Popular Post TQuintA Posted June 29, 2022 Popular Post Share Posted June 29, 2022 Author's note: if you don't care about backstory, skip to Chapter 2. Chapter 1 “Happy retirement!” Walter said, throwing confetti as I came through the living room door. I’d already torn down a hand-painted construction paper banner in the foyer saying the exact same thing. There was another brown paper banner in the hallway to the living room, which was lined in crepe paper and balloons. Here in the living room, which was festooned with multi-colored streamers and even more balloons, there was yet another banner saying the exact same thing, this one with characters from Winnie the Pooh on it, and the coffee table was scattered with a whole bunch of party favors he clearly bought at a Dollar Store. We’re wealthy. Incredibly wealthy. Walter bought chintzy decorations just to get a laugh out of me. “You know I hate that word,” I said through a snicker. As much as I wanted to get angry, the image of Tigger and Piglet on a retirement banner was too absurd. He knew today was going to be hard for me. I saw today more as a surrender or a bereavement than a retirement. My darling husband Walter was trying to wind me up and turn it into a joke. But I wasn’t going to fall for it, instead dropping off my messenger bag in an arm chair, popping a balloon with my keys, and dropping my phone on the table, knocking some noisemakers to the floor. “I’m 30. That word makes me sound like I’m an old geezer.” Walter came over and embraced me. “Use whatever word you want, Logan. This is a celebration. I’m just so happy you stopped banging your head against the wall. It was making you miserable.” I held him tightly and breathed him in. He always smelled pleasantly of the sea. I don’t know how, but it was true. Brine and wind and sunshine. Feeling him fill my lungs, I closed my eyes and felt myself relax for the first time all day, melting a little in his arms. Then I opened my eyes and saw Eeyore staring back at me. I pulled away from Walter a little. “If you’re really sorry,” I said, pointing to the banner, “you’ll take that monstrosity down.” “Right. On it,” Walter said, running over to the sign and pulling it down with an overenthusiastic jump. I wasn’t really retiring. Not really. I’d been trying to find success as an actor since my 18th birthday. I’d had some minor successes, one or two commercials, some paid community theater. Things like that. But, the closer I got to 30, the more I knew that if I didn’t have a breakout success soon, I’d never have it. Now that my 30th birthday was well behind me, it felt futile to keep trying. I’d tried for twelve years with no career to show for it. My luck was giving out, so I was giving up and giving in. Walter, for his sake, had been entirely supportive of my career even though he hated how much it hurt me. He helped me get better representation, he helped me prepare for my auditions, and he paid for my acting classes. To his credit, he never just bought a production studio or bribed someone into casting me. He knew it was important to me to succeed or fail by my own merits, and while he gave me a helping hand, he never gave me a handout. And, most special of all, in my defeated moments, he reminded me that I could always just stop working, that I was choosing to endure this grind in pursuit of my dream. Reminding me it was my choice kept me grounded. A lot of acting was just being rejected over and over again. Too tall. Nose too big. Face too small. Too buff. Too blond. Not blond enough. His eyes don’t match the set. Every flaw I had, real or imagined, was magnified into the whole of my existence. It was never about my talent. It was always about my looks. I spent hours staring in the mirror, grooming and preening, to make myself as presentable as possible. It was dehumanizing. But when I landed a gig, I felt seen and powerful and beautiful. When I was in front of an audience, I felt electric and vital. And not all the preening was a drag. I loved working out, and acting gave me an excuse to keep up my football physique from high school. The only downside to that was that I couldn’t get too big. You get too big, you get no gig. So, acting was a head trip, but it was, as Walter lovingly reminded me, what I’d chosen. And it was my choice. When I said Walter could buy me a production studio, I meant it. Walter is Walter Jaffetz. That Walter Jaffetz. Tech billionaire Walter Jaffetz. You’ve probably seen me in some press coverage of him. I’m the handsome blond man on his arm in most of his publicity photos. Walter is enormously wealthy and happy to support me forever. I didn’t need to work. I chose to. Most people—including every newspaper and magazine in print—think I’m some sort of trophy husband. They say it over and over again. I hate it. Most publications don’t even bother asking my name. Before we got married, Walter wanted us to hyphenate our last names, but I decided to take his last name because “Logan Jaffetz” sounds like more of an actor’s name than “Logan Smith.” But that decision went nowhere. I’m not even “third-rate actor, Logan Jaffetz.” Hell, they only refer to me if they’re talking about both of us. And then, we’re “Mr. and Mr. Jaffetz” or “Walter Jaffetz, and husband.” Walter’s tried to correct them, but still, I’m just “and husband.” I swear I’m not a trophy husband. I try to take it as a compliment. As evidence that I’m movie-star-gorgeous. I am handsome, statuesque, and buff. I’m blond with green eyes. I work to keep my tan even. My stats are impressive: 6’1” and 200 pounds. I have a tight waist, broad shoulders, manicured chest hair, dazzlingly white smile, and strong chin. I really am that breathtaking. And I’m married to Walter. Physically, there’s nothing outstanding about Walter—he’s a plain-looking, regular Joe. He’s got a very slight belly, is only 5’7”, has curly reddish brown hair that he frequently leaves uncombed, and despite being 30 years old like me, he has grey at his temples, laugh lines, and the beginnings of crows feet, so he looks significantly older than he is. And, he’s also a famous tech billionaire. Put all those facts together, and most people draw the wrong conclusion. I married Walter before he got rich. We were high school sweethearts. I was a popular jock; he was valedictorian. Both of us were well-known at our school. I was the openly gay star of the football team and the spring musicals all four years (even freshman year). Walter was the brilliant genius who was only doing school the normal way to make his parents happy (he probably could’ve graduated high school when he was 8). Yeah, like I said, he was average-looking and he forgot to comb his hair a lot, but he had the most dazzling brown eyes I’d even seen. Whenever he gave a speech (he was, of course, on student council), I would get lost in his words. I love words, and his words were beautiful. I was drawn to him even before I realized he was drawn to me. For the first two years of high school, it