church. I inhaled deeply, taking in the odor of earth moistened by a dawn drizzle, its rich, musty scent filling my lungs, my bare feet glorying in the contact with the soil. And that was when I saw him. He was a young man, about college age or perhaps a bit younger. He was jogging along the forest path. It was obviously not something he did regularly; he was huffing and puffing, looking like he could barely reach the cusp of the road which sloped upward at a gentle incline. Furthermore, his body looked like that of a man unused to strenuous physical activity, or any physical activity for that matter; his waist was paunchy, probably from hours sitting at his computer drinking beer and eating cheetos. His face had a baby-faced look to it and his jawline was hidden underneath a layer of fat. But he had potential; his face, while rather pudgy, looked handsome enough, and it would improve as it shed its fat. His body, while pear-shaped, had a strong base to it, with wide shoulders and a thickness to his chest and arms which was not due solely to fat. It was clear that this was a young man who had grown tired of his body’s appearance and wanted to improve himself. It was most admirable how he had taken the first step on a long road, the road to manhood. I decided to help him out along the way. Why, you might ask? And how? Well, the second question might be easier to answer. You see, I am what you might call a wizard or a sorcerer. Different cultures have called me by several names throughout the centuries. Call me what you will. What is important is that I possess the ability to mold reality to a certain extent via magic, and that includes giving a certain young man a helping hand up the ladder. And now to the big question… why? The simple fact of the matter is, I don‘t know. Perhaps it had something to do with the setting; the sun, the breeze, the dew on the leaves. Or perhaps it had something to do with how beautiful I found the young man, so young and full of promise. I loved him. Not romantically, mind you, but the way a sculptor loves a block of clay, or a painter a blank canvas. They love it for its potential, what it could be. Perhaps it was for one of those those reasons, all of them, or even none of them. Decide for yourself, I don‘t really care… what matters most is the boy, and the man he became. Using my abilities, I took a peek inside his mind. A sculptor must know his clay well if he is to shape it, after all. I saw his self-loathing, his frustration, and most importantly his vision. I saw the man he wanted to become. And I was going to help him do so. Focusing, I willed his clothes to disappear. Even though it had rained recently, he wouldn‘t feel cold. In fact, things were about to get hot soon. Both figuratively and literally. So there he was, naked, his fat jiggling as he ran. Of course, he didn‘t realize that he was running naked, nor would he view his changes as anything out of the ordinary, I had made sure of that. Plus, there was no-one around for miles. Can‘t have my masterpiece be arrested for indecent exposure. Or after I‘m through with him, inciting sex riots. As he kept running, the first thing to change was his torso. His belly fat began melting off, leaving his stomach flat as a board. His arms lost their flabbiness, and his chest and shoulders began emerging from their prison of lard. His spine cracked as his posture and running technique improved. He was still missing something though. He looked very attractive, don‘t get me wrong, especially, with his body glistening with sweat. But he was still unfinished. His bare feet, pounding a steady rhythm on the hard earth, began to grow larger. He stumbled as the bones in his feet cracked and lengthened. He found his footing once more, but with substantially larger feet. They looked to be at least a foot long, if not more. Next, his hands began changing as they pumped up and down like a piston in a car engine, growing to large mits that could palm a basketball with ease. His body began to grow to match them, his legs and torso lengthening. He began having to duck to avoid branches as he sprouted several inches taller. He sort of looked like a stork, his thin, toned arms pumping as he ran faster due to his longer stride. His shoulders began pulsing as they grew, his lats thrusting themselves out, pushing his back into a broad v-shape. His pecs developed into deliciously sexy mounds of muscle, each topped with a silver-dollar sized nipple that looked perfect for nibbling on. His legs thickened into tree trunk-like pillars of strength that propelled him at ever-increasing speeds, the sound of his footfalls now a heavy thud due to all that extra muscle. They matched his large feet perfectly. And with that my work was done. I examined my handiwork as he stopped to drink some water. He was absolutely magnificent. He had become the very man he had envisioned becoming. He was tall, standing at least a head taller than most men. Sweat ran in cleavage between massive, dinner-plate sized pecs like a stream in a valley between two mountains. His shoulders were broad and thick like those of an ox. They looked made to plow a field from sunup to sundown. And speaking of plowing, his cock, half-erect, hung halfway down his upper thigh, and his balls were the size of chicken eggs. Every inch of his body from his short black hair matted with sweat to his large feet was built for power. This was no roided-out parody of masculinity. This was the platonic ideal thereof. With one final flourish, I clothed him in shorts and a white t-shirt and sneakers. Seeing the shirt tight around his shoulders and loose against his eight-pack abs, his shorts trying to contain the muscular glory of his legs, was beautiful. Everything about him was beautiful. I watched as he started jogging again. He moved now with the wild grace of a predator, his confident stride combining the primal power of a caveman with the sensual aesthetic of Michelangelo‘s David. His face now looked to be sculpted from the finest marble, with high cheekbones and a square jawline and clefted chin. I ached to kiss his lips, to lose myself in his brown eyes. Pleased, I made the appropriate changes to the man’s memories to account for the changes, and I went on my way. A/N: Sorry if the ending felt a bit abrupt there. I wasn’t sure how I should end it.

I will post this to my tumblr when I find a good photo for it. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Lloyd Banks strutted down the hallway. Each footstep pounded on the tiled floor of the biology building. His polo was pulled tight over his large torso. His pants were in a similar condition over the mass of his ass. His blonde hair was vaguely highlighted by the fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling. The lights even gave his pale skin a bit of a glow. The thudding continued down the hall. He chest puffed out with pride like he owned the school building. Each step caused his mass to wiggle and jiggle. The long walk across the building caused him to sweat. He was breathing a little harder once he reached the classroom for his one o’clock lecture. His frame nearly filled the doorway as he entered the room. Some people moved out of his way as he approached his target, Reed Harmon. Reed was the captain of the rowing team. His brown hair fell neatly over his dark blue eyes. It was offset by his well-maintained tan from spending so much time out in the sun. His body was a result of years of rowing since high school. Many biology students, mainly women, sought him out as a tutor as he seemed to be a great combination of brains and brawn. He wore a large, dark green t-shirt that fell over his lightly muscled frame and cargo shorts that fit him better than any pair of jeans would. Reed did not notice Lloyd heading toward him, but Ross was already glaring at the large college student. Ross Hart was Reed’s best friend and was on the rowing team too. He had a bit more mass on him than Reed, but that was mostly due to being five inches shorter than Reed’s 6’3” height. His surfer-ish blonde hair was matted down from the baseball cap he usually wore outdoors. His old t-shirt and ripped jeans covered his bulkier frame. He was just discussing with Reed about how hard a gainer he is with his chest. When Lloyd made his way over to the two, Ross patted his buddy’s shoulder and headed to his see. “Hey Reed. How’s it going?” Lloyd asked, feigning sincerity. Reed smiled kindly, “It’s going alright. How about you?” Lloyd smiled back. “It is also going well.” He paused for only a brief moment. “So I’ve been thinking about joining your rowing club. When do you guys meet to practice?” The rowing captain’s smile faded. “Well, um… Lloyd I really don’t know how to say this. I don’t think rowing would be a good fit for you. Rowing is really intense. You look like you got winded just walking here.” Reed shuffled his feet, looking uncomfortable, “You are too big for the boats too. Sorry to say this, but you are too big. I’m sorry.” Lloyd seemed unfazed, “No, no, that’s ok buddy.” He walked towards his seat, the ends of his mouth twitching. Reed still looked uncomfortable as he took his seat. The rest of the class went by relatively boringly. In fact, it dragged on three minutes longer than it was supposed to, so when the professor finally released the class, everyone made a beeline for the door. On the other hand, Lloyd moved swiftly, for his size, towards Ross. He tapped the rower’s bulky shoulder, “Hey man, how much can I pay you to convince Reed to let me onto the team?” Ross scoffed and glared up at the portly man who was only two inches taller than him. His eyes narrowed, “More than your daddy could ever pay.” He pulled his shoulder away from Lloyd and headed out to catch up with Reed. The rich boy was left standing there, his pride bruised greatly. Money had always gotten everything that he ever wanted. He bribed his way into the schedule he wanted. People would hang around him and be his “friends” because he always got the coolest things. He enjoyed the power money afforded him. But now it couldn’t get him one thing he wanted, to get on the rowing team. The rest of the day he spent on the computer researching black magic. He always had a penchant for the occult. He would go to antique and curio stores to buy something that reminded him of it. Demons, mythology, curses, all of it interested him. Now he wanted to put it to use. Eventually he fell upon a page for summoning demons. He printed off the instructions and went back to his dorm room, skipping the rest of his classes. Once back in his single dorm room that he paid extra for, he began gathering the materials he would need to summon his wish-granting demon, Flauros. Pricking his finger, he drew the demon’s sigil inside a circle of holly ashes. He locked his door, turned off the lights, and began to chant in Latin. Ironically, he was silently praying in his head that demon summoning was not fiction. He shut his eyes and chanted louder, growing desperate after a few minutes. From the other side of the room, the curtains moved, but the window was closed. Suddenly, any light that was in the room disappeared. Lloyd began to feel exceedingly hot, soon sweating buckets through his shirt. A voice cut through the pompous man’s chanting. “A man’s pride is an unstable thing, no?” The disembodied voice boomed and shook Lloyd to the core, “Open your eyes mortal.” Lloyd tightened his eyelids then slowly let them come up. The owner of the voice’s body filled his vision. The rest of the room had gone completely black, save for the imposing figure illuminated in a deep, red glow. “I am Flauros, King of Desires. What have you summoned me for, mortal?” The demon’s powerful voice demanded an answer. “I… I w-w-want…” Llyod stuttered. The figure before him struck fear deep inside of him, but it also tantalized his wants. He had to look up at the hypermasculine, intimidating face of the demon. Contrary to what he found online, Flauros looked surprisingly human, if one could look past that he stood a foot and a half above the intimidated student. “Out with it.” The large demon looked down at his body. “Judging by the form I have taken, you want strength.” Flauros’s pecs shook with every word he spoke. The giant mounds of muscle twitched in anticipation of being used. They were supported by two mountainous shoulders that jutted off to each side. The demon’s pecs hung over eight painfully carved abs. The arms that laid by his sides could only be compared to cannons. His legs looked like they could kick down marble columns. Not to mention, the King of Desires was entirely nude. Flauros’s cock looked painfully erect. Veins bulged along its entire sixteen inch length. It had to be as thick as a can of coke, if not more. The red glow seemed especially intense around the underworlder’s fuckrod. Lloyd’s eyes were drawn to it, even if he wasn’t gay. After staring for a few moments, he tore his eyes away from the monstrous piece of meat to look up into the demon’s eyes. They were the eyes of a predator, piercing deep into his soul. The pupils were slits just like a panther’s would be. They were surround by a surreal, purple iris. They were unblinking and unmoving. Lloyd could barely hold his gaze. “N-no. Not e-exactly.” The portly student stuttered again. He took a deep breath and laid over his carefully planned wish. “I want you to take my mass and give it to the rowing team. I want them to be big. Then I’ll be able to fit in the boat and they can’t turn me away. I want them to deal with being bigger than normal. That’s what I want.” He nervously looked up at the smirking demon. The giant leaned forward so he was face-to-face with the summoner. “So be it.” Flauros opened his mouth and pressed it against Lloyd’s lips. A muscular tongue filled the mortal’s mouth, he couldn’t fight it back even if he tried. It thrashed around inside of his mouth. He was far too shocked to react. As it licked around the inside of Lloyd’s mouth, he began to feel weak. His sweat-soaked clothes began to hang on him more. The tightness of his pants that he had gotten used to was slowly fading. After a few minutes of the demon kiss, Flauros stepped away. Lloyd had to crane his neck more to see the smirking demon. “Now mortal you shall sleep and wake up to find your wish granted. You shall never see me again.” Lloyd’s eyes widened at the demon’s words, there was no going back. “Now sleep!” The demon commanded and Lloyd’s world went black. Reed was peacefully asleep in his bed. At the stroke of midnight, he broke into a sweat. He hands gripped at his sheets as he tossed his head from side to side. Soon enough his arms were doing the same and the rest of his body followed. He even grunted and groaned. Luckily, his roommate was a heavy sleeper. In his dream, he was being assaulted by a large man. An inhumanly large man. Reed was being held down by his iron grip. He tried to fight back, but couldn’t even budge. He feared he was going to be raped or murdered, but the man did something unexpected. He kissed Reed. Reed wanted to scream. Something seemed so wrong. Even his skin felt tight. Suddenly, he found the strength to push his attacker off of him. The man smirked as the world faded to black. That night, every member of the rowing team experienced a similar dream. All of them woke in a cold sweat, then fell back to sleep in the most restful slumber they had ever had. That morning, Lloyd woke from his fitful sleep. He tossed the covers off of his body and went to the sink to splash some water on his face, once he had so, he began to brush his teeth. Only two seconds into doing so, he dropped his toothbrush. Staring slack-jawed into the mirror, he ran a finger along the edge of his chin. His jawline was no longer hidden by a layer of fat. He smiled as his neck didn’t fold or crease anymore when he turned his head. His smile only grew wider as his eyes wandered down his transformed body. His pecs were now visible, they were no longer moobs. By no means were they built, but they looked like they belonged on someone who visits the gym to keep in shape. His abs were faint, but with a little work they would stand out. His legs had thinned out, looking like he had been running miles every day. Only when he turned towards the door had he realized there had been more changes. The frame of the door seemed higher to him. Grabbing a tape measure, he messily determined his height. He had shrunk two inches to a modest 5’10.” He wasn’t the only thing that had shrunk. When he pulled out his clothes, they were the same stylish, expensive duds he had before but two or three sizes smaller than the previous day. Even his shoes shrunk two sizes to fit his size 10 feet. As he left the door, a devilish grin crossed his face. He couldn’t wait to see what lardasses the rowing team had become. Today, Lloyd’s footsteps did not echo down the halls. His shirt and pants were pulled neatly over his body. His smile was beaming. He had to get used to a few changes because of his new body, but he welcomed them. He didn’t even worry about hitting the doorframe as he walked into the classroom, but he still stopped in his tracks once he did. Reed and Ross were standing and chatting with each other as they always would. But instead of the rower physique he was used to seeing, they both looked like physique models borderlining on the realm of bodybuilding. He dared to step closer. His eyes darted over their new bodies. By the way they acted, he guessed they didn’t know they weren’t like this yesterday. It was only when he was a few feet away that their size really had changed. Lloyd once stood taller than Ross, but now the tables had turned. Even Reed looked like he had grown in height as well. Both looked like Greek statues come to life and then they dedicated themselves to lives in the gym. They were both wearing clothes similar to what they had worn the day beforehand, but now they were pulled taut over their sinewy physiques. With the way their pecs pushed out their shirts, he had to guess if they had a six or eight pack. Their pants struggled to contain their thighs and their diamond-like calves were out in the open. Even their sandals looked to small as their toes slightly hung off the edge. He braved a few steps forward, hoping his plan would still work. “Ahem.” He interrupted their conversation. Ross glared at him just like he had before, but now he glared down at Lloyd. On the other hand, Reed still had some kindness in his eyes when he replied. “Can I help you?” Lloyd swallowed hard and with a look of determination in his eyes he asked, “When is practice for the rowing team? I would like to join.” He puffed out his chest, feeling accomplished. Reed sighed and looked uncomfortable, a bit comedic for a guy his size. “Well um… Lloyd I really don’t know how to say this. I don’t think rowing would be a good fit for you. Rowing is really intense. You don’t look like you have the constitution for it, even if you were to row as a lightweight.” He shuffled his size 16 feet. “You are too small for the boats. Even the lightweights are bigger than you. I’m sorry to say you are too small.” Lloyd’s face grew bright red, “But… but…” It was Ross’s turn, “No butts, little dick. He said no so leave.” “Ross…” Reed looked sympathetic to Lloyd. “Li-little dick!? Mine is seven inches long you prick!” Lloyd face was redder than a sunburnt tomato. Ross laughed, “Then mine must be a foot long then. Go get your eyesight checked moron.” “Ross! Don’t be so mean to him!” Reed chided his best friend. “Yeah yeah. Look at him go.” Ross pointed at Lloyd running out of the classroom. Lloyd dashed out of the classroom as the professor was just walking in. Had he ran into the professor yesterday, the poor intellectual would have been flattened. Now, Lloyd bounced back against the now burly professor and landed on his ass. “Watch where you are going Mr. Banks!” The former-rower of a professor called after Lloyd who had picked himself up and sprinted down the hall to the nearest bathroom. He locked himself in a stall on the verge of tears. He thrusted his hands onto his thighs and balled them into fist. “Please say he is wrong. Please say he is wrong.” He muttered repeatedly. He hadn’t looked at his manhood in the morning to see if it had been altered to fit his new physique due to the excitement over the rest of his body and the chance to make fun of the rowers who were supposed to be as big as he was. Carefully he pulled down his shorts to reveal his cock. He was happy to see it throbbing against his briefs, but his joy was short-lived. He pulled his briefs down and choked back a sob. His cock was raging hard, but he had to guess it was at most four inches. No more than that. What once was seven inches hard and soft had been reduced to something below average. “It’s not right,” he muttered, some tears escaping his clenched eyes. “This isn’t what was supposed to happen.” He slowly realized his mistake in the wish. He said he wanted his mass transferred to make the team bigger than normal. He didn’t say what mass or where the mass should come from. Flauros twisted his words. He took his fat, but gave them muscle equal in mass. He made him shorter by two inches, and they grew by the same. He could only guess that his cock shrinking by three inches made their grow that much more. He had a chance and blew it. His one chance to get revenge on his perceived humiliation only to get humiliated instead.

Dear Diary – Chapter 1 I was 13 years old when I decided I hated my father. Sure, all children say that, at one point or another. All children experience disappointment or resent their parents at some time in their lives. But my resentment was different. Mine was born of years of living with, and under the thumb of, my father. My father was a hard man, you see, tough and gnarled as old tree roots. I don’t recall him ever smiling, or not giving me the rough side of his tongue, whether he was shouting or joking. Most men are rough with one another, a roughness that arises from a spirit of camaraderie and brotherhood, but his roughness was that of sandpaper. He never met anyone he didn’t rub the wrong way, and even when trying to be gentle, he would leave raw sores. Not that he beat us, mind you, at least not frequently. Though he had large and strong hands, he never raised them to either me or my mother. His favored weapon was his tongue,and that was sharp as a razor wire. While growing up, his tongue had bought me to tears more often than his fists ever did. He was a rather average man in most respects. Taller than average at 5’11, with a body that was a broad and muscular from a lifetime of construction work, covered with a layer of fat that had begun to sag with age, like all his bitterness pulled it down as it did everyone else around him. But enough about him. This story isn’t about him. At least, not entirely. As far as heroes in stories go, I wasn't anything special; tall than average at a hair under 6 feet, with a body that had never seen the inside of a gym, with the typical skinny fat physique of one who engages in little physical exertion. I didn’t life weights as much as lift books from shelves. I had nicely shaped features - nothing that would earn me a feature in some magazine, of course - but nice enough, albeit covered with a layer of fat that made me look younger than my actual 18 years. Nothing remarkable, nothing that would make the lads swoon. Yes, I am gay, but we will come to that later. All in all, I was far from the ideal of the gridiron high school BMOC, which my father always hated about me, and the fact that I was gay, well, that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Hence why I’m sitting here, on a park bench in front of the Public Library, at 2 in the morning. Alone. Abandoned. Forgotten. You see, my father had tossed me out, literally. Banished me from my home. And all while my mother stood there, saying nothing. Doing nothing. And so here I am, with nothing to my name but the clothes on my back, my phone, a few dollars in cash, and my ID. With the sound of his shouting and swearing still ringing in my ears. The judgment and disgust I saw in my mother’s eyes as fresh as the ache in my heart. Where do I go? What will I do? How will I survive? Those questions and more tumbled around in my head. I honestly have no idea how long I just sat there; I must have fallen asleep at some point, because by the time I came to the sun was up and the library was open. I decided, on a whim, to go inside. Why the hell not, not like I had anything better to do. What books do you read after getting thrown out by your parents? Emancipation For Dummies? 101 Ways To Survive Adolescence On The Streets? I am Homeless, And So Can You!? I was browsing the stacks listlessly when I felt a thud on my foot. I looked down and I saw a little book had fallen down from shelf above. It was black, with a blue ribbon to be used as placeholder. It had no title, strangely enough, and it also had no library reference number or stamp. It seemed to have been forgotten here by someone. Upon opening and leafing though it, I saw that it was completely blank. very Strange. It must be a diary of some sort… Oh well, I was hardly in a position to turn up my nose at free stuff. Sitting at a table, I started to write; Dear Diary, today is the first day of my new gay life (shit it’s hard to do sarcasm while writing) I had come out to my parents yesterday and it went about as well as I expected. Honestly, what was I thinking? I should have waited till I was in college, or even afterwards... I wish I never told them… And barely 5 seconds after that, my phone started ringing. Looking down, I saw that it was… my mom? Holy shit, what could she want from me now? “Hello…?” “Mike, where'd you been? You dad and I have been worried sick about you. Come home now.” “But didn’t you kick me out?” “Kick you out? Why on earth would we do that? Are you drunk?” “No, no mom... I’m on my way.” holy shit! How did that happen! Could it be…. this book? Well, that’s easy enough to find out. I wish my feet were 2 sizes bigger. I felt this tingling sensation in my feet, and I could feel the bones in my feet shift as they lengthened, and my shoes started pinching me as I outgrew them. After barely 5 seconds, it stopped. I could see my toes bulging out of the tip of my sneakers. Slipping of my shoes, I checked. It was obvious that my feet had grown larger; my socks no longer fit properly, and my feet were obviously longer and wider, and I bet that if I were to get a ruler and measure them, they would be precisely two sizes larger. Flexing my new size 13 feet, I wandered… what else could I change?

It's been a while since I've posted anything here. The usual stuff happened/happens I guess, so I haven't really had enough time to write much of anything. That's not actually true. For those of you curious, I've written the next two parts of Beyond Sexy a couple of times, but I don't know, for some reason I end up satisfied and delete them. That's a work in progress and will continue to be for awhile. Hopefully no more than a couple of weeks. Anyways, that old 'got to write something' feeling snuck up on me today and a some time later, I had this written up. Feel free to make any additions, other than incest or furry stuff. Hope you enjoy. %% Also if it seems overly complex/convoluted for a magic base story, I'm not entirely sure why I did that. So, basically the character puts on the ring to transform, the speed of the changes are controlled the by character, and any changes are permanent after the ring is taken off. Now in the ring is placed back on, then the character can again change his appearance. So really the changes are only permanent if the character loses the ring. The Ring Transfiguration. A process reserved only for the most skillful and trustworthy magicians. Usage was strictly regulated and those unauthorized were punished severely. It was only natural that such revered magic would be perverted by a teenager. Daniel Veras was neither particularly powerful nor skilled, yet through sheer determination and endless repetition he managed to create something comparable to a miracle. Crafted into a simple stainless steel ring, lacking any engraving or precious stones, was a magic born of thousands of years of arcane knowledge and countless failures. By slipping his fourth digit through the ring, Daniel was able to undergo a complete metamorphosis, adding or losing mass, changing form completely or simply making cosmetic adjustments. Unlike transfiguration spells, that only changed the physical appearance, the ring's magic recorded the changes made on the macroscopic world and altered the microscopic world to match. Giving the wearer a new genetic template meant specialized magic given form for the purpose of undoing transfiguration spells was ineffective because there was nothing to change back. It also meant the transformations were permanent once the ring was removed. **** Daniel rummaged through a drawer full of condoms for several seconds before settling on a particular size and flavor. He stuffed a handful of extra large rubbers into back pocket before wandering through the apartment making sure his roommates were gone. Satisfied and at easy with his roommates gone, Daniel ducked into his closet and entered the combination on an enchanted safe; only those able to manipulate magic were able to even perceive the solid chuck of metal. He rummaged through the mystic artifacts, searching for a familiar worn circle. Once he found it, Daniel walked to the full length mirror hanging against the back of his bedroom door and slipped the metallic circle onto its home. The changes were immediate. Everywhere, except that the waist, Daniel's jeans tightened as thick muscle spontaneously developed from nothingness. The denim molded like a secondary skin around Daniel's expanding rear globes and impressive frontal mound. The skin on his upper body tightened as the few pounds of fat melted away, revealing a network of well defined muscle. Daniel added mass to his arms and chest, while keeping his abdomen flat, yet allowing his abs to pop against his dark blue polo. As his bones thickened and lengthened, the ring expanded in size, keeping snug against Daniel's muscular finger. For several minutes Daniel stared into the mirror, admiring his imagination and the ring's power. He grabbed the hem of his polo, lifted it shoulder level, and flexed his meaty bricks for several seconds before deciding to make the cuts deeper and more pronounced. Satisfied he dropped the hem and continued model in front of the mirror. As Daniel struck pose after pose, he altered the bone structure of his face. With each cover worthy shot, Daniel's cheekbones became more pronounced and better defined, his jawline became stronger making him look older than his 21-years. He played around going from youthfully handsome to rugged manly, as a finishing touch, he added a short, dense forest of jet black hair to his face and scalp. Unable to find any further changes, Daniel walked into the garaged and started the engine of his car. Seconds later he sped out of the drive way, thinking of the fun ahead and the endless possibilities of the ring.