didn’t even occur to me he might also be gay. Then, I caught him staring at me in the cafeteria. After that, I noticed he was coming to watch the football team practice even though I never saw him at even one game. He came to my practices to ogle me, and I knew it. And I wanted him to know it too. So, every time I saw him drooling over me, I’d wave. And whenever I waved at him, he’d turn bright red and hide. I found his mousiness and skittishness irresistible. And, I could tell—even through his highly unfashionable cargo pants—that he had a magnificently fuckable ass. Since he had trouble getting closer than 50 feet to me, I pursued him. I asked him out. Walter says if I hadn’t made the first move, we never would’ve gotten together. On our first date, I took him to this little café I took all my men to (because it was right next door to a motel). I thought he would be a fun little tryst—I’d never bagged a brainiac before. But the affable little bugger is the most charismatic, animalistic, primal force I have ever encountered. He has an ineffable magnetic energy that that will not be denied. You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but get in the same room as him, and its undeniable. According to Walter, he knew he only had one chance with me, so he turned the full force of his personality on me, a firehose of charm. I was in love with him before our waters were poured. I took his virginity soon afterwards (he made me wait a whole month and earn it), and, oh, was I right about his ass. Once he learned how to use his ass (once I taught him how to use his ass), he became a sex machine. He could ride me like a bucking bronco. He was a confirmed bottom—he tried topping me a few times but didn’t like it. That was fine by me because I could think of nothing finer than blowing him or plowing him with my seven inches of steel. We started dating in the middle of junior year, and I proposed to him the day we graduated. I’d actually proposed to him the summer prior after a night of raucous love-making, but he said he wouldn’t make up his mind until he graduated high school. As soon as we were declared graduates, I was down on one knee. This time, he said yes. It’s not lost on me that I’m the only person Walter’s had sex with. After he accepted my proposal but before our wedding, I gave him the opportunity to play the field a little bit. Have sex with some other men guilt and blame free—no tears and no recriminations—to make sure he wanted to commit to me. Something like a gay Rumspringa. Walter just shook his head and said, “Don’t need to. You’re my always.” Our wedding was a modest affair in his parents’ backyard. All of 18 people attended. Back then, we couldn’t afford more. Walter didn’t get fabulously wealthy until we’d been married for two years. He never went to college. He’d already been inventing things for years, so he didn’t see the point. I never doubted him. I was convinced that if he could get over his shyness and show everyone else what he showed me on that first date, he could take over the world. Those first two years of marriage, though, were a financial struggle. We borrowed money from my parents more than once. They begrudgingly gave the financial support and hinted I should give up acting and/or find a more economically stable husband. Walter and I were in love, so we didn’t care. But then, like lightning, one after the other, he invented a spate of medical devices he called “the money-makers.” He got the patents in a snap, but no tech companies wanted to take a risk on a 20-year-old kid with no college degree. The first six companies he pitched his inventions to all said no. He was about to chuck it all in, acquiesce, and go to college just so people would take him seriously. Then, I gave him some advice. To me, it was just friendly advice, but according to Walter, they were words that changed his life forever. “Don’t try to sell your inventions. Try to seduce the investors.” Intrigued, he asked, “How would that even work?” “Just do it like you seduced me. Everyone—even me—thought I was way out of your league, but by the end of our first date, you had me wrapped around your little pinky. You picked the time and location of our next date. You even told me what to wear. And I would’ve done any dirty, kinky, nasty thing you could’ve dreamed up—in front of my grandmother even. But you wanted to wait and take things slow, so I went from fucking three different studs a week to waiting patiently for you. I was not used to guys calling the shots or saying no to me, and you kept me on simmer for a month. Bring that guy to the sales pitch.” Then, I added, “And let me style your hair before you go.” The very next company invested—gave twice as much as Walter was asking for—and the rest was history. I’m proud of him, naturally, but I don’t fully understand his inventions. Walter’s explained them to me more than once, but he’s done it in excessive scientific and anatomic detail. I’m a bright guy, but I’m not Walter Jaffetz. He forgets that my understanding of biology ends at “the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.” What I do understand is that his machines make surgery easier and safer with less chance of infection. Hospitals all across the world use my Walter’s creations. Once he became a billionaire, he even donated hospital equipment to places that couldn’t afford it. Have I been saying “billionaire”? I suppose it’s the correct term, but it understates the reality. Nowadays, “billionaire” doesn’t do justice to his financial status. His patents churn out money faster than anyone could ever spend it. He repaid my parents every cent they lent us, with interest, and then bought them their dream home. He bought his parents a dream home. He bought the mansion we live in and both our luxury cars. He bought the café where we had our first date to make sure it never closes. I reassure him he doesn’t have to buy my love, but if I have even a tiny whim, he buys it for me. Walter says he’s glad I’m not materialistic because he would buy me anything I ask for. He could afford it. Hell, I could spend like the casts of all The Real Housewives for a decade, and Walter would still have money in the bank. So, when I say I chose to work, I meant it. “Since this isn’t a retirement retirement,” Walter said as he tore down the Winnie the Pooh banner, “What’s next for Mr. Logan Jaffetz?” “A stiff drink and then sex with my husband,” I answered, crashing onto the couch. “Both excellent ideas,” Walter said, crashing next to me. He put his hand on my thigh and said, “But I mean life-wise. What’s the next step? What’s the plan? If I know my husband, you wouldn’t have quit acting without a back-up plan.” I honestly admitted, “I hadn’t really thought about it.” Walter genuinely looked shock. “You never cease to surprise me.” I shrugged. “I just knew I had to quit acting.” Walter tilted my head down so it rested on his shoulder, and held me in his arms. “Can I say that I’m glad you quit? Do I lose my Supportive Husband Card if I admit how thrilled I am that you quit?” I reveled in Walter’s arms around me, breathing him in like an aromatherapy candle. “I knew you wanted me to quit.” “Ah, but I helped you as best I could and never explicitly said anything.” “True. You get credit for that. But now I have no idea what I’m doing with the rest of my life.” Casually leaning over me, he asked, “What would help you most? Just sitting here in silence? Pointless shopping spree? Words of empathy and comfort? Crying and ice cream? Jumping right into problem solving mode?” I sat straight up, almost crashing into Walter. “Problem solving please,” I said. “That sounds perfect.” Walter nodded and said, “You got it.” He turned his body so he was facing me. “Well, you’re a witty fellow who’s good with words. Way better than me. You could try to be a writer.” I nodded noncommittally. Walter could tell I wasn’t sold. “Oh! You’re gorgeous and blond and a great public speaker. Politics!” “I’d need a degree to do it right.” He waved his hands at me like a magician’s assistant, saying, “Then, get a degree.” I shook my head emphatically. “I don’t think my heart’s in that.” “Heart, huh?” Walter thought for a second. “We could adopt a kid. Or a whole bunch. We’d be excellent fathers, and you could be a stay-at-home dad.” There was definitely an appeal in that. But that was a stopgap, not a solution. “Adopting a kid because I have no plans wouldn’t fix my problems, and it would be unfair to the kid.” “Fair enough.” Walter contemplated a few seconds before offering, “You could travel for a while to figure yourself out. See the world. You’ve commented how frequently I travel on business. You could join me. Keep me company en route and at the hotels, and then have your own adventures while I’m cooped up in meetings.” That idea sat poorly with me. “Wouldn’t that just be submitting to the whole trophy husband thing? Wouldn’t that just make me look like a handsome idiot you keep around for sex and eye candy?” Walter stroked my cheek affectionately. “Logan, everyone these last ten years has already assumed you were my boy toy, and we both know they’re wrong. They’re the idiots. As soon as anyone gets to know us, they realize how amazing you are and that they were wrong too.” I turned around so I could lean my head on Walter’s shoulder again. “I could go out of my way to prove everybody wrong. Commit to becoming ugly,” I suggested jokingly. “Lose 30 pounds of muscle.” Walter could tell what game I was playing, so he played along. “Gain 100 pounds of fat.” “Start dressing in stained t-shirts and sweatpants.” “Shave a bald spot.” “Pull out a few teeth.” “Stop showering.” By then I was laughing—full on belly-laughing. “Can you imagine?” “I can,” Walter said, kissing the top of my head. “I’d still love you.” I pulled him down closer to me to kiss his forehead. “Thanks.” Then, as an afterthought, I added, “You know, I actually wish I had the guts to try all of that, just to see what the press would say.” “They’d say, ‘Walter Jaffetz’s husband has really let himself go. How long until Walter files for divorce?’” That fell eerily accurate. “Yeah. You’re right. Once a trophy husband, always a trophy husband. That’s all they can see me as.” “The comments aren’t about you. They’re a reflection of the people who write them and what they think their audience wants to read.” “You’re right,” I repeated emphatically. “No matter what I do, they’ll see me as the braindead hunk who tricked you into marrying me so I could spend your money.” Just then, a brainstorm hit me, so I sat up and turned to face Walter. “I should go the other way.” Walter raised an eyebrow, curious. “I like working out, and we both love my muscles. But I only ever worked out just enough to be viable as an actor. I could really lean into my workouts. Become a bloated mass of muscles straight out of a fetish video. Use your access to medical science to make it happen inhumanly fast.” With a poker face, Walter asked, “Is that something you’d want?” I nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. I’d really like that.” “Then let’s go for it. I’ll hire you a trainer in the morning.” I tackled Walter and covered him in kisses. “You’re the best!” Walter laughed. “Oh no!” he cried in sarcastic, faux panic. “My gorgeous, muscly husband wants to become even more muscly and gorgeous.” Then, in his normal tone, he said, “It’s no sacrifice on my part, Logan. You’d be making my wet dreams come true.” “If we’re going wet dream,” I said, still lying on top of him, “we should make my cock bigger too. Pumping. Pills. Surgery. Whatever’s most effective. We’ll research.” “Your cock is plenty big,” he reassured me. I wriggled on top of him. “We’re talking wet dreams, Jaffetz! Be bold!” Walter scooted out from under me, stood up, and held out his hand to help me up. “If we’re talking dreams, let me show you your retirement present.” “You got me a present?” “It’s a present for both of us,” Walter admitted, pulling me to my feet. “I didn’t plan on giving it to you today. Today has taken some…” he paused for a second, looking for the right word, landing on, “interesting turns. I thought today was going to be crying and ice cream. The freezer’s stocked. I didn’t plan on giving this to you for a few weeks. But, you keep me on my toes. If you’re in this frisky of a mood, we can go play.” “It’s a sex gift, then?” I leaned into Walter and thrust my crotch into his stomach. “Not specifically or uniquely, but I expect that’s how we’ll use it.” “Cryptic,” I said. “Into my workroom,” Walter said, leading me by the hand. I followed demurely. 37 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Popular Post TQuintA Posted June 29, 2022 Author Popular Post Share Posted June 29, 2022 Chapter 2 I’d been in Walter’s workroom before, but as infrequently as possible. Walter invents best when he’s surrounded by chaos and cacophony, so it’s not the tidiest or most hospitable place. He invents medical devices, so it’s clean and hygienic, but it’s a disorganized nightmare, the shelves are hoarder-level cluttered, and Walter frequently blasts Finnish thrash metal to get his neurons firing. Also, he thinks best standing up, so there are absolutely zero chairs. There aren’t even flat surfaces on which to sit. I really only ever go in there when I have to drag him out. If I didn’t monitor him, he’d get lost in his workroom for days just tinkering away. To call it a room is a disservice. It’s more of a suite. A wing, even. As Walter led me through his labyrinth of scattered walkways, I realized he was taking me to his prototype room: a closed-off room within his workroom left mostly empty so he can test inventions that are just about ready for patent. When we got in there, Walter closed the doors behind us and dimmed the lights. There were straps and such hung on a wire rack on the wall, and there was an elaborate computer set up at the far end of the room on a standing desk such that the monitor faced the wall and not the