Loosely adapted from Morpheus' Amulet of Strength story: http://brawna.org/stories/the-amulet-strength Part 1 : Notable Appraisals Adam Barnes was not happy. Last spring, as a freshman, he had started an ultimate frisbee team. He got enough people to compete in a few matches and helped organize a small tournament with a couple other schools, but his teammates seemed to have lost their interest over the summer. "C'mon, guys, we have to decide on our practice schedule," he pleaded at a lunch meeting in the cafeteria. Bryce had a burger in his hand as he replied, "Adam, ultimate was fun, but can't it wait again 'til the spring?" Chris and Alison nodded in agreement. "I thought you guys were serious about this," Adam complained, to no response except a shrug from Harry. "And where are the other guys?" "I don't think they knew about it. They took themselves off the group list," Alison explained. Adam groaned as Harry asked Alison if she was still developing the app they had talked about last year, and Bryce took another bite of his burger. "Do you guys mind moving to the smaller table?" a deep voice asked behind Adam. "We're 12." --- Adam left lunch feeling defeated, once again, so he went for a walk into the city. Why couldn't they see they he wanted them to be a great team? Maybe they'd take him more seriously if he wasn't a 5'6" scrawny guy. If Bryce wanted to practice, people would get in line. They all liked Bryce, even though he was a lazy ass. He thought Alison was competitive enough to be on board with his plans, but she's a dorky girl. He's the one with the drive and organization to lead them. If only he could back that up with some muscle like the football guy that took their table. He called the meeting; Bryce had no right to say, "no problem, dude." Adam growled out loud and looked up to realize he wasn't sure where he was. It was a residential area around the school and most of the streets looked the same. At the next corner he got his bearings and noticed a sign for an estate sale. Yeah, who are they kidding, there are no estates here, just yards. But down the road he saw a front yard flooded with tables and items for sale. Maybe I can salvage something good from today, he thought. He got a philosophy book and a small set of silverware and then saw a table of free stuff. There was an old, small lock-box that reminded him of the one that Harry lost over the summer, thankfully after he deposited its contents into the team account. A note on it said, "Lock broken. Unknown contents." "Yeah, coulda thrown it out," a middle-aged woman explained, "but it adds some excitement to the event, right? Like those antique shows. But, if you do open it, FYI, it might be pretty moldy in there." "Okay. It's free, right?" Adam confirmed. When he shook it, it did feel like something was inside the box, but it didn't rattle. Adam returned to his room with a sigh. "At least I have a single this year. No annoying roommate." --- Watches were a hobby of his, so he had some small tools to try to salvage the lock-box, but it took him a week amid other distractions and homework to finally open the box. It was filled with a linen cloth that was definitely very moldy, but it could be wrapped around something. He closed it and returned the next day with a face mask, gloves and trash liner. As he extracted the contents, he realized he should have worn eye goggles, too, but the cloud of spores settled quickly and he gently unwrapped the cloth to reveal a large square medallion on a black chain and a old piece of paper that somehow survived the mold. He tapped the mold onto the liner as much as he could and then set the necklace and parchment aside and tried to clean up and contain the mold as much as possible. The box was potentially usable, but he was more curious about this necklace, or whatever it was. Adam knew that Bryce studied languages and that he went to the library pretty regularly. "Hey, Bryce, does this look like Greek to you?" "Ha, ha, Adam, that was funny. Oh, you're not joking." Bryce looked over the copy Adam made of the parchment. "It's similar to Greek, but probably more like ... Coptic or something." "Can you translate it?" Adam asked hopefully. "I could try looking it up, if you want. Can I take this?" "Yeah, it's a copy." "What's it from?" Bryce asked curiously. "Huh?" "Where did you find this writing?" "Does that matter?" Adam asked defensively. "Well, it might help me know where to start." "Look, you said you could translate it, so just do that," Adam demanded. "Oh. Look, are you okay about everything? We felt bad that we just wanted to hang out instead of practicing all the time, but Alison and I agreed that we could still practice once in a while. Or maybe just go for walks and do yoga to stay active, ya know?" "Yeah, okay. I'll post another lunch meeting for next week, same time as last week." "That sounds cool. I chat with Harry all the time, but it's cool to get together. Looking forward to it, dude." I'm not a dude, Adam thought, but since you're translating for me, I guess I'll pretend to be nice. --- He knew how to carefully clean the inner workings of a rusty watch and applied the same techniques to the filthy medallion, but it wasn't made of metal, more like stone or mineral. The chain was like obsidian and the medallion like jade but there were veins of color and depth in it that were ... entrancing. It seemed both fragile and eternal. The bulk of it was the CD-case-sized medallion that had a mix of hieroglyphs and letters and characters etched lightly into it. The etching wasn't worn down or faded in any way, but it was light enough that the symbols were only visible at certain angles and seem to shine in varying hues. He slipped the chain over his head and gently laid it on his chest. It tingled his skin through his shirt, feeling both cold and warm. The weight of it felt like a plate of armor. Adam looked over in the mirror and gasped. He didn't really look any different, but something about the chain or how the medallion brought out his eyes or how it shifted his posture made him look like a fearless warrior. In a blink it was gone and he saw his bugged out eyes and bony shoulders and totally flat chest, and the necklace looked ridiculous on him. He nearly ripped it off his neck and threw it across the room, but controlled his temper enough to drop it in the drawer with his favorite ultimate shirt. --- The next week, Adam, Bryce, Alison and Harry had lunch together. "I'm glad you guys came back to your senses," Adam laughed. "So we could go running every week and maybe do yoga sometimes for stretching?" "How about every other week?" asked Bryce. "And jogging sounds better." "I'm out," announced Harry. "I'm already going to the gym every week with my roommate, and I don't think I'll do ultimate in the spring." "Then why the fuck are you here, Harry?" demanded Adam. "Woah, Adam," Alison chimed in. "And where's Chris?" Adam persisted. "Why don't I go look for him," Harry said as he left with his tray. "Nice try, Bryce. Cya later." "Bryce isn't the one trying here," retorted Adam. "Adam," Bryce said very calmly, "I don't think this is going to work. You're a lot angrier this year and we're looking for some fun, not for being yelled at." Bryce and Alison exchanged looks and then took their trays just as the large table of football jocks happened to erupt in laughter. --- Later that night, Adam was pacing in his room. Even after going for a long run, he was too pissed off to stay still. "Fuck them," he growled furiously. "Fuck them both. Fuck all of them. I'm better without them. I'm an army of one and they'll soon wish they had me to lead them." Wearing his ultimate "uniform" often calmed him, so he decided to change. He also took out the necklace and decided to wear that, too. Maybe he could see himself above all this shit. The medallion once again felt like armor and he felt his posture shift. He hesitated before turning to the mirror. Yes, it might give him a glimpse of his warrior self, but it would likely be a short flash before he recognized the loser he usually saw. Instead, he looked out his window at a small slice of the quad and barely listened to the faint chiming of the chapel. Huh, must be midnight now. A bright green and pink light flashed into his room, and then it went completely dark as Adam lost his balance and hit what felt like a cushion on the floor. It was tough to get back up in the dark. He was very familiar with the layout of his room, but everything had fallen down or something and it felt like he was floating in the air a bit when he stood. The lights were out in the quad, too, so just a bit of moonlight began to reveal gray shapes around him. Was the medallion still on him? he wondered. But before he could look down, the power came back on and he saw the arm of a very large man behind him in the mirror. He jumped away from him and hit his head on something and fell onto his desk and broke it to pieces. He looked around the room but saw nobody. He again looked to check on the necklace and saw the huge arms come from behind him. He jumped across the room and the arms followed him as he realized: These are my arms! "Holy shit, I'm huge!" His body felt vaguely numb and uncoordinated, but he stood up and realized his head was just a couple inches from the ceiling that now had a large hole in it from when he jumped. He spread his arms wide and felt he could almost reach across the whole room. He flinched at his sideways reflection in the mirror as he saw bugles of mounds of muscle on a body that he still had trouble believing was his. His arms looked like legs and his legs looked like people. He also noticed the intact necklace that looked so much smaller on his bulging slabs of chest muscle, and that his t-shirt and shorts had also quadrupled in size to match his growth. But the medallion had lost its iridescence; it looked dull and ordinary now. Still, Adam gently took it off. He considered briefly that he might return to his previous form without it, but then he could probably just use it again. He placed it back into his drawer and checked the mirror again that the change was permanent. His face was different. It was still him, but ... studlier, and his hair had kinda spiked up. He took off his t-shirt with a few tugs and pulls and looked down over wide, thick traps to shoulders that extended beyond the sides of the mirror and hard plates of pecs with cleavage that rippled with his slightest thought. His abs were bricks, and another slight thought formed them into a deep, dense wall. He couldn't see lower than that in the mirror, but he extended his legs and saw his shorts overflowing with meaty quads that he shook and flexed and rippled in amazement. His calves were monstrous, nearly the size of bowling balls. As he connected with his new body, he felt the power residing in it and as he flexed biceps the size of his head, that power felt limitless. "I'm a god," Adam gasped, then laughed, "I'm a fucking god." He flexed as much of his muscles as he could and realized he was filling out the front of his shorts with a large bulge, too, and his jock was feeling too small. He had to untie his shorts to get them down over his ass and thighs and the jock strap took some effort to remove, but it remained intact. A huge hose of a dick plopped out with a sensation that felt like an orgasm to Adam, but was just the sensation of the still soft organ moving about. After getting naked, he grabbed the log with one of his paws and each tug felt like another orgasm. He felt it harden and rise and started using both hands as pre-cum bubbled out in a flow and lubed him well. The orgasm feeling of each stroke blended into one glorious ride and he spread his fluid over his body, feeling its hard, bulging strength. After what felt like an hour, his softball sized nuts churned violently and his back and neck arched as his legs spasmed and he sprayed about a gallon of cream across the walls of his dorm room with a long, very satisfied growl.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: While I am sad over the demise of the old forum, I suppose I am also the eternal optimist. This new site provides us the opportunity to showcase old works that may have gotten buried on the old forum. This is the first muscle related story I ever wrote and, in fact, it actually predates the old forum. It is still near and dear to my heart. Enjoy! The Beginning Toby had no idea what he’d done. The formula had been very specific and he laughed at himself as he looked at the concoction in front of him. It was supposed to be all-natural, but it clearly had the look of something dangerous about it: fumes seeping into the air and a foul stench. Still it seemed to be the answer to his prayers. You see he’d found this book at an estate sale when the rare bookstore he worked for had purchased a collection. Toby had stolen it before it was inventoried. Not that anyone would have missed the beaten up book with its tattered and worn covers. The text was in Latin, so most people couldn’t have read it anyway, and it had a lot of hand-written notes on the pages substantially decreasing its value. Toby figured he was doing the bookstore a favor for taking such a worthless poor seller off their hands. After glancing through its pages, Toby was thankful and not for the first time that he had been forced by his father to take Latin lessons in boarding school. For a dead language it was everywhere. The thing that had made Toby so especially intrigued about the book in the first place, enough to steal it anyway, was that it purported to be an alchemist’s manual of sorts. It had formulas for all types of things, although, to Toby’s disappointment, not one to turn lead into gold. Toby was usually very practical and wouldn’t have seriously expected such a thing to work. He was a scholar and a collector in his own right. He enjoyed books with an occult angle for their historical value: for what they said out the evolution of our society. He knew that there were alchemists’ journals out there that did indeed have such formulas – some modern forgeries, and he liked the idea of trying to add one to his collection. In fact his collection had already grown substantially and was made up of an assortment of old grimoires and other odds and ends he’d picked up along the way. But this book hadn’t been relegated to his collection in the same way as the others had. Toby had thought it fascinating from the start. Unlike the grimoires, which were admired and put back on their shelves, Toby spent hours pouring over the material in the journal. He even seriously considered changing his thesis from works on gay romance in medieval love stories to this journal. Which means, as you’ve guessed, that Toby was in addition to being a well-regarded employee in a rare bookstore, also in college, specifically studying literature and ancient texts. It probably had something with those Latin lessons after all. But his comfortable life aside, the reason we even have a story to tell is that Toby for a mild-mannered academic had been driven over the edge by jealousy. And lust. Well first it had been lust, but the jealousy had taken over. The object: his name was Michael. Michael had been a college student with Toby. But something had happened to Michael, something most unusual. Over the course of a semester Michael had grown from a fairly scrawny man at about one hundred forty pounds soaking wet, to a two hundred fifty pound monster. It had been a transformation that was absolutely breathtaking in its size and scope, and speed – and it had changed Michael forever. He’d dropped out of college and entered professional bodybuilding; he was nothing less than a sensation. And it didn’t seem like he was going to stop growing either. By removing himself from contact with his college acquaintances early in his first stage of growth, Michael had ducked the glare of questions from people who would really have wondered about his transformation. The only thing that anyone in the bodybuilding community cared about was the arrival of a new celebrity on the scene. So it began. Toby followed Michael’s transformation and career over the ensuing weeks like an addict, then from reality into to the pages of one bodybuilding magazine after another. There didn’t seem to be any Michael wasn’t in. This was when Toby’s sexual excitement at Michael’s transformation was overcome by the jealousy. He and Michael had not been lovers in any sense of the word, but they had been sexual partners of convenience from time to time. In those days when they’d started their studies Toby’s frame had been filled with a natural wiriness that had overshadowed Michael’s slight build. When Toby begged to be let in on the secret he’d been rebuffed by the growing Michael. Quite rightly, Toby thought, for why would any muscle god want someone like him? He had really been starting to despair, and when he despaired Toby always turned back to the one thing that cradled and comforted him: academia. He poured his heart and soul into that journal desperately looking for a way to bring something back into his life. It had been like someone had answered his prayers, for there in the pages before him Toby had stumbled across the formula. To be honest he wasn’t exactly sure what it did or would do. The text was a little obscure, but it seemed that it was supposed to, well that it was supposed to increase a man, to make him better. In his desperation, Toby was not as careful an academic as he usually was. He ignored the warnings scribbled on the pages. He wanted to be like Michael, to have what Michael had, and best of all to have Michael again if at all possible. And so here it is, Toby staring at the bubbling fluid in the beaker. Now mind you, it had taken some time, and he’d been very particular. Some of these all-natural ingredients had been hard to find, or make. For example he could only use water that had been salted and left out overnight for three consecutive full moons. Toby figured it was probably just the flowery language of the original author, but he didn’t want to take any chances. He was hoping against hope that this would work, while the rational part of his mind still functioning told him it was ludicrous. As ludicrous as what happened to Michael, he asked himself? Something he’d asked himself not for the first time. What the fuck, he thought, picking up the beaker and its contents; it’s now or never. He took the repulsive mixture and downed it in one terrible long swallow. At first he felt nothing, but as the gunk congealed within his stomach, Toby grew at first scared and then sick to his stomach. He double over in pain as he was suddenly filled with the most agonizing cramps imaginable. His rational mind thought he should get to a phone, but the only thing he could really think of was Michael: his handsome face, the way his biceps bunched into small boulders when he flexed them. Thinking he could stand no more Toby ran to the bathroom and puked and puked until at last his queasy stomach felt empty. The dark murky mixture had come out with all the rest of the contents of his dinner and Toby wondered if maybe he should have tried the formula on an empty stomach. Happy to still be alive he bent his head over the bathroom sink to get a long cool drink of water from the tap. When he looked back up at himself in the mirror though he realized there was something different about his eyes. His eyes were normally hazel green, but the eyes staring back at him were the bluest eyes he’d every seen. Something else was wrong too. Something was wrong with his face, he was sure of it. It was his face wasn’t it? And yet it seemed so familiar. With each passing second he was sure it was someone else’s face though, but this felt normal to him. His dishwater blond hair was clearly becoming a vibrant honey blond. His skin had the glow of health, and a tan. A tan? He was usually white as a sheet, wasn’t he? Then the tingle began. He looked down at his thin frame and his thin arms and legs, but in that moment a warm feeling spread from the center of his once queasy stomach and spread throughout the rest of his body. Then he could feel the beginnings of the change he hoped for as strength and virility filled his body. His shoulders began broadening, slowly at first but then he felt the snugness of the fabric of his shirt. Toby tried to unbutton the shirt, which was now far too tight across his broadening chest. In seconds he realized it was not just his shoulders growing larger, his chest and pecs had begun to expand underneath the clothes. His fingers fumbled unsteadily, but the pecs grew too fast and buttons began flying off across the bathroom. He tore the scraps away from his body in time to see the new muscles of his upper body rip through the material of his cotton undershirt as well. The wild growth continued unabated. His once flat chest expanded outwards before his eyes. He brought his hands up to feel his burgeoning pecs and was awestruck to see that his forearms had widened as well. Following his arms up past his elbows he could see that his biceps were also growing, already they’d ripped through the sleeves of his undershirt, but now they bunched and swelled even more, every time he moved his arms. Like Michael’s, he thought. Looking down at his once gaunt torso he was astounded to see that it was now twice as big as it had been and still growing. One look in the mirror confirmed his neck was developing too, no longer a thin shaft connecting his head to his shoulders but a thickening column of muscle. His shoulders seemed to be growing ever wider, while his deltoids were becoming developed and rounded. His biceps and triceps were rippling with newfound power. Toby couldn’t help himself – didn’t want to help himself. The power coursing through his veins was too much to bear and he had to flex. When he brought his arms up to flex them in a double biceps pose they looked bigger already than the arms of the biggest of the football player jocks he knew and occasionally gave blowjobs too. They were a bodybuilder’s biceps certainly, maybe even more. His pecs looked like slabs of growing meat under his skin with an ever enlarging valley appearing between them. His back was growing noticeably wider and his triceps felt the unfamiliar thrust of his lats forcing his arms out from the side of his body. His waist seemed to be the only part of his body that was not broadening but his stomach muscles were rolling and bunching under his skin, developing to an extent he never dreamed possible. With his attention centered on his rapidly expanding upper body it was a shock when he glanced lower in the mirror and saw that the legs of his pants were now filled to bursting with massive, new thighs. With a start Toby realized he was now growing upwards too because the pants were no longer down around his ankles, and they cut into his ripped quadriceps further up his legs. Even as he watched he realized they were becoming uncomfortably tight – and then they too ripped to shreds around his legs, leaving only tatters hanging around his waist. With newfound strength Toby broke his belt buckle and tore off his belt to relieve the pressure caused by the growing muscles of his thighs and stomach. He ripped away the remains of the pants. He was now clad only in too tight jockey shorts. The powerhouse legs, from the thickening quads and hamstrings down to Toby’s calves which for the first time in his adult life were really discernible, jutted out of the back of his lower legs. The growth on Toby didn’t seem to be stopping and although Toby would have been happy to look over his new torso and legs, the growing bulge in his underwear now caught his attention. Toby could feel his ass expand and grow more powerful to support the weight of his upper body. Looking in the mirror he could see it was becoming perfect. It became higher, tighter and rounder. Looking down he saw the crotch too was growing obscenely huge. Aware of discomfort he tried to peel off the jockey’s only to have the waistband and the backs rip off when he tried to get them down around his legs. Now that he was naked, Toby saw that the muscle growth had been reflected in the size of his cock and balls that were so much thicker, longer and hung lower than he had ever dreamed possible. Involuntarily he hefted them with his hands, amazed at their new weight and size. The growth continued for perhaps another half minute or so and then without warning suddenly stopped. Toby stood naked and alone and in his bathroom, running his hands over his bulging chest and rock hard arms, reveling in the washboard feel of his abs. With a shudder, his dick began to expand and with an audible gasp he grabbed it with his hands as it rose and began to point skyward. He couldn’t believe that he could fit both hands on the shaft and still see the shiny, purple head beyond his grasp. It was just too fucking much to take in, he thought. Then with a shout of pleasure and pain, he began to flex. He couldn’t help himself; he had to work these mounds of muscle, letting the last of the formula work its way through his bloodstream. Dumbfounded before, he suddenly felt the tingle again and watched himself undergo a second wave of growth, his muscles expanding again before his eyes making him even more massive than he had been before. His torso was expanded in all directions, growing wider as his shoulders and lats added inch after inch of muscle, and growing thicker as his already huge pecs expanded outwards while with the slabs of muscle on his upper back grew the opposite direction. His biceps and triceps strained against the his skin, looking flexed even though his arms were hanging down to his sides to the extent his increasing lats would allow. His immense thighs were thickening, adding more and more beef, forcing him to change his stance so as to make room for the increased mass of his legs. His calves were growing also, their diamond heads getting wider and thicker with each second. Only his waist seemed unchanged though his abdominal muscles were becoming ever more packed, cut and defined. All over, his body seemed to be expanding outwards, adding pound after pound of muscle mass. Then it was done. Toby felt absolutely terrific. He’d never felt so alive, so perfect. He looked in the mirror and thought that Michael should be so lucky. He, Toby, was a god now too. More so even. He was more than little old Toby – he was someone new. He stroked his erection and knew then what he wanted. The only thing he wanted. And thinking of the college only minutes away, he knew where he could get it. He knew the muscle monsters that frequented the gym there at this time of the evening. He’d been there many times before, sneaking a peak at them unawares. He stood on his bathroom scale to see how much he’d grown. Instantly the needle went to three hundred pounds and strained to go beyond. Then suddenly he heard it make a dreadful noise as his weight crushed the life out of the machine. Well that was okay, he thought, it didn’t matter. He was sure he could get proper measurements at the gym. What to wear, he thought, examining Toby’s wardrobe? “That’s right,” he said aloud, “This is his wardrobe, not mine. I need clothes that’ll fit a real man.” The only thing that worked for him was a pair of Toby’s biggest and baggiest sweatpants and even they were too small for his quads. Oh, well – who gives a fuck? He could always get new clothes later. Now he needed just needed to cum. “Party time,” he said, as he headed out the door. Read the Next Part

The Shrine of the first gathering I obviously do not know what I am doing..... can you tell I had a secretary for years ???? Any observations on how to post would be appreciated. RavenswereMuscle attempted to assist me but I got hung up on the type of docs allowable and then "supplying a post" The Shrine of the First Gathering - Chapters 1 & 2.pdf

A quick little Valentine's themed story I put together to go along with [this pic done by anglekindle. ] --------------------------------------------------------- It was shaping up to be yet another dull Valentine’s Day for Patrick. Patrick was in one hell of a foul mood, and it didn’t help matters that everywhere he looked he saw lots of lovebirds cuddling and swooning all over each other. Even Patrick’s friends were making matters worse. They were all out yukking it up (with a capital F) with their significant others leaving Patrick alone to think about how annoying this holiday really was. Unbeknownst to Patrick but knownst to us, Eros’ newest apprentice was ready to begin his first day on the job. He was ready to do the Cupid name proud. All he needed to do was finish mixing up a batch of Eros Incorporated’s most famous draught of Love Potion 69. One drop of that sucker in your bloodstream would make a man immediately smitten with the next person they saw. It was the perfect method of matchmaking! “Let’s see… A sprig of rosemary. Some thyme extract. A scoop of avocado for flavor aaannndd….” Flynn narrated as he mixed the ingredients into the cauldron. “A drop of the good stuff!” He exclaimed as he tilted the bright pink bottle to drip in some virility serum into the mix. A large percentage of love at first sight came down to sexual attraction so in order to really make the love serum work, the Eros employees always made sure to spike their love potions with a healthy dose of aphrodisiac, and Flynn’s concoction was no different… or was it. “Hmm… If a drop makes them fall in love, I bet a bunch will make them REALLY fall in love.” Flynn mused out loud. He upended the bottle and poured every last drop of the virility draught right into the cauldron. The mellow purple potion quickly began to bubble and froth. The color steadily shifted to brighter and brighter shades of pink until the cauldron bubbled over with magenta foam. “Huh. That’s new.” Flynn mused out loud, but he didn’t think much of it. After all, one can never have too much love, and it wasn’t like he had enough time to make a new batch. The alarm was already blaring to indicate that it was his turn to take to the skies. Flynn doused his arrows in foamy pink potion, grabbed his bow, and hauled ass for the horizon. It didn’t take Flynn long to find his first target. He’d recognized that sour grimace anywhere. This was one sourpuss who was sorely in need of a little romance. Flynn floated down low, took aim, and let his arrow fly true. Flynn watched to see if his arrow found its mark, and find its mark it did! The heart shaped arrowhead planted itself right into the dude’s denim clad keister. “Jesus Christ!” Patrick shouted. He leapt into the air and grabbed his rear in pain. He quickly found the source of his pain. An arrow! A solid, wooden archery arrow planted right in his ass! “Help! I’ve been shot! Medic! Is there a doctor in the house!?” He cried. “Well… that’s new.” Flynn mused out loud. He floated down to the ground to check on his mark. Patrick was roaring and flailing and grabbing his ass and just all in all making quite a scene. He had attracted quite the crowd of onlookers who stared on and scratched their heads. As far as they could tell there was nothing physically wrong with the guy. “Ok. Just hold still. I’m gonna…” Flynn instructed as he reached down to grasp the shaft of the arrow. The guy didn’t seem to be listening though. He seemed more interested in grabbing his ass than he was in being cooperative, but that made sense. Normal people shouldn’t even be able to see or hear the agents of Eros let alone communicate with them. “Aaaannnnd. Out we go!” Flynn said as he yanked the arrow out from his target. Patrick shouted again and spun around to face his assailant. “You!? You shot me!” He yelped. “Uh. Yeah? It’s my job.” Flynn replied casually. He quickly began to wise up that something was wrong though. “Waaaait a second. You shouldn’t be able to see me.” He said. “Of course I can see you, and I’ll see you again in court!” Patrick shouted. “Woah, woah, woah. Slow your roll, Holmes. In court? It’s against company policy to do any courting on the clock. You’ll have to wait at least another six hours for that.” Flynn replied. “You… what? No! I meant I’m going to call the cops on you for shooting me!” Patrick snarled back. “Ok. First off, when you say I ‘shot you’ it sounds really bad. I hit you with an arrow. Totally not the same thing.” Flynn replied. “How is it different?” Patrick asked. “Well for starters there’s no harm done. Your booty is fine, and your clothes don’t even have a tear in them. You shouldn’t of even felt anything at all.” Flynn explained. “What do you mean? I was shot. I’ll show you-“ Patrick began to say. He turned around as best as he could to give Flynn a good look at his ass, but there was something strange. As Patrick stared over his shoulder at his own ass he realized that Flynn was right. There was no blood. There wasn’t even a tear. If anything his booty looked better than ever. Patrick never remembered his ass filling out his pants this well before. His booty looked downright beefy. “See? No harm done.” Flynn explained. “Um… huh…” Patrick mused out loud. He was more confused than anything, but he had to admit that Flynn was right, and there was something else too. Patrick was starting to feel pretty good. REALLY good actually. The blood was rushing to his cock, and his muscles felt kinda of sore and stiff as if he had just finished a tough set at the gym. Patrick had never been much of a gym goer because of the pain and effort that went into it, but this actually felt nice. He could get used to this feeling. “So. No hard feelings?” Flynn asked. That snapped Patrick from his reverie. Patrick turned to face the Eros employee and got a good look at him for the first time. The dude was pretty cute; curly blond hair; lean, toned, shredded bod; a small toga that barely covered his crotch and left half of his lithe chest on display; and an adorable pair of angel wings on his back. The dude looked just like a classical painting come to life. “Yeah. Sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.” Patrick replied awkwardly. He blushed slightly and worked up the nerve to murmur a more in-depth apology. “It’s just been a hell of a day, and that was it was just kind of the final straw when you shot-“ “Hit you with an arrow” Flynn corrected. “Right. When you did the thing. Sorry again. That was uncalled for.” Patrick replied. “No hard feelings.” Flynn responded. He beamed a bright, toothy smile and held his hand out for a handshake. Patrick began to reach out to return the shake when something odd happened. Patrick’s sleeve shredded as his bicep flexed right through the fabric. This was extra surprising given that he had never really had a bicep before. He had always been kinda average in that regard. Patrick quickly began to realize that it wasn’t just his arms that were pressing against the fabric of his clothes. His entire outfit was feeling a little cramped. His chest pressed so hard against the front of his shirt that the top button threatened to pop clean off! His ass strained against the back of his slacks. His cock pressed hard – rock hard – against his fly. His quads bulged out and stretched the legs of his slacks to their limits. There was no doubt about it. Patrick was now jacked! He was so bulky that he looked like a full-time gym rat, and he could tell that he was still growing. “Oh. Now that’s new.” Flynn murmured as he watched Patrick steadily outgrow his clothes. The buttons popped off of Patrick’s shirt – first the top one, then the second one, all the way down to the fifth button which rested right below his now meaty pecs. The rest of the buttons of his shirt were holding, but not for long at the rate he was growing. His swelling abs were straining against the front and his growing Adonis belt pressed against the sides. Patrick’s slacks weren’t fairing much better. The seams along the sides of his slacks were popping and fraying as his thick, meaty quads grew too thick for the skinny little pant-legs to handle. The back of his pants burst open with a deafening “RRRIIIIIPPPP!” as his ass became simply too meaty for his slack to handle, but perhaps what was most shocking was the way the zipper on his fly pulled apart to make room for his rapidly swelling cock! Patrick watched in awe as his dick grew and grew. His rock hard erection rose steadily higher. The thick rigid shaft grew steadily thicker. Soon his throbbing boner stood so tall that it slapped against his belly button. The shaft was so thick that even with the fly all the way open the teeth of the zipper rubbed irritatingly against the sides of his dick. His nuts had grown so huge and pleasantly full of spunk that they were already the size of softballs and threatened to spill out of his slacks at any second. “Yeah. That’s new.” Flynn remarked as he watched Patrick grow larger and larger. Patrick was growing so huge so fast that his clothes had been reduced to tatters. The few remnants and ribbons that remains clunk awkwardly to Patrick’s swelling muscles. His pecs were the size of bed pillows. Each individual abdominal muscle was the size of a football. His quads were thick as oak trees. His traps bulged out like speedbumps in a parking lot. His biceps were the size of basketballs, and his lats flared out like wings that put Flynn’s cherubic flappers to shame. Patrick was simply massive, and yet all that muscular girth paled in comparison to the size of his enormous dong. Patrick’s cock was now taller than he was! His cock was far too huge and heavy to stand up straight. Instead the weight of it had caused it to jut straight out in front of him until it was so thick that the puffy ridge along the bottom now rested solidly on the ground. The spongy, pre-oozing head of his massive cock was as big as a VW Beetle. It was so thick that it even put Patrick’s muscular, meaty, barrel chest to shame. Thick veins the size of coaxial cables crisscrossed the length of his rigid boner, and his nuts were the size of sofas and now rested behind him leaving Patrick straddling his schlong like a jockey on a Clydesdale. “Ohhh. So maybe that’s why they call it ‘the hyper potion’.” Flynn mused out loud as he inspected the aftermath of his arrow. “Hey. So uh… I’m gonna flit back to base camp and get an antidote. Just uh, don’t go anywhere, ok?” Flynn uttered an awkward apology, but before he could dart off, Patrick had something to say to him. “Er… Actually, I’m ok with this.” Patrick replied. “Uh… Are you sure? I mean I can fly right back. It’ll just take a –“ Flynn tried to say. “I’m OK with this!” Patrick insisted. “Well… if you’re sure then…” Flynn muttered uncertainly as he began to slowly back away. “Wait!” Patrick called out suddenly. Flynn stopped dead in his tracks. He was sure that Patrick was going to ask for the antidote, but instead… “You… wouldn’t happen to have another arrow, would you?” Patrick asked impishly.

This is the first part of a series of stories jointly written with Greggrth involving our two O/C's. Hope you like. Some of the scenes get a little a violent and gory, so be warned. A prologue was posted earlier and can be found here 0.0 - Prologue. "Two trays of chicken enchiladas, four turkey sandwiches, medium rare steak with roasted veg times three." "The steak right, not the veg?" Jacob asked making sure the portions were right. "Both," "Cool" "Side of ribs, an orange juice and a strawberry and banana protein smoothie." Ben loaded the plates on to the table, one after the other, slowly, and joyless. "A beef lasagna, lamb tagine, a six egg white frittata and bowl of rice." Jacob rubbed his hands together as order was starting to look a little more substantial. "And a....side salad?" "Gotta keep it balance" replied Jacob, he couldn't understand Ben's confusion. "Ah huh" he said back to the carnivore. Joyless. From having to slave away in the diner, in a rotting shell of a building run by a man who's presence alone would fail a health inspection. If it wasn't for Jacob coming, placing a mammoth orders and helping his sanity, he might have chased all the staff and customers away with the flambés torch. The ravenous werewolf got to work on his snack. Sat in his usual stop the 320lbs behemoth finally found a booth where the seat would hold together and the table was loose enough to be raised over this trunk like quads. It required a little discreet renovation on Ben's part. The manager was furious with Jacobs first few visits. The damage caused of the area and the business lost was docked out of Ben's pay. But after a while, after he saw Jacob's final bill, the greasy rat decided it was worth the cost. The rest of the customers looked on, wondering how one boy could eat that much while others wondered how anyone becomes a six foot six pillar of muscle. Ben stood attentively for the illusion of work. "Ya been alright?" He asked the werewolf with nothing but an affirmative grunt having taken a mouthful. Ben could feel the burning look of the manager 'Get back to work' it said. "Why are you here?" He asked finally coming up for air. "Don't start this again," Ben replied before walking away. Jacob had tried the hard sell for a life away from waiting on tables. The werewolf had seen Ben in action, the power and grace during the recent attacks. He didn't have to suffer like a penniless student he could be teaching at the university. The subject could be his choice, summoning, arcane artes, elemental mastery, void craft, alchemy, enchantments, spirit bending or transmutation. To Ben they were just words, from an institution would wants to add their stamp on approval on everything in some illusion of superiority or authority. Why exchange one oppressive regime for another? The afternoon progressed slowly, the days were getting darker. By half five the sun was already behind the city scape and the horizon glowed orange. Ben talked over to Jacobs table as he squeezed the jacket over this monstrously thick biceps. "Sorry about earlier" Ben apologised, he'd been ratty and short for weeks now with everyone about everything. "Still on for drinks later?" --- Later was always an issue at the diner. The manager had always assigned Ben to lock up duty. 'Why, where do you fags need to rush off to at night?' Would be the usual response to his objections. Oh how good it would feel to turn that man inside out. The waiting staff had clocked out for the day, and the cooks were done prepping for tomorrow and had all their areas cleared and cleaned. Ben finished moping and dragged the bucket on it's wheel back into the kitchen. The flights flickered on. Staring down at the bucket he was pulling behind him, keeping the mop upright with the other hand he noticed a dark figure in the corner of his eye. Before he could turn to look at it two arms reached out from behind to grapple with him. His arms bound Ben was dragged back by the second. "What the...left go of m-" Ben yelled out as he tried to wrestle himself free. He kicked with his feet throwing him body against the metal doors of the fridge. His body cushioned by the man trying to restrain him, although a head taller than Ben he still cried out in pain but his grip hadn't loosened. Two more sprinted out from the shadows. A man and a woman. The first man Ben caught in the corner of his eye hadn't moved. In the maroon robes he watched on. "Who are y-what do you want?!" A fifth appeared from the far door leading the alleyway and neither one said a word. They were organised and with purpose, and speaking wasn't necessary. Whatever they wanted they felt committed, and decided to test that commitment. Still propped up by 'number two' Ben lifted his legs and kicked the man running towards him, square in the gut, throwing his body back until the base of his spine met with the counter. The woman hesitated, looking back at her colleague who was on his knees, but he didn't stay down there long. Making another run, Ben turned to look at the fridge to his left. As his green eye grew more emerald and radiant, the fridge door flung open off the hinges and pivoting on the lock to smash 'running man' back down to the ground. The inside of the fridge didn't look right, there were no shelves, boxes or food in Tupperware. It was a dark abyss where black smoke seeped out and two red eyes shone near the floor. A black arm reached and the claws dug through the leg of the 'running man'. He screamed and the figure from the fridge chuckled, a deep and demonic noise as the bone broke and bled. The body was dragged back in to the fridge and the door slammed shut and flew off it's hinges, and in the brief second it was closed the scene of a demon shrouded in shadow switched to food chilling on the shelves. 'Number four' couldn't move, she tried to but was frozen, not from fear but from the telekinetic bars Ben has summoned while Mot was fishing for his human snack from the fridge. The dozen bars reflected the light, they looked like glass with no clear outline or shape but they just closed in around their victim. She tried to push against, screaming and crying to the other for help, but the 'first' stood their idle, observing his underlings and the 'fifth' from the alleyway collapses a green plague of bleeding blisters and boils travelled over his skin and choked the air from his as the lining of his lungs turned to rot. As soon as he breathed no more, the corpse rose from the ground to attack anyone in Ben's defence. The sound of him choking was baring audible over the women, who's bones cracked as the cage slowly closed in on her. Pressed know through the fine mesh, the softer parts of her human, the skin, flesh and offal, squeezed through and poured out of the bars as her bones were being ground. Before Ben could turn his attention to the 'observer' who the myriad of curses seemed to swim around and past, the red of a fire hydrant flew into the view over his eyes, and the world went black.

I swear, I do write muscle growth stories that don't also turn into macrofests. This, however, is not one of them. Plenty of muscle growth to be had though... as well as a wide array of other kinks including but not limited to growth, shrinking, even some muscle/cock drain. I actually do a bunch of stories with dick shrinking as a theme, but seeing as that is pretty much the opposite of what I assume people here want to see, I doubt I'll be posting any of those here. That said if anyone's curious I have a full tag for those [Over on my Tumblr] ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Sid stood in line with all the other acolytes and fidgeted nervously. This was it. He had come of age and all that was left was to officially ascend to adulthood. He just wished he could shake the overwhelming sense of dread that had plagued his mind all day. The dark, indigo skies did nothing to alleviate his panic. “Hey. Relax. You’ll be fine.” Sid’s best friend, Zen said. Sid glanced over at his pal and tried his best to smile, but his expression looked pained and forced. “That’s easy for you to say.” Sid replied flippantly. Of course Zen wouldn’t be worried. He already had a great body. There was no doubt that he was bound for greatness. Sid on the other hand was a total shrimp. He didn’t even come up to Zen’s shoulders. The tip of Sid’s head was just barely even with Zen’s exposed nipples. Like all the acolytes. Sid and Zen were clad in little more than a ceremonial loincloth. The small cloth was enough for Sid, but it didn’t cover Zen’s goods at all. The tip of Zen’s huge, soft, cock poked out past the bottom hem of his ceremonial garb. Sid tried his best not to stare, but Zen was just so hot. Zen’s toned, firm muscles were simply spectacular, and his ashen grey skin looked fantastic in the purple light from the torches that lined the path of up the ziggurat. The light made his already purple-tinged flesh look even more lavender than it normally did. The light even seemed to make his shaggy, purple hair sparkle which just served to make him look even more handsome. Zen put his hands on his hips and puffed up his chest dramatically. “You were staring so hard I thought I’d give you a nice view.” He said playfully. “As if I was staring.” Sid sputtered indignantly. “Whatever you were doing it looks like you enjoyed it.” Zen replied playfully. He gave a quick nod towards Sid’s crotch and gave his shorter, slimmer buddy a sly win. Sid glanced down and saw that his dick was standing straight at attention. He gasped and shot his hands down to cover up – less because he was embarrassed about popping a wood in line and more because he was embarrassed about the size. Even hard his dick was nowhere near as big as his buddy’s soft cock. Sid could feel the heat on his face. He just knew that his cheeks had to be turning new and exciting shades of magenta of even indigo as the blood rushed to his cheeks. He was so embarrassed that even his pointy ears felt like they were burning. Zen just laughed and gently rustled Sid’s green hair. “Just relax. Your size doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t affect your ascension at all.” Zen explained in an effort to soothe his bud’s nerves. “That’s easy for you to say. I’m already halfway to being an imp…” Sid grumbled. Zen tried to keep a straight face but ended up laughing at his friend’s comment. “That’s just a story they tell acolytes to keep them from slacking off in their duties. I’ve never heard of anyone actually getting turned into an imp at an ascension ceremony.” He explained. “What about that cage that the groundskeeper has outside his window. He says it’s the perfect size to keep an imp in.” Sid replied and shuddered visibly as he did so. “He says a lot of things.” Zen replied and rolled his eyes. “I’ve never seen or heard of anyone getting turned into an imp. No one here is going to fail their ascension least of all you.” “How can you be so sure…?” Sid muttered. “He can’t.” Came a haughty voice from beside Sid. “No one asked you, Vin.” Zen growled. “You didn’t have to, but I knew I was needed.” Vin replied. He was almost as huge as Zen in every way imaginable, but what made him really intimidating were his two lackeys at his side. The two lackeys were every bit as big and as built as their leader. Zen may have been able to handle Vin one on one, but three against one would be nearly impossible. Vin and his posse liked to terrorize the acolytes throughout the course of their training. He was openly hated by most, but everyone knew there was no way to directly oppose him without it coming to blows which would end poorly for everyone involved. Vin had a remarkable ability to keep his nose just clean enough to stay out of trouble but still throw his weight around and boss others around. Vin leaned down and peered menacingly at the much shorter, smaller acolyte. Sid recoiled in fear but for the most part stood his ground. Vin sneered and let out a menacing chuckle. “I don’t see why you’re so worried about becoming an imp.” He said darkly. He paused for a moment and stared down the cowering acolyte as he waited for his words to sink in. Sid didn’t know where he was going with this line of reasoning, but he sure it wasn’t good. When Vin finally finished his line of reasoning he proved Sid’s suspicions correct. “You’re already such a shrimp that you won’t even notice when you inevitably become one. Why, I doubt you’d even notice the difference. You mighteven add on a few inches in the process.” He said sinisterly. “The only one who has anything to worry about is you.” Zen replied defiantly. “Oh? You gonna do something about it?” Vin sneered. “No. I won’t have to. Everyone here knows what you’ve been up to these past few years. Do you really think you’ll be judged highly when you take the trial?” Zen asked. “You think I care about some stupid trial? Look at me. I’m fit to be a legionnaire. This whole ceremony is just a joke. I’m gonna walk up there and take my armor, and no feeble old git in a gaudy robe is gonna stop me.” Vin replied. He folded his arms in front of him and glared menacingly at Zen. At first Zen said nothing in reply, but he didn’t back down either. He met Vin’s glare and stared right back at the would-be bully. After a long, tense moment, Zen finally spoke. “I wish you all the best in trying it.” He said. “I don’t need luck.” Vin replied flatly. He then turned and marched his way back up towards the front of the line. His two lackeys made sure that the people who were in line in front of him didn’t get make any effort to deny their boss his rightful place. “If anyone deserves to be an imp it’s that guy.” Zen spat. Sid shuddered. “Even he doesn’t deserve that.” He muttered. Even just thinking of it made his stomach turn. He felt like he was going to be sick. Zen clapped a hand on Sid’s shoulder and smiled down at his little buddy. “You’re the nicest guy here. They’d never make you an imp.” He said reassuringly. “I wish being nice counted for something. They don’t grade you based on how nice you are. They grade you based on how strong you are or how brave or how smart. I’m none of those things!” Sid lamented. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’d be a great addition to any caste, and… you know… I’m still not saying it’s possible. I don’t think you have anything to worry about, but just for a second, let’s say the worst does come to pass, I’ll look after you, ok?” Zen said sweetly. “You mean like your pet?” Sid asked. “Well… I’d never think of you like that, but I’d do anything in my power to help you. So… stop worrying. I’ll take care of you, ok?” Zen replied. Sid nodded silently and wiped a tear from his eye. He was still terrified, but at least he knew that his best friend would look out for him. Even being cursed to live as an imp didn’t seem so bad if he could spend it with Zen. Sid’s gut churned again. He was so worried about failing his trial that he had completely forgotten about another serious issue. Even if he did succeed there was no guarantee he’d ever see his best pal again. He could get shipped off to any corner of the known universe. Suddenly failing his trial didn’t sound like such a bad idea… A loud horn blast split the air. The sound announced the beginning of the initiation. All the acolytes returned to their place in line and waited quietly to be called up to the altar where four priests stood with their staves held aloft. Each priest wore a different costume to denote their status and the caste they represented. Rah, owner of the red gem, had crimson robes and an iron mask to denote his ties to the worker caste. All who wished for a life of quiet fulfillment hoped for his favor. Sin, owner of the purple gems, had on ornate, layered robes. Each layer was a different shade of purple, and on his head was a helmet of solid steel. He oversaw the warrior caste. Those who sought to prove themselves, bring honor on their families, or protect those closest to them sought out his blessing. Next was Sol, owner of the blue gem. He wore simple, blue robes and a faceless, porcelain mask. He oversaw the caste of the learned; scholars, merchants, scribes. Those who wanted a more intellectual life hoped to earn his good graces. And behind all three of them sat an old, faceless figure clad in threadbare grey robes. No one knew his name or his status, but it was clear he was revered by the other three priests. His gnarled staff had a black gemstone on the tip of it. There were more myths and rumors surrounding him than there were facts. No one knew for sure just what to make of him or what caste he represented. The acolytes went up one by one to receive their blessings. Unsurprisingly Vin and his cronies were at the front of his line, but what was surprising was that Vin hung back and let his lackeys go first. No doubt he wanted to make a big show of getting a better result than they did. His two cronies went up one after the other, and both received the blessing of the red gem. Rah signaled for an attendant to come forward and pulled out what appeared to be four earrings, but it was clear that that was not the intended use. Only scholars got their gemstones placed anywhere on their faces. The attendants stepped and held the rings up to the lackey’s nipples. The rings instantly clamped down on the exposed flesh, but the two newly designated workers didn’t seem to feel a thing. There was no blood and no pain. There wasn’t even any irritation of the surrounding skin. Their brand new nipple rings looked as if they had been there for years. The small red gemstones on their new rings began to glow brightly, and the lackey’s already massive frames expanded rapidly under the power of the red gems. Their already defined muscles grew and grew. Soon their chests were so broad and their pecs so large that even just one of those slabs of brawn could have been used in place of the ceremonial altar. Their abs were so deep and so thick that each individual bump of their eight pack abs was as large as a couch cushion. Their biceps bulges like beach balls. Their legs were as thick as tree trunks. Their pitiful little loincloths which were the only holdover from their days as acolytes were now so tiny on them that the lower hem of the cloth didn’t even dip low enough to cover the base of their cocks. Their huge, fat cocks were easily two feet long and dangled down to their knees. Their massive nuts were as large as basketballs. Their huge, hulking bodies were now perfectly suited for the arduous lives that awaited them on the frontier mining colonies. They stood by and silently waited for the approval of their leader, but Vin hardly seemed to notice them as he walked by. It wasn’t until he reached the altar that he turned back and sneered, “Enjoy your lives as peasants.” His lackeys were saddened but not altogether surprised by his response. The first priest stepped forward and held his gem aloft. The red gem did not react to Vin’s presence. Vin sneered at the priest and then waited for Sin to step forward. Sin came forth and held his staff up towards Vin, but none of the gemstones began to glow. Vin was furious. “What’s the big idea. I’m destined for great things. I’m not some pencil pusher.” “No…” came a raspy voice from somewhere behind Him. Vin spun around quickly as if he was ready to fight whoever it was that dare deny him his destiny, but upon seeing the aged, faceless priest glaring down at him from behind his dark, threadbare cowl, Vin fell suddenly silent. “You clearly lack the intelligence to be one of the literati…” the ancient priest rasped. His lifted his staff high. The jet black gemstone atop seemed to gleam and glisten, but it would be imprecise to say that it glowed. Rather it seemed to be sucking the light from the air around it. As Vin stared into the swirling, black vortex terror began to well up inside of him. Vin tried to back away, but his two former lackeys stepped forward to hold him down. Vin thrashed as hard as he could as the ancient priest slowly shambled down the steps to the main altar. Soon he was standing mere feet in front of Vin. Even as close as he was, Vin couldn’t make out any features from beneath the cowl. It almost appeared as if he was gazing into the abyss as he tried to look for any sign of mercy under the ancient priest’s hood. The old priest pulled a small, tarnished iron ring with a jet black gemstone from his robe and held it up to Vin’s neck. The ring was far too small for Vin to wear on his fingers, but he got the feeling that that wasn’t where he was supposed to wear it. Vin could feel the malice emanating from the ring. The priest continued to move the ring closer and closer to Vin’s throat until it was actually touching his exposed flesh, but the priest kept pushing. The ring began to sink right into the flesh of Vin’s throat like a rock being swallowed by quicksand. Vin could feel it sinking ever deeper into his throat. The ring finally stopped sinking when only the small black gemstone was left exposed. Vin could feel the lump of it nestled right against his Adam’s apple. “H-Hey… Guys? Let me go, would ya? I mean, Workers. That’s not bad, right? You can take pride in your jobs and all that, right? In fact, I wouldn’t mind joining you. So come on? Give me some of those rings and let me join you. It’ll be great, right?” Vin pleaded nervously, but his former lackeys showed no signs of remorse nor did the wizened priest. Vin turned back towards the priest and tried to protest some more, but he couldn’t get the words to form. The ring seemed to be growing within his throat. The lump in his throat was now so huge that it was actually blocking his windpipe. He felt sick to his stomach. His skin felt like it was crawling. His very bones felt weak. The priest moved with a speed that belied his age. In one deft motion he sliced the string of Vin’s loincloth causing it to fall from his swole frame and fall to the floor. Vin was left completely nude in front of everyone, and he could do nothing to cover up. Vin whimpered pitifully as he saw the effects begin to take hold. His firm, rippling abs which he had spent years sculpting slowly began to smooth over. His big, beefy pecs began to deflate. His thick, muscular quads shrunk and shriveled before his very eyes, but perhaps what was even more terrifying was what was going on between his legs. His cock slowly pulled inwards. His balls slowly pulled upwards. With each passing second he could see his nuts get ever so slightly smaller, his cock getting ever so slightly thinner. He glanced back up to plead one last time. It was then that he realized something else was happening. He had to stare up to even see the faceless priest’s hood. Just moments earlier he had been taller than the wizened old priest by a good margin, but now he barely reached the grey-clad figure’s shoulders. He then realized why the ring felt so huge in his throat. It wasn’t growing. He was shrinking around it. He was dwindling by the second, and it didn’t seem like it would stop any time soon. With each passing moment he got smaller… shorter… slimmer… His muscles melted away to nothing, and his dick continued to recede. Before long he was so short that his feet didn’t even touch the ground. It was now pointless for the two newly ascended workers to both hold him, so Vin was passed off to just one of them to hold. The worker turned and lifted Vin up for the whole crowd to see. Vin tried his best to cover up, but there was nothing that he could do. He didn’t have the strength to fight his giant captor, and he was quickly losing the will to fight back at all. Already he was so tiny that either of his captor’s giant hands eclipsed his entire arm, and yet he was still shrinking. He couldn’t figure it out. How tiny was he supposed to get? When would it stop? It was then that he remembered what that shrimp Sid was saying before. Vin had made sure to tease the twerp about his misguided fears, but Vin now saw that he was the mistaken one. The curse did exist. It wasn’t just some story told to scare acolytes into behaving. He was being shrunken down to… an imp. He remembered the tiny cage that sat outside the groundskeeper’s house. He remembered how he used to joke about how nothing could fit in that. He used to say it was obviously just decoration. Nothing could possibly be that small. Not even rats could fit in that cage, but as he continued to dwindle down to the point that he easily fit in the palm of his captor’s hand, he knew how wrong he was. He could feel the band of tarnished iron pushing its way through his skin. He was now so tiny that the ring – which was too small to even fit on his pinky when he was big – was actually bigger than his neck. He then realized that it was never meant to be a ring. It was a collar for a tiny animal. It was a collar for him. The tarnished iron band passed seamlessly through his flesh. There wasn’t even the faintest mark on his skin to show where it had come from, but it didn’t look like the ring would slide through his flesh so easily the next time. It was firmly locked in place around his neck. The opening wasn’t tight enough to be uncomfortable, but it was far too small to slide over his head. There was no way he could get the ring off without getting someone to slice it off for him. The jet black gemstone stuck out from the front of the collar and gleamed directly below his chin. It was so heavy that he could barely stand, but he refused to let them see him collapse. He mustered what resolve he could and stood shakily to his feet and stared of defiantly at the gigantic priest and his two towering former lackeys. Vin had to be no more than four inches tall at this point. His muscles had all vanished leaving him with a slim, slender physique. His dick and balls had dwindled considerably even in comparison to his vastly shrunken body. His once hefty, foot-long cock which once dangled over halfway down his thigh was now a tiny little nub between his legs which looked much like a small acorn, and his once massive, chicken egg sized balls which used to hand down nice and low were now as tiny as the tip of his shrunken dick. His tiny nuts now longer hung low. Instead his sack had pulled up tightly against his groin which just made his junk appear all that much smaller. Vin was furious, but he knew he was powerless. His former lackey poked and prodded him with one meaty finger. Even just the tip of the hulking worker’s broad fingertip was as wide as Vin’s now slim and slender torso. Even just a soft poke from the giant was powerful enough to send Vin toppling over. Even as he was herded into his tiny cage he glared defiantly at his captors. As far as Vin was concerned there was nothing more they could do to him, and there was no way he was going to give them the satisfaction of seeing him crumble. One of the attendants took his cage from the priest and carried it down the main aisle. As he traveled past all of his former classmates Vin saw a multitude of glances sent his way. Some people were shocked. Some laughed as they saw the former bully being toted away like a mouse in a cage, but most of them had this smug sense of vindication. It was as if the overwhelming majority of them were glad to see him get his just deserts. Vin was not at all surprised by any of these. It was no secret that he made his fair share of enemies in his time as an acolyte. It was no surprise that many of them harbored ill will towards him, but there was one acolyte that amazed him. There was only one person that shocked Vin. As he passed by Sid he could see the terror and sorrow in the scrawny guy’s eyes. Vin couldn’t help but gawk at the guy he once tormented mercilessly. Sid was now far bigger, far buffer, and far better hung than Vin, but Sid was still considered the smallest, weakest, and littlest guy in the class. Even though Sid was by far the smallest acolyte, his dick alone was now bigger than Vin’s entire body. Vin felt a twinge of remorse. Just minutes earlier he had mercilessly teased the shrimpy acolyte about the curse. He had menacingly told Sid that he’d be doomed to live his life as a tiny imp, but Vin had not believed such a thing existed back then. He had merely been tormenting someone smaller than him to make himself feel bigger and stronger, but now that he knew the truth he would never wish such a fate on anyone else. As Vin was carried out of the ascension grounds he heard one last comment sent his way. Sid turned towards his bigger, stronger protector and softly uttered, “He didn’t deserve that… Nobody deserves that…” “Yeah…” Zen murmured awkwardly. He felt sick to his stomach after what he had just seen, and he felt even worse because he had been secretly wishing that it would happen. Even as he watched the black gemstone suck the light from the air around it Zen had felt his pulse race. He had to fight back his own arrogant sneer as he watched the terror well up in his former tormentor’s eyes. Zen had enjoyed watching the tables turn. He had enjoyed watching the bully plead for mercy, but as the inches melted away and Vin’s cock and muscles receded away to next to nothing, Zen felt a pit form in his stomach. The curse was worse than he had imagined, and he knew more than anything he could not let that befall his best friend. He’d do whatever he needed to. The rest of the ceremony went off without a hitch. The acolytes all went up, received the blessing of the gems and were given their new body. There were quite a few acolytes who got sent to the worker caste, a few scholars, and there were even a lot of soldiers. All but three of these had been given the blessing of the deep, purple gem which denoted that they’d be low level soldiers. The other three received the blessing of the lavender gem which meant that they were destined to be leaders and generals. There was much rejoicing and congratulation as these acolytes took on their new forms, but never once did anyone notice the third purple gem glow. Finally it was Zen’s turn to take the trial. Rah waved the red gem in front of him, but nothing happened. Nobody was surprised to see this. Everyone had figured Zen had the makings of a general so when Sin stepped forth with the purple gems an expectant hush fell over the ascension grounds. As most people suspected, the deep purple gem did not light up. There was some muttering amongst the crowd. Even some of the attendants were baffled. The gemstone on the tip of the priest’s staff was glowing brightly, but none of them had seen this color before. A resplendent magenta glow filled the altar. “I have not seen this in centuries…” Sin muttered. It was the first time anyone had ever heard him speak. His voice sounded frail and feeble, but he moved with the speed and vigor of a young man as he marched away from the altar and into the ziggurat behind them. He returned a few minutes later with an ornate jewelry box. Another hush fell over the crowd. All the acolytes recognized the seal on the front of the box. It was the emblem of the royal guard. “No way…” One of the recently ascended acolytes muttered. “A Praetor?” Another gasped. “I thought they were only fairy tales!” Another murmured. Sid was excited for his best bud – he really was… but there was something gnawing at the back of his mind. Praetor was such