entryway. Walter took a strange harness off the wall and handed it to me. “Put this on and fasten it so that it’s snug, but not tight.” I did as instructed. The harness was made out of some stretchy vinyl-like substance. There were circular protrusions of various sizes, some as big as hockey pucks, sticking out of the harness. The biggest two lined up with my shoulders. “And these,” Walter said, handing me straps for my biceps and calves as well as a second harness that went over my pelvis. All of the straps and harnesses were made of the same material and had those circular protrusions. I dutifully put them on. “And this,” Walter added, handing me a pair of blacked-out goggles. I took the goggles, but said, “You know my stance on blindfolds. It’s a vehement no. I’m fundamentally opposed. I get too freaked out to get an erection.” Walter smiled and said, “It’s not a blindfold.” He then stepped behind the computer monitor at the back of the room. Reluctantly, I put on the goggles. For a second, there was only darkness, then it seemed like I was in a large, white room—only there weren’t any walls. Or a ceiling. Or a floor. “Trippy.” I said. “VR.” “Exactly.” “This is nice and everything,” I said, looking around my white void, “but I hate to break it to you that you didn’t invent VR.” “Of course I didn’t. But, about ten years ago, it occurred to me that doctors have trouble treating some conditions because patients lack the vocabulary to explain their symptoms. So, I started futzing around with VR as a way of giving doctors a visceral interpretation of an ailment, one controlled by patients.” “Fascinating history lesson, but why am I in Limbo?” “Sorry,” Walter said, and suddenly there were walls, a ceiling and a floor. “Thanks.” I could hear Walter laugh. “No sweat. Basically, the truncated cylinders embedded in your harnesses—the receivers—entangle with your sensory receptors and your ganglia to relay embodied stimuli to your sensory cortex.” That’s the basic explanation? I recognized what every word in that sentence meant, but when Walter got science-y, he left me behind. I was getting the gist of what he said, though: the circles take whatever’s programmed into the computer, and they send the information to the wearer. “Got it,” I lied. “Good. After years of working on this, I suddenly realized that it obviously had no market potential. I should’ve seen it from the start. Doctors wouldn’t buy a VR that essentially allowed their patients to torture them.” Torture? Why’d he say “torture”? “No, they would not.” Walter demurred. “The device had so much potential. As soon as I realized that it had no marketability as a medical device, I shifted to a more adult-oriented use.” Ah. Torture. Entangling. Bondage. The pieces were coming together. “This is an S & M thing!” “It can be, but I don’t think that’s how we’ll use it. We can use it to do any dirty, kinky, nasty thing you can dream up for your body.” I held out my hand in front of me, but all I saw as whiteness. “Right now, I’d settle for any body at all.” “I’m almost done programming it in.” Walter was silent for a few seconds, and then I heard an electronic whirr, and the hand in front of me was my own. I looked down and saw a computer-generated projection of my body. It was first-person, too, like I was looking out of my own eyes and not at a character. I was even in the clothes I was wearing IRL: a tight long-sleeved, pale aquamarine button-down, black dress pants, and my audition shoes (formal but comfortable). It was definitely me. My dimensions, my body. But it was a little off. The skin was a little too smooth. A little too shiny, almost a plastic quality to it. The clothes had buttons and zippers, but no seams, so the fasteners looked decorative, not functional. The hair on the back of my hand looked a little bit like porcupine quills. “The Uncanny Valley is not your friend,” I said. “Hush you,” he said playfully. I continued looking down at my body. It was clearly, undeniably, recognizably me. “Why is it a simulation of my body?” “You’re the one who wanted to change your body,” Walter reminded me. “But this is just a base template to build off of. Just say, ‘Computer, I want…’ and it will do the rest.” “Ah. I get to customize my avatar.” “Completely customizable,” Walter agreed. “Got it. So, if I wanted to add 20 extra pounds of muscle, I’d just say, ‘Computer, I want 20 more pounds of muscle’?” I asked, but then I felt a weird tightening in all the places where the circular sensors were. I looked down, and digital me was getting bigger. My chest stuck out further, pressing into the shirt buttons, even pushing the top one past the point of physical reality. My arms grew bigger, and I could feel the sleeves tightening around my biceps. That was the weirdest part. It didn’t just look like I was getting bigger. It felt like I was getting bigger. My pants felt like they were growing tight around my ass and thighs as the virtual me developed thicker legs. When the image stopped changing, I actually felt heavier. And my muscles felt stronger. Powerful. “How did you do that?” I asked. “I interlaced the graphic interface into a basic voice recognition software and gave you administrator control. You say how you want to change, the computer makes the change happen.” “Nifty, but not what I meant. How do my clothes feel tight? How do I feel heavier? Stronger, even?” I asked, flexing my bicep, feeling it tense and relax against the virtual shirt. “That was the whole point of the receivers. To relay embodied stimuli. This is what it would feel like if you weighed 220 pounds.” Everything clicked. I felt a little silly for not picking it up earlier, but there was a lot happening all at once. “I understand how this works. My real world body stays the same, but with the VR I get to see what the fantasy body looks like, and with the circle things you invented, I get to feel what my fantasy body feels like.” “I said that already.” “I’m not a Walter Jaffetz-level genius,” I replied, a hair defensively. “You told me you were entangling my ganglia.” Charmingly, I added, “If anyone else ever asks you what this device does, tell them, ‘It can make you feel like you’re in your dream body.’” Walter laughed, then said, “Duly noted.” “Now I know what I’m in for. Computer, I want my cock an inch bigger.” And I felt it. I felt the weight in my crotch grow, and my pants tightened a little bit around my cock. It almost felt like I was semi-chubbed, but I was completely flaccid The added weight and pressure were so pleasurable, though, that I could quickly feel my cock getting hard. “Is that my real cock or my virtual cock getting a stiffy?” I asked. After a moment, Walter answered, “Both.” “Good to know,” I said. Struck by an idea, I looked down at the virtual zipper in my pants. I moved my slightly thicker virtual hand in front of it, relishing the feeling of my meatier bicep, and tried to unzip my fly. It was a no go. In effect, I was just moving my hand up and down over my crotch, rubbing my dick through the fabric. That was pleasurable in its own right and made my cock stiffer, but it did nothing to undo my zipper. “How do you open this thing?” “Good point. We’ll want access.” After a second, the zipper on my virtual pants looked indescribably more substantial, and the top button of my shirt popped off. “I gave your zipper and buttons depth, so now you can remove your clothes in-program.” “You gave them depth? The zipper was 2-Dimensional before?” “2.5-Dimensional,” Walter corrected. I had no idea what that meant, but I was happy my clothes could now be manipulated. I unzipped my functional fly, and felt the slight chill in the air as my hard cock popped out. It was clearly my cock—Walter had faithfully recreated the vein that ran down the center, my slightly flared head, the lazy curve to the left. It looked like a plastic recreation of my dick, but just a little bit bigger. “Eight inches,” Walter said. “Go on. Play with yourself. See how it feels.” Haughtily, I declared, “I’d rather fuck my husband.” “Time for that later. For now, play with yourself.” I started stroking the length of my cock, putting extra pressure at the tip. It was ego-inflating to have to travel down a little extra further and to feel the extra strength from my extra mass. It made me feel manlier, more virile. But it was still just masturbating. “I’ve jerked off before,” I reminded Walter. “It feels nice, but masturbation always feels nice.” “You’re not actually masturbating,” Walter said. “At least, not out here. You’re fully clothed, Logan. You’re stroking empty air.” “You’re fucking kidding me!” I said, stroking harder. “I knew this thing was good, but that good? I can feel my hand running up and down my cock—I even feel the calluses on my hands. I can feel the pressure, the warmth. That’s all virtual?” “Is your husband a genius, or isn’t he?” “This is incredible!” I said as I continued to stroke my dick. “Pfft,” Walter said dismissively. “This is the tutorial level. You’re ready for more advanced gameplay.” “I don’t know if I am,” I admitted. I dropped my virtual cock, and I felt the weight of it protruding from my groin. This was surreal and confusing. Intoxicating, but a little off-center. Walter persisted. “We’re talking wet dreams, Jaffetz! Be bold!” That was a bit overwhelming. “There are still rules, though, right? This is a computer program, so there are rules. What are the limitations?” Walter sounded a little disappointed. “Your imagination. If you can think it, the computer can cook it up.” I was dubious. “Anything I can think of, it can make me feel it?” “Anything. Like I said, it’s completely customizable.” “I could become a mythical beast or a stopwatch or something?” “You want to be a stopwatch?” Walter sounded a little impressed. “Just tell the computer you want to be a stopwatch. A stopwatch you will he.” That was too much. That was bizarre. “Let’s stick within the bounds of human reality for right now. I like my body, so let’s play around with my body.” “Of course. I like your body too. So, how would you like to alter your body?” “Well…” I stopped myself. “I like the sound of that ‘well.’ What was that ‘well’?” “Get taller?” “If you want to get taller…” Walter started, then trailed off. The white room around me blurred, and when it cleared back up, it looked like I was in our bedroom. The spatial dimensions and placement of everything was right, but the textures were all off. “Now you’ll have something to compare it to.” “Computer, I want to be a foot taller than Walter.” As soon as I said it, there was almost a feeling of vertigo as the room rushed down further away from me. My eyes were level with the doorjamb of the closet, the bed didn’t come up to my knees, my reflection in the mirror was just my chest and abs—my head was too high above the frame. And the pain from my pants and shoes were crippling. “Naked! Computer, I want to be naked!” I shrieked, and the pain instantly subsided as my taller, naked body was free from those beyond tight shackles. “You could’ve grown yourself out of them,” Walter said. “I could also return blood flow to my lower extremities.” I winced. “Patients would’ve totally tortured their doctors with this.” Free from pain, I could look around my world again. Everything looked so small and childlike. I couldn’t believe a six inch change in height could bring such a change in perspective. “How do I walk around in here?” I asked. “Just walk around. The prototype room is big enough that you shouldn’t walk into anything. And if you’re about to, your sensors will cause a proximity alarm to sound.” I started walking around, and I quickly saw just how much longer my gait was. I crossed the bedroom in three steps, not five, and my stride was surprisingly expansive. So, I began strutting around the room, just feeling like the tall man I was. “You’re adorable when you swagger,” Walter said. “A guy this tall is majestic, not adorable,” I corrected. “Majestically adorable,” Walter insisted. “Want to get even taller?” “No, I want to be a foot taller than you.” “The computer can handle more than that.” “I’m sure it can. But this is my first time playing your game. I’ve always wanted to be a foot taller than you so you’d only come up to my chest. Now I am.” I stopped strutting for a second. “You will be joining me in here eventually, right?” “As soon as you’re satisfied with the parameters. I can’t monitor the program and wear the goggles at the same time.” “Good. So, in that case…” I strutted over to the mirror and leaned down so I could see my face. I’d stared at my face enough times to know every last thing I wanted to change. “Keep up with me, computer, because I want a bunch of stuff.” Rapidly, I spat them out. “Computer, I want to lose the tan, shrink my nose by 5%, turn my hair and eyebrows raven black, thicken my eyebrow ridge, sharpen my cheekbones, grow a thick and stylish goatee (also raven black), broaden my chin, and chisel my jaw. Make it so.” The changes happened all at once, and I went from surfer-dude pretty to darkly, almost menacingly, handsome, even with the spiky appearance of the facial hair. That was the face of a man who fucked. “All of those are changes you could’ve made in the real world. Stay out of the sun. Hair dye. Nose job. Etc.” “True, I said, running my hand through the prickly goatee. “But I wouldn’t have gotten any parts. Every actor has his type. I got parts as a pretty blond with a tan. I was the affable party guy, the clueless but well-meaning best friend, the non-threateningly handsome man on a date with the pretty girl. This guy...” I pointed to the in-program reflection, “he’s a brooding poet with a dangerous past who will upend your universe and shatter your heart but only after he fucks you into paradise. He’s the sexy villain.” Looking at that face made my dick stiffen even more. “You want to be the villain?” Walter asked, surprised. “No, I want to be me. I just want his face.” “You still look like Logan to me, especially with those