a rare and powerful position. Even though it was purely symbolic since there hadn’t been a monarch in centuries, Zen would no doubt be shipped off to the capitol to stand guard over some official location. Sid had no doubt that Zen might even be sent to oversee the senate itself. The secret meeting grounds of the high council was strictly off limits to all but the elite of the elite. Even if Sid managed to get a good ranking and a good gemstone and a position somewhere on the homeworld, his chances of every seeing his best bud again were slim to none, and even if he could somehow keep in contact with Zen, the chances they’d have to actually visit one another would be few and far between. They might even go years without seeing each other. Just thinking about it made Sid feel incredibly sad. He almost found himself wishing that he’d fail his trial. At least then he could stay by his best friend’s side… even if it was confined to a small cage like some sort of exotic pet. Sin reached into the box and pulled for a small, silver ring with a glowing amethyst set into it. Sin then knelt down before Zen and placed the ring against the exposed tip of Zen’s cock. The platinum ring passed through the soft skin of cockhead like a warm knife passing through butter. The ring left no marks as it passed. The flesh reformed behind the metal just as it had been before. If not for the band of silver which now protruded from the underside of Zen’s glans it would have seemed like he had never been pierced at all. Zen felt the effects immediately once the ring was in place. It was a strange yet familiar sensation. He could feel his cock chubbing up as it had so many times in the past, but it felt far more intense than it ever had before. The blood rushed to fill his cock, but it seemed like no matter how much blood flowed to his loins it was never enough. His cock just continued to chub up indefinitely. He glanced down at his dick and saw that what he was feeling wasn’t far from what was actually happening. His already sizeable dick was swelling before his very eyes, but it wasn’t just plumping up from the rush of blood and flood of arousal. His cock was literally growing by the second. It stretched longer, swelled fatter, grew heavier with each passing second, and it wasn’t just his cock. His already full, chicken-egg sized balls were growing too. Soon they were the size of baseballs and his dick dangled down past his knees. The plump, meaty shaft was already as thick as his huge, muscular forearm and showing no signs of stopping anytime soon. Zen was used to people seeing his dick. It was no secret that he was hung before, and his acolyte garb rarely covered the entire thing, but this was different. He was usually able to keep his arousal in check, but his cock was chubbing up in front of everyone that he ever knew. It was a little embarrassing. Especially once pre began to trickle from the tip of his huge chubby. The clear liquid dribbled across the silver ring that stuck out from the bottom of his slit as it oozed out. Zen felt like he should do something to stop it. The ring was so pretty that it seemed a shame for it to be laminated in his juices like this, but there was nothing he could do. The growth felt too good. There was no way he could get his libido under control at a time like this. Zen felt another rush flow through him, but this time the energy coursed through his entire body. His already firm, sculpted muscles grew and expanded before his very eyes, but the change was nowhere as severe as it had been with the workers earlier. His pecs grew thicker. His abs grew deeper. His biceps bulged farther. His lats flared out from under his arms. His quads grew larger. He was definitely getting bigger and stronger by the second, but his form was more built for speed and grace than it was for manual labor. Zen was so excited that he wanted to rush towards his best friend and gush about his good fortune, but as he glanced down at Sid he realized something was very odd. Sid was always on the short side, but now Zen’s best buddy barely reached his thigh. Sid now stood eye level with the base of Zen’s cock although it didn’t look like Sid was complaining. Sid was staring straight at Zen’s cock with a look of out and out lust and awe, and Sid’s little dick was standing straight up at attention. Sid was so hard that his loincloth couldn’t even hide his arousal. His rigid dick had lifted the cloth out of the way so that his dick and balls were clearly on display. Sid stared on in awe as Zen continued to grow and grow. Sid had seen a few ascensions before. He had watched the rest of his graduating class take their trials already and he had even served as an attendant for one or two in the past. He had seen acolytes grow up to be sentinels or legionnaires, but nothing compared to what was happening to Zen. The tallest Sid had ever seen anyone grow was almost ten feet tall, but Zen had already passed that mark and was still growing by the second. Up and up he went. It wasn’t until Sid barely reached halfway up Zen’s shin did the growth finally taper off. Zen’s stood completely nude. His loincloth had snapped loose and fluttered helplessly to the floor early on in his transformation, but he was hardly worried. He was so overcome by huge and powerful he felt, and he could tell from the look in his best friend’s eye and the stiffy that Sid was sporting that he looked hot as hell. His changes weren’t even over yet. His muscles and frame had stabilized, but his dick was still growing. It was now almost as thick as his hips and almost as long as his legs, and still it kept growing. His massive nuts already dwarfed the altar beside him. Either immense orb was almost twice as tall as Sid and far, far wider. Zen’s massive nuts continued to grow by the second. Soon his enormous orbs rested solidly on the ground. His massive, fat cock draped over his nuts, and even then his dick was still long enough to rest solidly on the ground. The tip of his dick came to a rest mere inches in front of Sid. Sid stared on in awe at the cavernous maw of his best bud’s cock. The slit alone was taller than he was. He had never seen anything so hot in his life. He could feel the heat emanating from it. The scent of Zen’s pre flooded his nostrils. Sid took a moment to soak up every inch of his pal’s cockhead. It was so massive that it blew his mind, and the ring had grown right alongside the dick. The silver band was now every bit as wide as Sid’s slender shoulders. The glowing amethyst was now larger than Sid’s whole head. It blew his mind to think that just a minute ago that ring was small enough that he could have worn it on his finger if he had wanted to. “So what do you think?” Zen asked playfully. He even went so far as to puff out his chest and put his hands on his hips as he posed for his best bud. Sid couldn’t respond – at least not vocally anyway, but his awed gaze and rock hard, dribbling boner said more than enough. Zen chuckled as he watched his tiny pal eyeing him up. He couldn’t wait to see what changes the crystals had in store for his little buddy, and since Sid was next in line, all that was left was for him to undergo the trial and get his own crystal. Sin returned to his post alongside the other priests and beckoned for Sid to come forward. Sid felt like his stomach was about to go supernova. He was so caught up in watching his pal transform that he had almost forgotten that his turn was next. He was so nervous he felt like he could puke and was visibly shaking as he slowly made his way up to the altar. Zen tried to cheer him on, but even the towering, twenty foot behemoth of a best bro wasn’t able to sooth Sid’s nerves. The ritual began as it always did. Rah held forth his staff and waited for the crystal to react. There was a tense moment as everyone waited for some sort of reaction, but no one was surprised when the crystal remained dormant. Nobody thought Sid to be the worker type. He was too much of a daydreamer to be expected to focus on manual labor for extended periods of time. Sin took the stage next. He raised his staff high and waited for some reaction. A tense silence fell over the crowd as they waited, but it soon became apparent that none of the military gems saw him suitable for their service. No one was really surprised by this though. Sid was too gentle for a life in the military, and it wasn’t that he was weak. The gems had the power to alter his physical stature any way they saw fit. Sid was far too kind to be expected to raise arms against another. He would never be able to carry out his duty as a soldier. Sid fidgeted excitedly as the third and final priest made his way forward. Sid never thought of himself as the intellectual type, but it was sure a better fit than the other two roles, and plus there was always the slight chance that he could get assigned as a scribe in the capitol. As he saw it, it was the best possible outcome. Sol raised his staff high. Sid closed his eyes involuntarily. He was so excited and nervous that he couldn’t bear to look. He was already imagining how he would look once he ascended. Scribes didn’t get much growth, but he hoped he could get a few inches of height and some more length downstairs at the very least. He was tired of being so short and tiny. An unearthly silence fell over the crowd. Sid felt like his gut was doing flips. This wasn’t right. Someone should have said something. There should be some cheering or something. Sid still couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, but the reason was different this time. His excitement gave way to fear. He couldn’t have failed the trial, could he? He slowly worked up the nerve to open his eyes. He started slowly. His right eye slowly inched open, and he gazed out at the staff through his half-open slit. His jaw dropped. His gut lurched. The stone was still inert. There wasn’t even the faintest glimmer of light in it. “There must be some mistake!” Zen shouted. Sid could feel the ground around him shuddering as his titanic pal stomped towards the altar. “There is no mistake…” Sol said solemnly. “I… I failed…?” Sid murmured softly. He still couldn’t quite believe it. He felt sick. He had seen what happens to those who fail. Is that what awaited him as well? Would he get to be as small as Vin? He was already so small to begin with… what if he shrunk down even smaller than Vin? He shuddered just thinking about it. The thought terrified him, but try as he might he couldn’t shake the image out of his mind. Already his imagination was running wild. His mind’s eye replayed the scenario again and again, and each time he shrunk down smaller and weaker. Even if Zen agreed to take him in what kind of friendship could they even have if Sid was too small to speak too…? Too small to see? “I can’t allow this. I won’t let you turn him!” Zen shouted. Sid could hear the arguing going on around him, but it all seemed like it was miles away. He was still too in shock to fully comprehend what this meant. “You will stand down…” The ancient, faceless priest rasped. Somehow the audience fell even quieter. It was as if the air itself froze in time and space as the wizened priest stood up from his chair and limped down towards the altar. “I swore I would protect him.” Zen replied defiantly. “And you will.” The grey priest replied. Zen was taken aback. It wasn’t that the priest was menacing… far from it. His demeanor was far different than it had been when dealing with Vin. He sounded almost amiable. It was as if he found Zen’s defiant attitude enjoyable and even endearing. “Yes… I see now why you were chosen. You’ll make a great Praetor.” The old priest mused aloud as he placed his hands on the box from earlier. Zen watched intently as the ancient priest opened another compartment on the side of the box. The seal of the royal guard folded away to reveal another, more ornate emblem emblazoned on the side. Those who were close enough to actually see the emblem turned to whoever was nearby and started muttering amongst themselves. They had seen this seal before, or rather, they had seen a close facsimile of it. It looked much like the emblem of the ruling council, but crude X that made up the council’s emblem was replaced with an ornate set of wings. There had long been rumors of an older emblem that predated the council’s seal, but no one had seen it in centuries and even the records of it had been erased from history. Everyone was wondering if this could be it, and if this was the ancient emblem then what did that mean for Sid? The faceless priest strode over towards Sid and gestured over to the altar. “Please. Have a seat.” He said gently. Sid was still shaking like a leaf, but at least it didn’t look like he was going to be shrunken down into an imp in the immediate future, and it seemed the best way to ensure that that didn’t happen was to play along so he did just that. He obeyed the priest’s suggestion and hopped up onto the stone altar. The smooth stone felt cold against his exposed ass which did nothing to alleviate his shivers. As the priest stepped forward and stood directly in front of Sid, Sid became aware of something different. The gemstone atop his staff was glowing! It wasn’t like it had been with Vin. The gemstone atop the ancient priest’s staff was emitting a brilliant green light. Even just seeing the warm light put Sid at ease. He steadily began to relax, and as he did so he became aware of more changes that he had missed before. The priest’s staff was no longer the warped, sinister hunk of rotting wood it had been before. Sid could see small sprouts of fresh vegetation cropping up along the gnarled wood. “Here. Put this on.” The priest said gently. It wasn’t so much a command as it was a suggestion. It was almost as if he was offering Sid a gift. Sid nervously held out his hand and waited for whatever it was the priest had to give him. He was surprised when he saw the circular medallion and the platinum chain that it was attached to. The medallion bore the same strange emblem that he had seen on the box. Sid glanced nervously over at his pal as if pleading for Zen to give him some advice. Zen merely nodded silently. He was as confused as Sid was, but for the time being it seemed best to keep doing as the priest asked. Sid swallowed in an attempt to clear the lump that had formed in his throat, but it didn’t help much. He was so nervous he could barely keep his fingers steady. He almost dropped the medallion more than once as he tried to put it over his neck. The chain was the perfect size for him. It slipped neatly over his head and rested comfortably around his neck, and the medallion itself rested directly against his chest. The fit was so perfect that it was almost surreal. Sid glanced down and marveled at the small, circular piece of jewelry. It just felt right. He gasped as he saw the small gem in the center light up. It glowed with the same brilliant green as the priest’s staff. The glowing light spread outwards until the wings on the medallion sparkled with emerald light. It was then that Sid first felt something was wrong. Something was different. He could feel his body changing. It didn’t feel bad per se, but it certainly didn’t feel good. It felt as if he was being re-written from the inside out. He could feel his body adjusting and shifting. His bones moved. His muscles shifted. His shoulders felt like they were about to pop clean out of his body, and there were these two odd lumps forming on his back. He wanted it to end, but he wasn’t ready for what he would become when it was over. He glanced pleadingly over at his best bud. He figured if anyone could help him it would be Zen. “What are you doing to him?” Zen asked the priest. His voice was even and metered. He was polite enough so that the priest would not have reason to be upset with him, but he had just enough force behind his words to make it clear that it was in the old priest’s best interest to answer him. “Consider this another trial.” The priest said dismissively. “What if he fails it?” Zen asked. The priest shrugged in reply and said, “That would have been a pity, but it’s best not to dwell on what might have been. Look.” He then pointed over to Sid who was now sitting bolt upright atop the altar. He had a look of shock on his face that was slowly giving way to relief. Sid had been holding his breath for the entire process. When he finally felt the changes begin to subside he let out a long, relieved sigh. Right as the breath left his lungs, the two lumps on his back cracked open, and his new wings began to unfurl like sails in the wind. The sheer, emerald material billowed out behind him and slowly began to take form. By the time they had fully formed Sid’s diaphanous butterfly wingspan was easily five times as wide as his shoulders, and his wings were over twice as tall as he was. Two long, ribbon-like tails flowed from the bottom of his wings. Attached to the bottom of either tail was a sparkling green gemstone that was every bit as resplendent as the one glowing atop the priest’s staff. “What happened? What am I looking at?” Zen asked the priest. “That…” The priest replied with a pleased chuckle. “That is a Monarch. The first one we’ve seen in over a thousand years.” “So… what now?” Sid asked. “Now… you receive your gems.” The priest replied. Sid glanced down at the pendant around his neck and then back up to the priest. “You mean this wasn’t it?” He asked as he held up the pendant he was referring to. “Just one stone wouldn’t do for a Monarch, and that medallion you wear is the royal seal.” The ancient priest explained. He then reached into his robe and pulled forth a handful of small, platinum rods and a platinum ring. “These…” The priest explained dramatically. “These are your personal gems.” “Woaahh…” Sid murmured as he stared at the array of jewelry. The ring itself was very similar to the one Zen had had implanted into the tip of his cock. Even just the thought of having matching rings with his best bud got him excited, but he had never seen anything like the small rods before. He could only imagine what kind of effects they could have, and since it looked like he was no longer in danger of being turned into an imp, his mind was free to race with erotic ideas of just how huge and sexy he could grow to be. It wasn’t long before his dick was fully boned. Sid could barely contain his excitement. His body trembled with anticipation. His rock hard stiffy shuddered with arousal. Beads of pre cascaded down his dick as the priest knelt down before him. The wizened priest’s hands steadily drifted towards Sid’s cock. Cid was so excited that everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. He just wanted to shout at the ancient figure to hurry it up, but he knew better than to sass such an ancient and powerful sorcerer. The priest slid the first rod through the front of Sid’s cock. Sid gasped in shock and sat bolt upright as he felt the narrow metal bar slide into the soft underside of his rigid dick. It didn’t hurt – quite the contrary. He felt a small bit of pressure as the rod broke the skin, but for the most part it just tickled. He could feel the bar slowly sliding through his dick. He could feel the metal grazing past the puffy, sensitive ridge on the underside of his cock. He soon felt the gentle nudging of the rounded tip of the bar poking against his exposed flesh and knew that the first bar was all the way in. The priest then placed a similar sphere on the other side of the bar effectively sealing it in place. The process continued again and again. The priest slid a third, a fourth, and even a fifth rod into the underside of Sid’s rigid, shuddering cock. Sid was so excited that he felt like he could burst at any moment, but the suspense was killing him. Despite all the jewelry he now had adorning his dick he hadn’t seen a single inch of change. The priest raised the ring up high. Sid tensed up. He knew this was it – the final piece. Once this was in place he would take his true form. He was as excited as he was nervous. There was no telling how he’d look when it was done. He wasn’t even sure he’d see much change at all. He didn’t necessarily want to be as big and bulky as one of the workers, but he knew he was tired of being so small. The priest slowly and methodically placed the ring against the soft, spongy flesh of Sid’s flared up cockhead. Just as it had with Zen, the metal band sunk into his flesh. Sid watched intently as the ring slowly sifted into place. It wasn’t long until the black gemstone on the tip of the platinum band poked out directly above the slit of his cock. The thin, sparkling metal band looped back around and then sunk into the underside of his cock directly before the lower ridge of his cockhead. Nothing happened at first. For a brief moment Sid was sure it was another dud, but what did that mean? He was already a Monarch. Could he really fail his trial at this late of a stage? Then Sid noticed a small glimmer. He was so fixated on the ring that he had forgotten to even look at the bars. The lower rung on his Jacob’s Ladder began to glow with a dazzling green hue. Then the next rung lit up as well… followed by the next… and the next… Finally the top rung lit up, and the gemstone atop his ring began to steadily stir to life. Sid was so excited that he was leaking pre like a faucet. The beads of clear liquid rolled across the gemstone atop his cock, washed over the narrow, platinum band, and cascaded down his cock – zigzagging across the parallel ridges of the consecutive bars which were buried just below the surface of his cock as they did so, and finally oozed over his balls and pooled on the cool, stone altar directly below him. Sid could feel the changes welling up inside of him. He didn’t feel anything in his body or his muscles, but he wasn’t too worried about that. He could feel the unbridled energy coursing through his cock and balls. He stared on with a look of manic glee plastered across his face as he watched his once small cock steadily creep up in size. The changes were slight at first; just a few inches in length; a little bit of thickness; his balls grew from the size of ping pong balls to the size of avocado hearts, but the changed soon ramped up. The inches rapidly turned to feet. His cock soon reached a foot long. The tip of his dick reached all the way up past his belly button. The shaft was every bit as thick as his wrist. His once small balls grew to the size of chicken eggs, but that was not the end of his changes. His cock continued to grow and grow, and his piercings swelled right alongside his growing dick. Soon the tip of his dick stood at eye level. He stared in awe as he sat face to face with his own cock. The pre-oozing slit was as long as his own currently agape mouth. His thick dick was as wide across as his shoulder and far, far thicker around than his lean, slender torso. His nuts had reached the size of beach balls, and still his growing showed no signs of slowing. It wasn’t long before his towering cock was so huge, so thick that he could no longer straddle it. The girth was simply too huge for him to spread his legs far enough. He quickly pulled his knees in close to his chest and watched on in awe as his cock continued to surge up in size. It had already outstripped even Zen’s own cock in terms of size. Sid’s towering boner stood well over ten feet tall. It was easily twice as tall as he was, and far thicker around. The thick, meaty cock was as wide as a set of double doors. His balls had already reached the size of sofas, and still there was no end in sight. Up and up his cock surged. Out and out his balls swelled. Sid soon realized that he was no longer seated atop the altar. His nuts had grown so large that they lifted his small, slender figure off of his perch. Sid stared down at the ground as he watched the ceremonial grounds grow ever further away. From his perch atop his swelling balls he could see for miles. He could even see past the outer walls of the ceremonial grounds. When he had first visited the grounds, he never understood why it was so far removed from civilization. There was nothing within the walls save for one lone ziggurat and a small altar at the base of it. Empty fields spread on for miles and miles in every direction. Towering walls surrounded these fields. The walls were so high that not even Zen at his new towering size could have hoped to peer over them, but now Sid was higher than those walls while perched atop his own growing nuts. His balls had already exceeded the size of average houses and were closing in on the size of mansions. His cock towered hundreds of feet into the air. Sid was so overcome by the rush of growth and the amazing pleasure that coursed through his cock and balls that he hardly noticed the other sensations against his exposed nutsack. It almost felt like he had ants crawling all over his balls. He soon found out that that wasn’t too far from the truth. The first person to come into view was Sid’s best friend, Zen. Zen had the faceless priest perched atop his shoulders and Sin and Rah clinging to his back. He had scaled the sides of Sid’s ever-growing nuts while carrying all three of the priests. One of Vin’s former lackeys had helped carry Sol, the fourth and final priest up and out of the way of the expanding wall of ball flesh that had rolled over the ziggurat and the surrounding ceremonial grounds. Slowly more and more of the graduating class and the attendants came into view. Soon everyone who had attended the ceremony was gathered atop just one of Sid’s swelling nuts. His balls were so huge that there was far more room than they all needed to be able to spread out, and he was still growing. By the time his growth had tapered off, the walls of the ceremonial grounds pressed against his nuts on all sides. The walls were easily hundreds of feet high, but his monolithic nuts were so massive that they even spilled over the top of the towering walls. Sid stared at his cock in awe. His dick was like a solid wall of flesh that stood before him. He glanced left and right and tried to see the edges of his dick, but his cock seemed to stretch on to infinity. It wasn’t until he looked up that he could see the shape of his titanic cock slowly coming into focus. His dick was now so massive that only the lowest rung of his glowing green ladder was still beneath the clouds. His colossal, glowing jewelry shone so bright that it made the very sky itself shine a brilliant green. Somewhere far above the skyline, up in the outer rim of the planet’s atmosphere, the colossal crystal atop Sid’s cock shone like a second, dazzling green sun in the sky. The gleaming beacon could be seen across much of the planet. Even neighboring colonies could see it sparkling in the night sky. Sid slowly began to catch his breath, but it was but a brief respite. He soon began to feel something new welling up inside of him. He could feel bristling energy surging from his nuts up into his body and out through his back. There was no way for him to turn around and witness the effects firsthand, but he knew instinctively what was happening… His wings were growing and at a surprising rate. Soon his wings blotted out the entire skyline. The shimmering, green appendages flowed and billowed like banners in the afternoon sky. Sid’s entire body felt light as a feather. He felt like he could just float away at any second. He couldn’t help himself. Even though he had hundreds of passengers along for the ride, he had to try it out. He flapped his colossal wings. The gust of wind blew across the plains with the force of a typhoon, and his body ever so slightly rose up. Sid was too amazed to stop at just that. He had to test his limits. He had to see if he could really fly. He pumps his wings again and again. With each flap of his massive wings, he rose ever further from the ground. Soon even his mountain size nuts began to lift from the ground. Sid was ecstatic. Despite the immense size of his nuts he could traverse the whole world if he wanted to. He could soar through the skies atop his flying fortress of phallus, his floating continent of cock, but for the time being he was satisfied. He slowly coasted to a landing right back where he had lifted off from. The ground beneath him trembled as his colossal balls made landfall beneath him. Once the trembling stopped and once the spunk pent up in his massive balls stopped sloshing, the four high priests made their way forward and all knelt down before their new ruler. Sid was suddenly feeling very awkward. “Um… what do I do now…?” He asked nervously. “That is up to you. It is your right to rule if you so choose it.” The faceless priest explained. “Alone…?” Sid asked. “No. Not alone. You have your Praetor. He will serve as your personal guardian and closest advisor, and should you need anything of us, we will do whatever we can to assist you.” The ancient priest said. Sid was excited to say the least, but not because he was now de facto ruler of the planet. He wasn’t sure he was ready for that kind of responsibility, but this meant that he never had to part with his best pal. Zen would be by his side for eons to come. “I… don’t know if I’m ready for that. Can I just start with a few simple commands?” Sid asked. “If that is what you wish. What would you have us do?” Sol asked. “It’s Vin… Is there any way you can undo what was done to him?” Sid asked. Sin shrugged. Rah shook his head. Sol merely bowed his head silently. The nameless, faceless priest was the only one to speak up. “What you ask is beyond our power.” He explained. “It is the will of the crystals. Only they have the power to undo what was done.” “Oh…” Sid murmured dejectedly. The priest could tell that their new leader was distraught. “…but….” He began to say. Sid perked up instantly and listened intently to what the wizened, grey priest had to say. “But it is possible… in a future ascension that he could be judged anew. Maybe in a year or two he will be ready to join the castes.” The priest explained. “Really?” Sid asked excitedly. “Then… bring him here. I’ll look after him. I’ll see that no harm befalls him before the next ceremony.” He said. The priest nodded and then gestured for one of the acolytes to come forward. The young trainee stepped forward with the small cage still in hand. He had not had time to go anywhere before Sid’s growth had caused his balls to envelope the countryside and was camped out with the rest of the ceremony attendees atop Sid’s nuts. Sid gingerly grabbed the cage and held it in his hands. He stared down and marveled at what had become of his former bully. “You’re safe.” Sid said softly. Vin seemed to relax ever so slightly at even the mere words. Vin was so tiny that Sid could hold him in the palms of his hands, but even so, Sid’s shrinkage was nothing compared to the changes that had befallen Zen or even Sid himself. Sid now had the population of an entire town now camped out atop his mountainous nuts and had a drill that pierced the heavens. There was no doubt in his mind that life was going to be interesting going forward. Sid wasn’t sure he was ready to protect someone else’s life let alone lead an empire, but he had his best friend by his side. He was sure he could manage.