green eyes.” Walter sounded relieved and a little moony. “Again, the point. Me, but amplified.” I looked down at my chest, and the blond hair covering my chest was discordant. “Computer, I want my body hair to match head hair, and I want thicker chest hair, but not a forest, just… more.” The hairs spread across my chest and deepened into a rich sable color. “That’s better.” “I agree,” Walter echoed. “With that accomplished,” I walked away from the digital mirror, “onto the thing that inspired this whole thing. Computer, I want muscle.” Nothing happened. “You have to be more specific. Like you were with your face.” I nodded, and the virtual room swam a little bit. “I can do that. Computer, I want broader shoulders, a rounder ass, and 50 pounds more of muscle mass.” As soon as I said it, I felt myself growing even heavier. I felt it first in my legs. My calves became sturdier, and when I looked down, I could see them stick out and grow rounder. My thighs quickly stole my attention as they grew thicker, forcing me to widen my stance, I could feel them hardening and blossoming with muscle, and I could feel the definition in them even if I couldn’t see them in the rendering. Counterbalancing the meat of my thighs, I felt my ass grow heavy, thick, round, proud. I reached around to feel it, and it felt solid like a stone statue, unyielding to my touch, but warm and velvety. My abs, always there but not particularly special, quickly hardened and bulged into a dense six-pack. I could feel the Adonis belt above my hips, but that too was blurred and smooth in the computer graphics. As the feeling of fullness spread up my body, my pecs blossomed outwards, thick and heavy, big and beefy enough to threaten any shirt I dare put on. I flexed them independently of each other and was delighted to feel the contractions and shifts in density as they swelled and relaxed. I could have played with my pecs forever, but I felt my back thickening, my lats making their presence known in a way I’d never felt before. I looked at the in-program reflection, and was rewarded to see that I now had the V-taper of my dreams. And that taper became even more dramatic as my shoulders pressed away from each other, rounding out into thick bookends on either side of my torso. My traps rose up, my neck thickened. I reached up to feel that thick neck, and saw my arms were thickening too. My forearms were dense and firm, my biceps forthright and unignorable, looking flexed and bulging even at rest, my triceps bulging out in the other direction. I was glorious. “My dream stats,” I announced. “6’7”, 8-inch cock, 270 pounds, the face of a sensitive bad boy.” “330,” Walter interjected. “What?” I asked, instinctively turning to the sound of Walter’s voice even though I couldn’t see him with the goggles on. “Your avatar weighs 330 pounds.” “But…” “When you grew six inches in height, it would’ve been boring if you’d just gotten taller. So, I put my thumb on the scale and told the computer to increase your height proportionately, preserving your physique. That added 60 pounds. You’re 330.” It did feel heavy. Powerfully heavy. I walked around the room, feeling my legs sweep around each other, my muscles bounce and recoil as they fought against gravity to stay clinging to my skeleton. I walked over to the virtual bed and lifted it up one-handed. It wasn’t even a challenge. “Okay, then these are my dream stats. Thanks for doing that.” I flexed my biceps up by my face, staring at them swell with power in the in-program reflection. I inflated my chest out and sucked my waist in. I looked like a computer-rendered bodybuilder, but bigger and thicker, more massive. “Come on in,” I beckoned Walter. “The pixels are fine. Let’s take this body for a test drive.” “I’ll come in when you’re done modifying the body.” “I am done,” I assured him. “Already?” He sounded unimpressed. I looked at my massive pecs and tight abs. “I’m already bigger than any Olympia winner.” “You can do better than this,” Walter taunted. “You don’t think this…” I flexed my biceps down in front of me, my chest somewhat getting in the way, “is good enough?” My muscles were so bloated they were threatening to get in the way of each other. “Good enough for a teenager just discovering his muscle fetish, yes. But I expected more out of you.” “More, huh? How much more you want?” “The question is, how much more do you want?” “I’m honestly happy here. At 330 I’m almost twice as heavy as you, and you’ve got a few extra pounds of flab. Kissable pounds, but I practically double your weight, and I don’t have any extra fat.” Walter muttered under his breath, a little piqued. “As of this morning, I’m down to 172. The diet and workout plan are working, thank you very much.” Then, he decided to tempt me. “If you wanted to be twice my weight, you’d need 14 more pounds.” Contemplatively, I said, “I could do that.” Walter then quickly added, “If you add another 100, a nice round number, that gets you up to 2.5 times my body weight.” “Really?” “172 time 2.5 is 430.” I was dubious. “That’s too convenient.” “You’re in a virtual simulation I created that has weight and tactile sensation, and you second guess my arithmetic?” He had a point. And it really sounded like Walter wanted me huge. I’d get huge for him. “Let’s go for it,” I accepted. “Computer, I want another 100 pounds of muscle.” As soon as I said it, I exploded with power. My chest forced itself outward so far that it started to obscure everything underneath it. I tried to bend forward to look past it, but the muscles had gotten so big so fast that my chin crashed into it. As if sensing my predicament, Walter augmented the mirror in the simulation so it captured all of my magnificence. And I was so glad it did because it was one thing to see my chest grow outwards, but to see it reflected back to me from the front was another. As I watched, my nipples migrated downwards from the weight and heft of my chest. My chest wasn’t the only thing expanding. Facing forward I could see both of my shoulders in my peripheral vision. They were rounding out and spreading further away from me, like I was wearing my old high school shoulder pads, but it was just me. In the enlarged mirror, my shoulders threatened to grow past the frame. Doorways would be a significant problem for shoulders like these. My neck, too, grew girthier, until it was somehow wider than the head that supported it. My Adam’s apple and even my face thickened as if it too had put on some mass. I’d been so distracted by my chest and upwards, that I was taken by shock when my abs caught my eye. They were dense and powerful, deep shadows etched in the six-pack. It looked like I could take a cannonball to the gut and damage the cannonball. My Adonis belt was angrily jutting from my hips. My whole torso had thickened, but with the protruding mass of my chest, it was still a definite V-taper. Tapering down to a bottom half that defied my ability to fully perceive it. My legs were so thick and meaty, they looked like two bodybuilders’ quads smashed together. I was standing with my legs what felt like feet apart, but the thighs smashed into each other. I could feel each individual fiber as thick as steel and was thankful for that as the limitations of the rendering made them look like impossibly wide blobs. Sexy blobs, but blobs. The computer must have had an easier time with the calves because those looked like iron-strong mounds of hard flesh. My calves were now huge, impressive bulges of brawn that clung to my legs and flexed with every micro-movement. And my ass. Even from the front I could tell that my ass jutted out round and proud like a shelf, firm and unyielding. I reached back I felt my ass, and it was warm and diamond hard, and gigantic like two globes of muscle. Feeling my ass drew my attention back to my arms. My arms were deliciously thick. My forearms were thicker than most men’s legs, and I had trouble telling with the rendering, but I suspected they were covered with an interlacing network of veins. My biceps swelled as big as my head, and I wasn’t even flexing, and the triceps swept out in the other direction, making them even larger. When I flexed, my arm exploded into a mass so huge it could officially be classified as a boulder. I went to put my arms back down and found my lats had spread so far that my arms would never get all the way down again. My body was fighting for space with my body. I was too big for my bigness. “How does it feel?” Walter asked. “Immense,” I said, walking around. I had to waddle to get the thighs past each other, my heavy ass swaying in balanced contrapunto, and each step shook the virtual room and made all my muscles jiggle, but it was an erotic rush to have a body big enough to be its own impediment. And it felt so real. I could feel gravity pull down on me to an extreme like I was carrying two men on my back, but it was just me. And the power that radiated through this musculature was inhuman. I felt like I could lift skyscrapers or crumple wrecking balls. “You should see what you look like out here,” Walter commented as I kept walking around in my virtual room. “Realistic, huh?” “In some ways, like with the fine textures, it’s not that realistic,” I said, taking a break. I was sweating—at least virtually—from the exertion. “And there’s no smell. I should have a musky aroma, but it smells like I’m in an antiseptic research lab.” “You are in an antiseptic research lab,” he reminded me. “I know. But smelling like that takes me out of the fantasy.” “Point taken.” He sounded a little hurt. “In other ways,” I reassured him, “it’s almost too real.” I reached up to wipe my sweat away, but my arm was too buff to allow me to reach my own face. “My hugeness makes certain actions impossible.” A tingling in my feet drew attention. “I can feel all the weight baring down on my feet—it’s not painful yet, but it will be if I stay in here too long.” That sentence was so long, I had to catch my breath. “And there’s such a force of weight bearing down on my chest that filling my lungs with oxygen is a challenge.” I panted. “If it’s no fun…” Walter started, but I interrupted. “Are you kidding me? This is awesome! It’s like a contact sport against my own body. I get to feel it all!” “So, you want to keep playing?” “Hell yeah!” I practically shouted at him. “Get on in here.” “You’re done customizing?” “I was done customizing before I added those last hundred pounds,” I reminded him. “I added them for you.” “Okay,” he said, a detectable note of disappointment back in his voice. “What other changes would you make?” I prompted. “It’s your present,” Walter said. “It’s our present,” I insisted. “Your waist is thick.” I rubbed my hands up and down my abs. “Can you see this brick wall? It’s all muscle, babe. Muscle takes up space.” “Yeah, but we’re not bound by physiological reality in here. This is a game. A fantasy. Let’s play.” “You want me to have a smaller waist?” “Kinda,” he said. “Computer, I want a 36-inch waist,” I said without hesitation. “32,” Walter suggested. “Computer, I want a 30-inch waist,” I responded, goading him. As soon as the words left my lips, I could feel an extreme force cinching around my midsection, pulling it in. It grew tighter, and tighter. In response, I had to stand up straighter, sticking my chest out further and further. When the tightening ended, I looked in the mirror to see a cartoon superhero staring back at me. Enormous pecs and gigantic arms supported by an itty bitty waist, flaring out into monstrous legs and a massive ass. I took a few steps, and the behemoth in the mirror rocked his hips back and forth as his legs swung around each other. I could feel my pecs shake with each step, my abs tightening to hold everything aloft and in place. “That’s gorgeous,” Walter said. I could tell from the catch in his voice that he was hard and leaking. “You like this?” I asked, panting from my brief stroll. “It makes the breathing thing a little harder, but I do admit it’s breathtaking in other ways too.” “Are you done now?” he asked leadingly. “Walter,” I groaned, “just tell me what you want, and I’ll agree to whatever sounds fun.” “Well, you could keep this weight, but drop down to, say, 8% body fat, and you could double the size of your genitals.” Smirking, I said, “Computer, I want to stay at this weight but with 5% body fat, and increase the size of my genitals until they’re 2.5 times their current size.” I felt my muscles bulge a little and the skin shrink wrap over them. Even with the digital haze, I could make out some veins and striations making their way to the surface, and the face in the mirror became more savage as the cheeks sunk in further. My cock had been hard this whole time, and I could feel it grow harder and steelier, reaching out further. I could also feel the weight tugging at my crotch as my cock and balls inflated with meat and weight. My cock straight out 20 inches, practically bridging the distance between me and the mirror. It was still my cock, thick vein down the middle, curving to the left, but this version of my cock was a monster. In the reflection, especially with my mammoth thighs pushing them forward, they looked beyond pornographically big, more like ludicrously big, but the feeling was entirely different. With my over-bloated muscles and absurdly engorged cock, the balls actually looked a little slight. “Computer, I want bull balls—disproportionately large and full even for my frame.” At that, the leaden weight pulling from my crotch grew even heavier, and I could see the testicles swell and draw further downward. “Fuck yes,” Walter said. “I thought you’d approve,” I said. “Since I’ll be fucking you with this ramrod as soon as you get in here.” “I’ll join you as soon as you’re satisfied.” “Satisfied? Now that I’ve seen my body blown up to these inhuman proportions,” I said, “I don’t think I’ll ever be satisfied in the real world again.” There was a pause, then Walter asked, “What do you mean by that?” I laughed as heartily as