Hey guys! Thanks for your support, I give you the next installment Cheers! THE PERFECT STORM Story by Muscl4life Part I Part II After several weeks of careful research, there I was, inside Dragon’s Lair, the place where bodybuilding living legend Larry Townsend mentored some of the hottest rising talents of the sport. As I imagined, the inside was plain, simple and straightforward: there was this tiny office, a few cardio machines, lots of heavy-duty work out machines, a free weight area and the locker rooms at the back. Since I have been studying the place’s clientele for quite some time, I knew that particular time of the afternoon was the most suitable for my current goals, because if I got lucky, Larry would be alone, taking care of accounting or something less exciting than making new legends of his sports. “Erm…Good afternoon…” I said very shyly, peeking inside the tiny office. It required lots of willpower not to ruin everything at the very moment I saw that amazing silver haired muscle daddy all tight inside the classic black polo shirt whose sleeves were nearly tore by the immense size of those massive biceps. Those immensely developed shoulders and the powerfully built deltoids framed his incredibly masculine, rugged, square-jawed, face. Even from the distance, I could trace the thick veins wrapped around those unearthed limbs. The impressive thickness of his forearms, added to the glorious horseshoe shape of his mind-blowing triceps only increased the sense of aesthetic perfection on that delicious muscle daddy! “I’ll be right there!” The manly deep voice tone of Larry Townsend echoed in the high ceiling industrial building. He checked some details on the screen of his computer, taking some notes. I particularly thought that the thinly golden frame of his reading glasses, which were so typical “Grandpa” material, only scored him more points on my evaluation. I absolutely loved the contrast between the elegant golden links of the chain attached to those glasses, which I guessed Larry had to customize in order to fit the hulking thickness of his bull-sized neck. Larry Townsend has been married three times, but is currently divorced. He has 3 sons: Chad, Troy and Brad. I will never forget an amazing photo where Larry appeared shirtless dressed in tight jeans with his three sons, in a very powerful image. The proud patriarch stood there gloriously wearing mirrored sunglasses with his classic styled mustache. He held a killing front double biceps, displaying his marvelous 21” biceps while his eldest Son, Chad hang on his right arm and the two youngest – Troy and Brad – hang from the right one. I cannot exactly express how jealousy I was of those handsome boys. Their dad was the absolute epitome of masculinity; he was also so strong and powerful. I could tell that supporting the weight of his offspring onto his frame meant absolutely nothing to his strength. Such a dominant specimen of muscle daddy! On the other side, I can only but imagine the kind of pressure those boys have been through. Chad and Brad decided to follow Larry’s footsteps, and besides their blessed genes and the careful mentorship of their father. Each one has won a few championships during their teenager years, but none ever managed to turn professional. Recently, the Townsend family appeared on a special feature of a major bodybuilding magazine. They tried to recreate the famous picture taken in the middle 90’s and it only made me more fascinated by that muscular patriarch. While his three sons seemed young, handsome, physically fit but average sized men, Larry stood like a beacon of muscularity and masculinity among mundane bodies. In the new picture, instead of holding his boys, Larry stands proudly in the middle flexing his arms (which I guessed were even bigger than back in the day) while his sons pointed at the tremendously sized guns. His rugged square jawline framed by the same classic styled mustache, the ripped, cut, veiny, powerful muscles of his bare immense torso contrasted with the respectable, but still not impressive (at least to my taste) physique of his three sons. Although anyone could notice many other physical traits Townsend’s sons took from their massive dad, in the end it only augmented the sense of superiority imbued in that picture. His front double bicep pose had undeniably improved, not because of any kind of manipulation, but 20+ years of maturation. It was impressive the way those marvelous, veined, powerful arms blew the smaller young men of the water. Even after all these years, Larry remained as the most muscular and masculine man of his family! “Can I help you, kid?” He asked gently, not used to see someone like myself. My overall look shouted that I belonged to some rich family at the noblest part of town. Of course, my absent-minded behavior also cooperated to give that humongous muscle daddy a not-so-good first impression of me. “Yes…hello there, Mr. Townsend. My name is Kirb…” I had mentally prepared my introductory speech so many times. Imagining different tones and ways to sound believable. Despite the fact he could easily kick me out of his gym any moment, I would convince him that I was there to make him the greatest men who ever stepped on the surface of the Earth. “I know exactly who you are, kid. You’re Kirben Fitzpatrick, and you have come all the way from Connecticut to stalk me for over a week now..” Larry said harshly. I froze. He suddenly looked very serious, angry almost, and it made my heart nearly stop. Less than 5 seconds passed and he already was on to me. How could that be?” “Sir, I…I..how?” The words simply refused to get leave my mouth, so intimidated by that hulking mass of a man standing in front of me. “Don’t you think I’d notice the same car, parked all day long in this end of the world? You stood inside the vehicle and spied on us with your fancy goggles. I ran your license on the system and could not believe you actually used your own car to stalk me! ” “Mr. Townsend, I am sorry, I need to…” Everything I planned was going down the drain, I needed to make things right! “Listen kid, I know you dig all this muscle I have and you’ve heard the rumors. I’m flattered, trust me. But you’re wasting your time and mine.” Each word he spoke hurt me worse than a dagger running through my heart. “You thought you would come here and become a member of my gym, got friends with, hoping one day I’d just take you back to the locker and make out with you. That ain’t gonna happen, boy. This place is for hardcore trainers only. Do both of us a favor and get the hell out of here, before I throw you out!” He said very calmly, but also very firmly. I knew I could not use my powers onto him just like that or it would ruin my plans. “Hey, Mr. Townsend, I’m sorry it took me so late. I brought an extra chicken breast for you…” I saw a young man entering the place. He had Latin features and had a very slim built, dressed in a restaurant’s uniform, so I guessed he brought Larry’s lunch for him. “It’s okay Miguel. Bring it over!” Larry told the delivery boy as he politely indicated me the way out, so I knew this was my last chance. “Please…watch this!” I pointed at the kid and focused my power like I never before, with such mental force that I felt everything spinning around me. Still, I used all my will power to feed as much muscle and size into Miguel’s body as I could in the few seconds I had until Larry ran out of patience. Suddenly, Miguel seemed to be going through some kind of seizure. At each step he took, his legs were thicker, longer and more powerful. Larry watched in awe as the kid’s right shoulder suddenly doubled in size and muscularity, busting out of his baggy uniform T-shirt. I knew this boy had to give Larry a hint of my power so I fed his body based on the mental images I had from Larry’s teenager bodybuilder days. However, since I knew I had to show all skills in a very powerful way, so I also threw Markus Ruhl and Big Ramy into the mix, hoping something HUGE would come out. Next, his chest inflated with new cords of hard muscle fibers. The arms thickened immediately with waves of growing brawn, his biceps engorged in a rate I’ve never been able to reach before, not to mention that Miguel neck’s girth augmented with ferocious intensity and his abdomen turned into a powerful muscular 6-pack washboard surface. “MADRE DE DIOS!” Miguel gasped as he took notice of the uncontrollable changes on his body. The young man dropped the food he carried as I hit him with another wave of the supernatural muscle growth power of mine. His skinny unimpressive triceps quickly became thick horseshoes, the non-existent lats suddenly flared with the fury of their growth, ripping the remains of the once baggy sized uniform. “That’s just crazy!!!” I heard Larry Townsend gasping as he touched the growing lad, noticing that all his muscle was real, hard and only growing harder by the second. “Keep watching sir, I came here for you…” I said with a shy grin as I muttered enough strength to hit Miguel with another round of miraculous growth. Miguel’s once skinny thighs shook violently as the new fibers of his new muscle erupted underneath his skin, growing thicker and more powerful, as the growth rate quickly reached for his calves, changing them into humongous sculptures of super hard striated muscles. “Miguel, how are you feeling?” Larry asked, concerned about the graphic display of muscle growth that took over his body at once. “I FEEL AWESOME! PLEASE DON’T STOP NOW!” He begged me, flexing his arm, trying to mimic all the guys he had seen in the gym, but his own muscle was by far bigger, harder, thicker and much stronger than any of those bodybuilders. “Don’t worry, Miguel” I felt relieved because his positive reaction to my powers would certainly convince Larry that I wasn’t there to harm him. So I focused even harder to change the young lad into something that would impress the legendary bodybuilder. Even Miguel’s butt, which was probably his best feature, hanging out because of his very baggy pants exposing his underwear grew into something masculine and immensely full of strength, finally paying homage to the name gluteus maximus. “Okay, kid you’ve got my attention.” Larry smirked, coming closer to me and watching as I continued to work my personal miracle on the delivery boy. Meanwhile, Miguel’s face also changed, because, unbeknownst to my own conscience, I was so strongly focused on Larry’s teenager face that I actually managed to alter Miguel’s facial features to merge them with the ones belonging to my massive muscle daddy. I was so deeply focused on pleasing my own obsessive standards of perfection that I managed to achieve a new breakthrough for I have never able to change a subject like that. “Holy crap…This kid…he’s my spitting image! If I were that HUGE when I was his age…daaamn!” Larry’s jaw dropped as he took a full glimpse of my artwork. From a meek delivery boy, I built a humongous monster of manly muscle of youthful vigor, incredible handsomeness and unattainable size! An overkilling mixture of Larry Townsend’s teenager days QUALITY, with the immense SIZE of Big Ramy onstage and the VOLUME of an off-season Markus Ruhl. The combination of the icons of muscle created an explosive result of manliness and vigorous success! Of course, I couldn’t leave the manhood out of this growth party, so Miguel’s 5 inches long dick became an immense anaconda of 15 inches of a cock within a few seconds, and his even his balls doubled in size at the same time span. I watched as the bulge on his crotch finally busted free from his underwear. “ARRRGH YEAAAAAH MOOOOORE!” Miguel’s voice had deepened tremendously as his body achieved incredible levels of masculinity. It was quite shocking listening to him for the first time in such masculine, thunderous, resounding voice tone, which actually made me very proud of my capabilities, especially I threw it all together under pressure. I did not expect Miguel’s uncanny transformation would peak up into such amazing results, neither that it would actually demand so much from my own psychic energies. Once I realized I had Larry totally convinced that I would change his life for the better, I stopped feeding Miguel, and immediately backlashed at me, and I passed out immediately, and would have fallen onto my face if it wasn’t for my muscle daddy’s quick reflexes. I woke up with the strong smell of chemicals; I opened my eyes and saw the masculine face of Larry Townsend holding my thin, frail physique in his massive arm. “Welcome back, Kirby.” He said, smiling at me for the first time, and I felt myself melting in those incredibly thick arms. “I didn’t expect I would black out like that, thanks for helping me, sir.” I blushed even deeper as he continued to hold me firmly like that. “Heh, I’m used to have guys passing out of exhaustion here, but never for the reasons I’ve just seen. You’ve got one hell of a gift kid.” He said at once, carrying me back to his office. “So, let’s get to the practicalities shall we? For starters, what should I do with THAT?” The powerful muscle daddy said as he placed me back on the ground. It was only then I noticed the IMMENSE bulk right next to me. I looked up and saw Larry’s younger face on a super massive young off-season muscular frame. “Hey there, little guy! Thanks for making me so fucking HUGE!” The new and improved Miguel said. I noticed he no longer stood in the remains of his destroyed clothes. Now he wore XXXL bodybuilding wear that looked painted over his immensely powerful physique. “Hey Miguel, I am glad you enjoyed. It’s a relief because I cannot undo it!” I said at once, which made the immense young lad scream a loud “YESSSSSS!” on his chair, while Larry just let out a muffled chuckle. “So, you took this 5’6” 160 pounds delivery boy and changed him into a 6’9” tall man who weighs over 800 POUNDS OF MUSCLE, with my face on top of those giant massive shoulders, and the buffalo sized neck just to prove me some point.” Larry said, stretching back on his chair, placing his legs on the desk and casually resting his head over the huge ball of his flexed biceps. “Over 800 pounds really?” “856, to be precise. I had to weigh that bull in my industrial scale.” Larry rolled his eyes and laughed aloud. I…didn’t think it all through, sir. I mean, I had everything planned on my head. I had to improvise.” “Well, I can’t say I didn’t like the outcome. Miguel here went from a hot chico to this humongous musclebound stud.” He said with an evil grin in his eyes and I noticed the immensely huge Miguel turning beet red. “Ohh, thanks Papi…Now I am HUGE for you!” The powerful behemoth hit a most muscular pose, copycatting the movement he had seen Larry doing many times. I felt so fucking jealous at that moment. “Calm down, boy. We’ll get to celebration in due time.” “Sorry, sir. I am just so horny…my cock is so huge and my butt so muscular, I can’t wait to let you feel it with your cock…,”He said in a luscious tone. From all the guys in the world, I just had to grow Larry Townsend’s sex toy. But then again, it also opened many opportunities because now I knew that my muscle daddy also enjoyed his share of twinks like myself. “It’s okay, boy. Now just be quiet. I already told your boss that you never showed up with my food. Miguel Castillo simply disappeared.” “Yes, daddy, sorry for that.” The behemoth replied and turned mute. “I am also sorry for causing such a mess, sir.” I admit that I was truly frustrated for creating this hulking clone of Larry exactly from this lad. “Well, you did what you had to do. Fortunately, Miguel does not have any close relatives around, or things would be much more complicated. I’ll get him a new identity, and since you made him look EXACTLY like me…well I guess I finally got the HUGE son I’ve always wanted. I’ll name him Michael Townsend.” “I’m more like Michael 1 THOUSAND pounds…” The lad quickly added and we all laughed at the impossibly huge size he grew in less than 2 minutes. (Fuck…less than 2 minutes! I’ve never done that so fast, and so intense! I could have blown that boy’s head! I was truly scared of my developing abilities, but I tried not to show that to Larry, he needed to trust that I could grow him safely). “So, back to you Mr. Fitzpatrick. You drove your car all the way from Connecticut to see me. Am I wrong to assume you wanted to grow me like you grew Miguel?” He asked directly. “You are correct, sir. I came here to use my powers on you.” “So you can basically grow anyone into a muscle beast?”“I can only grow male subjects other than myself, sir.” “Then why didn’t you fuck use it the moment you spoke with me? I bet I’d turn out much bigger than little Mike over there!” He finally expressed his manly, animalistic competitive side. I was happy to realize that my pocket-show had such tremendous power over Mr. Townsend. “Because my powers work better under certain circumstances. I wanted to make sure that I would get an optimized scenario for growing you, sir. You deserve nothing less than the full extent of my abilities.” I said at once. “Whoa…really? You mean Miguel’s growth was not your best work?” “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never done it so fast and with such quality. However, I am used to work on guys for much longer periods. At least for a few more minutes, but it all depends on the circumstances.” “That sure explains a lot…” He shrugged on his chair. “Okay, let’s hear them.” “#1: The target must be willing to physically change into a much bigger, taller, wider, thicker, more muscular and much, much stronger version of himself.” “And who wouldn’t like something like that?” Larry asked surprised. “You’d be surprised. Sure many guys come to you in order to get bigger, but many men are deeply scared of involuntary muscle growth, which interferes with the outcome. They do grow taller and much brawnier, but not merely as powerful as they would turn out if they embraced the growth as part of them.” I explained carefully. “You sound very sure about that.” I picked my cellphone and showed him the pictures of my brother Bryan next to me over the years. “Ah, I see your point. Your brother is sure one big thick log, but not exactly MASSIVE like Miguel. So, what’s #2?” He said handling my phone back to me. “The target must be also aware that I am actively growing his body. That is why I did not use my powers on you right of the bat, sir. It’s not that I wasn’t, or am not DYING to use them, it’s just I wanted you to experience the full extent of my capabilities” I noticed that Larry’s expression suddenly changed. “You’ve really put a lot of thought into this, huh?” He asked, frowning his eyebrow. “Yes, sir. I also discovered that targets who have been in great physical shape at any point of their lives react much stronger to my powers. The body responds to my stimulation in a much more intense way, even if they currently seem physically unfit, I can guarantee the result will be tremendous!” I said, not being able to hold back a smile on the corner of my mouth. “Something tells me you’ve grown some old skinny guy into a huge muscle stud huh?” Larry asked, almost salivating. “He was a morbidly obese man, and he turned out to be a phenomenal outcome. My best so far.” I replied proudly. “Your best work you say…Is he bigger than Miguel?” Larry said looking over the immense bulk of the young lad. “Trust me sir. Miguel’s growth was a lucky shot. It had everything to turn sour, but lucky for me, I’ve managed to accomplish everything I thought and more. However, I believe that under the three circumstances, my work’s outcome will improve exponentially.” “But you it’s not like you’ve only got one shot at each target right? I mean, it could be kind of frustrating.” He suddenly considered. “Well, I’ve been able to grow my targets in several occasions, but after some point their bodies weren’t responding to my stimulation.” “So if you wanted…let’s say to grow Miguel again…” He casually pointed and I got my cue. Without even looking at the hulking mass of the young man I’ve just changed, I focused a second time into his immense physique, allowing even more power to surge into him. “FUCK YEAH!!!!” I heard the deep moaning, the marvelous sound of clothes ripping to the strength of new muscle growing underneath them, the typical sound of bones adjusting to the extra muscular tissue surrounding them. I would show Larry Townsend that my power was not some “one hit wonder”. The young lad grew even thicker, even more powerful, even more muscular. During the time I grew Miguel, I kept looking intensely at Larry’s eyes, so he could tell I was in absolute charge of his pupil’s uncanny transformation. “Papi, Look at me! I’m so amazing! I feel like the HULK!” “You’re much bigger than him, chico.” Larry said as he looked at me and I knew it was time to stop feeding more muscle into him. “I guess now he truly became MIKE ONE THOUSAND POUNDS!” I said gently cleaning some saliva from the right corner of my mouth with a very cocky grin. “OH YOU BET I AM LITTLE DUDE! YOU ROCK!” Miguel thanked me. Neither Larry nor me imagined his immense bulk would move so fast as he did, he easily picked my thin frame and engulfed me in a monstrous embrace that could have crushed me like a bug if he wasn’t careful. “I WANT MORE! GIVE ME MOOOORE!” He roared, trying to get even bigger. I panicked! Shit things could turn very messy if he decided to get violent. “Miguel, you put Kirby back in this chair, right now!” Larry said at once. “But, daddy, I want to get bigger for you!” He suddenly went from an enormous muscle monster to a weeping little boy. Regardless of his uttering powerful size, the thunderous voice, and the monumental volume of his muscles, Miguel was certainly muscle daddy material. “You had much more than you deserved. You didn’t work for these muscles, they were meant for ME. Put him down and go sit on that corner, and if you only dare to speak…” Larry threatened and I was back on the chair, while the now even bigger muscle monster just said on the corner of the room. Still, his immense bulk occupied a lot of space on that room. I realized how dangerous my powers could be even for myself. “I’m sorry about that, Kirby. It seems your power can make your targets to react very impulsively.” He said calmly. “You saved me again sir!” Thankfully, I didn’t pass out this time, maybe my powers were getting stronger, or maybe Larry knew exactly when to stop me before I went too far again. “Well, being a muscle daddy is not just about size you know? Twinks come in all sizes even the EXTRA LARGE ONES!” He said looking at Miguel who, managed to bury his own head amidst the enormity of his massive cleavage. “So, let’s proceed, what’s circumstance #3?” He asked in a mischievous tone. I blushed, then I simply blurted out. “The target must dominate me, not just sexually, but in every aspect. I am a very submissive young man in the search of the ultimate muscle master. I’ll make you grow immensely HUGE, and you will dominate me, totally and completely.” Larry Townsend busted into a sonorous laughter. I simply did not know how to react to that. Even Miguel seemed a bit surprised at his muscle daddy’s reaction. “Sir…please don’t laugh at me. I’ve shown you my powers! You’ve seen how much I’ve changed Miguel…Everything I did, I did to convince you that I came here to service you.” The glorious muscle daddy still laughed, drying one tear from the corner of his right eye. “I’m sorry kid, I’m not laughing at you…I’m laughing because this whole thing is so fucking funny! I mean, here you are, this very hot little twink with a power to grow men into muscle beasts and muscle daddy obsession. And then, there’s me…” Larry said calmly as his massive arms suddenly reached for my thin body, lifting me from the chair and held me above the ground in a single movement. I was petrified, although my body shook violently. That immense man could snap my neck like a chicken. He looked at me so intensely, so deeply that it felt like my most secret thoughts opened themselves to him. “I’m a freaking power maniac, little boy. The reason for my laughter is that, from all the muscle daddies in the nation, you’ve picked the right one.” He lowered very slowly, his mustached lips speaking so slowly, getting each time closer to mine. I knew I was supposed to feel better (right?) However, something in the back of my mind suddenly told me that I wanted to bite much more than I could chew. “Thanks for coming, Kirby boy. You’re mine now, and forever!” He said kissing me so ferociously, his harsh, masculine tongue rubbed against mine. He tasted so manly, so musky, so perfect. I felt his hands going around my neck, embracing me ever so gently, so intensely. I was in heaven. Kissing the glorious lips of the man who could actually become the ultimate muscle daddy. The one that could at last fulfil my ultra-submissive needs. It was finally happening. “Oh sir…You’re not gonna regret this…I promise!” I said in a very flattering way. “I know, I won’t. You just need to learn who’s in charge here.” He said with a chuckle, and I thought he would kiss me again. It was only then I noticed Larry’s humongous biceps flexing harder and thicker, while he firmly pressed the glorious muscle against my throat, easily suffocating me. I gasped for air I needed to breathe! My skinny twiggy arms could not even scratch the powerful arms of that muscle daddy. “Pleassss….ssssssssirrrrrrr…” “Just relax, boy. I’m gonna take care of all of our needs. Now...you sleep!” He gently closed his arm around my neck and everything went black. To be continued.

Six Three weeks had passed since Ted installed his domination over his cousin. Ever since the pool incident Chris had tried avoiding his 5 year younger cousin as much as possible. Every time he left the house, he scanned the street through the window and then rushed to his car to speed off. Two weeks ago, his cousin had nearly surprised him as he wanted to drive away. The huge teen had appeared behind Chris' car and had effortlessly lifted its back tires off the ground. He had shaken the car up and down, his huge traps bulging in the process, while laughing deeply. After several minutes, he had dropped the car, making it slam down hard and had then slammed his fist against the door at Chris's side, denting it. He had looked smirkingly at his cousin through the window as Chris sped away. Worst of all was the presence of Trisha. She kept going on and on about Ted's fantastic body and how much bigger than Chris he was everywhere. Chris then just nodded and went on the prepare her food: Ted had ordered him to take care off his girl and he didn't want to risk making her upset. Or even worse: making her tell his cousin she was upset… Jeremy wandered into his gym full of energy. The voodoo curse he'd cast on his rival had reached its climax at the last full moon, 5 days ago. He had drained 40 more pounds of muscle from Chris, now weighing in at 265 pounds of ripped beef. "I now exactly weigh what Ted weighs", he said to himself as he looked at the teen's stats on the enlistment form, "Time to make clear who's in charge here. I'll first whoop his ass and then steal his muscles too. I'll be the biggest champ ever seen!". His 6 incher throbbed in his pants at the thought and he went into his office to search for the second voodoo doll and the spell. Chris awoke from a restless sleep. Last night, he had gone to bed early in the guestroom as usual. A few minutes later, he had heard his cousin's heavy steps entering the house and his deep voice chatting to Trisha's high-pitched one. He'd hidden under his sheets when the heavy footsteps climbed the stairs and slowly strutted passed his door. He'd heard the lust in Trisha's voice and her animal grunts as they went at it. Five times, Ted's load, deep roars had echoed through the house and shaken his bones before everything went silent. Chris rubbed the sleep from his bloodshed eyes and listened. He could hear voices coming from the master bedroom. "Is there no satisfying you, beast?", Trisha asked as she noticed the thick pole tenting the sheets, "We did it five times last night. That's as much as me and Chris in a week." Her hand rubbing the hard skin of the massive pec her head rested atop. "A real man can go at it whenever he wants", Ted replied, "ya're not used to one, that's all." He caressed his frail girl's back, his big paw covering it nearly completely. "Let's go for another round", he said and easily lifted the 120 pound girl up with his left paw. "I just can't", Trisha said, "I'm still stretched out from last night. How about tonight?". "Fine, then suck me off", Ted stated and lowered her atop his beastly frame. Trisha gulped but her lust for his majestic body and the look in the teen beast's eyes made her obey. She crawled down over his eight-pack, passed the fleshy pole that pointed straight up and tried wiggling in between the two insanely thick thighs. A grin appeared on Ted's face as his girl tried budging his strong legs. The huge quads didn't budge. He opened his legs to make room for her and placed his hands behind his head, making his beastly biceps bulge in the process. Trisha's eyes widened as she noticed the perfectly round orbs of beef atop the teen's huge arms but quickly turned her focus on the job at hand as he nodded down to her. She grabbed the hot, rock-hard shaft with both hands and jerked it with all her force. Ted's grin got larger as he noticed the hands of his girl not even spanning half the girth of his huge cock. The thick, engorged shaft didn't move: the 120 pound girl was too weak to stroke his hard dick. Trisha sat up a bit to get a better grip and tried applying more force. Her head began turning red from the effort. Ted pulled his right paw from behind his head, grabbed his girl's head and pushed it down on his cock. "No", Trisha mumbled, "it's too big". She fought back with all the force in her body, but the teen's right arm overpowered her completely. Her face was pushed onto the dark red, big, engorged head of the thick cock. Ted ignored her and pushed her face down on his dick, the huge head sliding into her mouth. Trisha gagged as the teen's huge cock invaded her mouth. She tried resisting but she knew she was completely at the beast's mercy. The head and two inches of the shaft filled her mouth completely and she sucked with everything she got. Ted held the 120 pound girl's mouth atop his dick and began exploring his own protruding, thick muscles with his left paw. He felt excitement tickle his big balls as he pinched his hard nipples. His left paw descended further, traced the ridges of his strong, yet protruding abs and grabbed his rock-hard shaft. He began pumping along the thick, long shaft. "YEEAUGHN!", he bellowed deeply as his balls exploded and blasted their sticky load through his cock into Trisha's mouth. Trisha's mouth was filled completely with half of the teen beast's first load, cum dripped from the corner's of her mouth and leaked from her nose as more thick spunk blasted from the throbbing shaft. Gagging noises would have escaped her mouth if had been stretched around the thick pole. "Yeaughn!", Ted bellowed once more as more cum blasted from his cock into Trisha. He marveled at his own prowess as his balls kept retracting to rush out more loads. He saw cum now flowing steadily from his girl's mouth, nose and even out her ears. He pulled her from his cock as she fell limp and blasted five more loads against the ceiling before his orgasm cooled down. "Time for my morning swim", he rumbled and got up from the bed. He pulled on his skintight boxers and strutted out of the room, not even looking back at the worn out Trisha. Chris hid under his sheets as he heard Ted's load, deep roar filling the master bedroom. He crawled deeper when his cousin's heavy footsteps resounded in the hallway, praying that the giant wouldn't enter. He exhaled deeply at the sound of the backdoor being slammed shut. He waited for a few more minutes before leaving his bed. He cautiously opened the door of the guestroom, looked around to check if things were safe and walked into the hallway. He moved toward the bathroom for his morning shower. A faint sound made him freeze in his tracks and he pressed himself against the wall. Trisha had regained consciousness after having serviced the beastly teen. She whipped the stains of sticky cum from her face and looked at the clock. "Shit! I'm late for work", she yelled out and rushed into the bathroom at a pace her wobbly legs permitted. She quickly washed her face, got dressed and hurried down the stairs. Chris let out a deep breath from relief as Trisha hadn't noticed him. He waited until he heard her car drive off before continuing to move. He knew he was safe for the rest of the day. He entered the bathroom and caught his reflection in the large, 7 feet mirror covering the wall on his left. The man, wearing a somewhat too big pair of pajamas, looked nothing like the proud athlete that flexed and inspected his buff physique daily until two weeks ago. Chris sighed and quickly looked away from the depressing image. His hand reached for the top button of his pajama shirt as he moved away from the mirror. He tossed his pajamas in the furthest corner and stepped to the shower. He looked down to avoid his naked reflection in the mirror when a movement outside attracted his attention. He moved toward the window and looked down at the garden. Ted had gone home to inject his now swollen balls with his daily double dose of the new, designer steroid his wimpy housemate was providing him. As usual, he felt the energy coursing through his huge body as soon as he emptied the needle in his balls. He walked out and dove into the pool. Swimming lap after lap, his strong muscles propelling his beastly frame through the water. After 15 minutes, a mild burning sensation spread across his wide back as a soft pump build inside the hard masses of bulging muscles. He slowly swam toward the side and easily pulled his body from the water, his thick arms flexing in the process. Chris stared in awe at his younger cousin's big body as it rose from the water; it looked bigger than any body he'd ever seen, including his own at his prime. He gulped when he noticed the thick triceps exploding outward out the back of his arms as the teen got up from the pool. Water slid down along the crevices separating the mounds of hard muscle that bulged against each other across the insanely wide back, topped with thick rising traps. Ted enjoyed the mild pump after his swim and casually groped his huge muscles. His right paw roamed the hard shelf of protruding meat on his chest while his left paw slid down and grabbed hold of his own beefy ass, clenching the muscle to test its hardness. Chris' eyes widened at the scene unfolding next to the pool. His hand instinctively reached down and grabbed his cock. He slowly stroked his inflating shaft as he gazed at the show below the window. He had never been turned on by a guy or any of his muscular opponents, but his younger cousin's freakish frame filled with hulking muscle sent unknown urges through him. Ted released his pecs and flexed his right arm, enjoying how the thick bicep swelled with girth as he brought in his fist. He turned around and went into a most muscular, making striations and veins being pushed up by his big muscles against his skin. Chris gasped as his cousin turned around and feared that the huge teen had seen him. His heartbeat calmed down a bit as he saw his cousin continuing his poses. He kept stroking his cock at the explosion of muscles hardening all over the wide frame of his cousin. Ted raised his arms and threw a mindboggling double bicep. His tree-sized arms swelling into round, orbs of power next to his head. Chris' hand frantically pumped his cock, but it only got half-hard. He moved away from the window filled with frustrations. Even though he'd lost 70 pounds of muscle, his cock seemed to have retained its size. But ever since his mysterious shrinking had worn off, he had never gotten fully hard again. "What's wrong with me?", he asked himself as he kept stroking his cock for several minutes without getting it fully hard or even getting off, his mind filled with the images of his cousin's body. "DID YA ENJOY DA SHOW, CHRISSY?" Jeremy was going through his desk in search of the second voodoo doll and the spell. "Where did I put those things?", he asked himself as he emptied the last drawer atop the wooden desk. He quickly checked the few items that fell out, swiped them back into the drawer and placed it back in the desk. He turned around and pulled open the metal closet only to find it empty. "I've got to have the spell to drain that kid's muscles too", Jeremy said to himself. He slammed the closet shut and turned around, when his eyes caught a piece of paper lying under his desk. He picked it up and felt the blood freeze in his veins as he read it. It was a repo document that contained a complete list with all the things that had been impounded a few weeks ago when he was away for his contest. Jeremy pulled out his phone and called the number marked on the paper. The deep, bellowing voice echoed against the tilled walls and made Chris jump up. He turned around, his hand still stroking his half-hard cock. His cousin was standing in the hallway, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and looked straight at him. 'Wh… What do you mean?", he asked as he released his dick and placed both his hands in front of it. "Come on, little guy", Ted rumbled, "Ya think I didn't see ya looking?". "I… ehm… I saw something move outside and… ehm… wanted to check if everything was ehm… okay", Chris blurted out. "Ya've been staring at me every morning since last week, Chrissy", Ted growled. "Ehm… I…", Chris said, his face turning red as his cousin looked straight into his eyes. A grin formed on Ted's lips at his cousin's reaction. "No worries, little guy", he stated, "ya're right to admire perfection." Ted stepped into the bathroom. Chris stepped back instinctively as his huge cousin entered the bathroom. "Fucking small door", Ted said as he moved slightly sideways. Chris gulped: his cousin was too wide to fit normally through the doorway, his broad shoulders brushed the doorway in the process. Chris' mouth fell open a bit as he took in the teen's massiveness: Ted's shoulders were half again as wide as the doorway. He took another step back as the teen beast stood only a few feet from him and seemed to fill the entire bathroom with his presence. His cousin's body looked huge as he had stared at it through the window, but up close it looked simply beyond human. The tree-sized, massive arms that hung relaxed at the teen's sides, were round and hard, stretching the thin skin tight across the meaty masses that formed his triceps and biceps; the three heads of the round, freakishly wide canon ball-sized delts were clearly separated from each other by deep cuts etching into the shoulder; his pecs jutted forward from his chest and formed a muscular shelf obscuring the top of the beast's stomach, but the thick muscles looked somehow less impressive trapped between the bulging arms and the insanely broad and perfectly round shoulders; his stomach was a somewhat bloated eight-pack of cobblestone-sized abs divided by grooves; his strong looking neck reminded off a bull by the uprising, meaty traps; even while the beastly teen was fully relaxed, a thick vein prominently snaked along the meaty masses of his biceps, over the hard surface of his wide, front delt onto his chest, several smaller veins branching from it into the muscles. Chris' mouth had gradually opened more and more as his eyes scanned his younger cousin's godly torso. His hands moved away to reveal his cock as his arms just hung next to him. The smug grin on Ted's lips widened further as he noticed his cousin's reaction. "Ever seen a body so huge, so hard, so muscular, so … perfect on stage, cuz?", Ted asked and scratched the back of his head with his right paw, making his right bicep mound up an revealing his deep armpit in the process. Chris just stared at the mound of muscle atop the teen beast's arm, veins exploding across its surface as the mass of hard meat bulged into a football-sized orb. The wave of musky scented heat emanating from the teen's hairy armpit, filled his nose. Goosebumps appeared all over Chris' body as the heat and manly odor of his cousin enveloped him. His cock rose to the occasion, its 7 inches protruding in a hard salute from his pelvis. "Star of da family getting off on my huge body?", Ted asked sarcastically as he saw his cousin's cock inflate, "lucky ya never were up against real men, champ. Ya would have boned up on stage. I should enter a contest too. Would blow all them wimpy boys away. What ya think, cuz?". Ted finished scratching his head, lowered his right arm and playfully clenched his fist, making his thick tricep explode in vein-choked hardness at the back of his tree-sized arm. "Ehm… you … ehm… your chest lagging a bit", Chris replied automatically. "MY CHEST? LAGGING?", Ted bellowed angrily, his deep voice rumbling against the tilled walls and filling the bathroom and his face turned red. "I … ehm… mean to compete…", Chris blurted out, jumping up at the teen beast's reaction. "Let's see who's lagging!", Ted boomed and went into a most muscular. His traps jumped upward, pressing into his broad neck; his freakishly wide delts hardened into steely cannonballs as its three heads swelled and pushed more veins up against his paper thin skin; his beastly arms turned into concrete hardness as his biceps balled up and pushed into his protruding chest; veins and striations exploded all over his powerful pecs; below the hard rack of muscle, his eight-pack turned into an armor-like wall of cobblestone-sized muscles. "I … ughn", Chris mumbled at the symphony of muscular perfection that erupted in front of him. His balls drew tight and his hard shaft throbbed as his 7 incher blasted out a patheticly small load into the towel that was still wrapped around his cousin's waist. One small load was all that his balls could produce and his cock already began deflating slowly. Chris lowered his head in shame. "HAHAHA", Ted's deep, roaring laughter rattled the bathroom as he relaxed his pose and saw the small amount of cum dripping along his towel. "Too much perfection for ya, Chrissy?", he said grinningly, then added: "flex yar pecs". "Huh?", Chris muttered and looked up into his cousin's eyes. "Ya said my puny pecs were lagging, cuz", Ted replied, "Let's see da champ's chest. Now flex!". His cousin's loud command made Chris shiver slightly and he automatically obeyed the teen beast. He brought his hands together in front of his diminished abs and flexed his chest. His flattened chest hardened a bit but the layer of fat coating his body didn't let any veins or striations appear. "Wow, an excuse for a chest", Ted said with his smug grin, took a step toward Chris and put his left paw atop his cousin's pecs, covering them almost completely. Chris sighed as his cousin's paw made contact with his flexed chest. He could feel the beastly teen's strength through the relaxed palm. He peeped in pain as his cousin playfully clenched his thick fingers, making them sink into the flexed chest like it was butter. Chris tried relaxing his pecs, but his cousin's strong grasp simply overpowered his diminished muscles and cramped them into flexed state while crushing them. "Please, Ted, let go", Chris peeped in pain with tears leaking from the corner of his eyes as his cousin's fingers kept digging into his chest. He sighed in relief, bent over and placed his hands on his knees, gasping for air as the paw released his chest. His pecs felt completely destroyed, beyond anything he'd ever felt after any of his intense workouts. "Now ya feel my LAGGING chest, cuz", Ted bellowed. Chris got up instantly and placed his hands atop the beastly teen's protruding pecs. He gulped as he noticed that each of his hands didn't cover half of his cousin's pecs. It felt like putting his hand on concrete heated by the sun. The beefy, hard muscle radiated heat into his palms. He copied his cousin's action and clenched his hands with all his might. His eyes widened as his fingers couldn't put the slightest dent into the rock-hard surface. He tried summoning more power, his body shaking from the effort, his breathing getting faster and his face turning red. The pecs in his grasp easily withstood the attack: his fingers simply couldn't budge the hard, hot surface. He gulped as he realized the strength hidden in the teen beast. Ted's smug grin reappeared on his face as he saw his cousin struggling to dent his relaxed pecs. "Let's flex my LAGGING chest", he said as he felt his cousin starting to release his hold. He put his tree-sized arms in front of his lower abs and flexed his chest. Chris' eyes in amazement and disbelief when the concrete-hard slabs of muscle contracted under his touch. He could feel the striations and web of veins through the paper-thin skin as the thick muscles pushed them upward. His fingers were pried open by the waves going through the surface as the beastly teen bounced his chest. His flaccid cock jumped back to full hardness and throbbed wildly in the air as the powerful pecs hardened fully under his touch. "Still think my pecs are lagging, cuz?", Ted asked. Chris just nodded 'no', his fingers roaming the steely hard surface. His 7 incher throbbing some more as he traced in and out of the striations crisscrossing the shelf of hot muscle below his small looking hands. "What was yar best pose, Chrissy?", Ted demanded and bounced his pecs some more, enjoying the delicate touch on his beastly muscles. "Back double bicep", Chris replied, looking up to stare in the teen beast's eyes. "Let's see if I can match yar money shot, cuz. Ya can let go of my chest now", Ted said casually while grinning down at his smaller cousin. Chris looked at his hands and noticed they were still fixed atop the magnificent pecs. He reluctantly lowered them, his cock jolting as his cousin hardened the muscle a final time. His mouth fell open when the beastly teen turned around and exposed his back. Thick traps broadened the base of the neck and descended down toward the wide shoulders; beefy bumps of hard muscle flowed into each other all over the broad surface that formed an insane looking v-taper due to the relatively slim waist. "Ya'll have to tell me how it looks, cuz. Don't have eyes at the back of my head", Ted stated. "Ya hear me?", he asked as he didn't get any response. "Huh… ehm… yes", Chris answered, the deep voice shaking him from his wonder. "Let's do this!", Ted boomed and slowly raised his tree-sized arms next to his frame. Chris just stared as the mounds of beef atop the broad back rolled against each other, fighting for space on the massive surface. His mouth went dry when his cousin's arms were fully extended next to his freakish frame, the thick triceps hanging heavily at the back of them. His hard cock wildly rocked back and forth in the air as the teen beast brought in his forearms. Veins exploded all over Ted's bulging biceps as they mounded bigger and bigger. Chris' balls contracted painfully at the sight. The beastly teen's biceps balled up further, peaking high as he brought in his hands to flex them fully. "Ughn", Chris moaned. His balls convulsed, summoning a meager, watery load that leaked from his 7 incher. His diminished body shivered and he lost his balance. He extended his hands and placed them on the broad back for support. Ted heard his cousin's lust-filled moan and turned around. His inflating cock ripped the towel aside as it swelled with blood. He put his right paw atop his smaller cousin's shoulder and pushed slightly. Chris' knees buckled and he sank down on the floor on them. He looked straight at the teen beast's growing cock that inched toward his face. He grabbed the pillars of corded, deeply grooved muscle that were his cousin's legs for support and stared at the fleshy snake, inflating atop the low-hanging, lemon-sized balls. He was mesmerized by the hefty pole that lengthened and thickened. Veins coiled along the swelling shaft as it inched closer and closer toward his face. Ted pivoted his hips, smacking his now fully hard, 14 inch cock against his cousin's face. Chris yelped in pain as the rock-hard pipe of hot meat smacked against his left eye. Before he could pull himself away, the snake throbbed and exploded right in his face. "YEAUGHNN!", Ted groaned as his lemon-sized balls blasted out load after load of thick cum. Chris felt like he was being buried by hurricane of sticky spunk. Every time he tried to take a breath, a torrent of cum filled his nose and mouth. He was on the verge of passing out when the avalanche of cum came to an end. He inhaled deeply, filing his lungs with oxygen. He felt his cousin's paw release his shoulder and crawled backward, moving away from the still in post-orgasmic bliss teen beast, until he felt the tilled wall against his back, streams of the gluey, hot liquid slowly sliding down his drenched face and dripping onto his nearly vanished pecs. Ted noticed his cousin's retreat. He took one big stride and effortlessly pulled the small guy up as he closed the distance between them. "Where ya goin', cuz?", he asked. Chris shivered as the beastly teen put him back on his feet. "Haven't you humiliated me enough?", he peeped and spat out some cum that slipped into his mouth, "What have I done to you to deserve this?". "Ya don't remember?", Ted boomed, "Every family meeting ya were the star of the day. Everyone yakking 'Chris this and Chris that'. Every time ya had to arm wrestle the other kids, even though ya were the biggest guy." "But it was just a game", Chris interjected and looked up into his cousin's eyes. Fear filled his diminished body as he noted the dark glare. "NOT TO ME!", Ted bellowed loudly. Chris startled as the teen beast's deep voice rattled his body. "I didn't mean to hurt you", he said, "I even came to visit you in juvy." "Now it's my turn to play, cuz", Ted continued, ignoring his cousin's last remark. "What…", Chris said but stopped talking as the beastly teen's paws grabbed his waist. "Man, ya're so light, cuz. What ya weigh?", Ted asked grinningly while he effortlessly lifted his cousin up against the tilled wall. "ehm… 159", Chris replied automatically. He wiggled and wormed but his body didn't move an inch in the strong grip that nearly spanned his entire waist. His feet dangled in the air as they left the floor. "159? HAHAHA I weighed that when I was 15! Now curl 225 for reps easily. No wonder ya feel like a fucking feather", Ted bellowed laughingly and continued lifting his cousin. Chris wiggled with all his might, his hands tugging at the thick fingers encircling his waist and his legs kicking wildly in the air. His weak hands couldn't pry open the teen beast's paws and his knees felt like they hit a concrete wall as they collided with the huge quads. He looked down on the beastly teen's tree-sized arms that kept raising him higher. The muscles in the massive upper arms looked hard and round, yet showed no sign of strain whatsoever; veins snaked across the corded muscles in the thick forearms. " I'm sorry I made you feel bad. Let me go, please", he whined as he realized he was completely at the teen beast's mercy. "I'm just havin' fun, cuz. Just like ya back in the day. Nothing like dominating an opponent. Besides, looks like yar enjoying this too", Ted replied and lifted his cousin some more. Chris looked down to follow the teen beast's gaze and saw that his own cock was nearly hard again. It was already up at 5 inches and kept inflating very slowly. In a reflex, he put his hands in front of his dick. "I'ld hide it too if it was that small. Mine's bigger flaccid than yars fully hard", Ted said and held his cousin still against the tilled wall. Chris ignored the beastly teen's remark and sighed in relief as his rise came to an end. He hoped his cousin would grow tired off showing off his superb strength and let him go after this humiliation. "Huh?", he muttered as his cousin took a step closer, pressing his hard, protruding chest into his soft stomach. Chris' eyes widened in disbelief and horror as he felt the fat, hot head of the teen beast's 14 incher press against his ass. "No", he screamed and tugged frantically at the strong paws around his waist. He looked down pleadingly into his cousin's eyes but only encountered a deep, cold, dark glare. Ted just grinned smugly at his smaller cousin's feeble attempts to get free: dominating the former star of the family, that was clearly turned on by his own majestic muscles, made him harder than ever before. He pushed his hips up and yanked his arms down, driving his 14 incher into his cousin. "NOOOOO…UGH" Chris' painful, high-pitched squeal flew through the bathroom as the searing, thick spear invaded his intestines. He clenched his ass, his entire body in defense but the fleshy battering ram simply overpowered him. His ass felt like it was going to be ripped open by the girth of the beastly teen's massive cock; he felt it stretch wider and wider with every inch of rock-hard meat that was shoved into it. His mouth hung open in a silent scream, his eyes closed and his faced contorted as agony pumped through his frail, 159 pound body and his arms hung limp at his sides as his defenses were being obliterated and his body was shoved down. He felt the teen beast's pubes brush against his frail ass as the last inch of the massive cock entered him. The sharpest pang ended. Chris took in a deep breath and reopened his eyes, his heart beating in his ears. "Remember how I dominated yar puny ass three ago, cuz?", Ted asked while looking slightly up in his cousin's eyes and grinning smugly as he noticed his cousin's nod, " I'm 80 fucking pounds bigger now. 362 pounds of pure, rock-hard, beefy muscles. More than twice yar size, cuz." Ted released his cousin's waist and took another step closer to the wall, trapping his cousin's body between his own beastly frame and the tilled wall. "Yeahgn", he groaned as his smaller cousin's body spasmed around his 14 incher. Chris' mind was swirling with the most intense pain he'd ever felt, overwhelmed him. Other sensations mixed with the excruciating pain as the beastly teen's protruding pecs shoved him against the wall. A jolt went through his still swelling cock when he realized that the tilled wall against his back felt softer than the wall of muscle in front of him. His muscles twitched as his mind processed his cousin's remark: the kid that was five years younger than him had evolved from a puny pencil into a beastly god that outweighed him by 200 pounds of pure muscle. His now hard 7 incher smacked against the hard cobblestone-sized abs of the eight-pack in front of him when he fathomed he was supported by his cousin's cock and pecs. His eyes wandered the wall of muscle that trapped him and widened as they took in how the beastly teen outsized and dwarfed his own body: the teen's waist was as wide as his own diminished shoulders and led up to a pair of insanely broad, cannonball-sized, perfectly round shoulders, half again as wide as a door. His ass clenched around the throbbing pole as another jolt of pleasure mixed with the pain. "Yeahgn", Ted grunted as he saw the look of admiration in his smaller cousin's eyes. His 14 incher jolted in the pleasantly tight ass as he installed his full domination and took over the spot of the fallen star. He automatically raised his arms for a victory flex. Chris' eyes widened like saucers and his mouth hung open as the teen beast flexed his tree-sized arms. Veins snaked across the wide lats that presented themselves at the side of the broad back; the thick, horseshoe-shaped triceps hung hard and low at the bottom of the impossibly bulky arms; the meaty biceps ballooned upward and outward, rising higher and higher, dwarfing footballs as the muscles hardened into their full size; The separation between the two heads was clearly visible through the paper-thin skin as the muscles swelled into their 35 inches of rock-hard, vein cobbled beef. Chris could swear he heard the satin-like skin stretch as it tried to contain the huge muscles swelling and hardening with power. His hands instinctively reached for the intimidating orbs. They trembled as they neared the magnificent muscles and felt the heat produced by them. "Wow… ughn", he groaned when his small hands made contact with the concrete-hard, bigger-than-footballs muscles. His 7 incher instantly smacked wildly against the armor-like eight-pack and his puny balls spewed a watery load of cum against the ridged stomach. Ted felt the dribble against his cobblestone-sized abs and the frail touch of his elder cousin on his rock-hard biceps. The thought of completely dominating the fallen star of the family and dwarfing him like a ragdoll with his own 362 body sent him over the edge. His lemon-sized balls churned and orgasm flooded his divine frame as his cock exploded and his body hardened fully. "YEEAAUUGGHHNNN!!!!!!!!!!!", he roared in deep, all-consuming pleasure and blasted the first of a long series of loads into his frail cousin. Chris felt like riding a wild bull, his 159 pound body shaking back and forth violently on the rhythm imposed by the beastly teen's 14 incher that filled him with sticky, liquid heat. His hands kept groping the flexed, spasming biceps, unable to dent the stone-like surface and being pried open by the sheer force of the spasms shooting through them. His hard 7 incher smacked against the armor-like, deeply grooved eight-pack. The protruding shelf of pecs pressing him against the tilled wall, flexed in unison with the other majestic muscles on the teen beast's 362 pound body and crushed his own meager chest. "YEAAUUGGHHNN!", Ted kept roaring as his 14 incher blasted out angry load after angry load of thick spunk into his smaller cousin. He felt the smaller guy's small dick drum against his strong stomach and pressure build along his throbbing, thick shaft as it pumped more cum into the small guy. After 10 big loads, his most intense orgasm ever cooled down and he looked at his cousin. A grin appeared on his sweat-drenched face as he noticed that the small guy was still groping his massive arms. "Know yar place now, cuz?", he asked as he controlled his breathing. Chris looked into the teen beast's eyes and nodded. He let his now bloated body be pulled from the still hard pole and sighed in pain as the pleasure left him. He crashed down on the floor, sticky cum flowing steadily from his devastated ass, his body worn out by the fucking of a lifetime and stared up at the beastly teen that strutted away slowly and entered the shower. He passed out with the sound of water raining down against the tiles. "Fine, thanks", Jeremy said and ended his call. He slammed his fist in frustration against the desk. The secretary of the repo company had told him that the stuff from his gym had indeed come in. He'd offered all of his prize money to buy it back, only to discover the bank had already used it to pay for the weights and machines still left in the gym. He'd tried to propose an advance on his prize money for the upcoming season to buy back the stuff from his desk, but unfortunately it had been sold publically a week ago. "Better focus on dominating the upcoming season with my new physique", he said to himself, "And move away from that crazy teen beast since I can't steal his muscles too. I could train in that private gym he and Chris had given an interview before their last show.". Jeremy quickly sprinted out his gym, ducking away behind a tree when he saw the impossibly huge Ted strutting toward the building, got to his car and drove off. He quickly packed his things in his condo and drove away. After a four hour drive, Jeremy arrived at the gym owned by the main sponsor of the LTB. He entered the facility and greeted the receptionist who threw him a lust-filled look. "Come to prepare the next season?", she asked as she licked her lips playfully. "Yep. Have to keep these muscles growing", Jeremy replied and bounced his pecs under his tight shirt. "You have the place all to yourself", she replied and handed his key, "Just one other guest for the moment". "Fellow athlete?", Jeremy asked as he grabbed his bag. "Na, some guy that arrived earlier today. Says he's here to get some rest. If there's anything I can do for you, just let me know. Anything at all", the receptionist said and caressed his hand. "We'll see", Jeremy replied and winked at her. He went up the stairs to the champ suite located at the back of the only corridor on the second floor, passing the doors of the four other rooms of the hotel on his way. He entered his suite, scanned it with a smile, tossed his bag aside and got to bed to sleep off the frustration and fatigue from this day. The next morning Jeremy awoke fully recharged after his long sleep. He felt energy coursing through his body and jumped out off his bed. He pulled on his boxers, sweatpants and t-shirt. He grabbed a small towel, prepared his workout shake and left his room, eager to get to the gym. He swaggered through the hallway, enjoying the feeling of being the undisputed top dog, when the second door on his left opened and an athletish looking guy stepped into the hallway. The guy bumped into him and bounced off against the wall. "Sorry", Chris said and rubbed his shoulder as he looked at the guy in front of him. "Chris?", Jeremy asked as he stared at his former rival, "What are you doing here?". Chris recognized his eternal rival and responded automatically: "Had to get away from my cousin. He gave me a black eye". He noted how Jeremy's shoulders and pecs stretched his t-shirt and the thick arms completely filled the strained sleeves. "What happened to you, man. How did get this big?", he asked as he took in his rival's body. "Just bulking for the next season, man. Been using a new routine. Had some great results on it these last weeks. Up to 265 this morning", Jeremy replied and flexed an nicely shaped, hard, 22 inch arm to illustrate his point. "That's over a 100 pounds more than me", Chris blurted out. He stared at his rival's meaty arm, bigger, rounder and harder than his own had ever been. "I'm off to the gym. Wanna join me?", Jeremy asked and lowered his arm. "I don't know", Chris mumbled, but his now way bigger rival was already moving toward the stairs. The same lustful feelings he'd felt for his cousin's beastly body urged him to follow the big guy to see his body in action. Jeremy entered the gym, Chris following him like a puppy, and headed for the rack of dumbbells in front of the mirror. "Quick arm workout", he said as he grabbed the 30 pounders and began cranking out quick reps to warm up. Chris followed his lead, grabbed the 20 pounders and cranked out reps. He glanced at his rival and noticed the smoothness of the motion and the veins swelling along the working muscle. His own reps were far less smooth and his arms quickly began burning. He held the weights next to his body and stared at the big guy in the mirror. Jeremy enjoyed the pump spreading through his strong biceps and a grin formed on his face as he saw his fallen rival glance at him. "Let's do some real work, little guy", he said as he racked the dumbbells and grabbed hold of the 120 pounders. Chris reluctantly followed his rival's example and grabbed hold of the 50 pounders. His arms protested in agony as he lifted the dumbbells and instead he grabbed the 30 pounders. His arms, even though still 14 inches, were weaker than they looked. He struggled as he forced himself to complete the first rep. Jeremy grinned at the sight. "My warm up weight is too much for you to train with", he said as he pumped out another smooth, perfect rep. His biceps balling up, straining the sleeves of this t-shirt that retreated above the working balls of muscle; veins etching across the corded muscle on his forearms. Chris felt his dick begin to harden in his pants. He dropped the weights and rushed out off the gym, not wanting to be humiliated next to his rival. He looked back as he reached the door and saw the big guy taking off his t-shirt to continue his workout. A few hours later, Chris got back to the hotel after a long walk and went up to his room. He was about to open his door when he noticed that the door of the champ suite was slightly ajar. He couldn't resist to take a look in his former room. He carefully peeped into the apparently deserted suite and went in. He locked the door behind him not to be surprised and turned on the lights. Melancholy filled him as he thought back to the pleasant times he'd passed here. "So it's you." Chris turned aside and saw his now 100 pound bigger rival standing in the doorway to the bathroom. He simply stared at the muscular man that stepped into the suite. Jeremy was wearing nothing but his black, tight boxers, showing off his intimidating physique. He put his hands on his tight waist as he stepped to the center of the room. His broad, round shoulders formed a strong line from which hung his hard-looking, strong, meaty arms; his nicely rounded pecs protruded from his chest and made his nipples point down to the floor; his grooved six-pack rippled and flexed with every breath, veins snaking across the lowest row of the coke-can-sized muscles; his quads bulged hard and wide, stretching the fabric of his customized, black boxers. Chris ogled the spectacular body his opponent had somehow built and didn't move as his clothes were ripped away and his own body was exposed for inspection. "We're no longer in the same league", Jeremy said laughingly, "We're still the same height, but man, you look pathetic next to me. Like the 159 pound boy you are". He groped his own hard pecs and kneaded the warm muscle. Chris nodded instinctively at the big man's remark and kept taking in the beautiful sight of hard, cut, vascular muscle in front of him. His cock swelled in his briefs, tenting them as it hardened to its 7 inches. "I'm gonna strip you of all your titles. Dominating you like a 265 pound god dominates a prepubescent runt", Jeremy said and flexed his arms. Chris stared at the hard, 22 inches of beefy muscle that turned into round, vein-covered orbs atop his rivals arms. Precum leaked from his dick, forming a dark stain on his tented briefs. Jeremy noted the smaller guy's reaction and felt his own cock harden. He ripped away his own boxers, making his 7 incher smack hard against his tight six-pack. "Suck me off", he said to his fallen opponent and reached for his smaller shoulder to push him down. Chris didn't even let Jeremy touch his shoulders. He dove down onto his huge rival's cock and took it in his mouth in a swift motion. He grabbed the tight, muscular waist for support and sucked with all his might. He craved for the muscular, 265 pound body under his grasp. "Fuuuuck", Jeremy groaned by the unexpected and eager action of his fallen rival. His cock throbbed and his muscles twitched in pleasure as the little guy suck his cock voraciously. "UGHN", he boomed as his balls exploded and rushed out his loads into the hungry mouth. Chris' cock also spewed its meager load into his briefs as he sucked his rival's blasting cock. "Didn't know you liked cock that much", Jeremy said between fast breaths as he pulled his still hard cock from the smaller guy's mouth. "Best head I've ever head. Perhaps I should keep you around for that", he said and pulled up his diminished rival. Chris heard the huge guy's words and nodded in pleasure. He let him pull his 159 pound body up, enjoying how the guy dominated him. Jeremy was pulling Chris up when a sudden weakness invaded his own body. "No", he said as he felt his body shrinking. "YES" Jeremy and Chris looked at the door and saw Ted standing at it. And growing. "Found yar voodoo stuff", Ted said and opened his paw to reveal a voodoo doll dressed in Jeremy's shirt. A jolt went to his huge body and he threw back his head as his muscles swelled in size. Chris and the shrinking Jeremy rushed into the bathroom and jumped onto the escape ladder. The heard Ted's deep moans as they disappeared into the night.

My heart was pounding when I entered the restaurant. I had specified a public place to meet with you, and you had suggested this venue. You had agreed so ready that at first I wondered whether this was a place you frequented - a place that was used to your presence and your reported…. What should I call what you do? Assuming that everything they say about you is true, of course. It seems impossible, but a lot of things seem impossible until you witness them firsthand. I walked in a few minutes early, hoping to witness your entrance and your effect on others. I wondered if half of what I had heard was true, and I hoped to be able to record it. I told the maitre’d that I had a reservation under your name, and he looked at me and smiled - not in an unusual way - and took up two menus before showing me to a booth. It was lunchtime and we were meeting downtown, the place was packed with dark-suited business types or start-up dudes in gingham shirts and beards. No one paid any particular attention to me and I sat down to await your arrival. My heart was already beating fast. Certainly I was excited, how could I not be? You were becoming something of a legend, though actual reports of you were hard to pin down. Someone might see you from a distance, and they knew it could be no other except you because of your…unique manner of dress. Or undress, to be more accurate. Odd, I thought, how that could be. But perhaps it had something to do with what you told me you were capable of. The impossible. There was a stir near the entrance and people parted like the Red Sea before the hand of God. I could see you easily, because of your stature. Funny, I thought, I expected you to be even bigger! The reports from some who had met you were staggering, particularly concerning your size and dimensions. Then again, there was some confusion about that, with those reports varying wildly from the unusual to the superhuman. You were head and shoulders above everyone else, and of course you were also naked. For some reason I found myself avoiding your face. I had been told to expect to have a very strong - even unavoidable - reaction to it. “His body is remarkable. Certainly beautiful, and probably more beautiful than anyone, man or woman, that I have ever seen. But it’s his face….” And then this look of, I dunno, worship? Adoration? Lust? Would come over the speaker. You moved through the crowd and people were touching you. You would speak to some of them - I could…sense your voice rather than hear it. I had been warned about that too. “When he speaks, there’s something…magical about his voice. Something irresistible. You want to hear him speak. You crave to hear him.” Everyone turned to look at you and it seemed like some sort of wild, uncontrolled orgy would break out at any moment. Just your presence in the restaurant had raised the erotic temperature and I was feeling it, too, even from the other side of the room. Then, just as quickly, that sensation eased or dissipated, like a fog, and people still remained interested in you but no more so than if any celebrity was walking among them. Then you were at the table, standing before me. I tried but could not avoid staring at your cock. I think my mouth fell open. It was…magnificent. That is not a word I would generally apply to another man’s equipment, but no more apt description seemed appropriate. It was amazing. It was colossal. It was stupendous. But more than anything else…it was enormous. A thick, heavy, proud, formidable cock that jutted forward over a pair of perfectly formed, absolutely identical, completely beautiful balls swelling fat inside your scrotum. My vision of your equipment was suddenly interrupted by a hand - your hand. Your perfect, large, manly, powerful hand as you held it towards me and spoke. The words did not immediately register to me, but whatever you had said seemed to ring a bell inside me that resonated like a tongue on my dick and I felt myself growing extremely aroused and very hard all at once. Perhaps you recognized this effect you were having and you said, softly, “Pardon me,” and then the sensation of pure sex lessened, but did not disappear, and your hand was on my shoulder and I looked up. Then I came. My dick inflated and I came. There was no decision that I played in it. I looked at your face and I came. You smiled and I came again, and then I watched your lips - your supple, beautiful, kissable lips - say “Sorry about that.” I think I tried saying something, and then you said,”Thank you for showing up naked. I enjoy looking at beautiful naked bodies like yours.” I remembered that I decided that I wouldn’t wear clothes to greet you. Was it something you had suggested? I couldn’t quite recall, but I was suddenly somewhat abashed that I had just launched a volley of cum at the underside of the table. “You’re welcome,” I told you. “You have a remarkable body,” you observed kindly adding, “and so powerfully built.” I felt your beautiful eyes moving over my torso. I stood up so you could see all of me. “You’re proud of being so muscular and well-developed, I’m sure.” I was, and I said so. I could not possibly compare to your masterful level of muscular size and beauty, but I had worked hard to look like I did. “Will you make a muscle for me?” you asked. “You want me to…?” You nodded and showed me what you meant, illustrating your request by lifting your own arm and pushing your biceps and triceps to full glory. I felt my dick throb at the sight of so much beautiful power. I felt humbled and even slightly shamed that I could never compare to your glorious size and power, but I nonetheless lifted my own arms and flexed as hard as I could. “Impressive,” you remarked. “Are those twenty-inch arms?” you asked. I looked from one to the other and beamed. Twenty-inch arms! “No,” you amended, “more like twenty-four.” They were! They were each twenty-four inches around exactly. I admired your discerning eye. “Yes,” I answered. “Your entire upper body is quite remarkable. Even though your arms are so large, so strong, your shoulders and chest match the size perfectly. And your lats spread like wings!” You narrowed your gaze, adding, “ordinarily an upper body of such proportions would make a man look odd, but it’s a good thing you’re so tall - six-ten?” I didn’t think that was true, but…. “Six-eleven?” Yes, that was it. Nearly seven feet tall, and naked as the day I was born. I lowered my arms, letting them hang from my sides. They had to hang out from my body because my lats were so wide. I could hardly see beyond my chest to the rest of my body. It was something else I was proud of, and your notice made me swell. I puffed up my chest to show you how large I was. “You’re highly aroused,” you observed. “Yes,” I answered. Because I was. “It shows,” you agreed, smiling as you cast your gaze downward. “I love that about men, how we cannot hide our desire, how our sex is on display so obviously. How many inches?” “Inches?” My waist? My chest? “How big is your cock?” You reached forward to touch me. I was hard as stone, and your hand surrounded me. “It feels as thick as your wrist.” I surrounded my wrist with my other hand and realized it was true, though I had never made that comparison before. My cock was absurdly thick. “And it must be…fourteen? No, fifteen inches in length.” “When it’s hard,” I said, nodding. “And when it’s not?” I thought about it. “It’s always fifteen inches long,” I said. It was one of the reasons I enjoyed being naked for him now. It was difficult managing my cock into pants, let alone underwear. “That must be why you are always naked,” you said to me, echoing my thoughts. “You are always naked.” Always naked. Yes. “Yes,” I agreed. “I admire that,” you told me. “I don’t suppose anyone ever objects, given how handsome, how muscular you are.” That was true, too. I was always naked, and no one ever said anything about it. You removed your strong grip from my wrist-thick cock and moved to sit beside me in the booth. I sat back down, taking my napkin to clean up the wealth of come I had erupted upon sight of your face. You set your larger hand on my own and said, “I wouldn’t worry about that. Something tells me there’s more where that came from.” I felt my balls throb and tingle. They seemed to swell eagerly at your words, as if responding to some order. “Now then,” you said, turning towards me, “what did you want to talk about?” I thought about what you asked as I looked at your impossibly beautiful face. Your eyes were kind, but also fiery with lust. Your lips were begging a kiss, soft and warm and full. Your neck was thick with power, stretching out to shoulders so wide that I had to turn my head on my own neck to see from one end of you to the other. You were head and shoulders above me, even sitting, and I was in awe and strongly, nearly irresistibly attracted to you. “About…” You smiled and I came. You had been correct. I felt a hot, wet splatter on my thickly muscled, naked chest as my dick swelled and my balls pumped out a fat fountain. You dipped your fingers to the suddenly physical manifestation of my lust for you, gathering a thick gobbet of my cream onto your fingers before moving them towards your lips and pushing it inside your mouth. I came again as I heard you moan. It was a feral sound, animalistic and needful. I closed my eyes and sighed and came again, splattering a fat load on my neck and chin. Your mouth - your warm lips and tongue - lapped at my neck and slurped my cum inside. “You said you’re a writer.” Your warm breath on my skin. I opened my eyes, trying to focus my attention on speech rather than pleasure. Just being near you was keeping me at the edge of exploding. “Freelance journalist,” I said. “And you wanted to interview me.” “Yes,” I verified. “Why me?” I had already written the introduction to the article I intended to write, so I repeated it to you from memory. “You are the epitome of male beauty - human masculine perfection in physical form. No other man on the planet is as handsome, as strong, as powerful, as unique as you are. Your pure masculine beauty is unmatched, as is your muscular development and perfection of physique. Reports of your sexual escapades, erotic talents, and carnal abilities approach unimaginable extents. You define masculine perfection in every aspect of your being, from your voice to your face to your body. It’s said you can make someone experience a powerful orgasm with nothing more than a look. The world allows you - demands, in fact - to remain totally naked so that we’re permitted the gift of looking upon the unyielding and total perfection of every unbelievable inch of your physical presence.” You shrugged, as if this was commonplace. “I’ve been lucky,” you admitted. “Is it all true?” “More than you know. And do you know how this is all possible? How I became the man I am? The man here with you in this place?” I shook my head, speechless, enamored and enthralled by the tone of your voice, the deep masculine power in every utterance, the way your supple lips moved, the play of your long, wet tongue and my imagination running wild in carnal directions about your lips and tongue on my body. “I am able to alter reality. I only need utter what I want, and it becomes real. It’s a talent I discovered purely by accident, and one I can’t explain, other than to say that it is true, undoubtedly so, and there appears to be no limits to what I can do.” You paused as I absorbed all of this, about to ask for further details, when you placed your finger on my lips and added, “Only no one in the world but me knows that.” “Knows what?” You smiled and I nearly came. My dick swelled and throbbed and jerked with a spasm of pure happiness. “I suppose you’re a better judge of that description than I am, but I can confirm that I never wear clothes - but then neither do you - and my sexual appetites and experiences may extend well beyond what most others may be capable of, and, yes, admittedly there have been times when someone else has experienced…let’s say a rather dramatic reaction to my glance.” Your eyes zeroed in on mine. I gasped and groaned and sighed and came again. Hard and thick and powerfully. I shot a rope of cream above us in the booth and it struck the wall behind us with a resounding splatter. Something about you when you looked at me. My breath was ragged and I was having a difficult time concentrating on anything beyond the godlike pulses of pure sexual pleasure that were engulfing me. You parted your lips and I hoped for a kiss, but you said, “Let’s talk about you.” “Me?” “Yes,” you said, licking my cream from your lips. You leaned closer to me. I could smell you. I could smell your masculine essence. You smelled like a locker room. You smelled like a football field. You smelled like leather and sweat and muscle and ass. “You’re a very handsome man,” you remarked, and then you leaned towards me and set you wet tongue to my skin and sucked my cream from my neck. I felt myself grow hot under your scrutiny, but hot from lust as well. I ached to lean towards you and press my lips to yours. I ached to taste myself inside your mouth. I could feel my cock pulse and my balls tighten and I knew I was close to another eruption. You looked down, noting the hard, gleaming redness of my prick. “Are you going to come, again?” “I think so,” I answered. “You’re going to come inside my mouth,” you told me. “Yes,” I agreed. Nothing would have pleased me more. “And when you come inside my mouth,” you said, leaning your brutally beautiful face towards my throbbing meat, “you’re going to come harder and thicker and with more pleasure and satisfaction than you have ever experienced in your entire life.” “Yes,” I agreed. Of course I am. You opened your mouth and I could feel the warm, wet heat of your breath against me. I sucked in a long breath and sighed and closed my eyes. I could feel your soft lips against the tip of my prick. You were kissing me, there in the restaurant. Your large hand grasped my wrist-thick cock and your tongue bathed the head with slick wetness that drained down my fifteen inches like warm honey. You teased and caressed me, you worshiped me, as I longed to worship you. Then I felt your mouth envelope me entirely and my balls seized up and my toes curled and my hands balled into fists and every muscle on my carefully developed body flexed into tight power and I exploded inside your mouth. I clenched my jaw shut hard to stifle the scream of absolute bliss that built inside me and wanted release. I squeezed tears from my eyes against the utter joy of the sudden and complete orgasmic satisfaction that originated from my hard meat and resonated through every cell of my body as I shot a fat, thick, hot load of cream inside your mouth. I heard - and felt - you groan with pleasure as you swallowed the sudden thick jets of cream I was somehow unleashing, harder and thicker than I had ever experienced in my entire life. It felt like an explosion. It felt as if, had your mouth not been there to swallow my load, I would’ve shot so hard out of my cannon that I’d have blasted clean through the roof of the restaurant. It felt as if my soul was leaving my body through my cock. The intoxicating level of sexual bliss was nearly overwhelming. I pumped into your mouth over and over and felt the burden of my balls empty inside you as you moaned in satisfaction and your throat swelled with every fat fountain I came. How long did it go on? How much cream had I managed to produce? Did I black out? Did this happen with every man you met? I opened my eyes only when I felt your mouth on mine, and your tongue pressing against my lips, and I opened my mouth and you slid your warm, wet, pliable tongue inside and bathed my senses with the taste of my own cream, as if I had magically managed to suck on my own cock and fulfilled a fantasy I never knew I had. When you pulled away, I said as much, savoring the flavor that filled my mouth, saying how I wished I could taste it like that. “But you can,” you told me. “You’ve always been able to pull the length of your fat cock inside your own mouth and deliver the same level of sexual bliss, the same explosive wealth of hot, delicious cream down your own throat.” I remembered doing so only that morning. How I had practiced to allow my body to bend in on itself and the curve of my huge prick was exactly perfect to slide into my mouth and down my throat and I would suck my own prick and come over and over, feeling a sense of warm satisfaction that nothing else could deliver. My dick was still hard and now I felt the cooling air on its spit-slick surface and you stroked me with loving tenderness. “Your cock is incredible,” you said. I looked at it with unbridled joy and happiness, enraptured by my wonderful cock. “You can come like that whenever you want to,” you said, “and you can become hard when you wish it, or stay limp and allow your fat prick to dangle like a promise over those magic balls that are always filled with delicious fat loads of warm creamy come.” I looked at my beautiful fat prick as you slowly stroked my thick inches and felt pride and vanity. I loved my cock. I loved what it could do - what I could do. You bent your soft lips to the mouth of my prick and kissed me with gentle devotion. “But whenever we are together,” you said softly, “your level of sexual gratification - your utter orgasmic bliss - is compounded ten-fold.” I realized it was true. With others, I would always feel fully satisfied. Even when I used my own mouth on my marvelous and majestic cock, when I came it was like the stars exploding. But when I am with you - and only you - nothing else compares. You looked at me as you leaned back in the booth, spreading your arms along the back and relaxing into the soft leather. “What would you care to do with me, now?” “Everything,” I said. You smiled. My cock plumped and a thick drool of cream ran down its sides. “Everything is a lot. Let’s see if we can’t focus on something we’d both enjoy.” You reached over to stroke me. I watched your hand move up and down my towering erection and I pumped another thick wealth of cream to help lube your grip. You squeezed me hard in your vice-like grip with approval. It was pain and pleasure in equal doses. “How do you feel about these other people here?” “What do you mean?” “They’re acting as if this is all normal. That two naked, well-muscled, thick-dicked men always wander into this place and sit in this booth and pleasure each other. We’re having a very public sexual encounter and yet no one here is bothered in the slightest. Would you like it to be shocking to them? Do you want someone to object? Would that excite you?” I thought about what you said. No, I thought, I loved this. I loved the fact that naked men wandered freely, and engaged each other openly, and could expose their marvelous, beautiful bodies and cocks so wantonly. “I want others to do it too,” I said. “Others? Anyone in particular?” I looked beyond the fat shank of sex you were engaged in stroking, sending continuous throbs of hot sex into my massively muscled frame, and I pointed towards a waiter I had noticed when I had entered earlier, wandering in from the street in my unashamed nakedness, my fifteen-inch prick hanging like another limb over my pumping balls. “Him,” I said, and then I pointed towards a pair of business men in suits, talking quietly to each other with their phones in their hands. “And them.” You stroked and squeezed me, teasing another fat delivery of cum from my balls. I moaned in utter bliss. “The waiter is quite handsome,” you remarked. I looked at him again and was struck by his features. He was amazingly beautiful! “He is not as tall as you or me, but he has a well-developed body and a fat prick. You can see it bulge in his pants,” you said. I looked down at the young man’s full basket. It looked like he had stuffed a salami in his pants along with two tennis balls. “I like that they wear leather pants here,” you said. “I like that they’re so tight, so expertly fitted, that nothing about a man’s anatomy is left to the imagination.” I could see the heavy outline of the waiter’s massive meat pressing along his thigh. I could even discern the flared edge of the head of his cock, as well as two swelling round balls split at the center of his groin. When he turned to pour water into someone’s glass, the bulbous beauty of each mound of his bubble butt seemed to jump out like beach balls. I heard your voice again, like a tongue in my ear, like the growl of a lion. “I’m not sure that shirtless waiters are quite as sanitary as they might be, but it would be a shame to hide his thickly muscled torso - that handsome chest and those six-pack abs, so well-defined and expertly honed - under a shirt, no matter how tightly it fit.” I had to agree. The waiter’s torso, while nowhere near as thick and heavy as my own, was nonetheless quite beautiful. He looked like an Olympic-Level gymnast, with smoothly developed lobes of hard power everywhere. “He reminds me of a Tom of Finland illustration,” I remarked. “Yes,” you agreed. “As a matter of fact he does. It’s almost comical how perfectly that description fits him.” I remembered the picture that matched his features, and as you said it, I did laugh slightly because he was an almost exact match, even down to the absurdly over-sized nipples and the oddly out-of-date hair style. He even had a “porn ‘stache” on his upper lip, but the overall effect was both highly erotic and deeply sexual. “I bet he can fuck like a stallion,” I remarked. “I bet he can,” you agreed. At that moment, the waiter turned towards us and leered in our direction with a lasciviousness that made me cum again. He reached down with his free hand and moved it along the thick shank of cock forced along his thigh, winking at us both. He even shoved his hips forward, mimicking the action that I had just spoken. “What about our other friends?” you asked. I looked at the businessmen with their phones out. They did not appear particularly remarkable. I was even about to comment on it when you said, “Don’t you think the blonde one on the left is beautiful? Do you like long hair on a man? I think it’s quite becoming on him.” It did frame his face rather well, And now that I looked again, he was a beautiful man. “How old do you think he is?” I asked. “Twenty two,” you said. “Young and hung and full of cum.” I watched the man on the left as he adjusted in his seat, seemingly uncomfortable for some reason. “And his companion, the red-head. Don’t you think that full beard is handsome? And I wonder how he managed to find a suit to fit such a broad and muscular frame. It looks almost as if his thick and furry chest is stretching the buttons of his shirt to their limit.” The red-headed man’s shirt was, indeed, nearly ripping itself apart just to try to contain the obviously massive pecs mounted on his chest. His shoulders were very wide as well. “Why would he buy his shirts so small?” I wondered aloud. “Particularly when you and I are nude,” you observed. I looked at you and you leaned over to kiss my mouth again. I came a fat fountain that shot some distance above us and splattered on our naked flesh. “What do you think will happen next?” you asked. I looked again at the shirtless gymnast waiter in his painted-on leather pants with the massive length of thick cock along his thigh. “The waiter looks so uncomfortable in those pants,” I said. “Perhaps our blonde friend can offer some relief,” you offered. I watched the blonde man turn and summon the beautiful waiter over to their table. I could not hear what they said, but the waiter smiled brightly and set his water carafe on the table. “What do you…?” My unfinished question was answered when the waiter thrust his over-burdened groin forward and I watched the blonde man begin to undo the waiter’s pants, unlatching his belt and unzipping the tight leather until the man’s thick prick practically sprang forward, relieved at last to be uncaged. “My god,” I said, marveling at its size and beauty. “Yes,” you agreed, “he owns quite a prodigious tool. How big is it, do you think? Is it as big as yours?” You squeezed and stroked me, and I throbbed and swelled under your attentions. “Bigger,” I whispered. “Really,” you asked. “How big?” “Seven…eighteen inches.” “The waiter owns an eighteen-inch cock?” You seemed to laugh but it was undoubtedly true. We both watched the blonde welcoming the waiter’s ungodly and impossibly huge prick into both of his hands, looking at it with lust and hunger. “It seems impractical,” you observed, “to own a cock so large.” It stretched forward from the man’s body like a sausage, the head a swollen plum. “I’ve never seen one so big,” I agreed. “Even mine?” I looked at you and shook my head. “No other man’s prick is as large or as beautiful as yours,” I admitted. “That’s true,” you agreed, though I heard no boastfulness in your voice. It was simply a fact. No one else in the world had a cock so huge and beautiful and perfect as yours. I was going to look down at it, lying in your lap, to marvel at is size and beauty when you called my attention back to the waiter and his attentive friend. “What will the blonde man do next?” you asked. “Kiss it,” I said. Almost in response to my spoken instructions, the blonde leaned forward and pressed his lips reverently to the massive shank. “He’ll kiss its entire length, starting at the top and working his way to the waiter’s groin.” “He will,” you agreed. He did so, just as I had predicted, The waiter bent his head back and opened his beautiful mouth as if this simple action felt as good as a blow-job, that finally allowing his monster free to be worshipped so openly was causing him great sexual pleasure. “He loves it,” you observed. “He loves when someone else allows him to show off the massive cock in his pants. He has to hide it so often that when he’s finally allowed to release the beast, it’s like sex to him.” I watched the waiter experience something like an orgasm as the blonde man kissed his cock. I came in unison, pumping another fat fountain from my own thick prick that bathed it in wet warmth as you continued to stroke me. “But he’s not coming,” I said. “Not like you,” you said. I came again. Your voice seemed to draw it from my balls. I pumped a fat fountain that shot upwards and splattered on my thick chest like hot rain. “No, when this happens, when another man is worshiping his amazing cock, he experiences a level of orgasmic pleasure that feels like he’s coming, but he can contain his load.” “Is that possible?” I asked aloud. “Anything is possible,” you answered. I looked at your impossibly beautiful face, realizing that was true. “Does it hurt?” I asked. “Not at all,” you said, looking back at the two of them in the center of the busy restaurant. “It feels exactly like he’s coming, but he’s not.” “When does he come?” I asked, marveling at this unusual talent. “Only when he wants to,” you said. “Like you.” I wanted to come as you said it, so I did. I pushed up a thick flood that poured from the mouth of my fat dick like honey and drained down the sides where you continued to stroke and pleasure me. “The redhead looks unhappy.” “That’s because he’s a bit jealous of his companion. What do you think would make him happy?” I licked my lips and said the first thing that came to my mind. I felt free to express my fantasies with you, to tell you what I wished could happen, no matter how silly or impossible it seemed. “To grow,” I said. “Taller?” I nodded my head. “Bigger. Stronger. Like…like the Incredible Hulk.” “Is he the Incredible Hulk?” “No. But…but he can grow when he wants to. That’s why his shirt is so tight. He…he’s in love with the blonde man, but he hasn’t told him. He…when he got dressed to come here, he looked in the mirror and decided he wanted to impress his friend, to make his friend want him.” I came again, pleased with my description and eager to watch it. You gripped me hard as my come coated your hand. “So he grew?” I nodded. “He grew muscle. He grew bigger.” “And now…?” “He can’t help himself. He wants the man’s attention back. So he’s going to grow again.” You leaned towards me, to watch him alongside me. You whispered, “How big can he grow?” “Huge,” I said softly. excited by the prospect. I watched the red head slowly stand. Already the seams along the sides of his suit were splitting. Buttons popped off his shirt like bullets, flying across the restaurant. “Describe it to me,” you said. “Describe to me what happens between those three men in this restaurant here today. Your words will make it happen.” I felt something odd come over me. I felt suddenly powerful, or empowered. I felt…magical. . . . I took a chance on you. Who could blame me? Your imagination was so strong, so…vivid. Perhaps being a writer helps. You were so excited by what was happening around you! You never showed the slightest hesitation or fear, at least not to me. I’m not clairvoyant, you understand. No one can predict the future, for the simple reason that it hasn’t happened yet. Even I can’t predict the future, I can only alter it, change it…. Improve it. I could practically smell your excitement when I entered the room. Of course, all eyes turned to me. I was unavoidable. Once you look at me, you can only stare, unable to fully comprehend what you’re seeing. Even as you stare, your eyes opening wider to let all of me in, every inch of this body, every facet of this beauty, you are unable to fully believe that I am real. But I am. I am real. Everything is real. As I sat next to you stroking that mammoth ever-spurting prick you had chosen for yourself, with its impossible girth and unwieldy length, I understood that you did not want things to remain “normal.” You wanted more, so much more. I knew that desire, of course. I lived it daily. When I pushed my mouth over your fountain of cream and swallowed your sticky, rich flow, I knew you would be as unsatisfied as I was with the world, and would be eager to change it - and yourself. That’s all I needed, really. Belief is halfway to reality. It just takes a slight nudge and there we are, together, you and I, in the world which we create. You took my nudity in stride and welcomed it into your world with equal facility. Some balk at it, find it odd or uncomfortable, but you didn’t. Not for a moment. And then you added that second notion, of a monster cock you could make come on command, and I wondered how far things would go today. I had to define a few things to allow your imagination to kick into gear, to allow you to begin to believe your own words. The hair color of the gentlemen. The leather pants. But you were soon off and running, suggesting Tom of Finland and The Hulk as jumping off points. Nothing wrong with that. Something familiar before moving into terra incognita, allowing your own ideas to bloom. A few commonalities to get the juices flowing, so to speak. And by god, did your juices flow! They exploded from you, let’s be honest. I felt your huge new muscular body shudder with every orgasmic release you allowed yourself. You became insatiable, sinking into the realization that you could now sit there in public and pump gallons of come up the thick inches of your new cock and wallow in its power. No more sitting alone in your room with your dick in your hand and stroking until your body tired of it, now you owned a massive cock that would fountain a sticky load anytime and anywhere, displaying your overwhelming sexual power because you were pleased. I realized that now you would stride the world in your naked glory, that absurdly thick fifteen-inch prick at the ready to plump to erect attention and start exploding cream because you wanted it to. You could dip your mouth to its flowing fount and drink deeply of the salty spunk your overflowing balls would pump down your throat because you wanted it, you needed it, you loved it. We sat beside each other there, you in your new form, me stroking your dick, two naked muscular behemoths engulfed in our desires, and I told you, “Describe to me what happens between those three men in this restaurant here today. Your words will make it true.” A few limitations, yes. Those three men, and no others. In this restaurant, and no further. Today, in this moment, as I watched in case you truly went too far. I had misused a simple word before, ‘now,’ and had learned a lesson from it. Now was forever. It was always now. And now I was the most beautiful, the most powerful, the sexiest man in the world. There is such a thing as going too far, believe it or not. I know, because I have been there. Luckily for you, I was able to bring us all back from that madness to where we are. Reality can be a tricky bitch sometimes. I hung my right arm across your broad, muscular shoulders and with my left hand, I continued to stroke your monster, the contact of my skin against your sending vital, unyielding, powerful sexual pulses into your body as your balls continued to manufacture the warm, wet cream that you would pump and fountain at irregular intervals. It coated our skin like paint, and puddled beneath you and drained to the floor. The smell of sex permeated the space, now, rank and delicious. We looked at the tableau we had conceived together; the shirtless hunk in tight leather pants with his foot-and-a-half long prick extended before him like a dousing rod, the beautiful blonde reverently worshiping that monstrous phallus with strokes and kisses that were making the waiter experience an orgasm of immense size, and his musclebound red-headed companion who was growing both jealous and more muscular, as if one was feeding the other. And then I handed you the keys, and let you drive for a while. “He…” “Be specific,” I told you. “It’s important. Which ‘he’?” “The redhead, he stands up and he’s already starting to grow.” “Grow how? Be specific.” “It starts with his muscles. It always starts there. He…he couldn’t control it when it started happening to him. But now he can.” “Good,” I said, squeezing your dick. You pumped up a fat fountain and I leaned over to capture it in my mouth. You taste so good. You shuddered and moaned as my face appeared before you and you came again. A nice reward for me. I appreciate it. “He…the redhead, he can tell it’s starting so he closes his eyes to channel it.” “What does that mean?” “He’ll grow too fast - too powerful - if he doesn’t control the growth.” “Good,” I praised. Limits are necessary. Things get out of hand too quickly, otherwise. “It starts with his muscles,” I prompted. You nodded. “They begin to swell, both with size and power. He is even stronger than he looks, because the muscles, they’re super strong.” I looked at the man in question. He was standing with his feet wide, his arms held out, his hands balled into fists. He was breathing hard, his eyes closed. I could see his chest pushing against the shirt, and suddenly the buttons were flying off like bullets, torn free and firing across the room. “His chest is growing, and his arms and his legs. Every muscle is growing.” The seams of his suit were beginning to rend. The material was trying to hold together while the threads that held the pieces together ripped open. “Does he grow taller, too?” I asked. “Yes,” you said, and then he was. I could see his neck swell with power as his head began to rise. The hem of his shirt was being pulled out of his pants and the sleeves of his jacket looked like sausage casing filled with too much meat. “He’s furry,” I said, because I wanted him to be. “Yes,” you agreed. Now that his chest was pushing forward from his open shirt, we could see a thick carpet of that same copper hair in thick curls across the growing expanse. “Now that he has control, he opens his eyes,” which he did, “and he looks at his lover and the handsome waiter.” “Is he angry? Is he sad?” “He’s turned on. He’s massively turned on.” There was a sudden prominent bulge in his pants, pushing hard against his zipper. “The bigger he grows, the more turned on he becomes.” “Describe his size for me. How big are his arms? How tall will he become? How much will he weigh?” “His…he has…his arms are only twenty inches now, but they can swell to thirty.” I tried to hide my surprise and pleasure. Such imagination! “He can grow as tall as eight feet, if he wants to.” “If he wants to? Do you want him to?” I asked as he stretched his arms out to his sides and another resounding rip sounded as his jacket split and his massive arms began to emerge. “Yes.” The redhead bent his arms and his face took on a look of intense concentration (which, may I add, increased his handsome visage rather perceptively). A smile came to his lips which increased into a toothy grin as he pumped increasing power into his arms, inflating them with muscle. The material of his jacket and shirt ripped itself apart under the sheer strength of his increasingly powerful muscular onslaught and he was then standing there at the edge of the table with the cuffs of his shirt clinging to his wrists, but the remainder of his swelling upper body now as naked as the waiter’s. It was now clearly evident that he was swelling with power and growing in stature and width by the second. The muscular development crawled across his body beneath his furry skin like thick bands, pushing outward from the deep indent between his pecs and blooming across his shoulders and around his arms in ever increasing size. He was coated in a dense forest of copper curls and his skin began to gleam with sweat as he strained to contain his power. “So beautiful,” I said, almost without thinking, but my words still possessed their usual capability and I watched him change again before my eyes, increasing in magnificence. “He has control,” you said, gifting the growing man with jurisdiction over his own body. “And his cock….” Here it comes, I thought. You had already given yourself a 15-inch, constantly spurting monster and the beautiful waiter owned eighteen inches. How large would our redheaded friend get? “His cock?” I repeated, amused and interested to hear your desire. “Even bigger than the waiter’s,” you predicted. “Bigger than eighteen inches?” “Much bigger.” The bulge in the growing man’s pants suddenly lurched with prominence and a thick length of meat shifted and began crawling down his leg beneath his tightening suit. Its expanse continued to swell and I realized that we needed some more specifics here or it threatened to become uncontrollable. “Twenty inches?” I asked. “Twenty…,” we watched that bulge swell even larger, and then you corrected yourself, “Twenty-four. Two feet of massively thick uncut cock,” you said. The beautiful bearded redhead was still smiling as he felt his equipment surge with impossible size, pushing urgently towards his knee and making that pant leg rip itself open. He reached down and ripped the pants from his legs entirely, revealing his still-swelling mind-blowing monster with pride and arrogance. This seemed to please him, because his massive prick began now to visibly throb and rise. As we had already agreed that no other man on the planet had a dick larger than my own, I suddenly felt mine swell and extend beneath the table, its weight and burden compounded by its new size, probably now exactly 24 inches and one millimeter in length. Already attuned to be super-sensitive and always ready to go, I felt its hunger and need sizzle in like growth, the luscious burden of its gargantuan size like a perfect, welcome burden of unlimited sex. “Are you sure it’s that big?” I asked, a bit concerned. I moved my cum-coated hand from your massive erection and placed it gingerly upon the fat shank of sex I now owned, thrilled at the rush of intense sexuality it delivered. There were often unforeseen ramifications when one tampers, but rarely did they impact my own carefully crafted perfection. But you nodded and whispered, “Yes.” No matter, I could fix this later, glad that I had the foresight to set limits to your imagination’s reach. I summoned my perfect self-control over this mighty and magnificent appendage and resumed slowly stroking your drooling prick. “Keep going,” I urged, interested to see how this would play out. “What about the blonde man, his companion?” You shifted your gaze away from the continuously swelling, nearly naked, hugely-hung man to his seated companion, still reverent in his worship of the waiter’s immense manhood. “What’s special about him?” You looked at the blonde-haired man who now appeared almost petite between the massive 18-inch cock he was worshiping and the swelling mass of muscle and an even larger cock behind him. “He….” You seemed hesitant to speak your thoughts. Were you scared, or ashamed? There was no need for either with me, so I prompted you. “Go ahead,” I said, squeezing your hard-on so the helmet turned shiny and red, “speak your fantasy. Put it into words. Tell me what it is about him. Why is he with the redhead, and why does he worship the waiter’s prick so intently?” “He’s my twin.” “Your brother?” You hesitated again. “Your clone?” Your mouth twisted up as you considered your answer. “Tell me,” I prompted. “My twin. He’s me, and I’m him.” "You exist in….” “Two places at the same time. There are two of me.” “There are,” I confirmed, and watched him change from one moment to the next. Indeed, he now looked to be your exact double, because he was you, also. “I wondered about that when I came in,” I said. “I wondered what that was like, to exist as two people, two beautiful men, sharing the same handsome face, the same powerful muscular body, the same tall frame, the same majestic and beautiful cock. And I see you both enjoy public nudity with equal relish.” Your other self was stripped naked and glorious before us, showing me what you looked like from a distance, your doubled glorious perfection on display for everyone to see. “We share everything,” you said. “I can…I can feel that man’s cock in my mouth. I can feel it sliding in and out, rubbing its rubbery head against the back of my throat. I can feel its heat and hardness, every vein and ridge. The taste of him.” “And vice versa?” I asked, stroking your dick with more gleeful force and pulling a fresh delivery of your endless cream over my grip. “Of…of course,” you managed to say, and I looked over to watch your twin’s eighteen-inch prick pump out a fat rope of cum in response to my manhandling of your cock. “Do you make love to him?” “Yes.” “And when that happens?” “All our sensations are doubled. I can feel him inside me and I can feel me inside me. He feels my bliss and I feel his.” Clearly, this was some secret fantasy you had been considering for some time. Perhaps there were even stories about this sitting on your computer at home, but with me there was no more need for fantasy. Your twin lover, naked and perfect, was now standing before you and you were watching him deliver an expert blow-job to an 18-inch prick with ease and efficiency. “And the red-headed man?” “My…our lover. The jealous kind.” The hulking brute now looked over at us together, and his body seemed to swell out with intense power. His heavy brow darkened and his eyes flashed. He was gripping his huge hands into fists, making think veins bulge on his ham-sized forearms. “Jealous of us?” “Jealous that he is not with us.” I smiled. How perfect! “He can be with us, if you want him to be.” “No,” you said, “he wanted to be there, with my other me, and the waiter. He wants to fuck the waiter.” “With his two-foot-long cock?” You nodded and came. A fat gusher of pure open perfect bliss as your beautiful sexual fantasies bloomed into reality before your eyes. We watched the red-headed, brutally beautiful monster of muscled power stride toward the waiter and wrap an arm around him. He towered over the smaller man and pressed his hard body against him and his towering prick looked frightening next to the object of his lust. “Is it possible?” I asked aloud. Even I was surprised that this was what you imagined. “Yes,” you said, making it possible. “The waiter is capable of pleasing any man, regardless of his size or desire. It’s his special talent. He is the perfect lover.” “What does that mean?” I asked, hungry both to see your imagination realized and to hear your description of what that meant to you. “He knows instinctively what you want. He can fulfill any carnal wish you have, any desire for sexual pleasure using his body or yours.” “He can,” I agreed, wanting to make this a permanent change. “He can accommodate my lover’s prodigious tool - or yours,” you added, somewhat generously I thought, “and make him explode with a brain-bending orgasm as his two-foot tool builds up to its inevitable and overwhelming crescendo, pumping thick, warm, sticky ropes of cum as he howls and growls and groans in utter bliss.” A heavy flow of pre-cum was now emitting from the bearded red-head’s cock. I could smell his sex from our booth, and you came again as if in response - and so did your twin. “Does he enjoy it, too?” “God, yes. There is nothing he would rather do than please another. His hands are magical.” “Be careful,” I advised. I knew you meant it in general terms, but with the power I had granted you that simple remark could lead almost anywhere. “You mean that….” “I mean that when he places his hands on you, your skin tingles with warm bliss. When he strokes your flesh, it is as if he strokes your dick. His tongue against you is warm and wet and when he pushed it inside your mouth, it has some strange and wonderful capability to make you cum as if he is lapping at your ass.” “And he does that too, no doubt.” “Of course, and there is no one on earth better at making you feel completely sexually satisfied.” “Except me,” I added, unwilling to give in. “Except you,” you agreed. “Because there is no one on the planet more wonderful and perfect than you.” “And that’s a fact,” I said. I turned my attention back to the trio and watched your lover rip the leather pants from the waiter’s magically accommodating ass and push his two-foot monster’s drooling mouth towards the world’s second greatest lover’s backdoor. Holy fuck, it looked as long as the other man’s entire torso! I had not imagined anything of this sort before, but watching your imagination blossom before us was starting to make my own gargantuan manhood swell and throb. I could feel it tingle with bliss and shove against the underside of the table, physically lifting it from the floor. I began to leak a flow of pre-cum like warm honey from a spigot. I clutched your dick in my hand and you exploded with a fountain of cum, gasping and groaning from the intensity of your orgasm. “You have more?” I asked, teasingly. I knew the answer but I wanted to hear your version. “I always have more,” you said, and I leaned my mouth down to your fountain and you rewarded me with another gushing surge of your warm cum, which I swallowed with ease and eager happiness. It filled me with pleasure, and an idea popped into my filthy mind as you came and came. Finally, gasping for breath, your massive muscles flexing with the effort of your unending orgasms, I pulled my lips from your cock and said, “I want to see you fuck yourself.” Your eyes were still closed and your chest heaved as you struggled to recover from the intensity of my mouth on your dick. You smiled and nodded. “And I want to feel it like you feel it,” I added, slowly stroking the hard inches of your constant erection. “I want to feel your cock in my ass, and my ass around your cock. I want to feel the sensation of fucking myself, kissing myself, loving myself - while I watch you make love with your twin.” You opened your eyes and moved from the booth, standing to your full height as your cock twitched and throbbed with anticipation and need. A fat flow of honey dripped from the mouth of your prick and you looked at your mirror image across the restaurant, your desire building, your anticipation rising. I could feel it, too, now. Your emotions were my emotions. Your desires were my desires. And you looked at yourself as your twin looked back. The desire and lust redoubled inside me, and then again as my own desire for both of you was wrapped around it all. My monster cock began to rise, splitting the table with its power, I leaned back in the booth and spread my muscled arms across the back of the seats and allowed my cock to swell higher and higher, breaking through the wood with its strength, rising like a tree that could not be stopped. You had created for me a two-foot long monster, wrapped in fat veins feeding its size and power, swelling thicker and heavier as it rose to its zenith, the head blooming from its thick cowl of foreskin like a fat plum dripping with seed. I could smell myself, the heady, sexy musk of my perfect body, a rich and powerful masculine perfume swimming inside the thick warm honey drooling down my massive meat. You met yourself on the floor and wrapped your arms around yourself, and wrapped your arms around yourself, and pressed your lips to your lips and kissed yourself with unfettered and unlimited lust and love. My mouth warmed to that kiss, the sensation of kissing and being kissed, the feeling of your heavy, hard, strong arms surrounding me, the hard heat of your own cocks rubbing against mine, and against each other. I had never experienced any sensation like this, the total awareness of other men making love before my eyes as my body sank deeper and deeper into that joined perception. You and you, together, the same and different, and you allowed me in and I could feel every drop of emotion, every press of muscle against muscle, the increasing lust and desire and then you were coming, and you were coming, and I was coming, blasting thick fountains of hot cream from our cannons. By now, the redheaded Hulk was plowing the magically expanding ass of the beautiful waiter, pushing him across the table and thrusting deep inside him, growling with lust and release. The waiter, gifted now with sexual capacity and capability that approached my own overwhelming talents, surrounded the giant’s meat with warm throbs of pure sex, moaning as his smaller body was filled up entirely. The restaurant had come to a complete stop, all eyes focused on the giant and the waiter, or the twin “brothers,” or my unstoppable and devastating beauty as my own two-foot long cock towered from my loins and shot thick volleys of cum all over. I decided to make a gift to you and your imagination. “All that you have said is true,” I spoke, “and it will continue to be true,” making it real, making your twin powers reality forever, creating a world where you would now wander in naked glory, able to cum as you wished and be with your twin self in perfect love. Allowing the redhead to swell with muscle and cock whenever he wished it, and making of the handsome young waiter one of the world’s most talented and magical lovers. “I will continue to be the most beautiful and powerful man in the world, a vision of perfect physical beauty, and of overwhelming muscular size and strength,” I said, “and no other man’s cock shall surpass mine in size or beauty or perfection or ability.” I smiled and grabbed myself and came hard, shooting fat creamy fountains of delicious cream from my balls to splatter against the walls and tables and people, all yielding to my utter perfection.