I could with all my pec meat. “I mean that if I could look this way in the real world, I would.” “Really?” Walter asked, a little impressed. “Yes. Well, I don’t like the difficulty breathing, or the foot pain, or the lack of flexibility, but the aesthetics of this look cannot be denied.” Carefully, Walter asked, “If you could look this way in the real world, you really would?” “Doorways be damned,” I said, pushing my shoulders broader. Walter repeated himself, “You’d really like to look like this in the real world?” “Of course. I want to be this in the real world. Strength and all.” “Even with this machine able to give you any body at all?” I shook my head. “There are just some limitations of this program. Like, what would it feel like to have all this testosterone,” I pointed at my balls since I couldn’t reach them, “running through me? What would the clothes for this body look like? What would it be like to walk down the street and have people stare in awe and horror at me? What would the press say about your trophy husband now? And, most importantly of all,” I said, pausing to catch my breath, “what would this body look like in real-world resolution?” “Since you didn’t make your body too extreme…” Walter started, but I interrupted him. “You don’t call this extreme?” I asked, flexing into a most muscular, my body practically bursting with muscle and size, my nearly two-foot cock drizzling pre. “No, I don’t. Remember our stopwatch conversation?” “Point taken,” I admitted. “Since you didn’t make your body too extreme,” he started again, “I could whip up the technology to make it all real.” “Really?” “Yeah. It’d take eight years tops. Six years if I get lucky and don’t have to do too much troubleshooting.” “Really?” I asked again. “Really,” he asserted matter-of-factly. “So, I again ask you, is this what you really want?” “Fuck yes,” I said. I got a little dizzy and felt a pain behind my right eye. “But right now, I just want better resolution. I’m getting a headache.” Walter made a “hmm” noise, and then said, “I’ve got an idea, but you’ll probably pass out for a bit. You might even feel a pinching sensation at the base of your neck. Cool?” “If it’ll make this experience better, do it.” True to his word, I felt a pinching sensation at the base of my neck. Then the world greyed out. 47 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Popular Post TQuintA Posted June 29, 2022 Author Popular Post Share Posted June 29, 2022 Chapter 3 When I came to, the headache was gone, but I was incredibly thirsty. I opened my eyes tentatively, and the room around me came into sharp focus. It looked exactly like our bedroom. Exactly. Whatever Walter had done had bridged the Uncanny Valley, because the textures were right, the light gradation was right. Even things like the smells were right. It smelled like morning in our bedroom. The pillow next to me smelled like Walter, the air felt fresh, and the scent of our flower bushes wafted in through the window. I moved to get out of the bed, forgetting my immensity, and the weight tried to push me back down. I looked at my chest, and was in awe at what I saw. The mountains of my chest were so high that I could see nothing below them. The dark black chest hair had coarsened and thickened—it looked like real hair, and when I reached up to touch it, my enormous bicep pleasantly crashing into the muscle, the hair moved like real hair. And despite my hirsuteness, I could see all the fine texture of competition-ready, low body fat mass like I had never seen in the real world. The fibers in my chest flexed, relaxed, and rippled with each small motion, a cascading roadmap of veins covered my forearm, and the skin looked shrunken to my frame. With great force I got up and felt the shaking and heard the creaking as I got out of the bed. Impressive details. When I stood up to my full height, I could see the finer brushstrokes in the painted ceiling. I reached up to touch it, and again was reminding how thick my arms now were, pleased to see a thick, juicy vein running down its peak, the two heads of the muscle cleanly defined. It was then I noticed that my feet felt normal, like there wasn’t over 400 pound of man crashing down on them. I even jumped twice, and while the window rattled, my feet felt fine. After I finished jumping, I realized I could breathe easily. I should’ve been winded, but I wasn’t. When I took in a big breath, my chest expanded to such a vastness that I would’ve gasped if I wasn’t already inhaling. And I could easily reach my impossible small waist, caressing every brick of my abs, and touch my face, feeling my delightful and thick beard. “I love this upgrade,” I said. Actually, more like bellowed. My voice sounded deeper, more resonant. Sexier. “You’re up,” Walter said, coming into the room with a gallon jug of water. He handed me the jug, and I gladly drank it down in one gulp. I looked at Walter again to see him in this simulation’s graphics, and it definitely looked like my Walter. Reddish-brown, curly, uncombed hair, grey at the temples, crinkles by the eyes, but… “I see someone customized his avatar too,” I said, patting his belly with the back of my hand, pleased at how firm it felt. This computerized Walter was thin and toned. “Customized nothing. It took me three months, but I lost 22 pounds.” Three months? Out loud, I said, “Three months?” “That’s how long you’ve been out.” “Why are you saying it’s been three months? I retired this morning.” Walter shook his head. “No, you retired three months ago. Then, while we were playing with our VR machine, you gave me consent to give you this body in reality. It took me three months to make all the modifications you requested. And while you were out, I did some other changes.” Was he saying what I think he was saying? “Other changes?” “I got you a closetful of clothes to fit your new size. I’m fond of the bathing suit myself—I expect it will make you look even more naked. And I widened the doorways, reinforced the floors, got you a bigger car, got a second fridge for all the food you’re going to need…” I cut him off. “This is reality?” I asked. “Yeah.” Walter looked at me confusedly. “What did you think this was?” “An upgrade to your VR program.” Walter gestured to the room around him. “I’m good, but I’m not this good,” he said. “Can’t you smell the marigolds?” “I can, but…” Walter took a few steps towards me. His head only came up to my gargantuan pecs, but I was close enough that I could smell that faint whiff of the sea. “Can’t you smell me?” I stood silent and dumbfounded. Walter could tell I was struggling. “Try taking off your goggles.” I did as he recommended, but there was nothing on my face. “This is reality?” “This is reality,” Walter affirmed. “You said it would take you years to make the technology for something like this possible.” “It did. Six years because I got lucky with the troubleshooting. I invented all that stuff before I even dreamed up your retirement present.” “But you never sold any of it.” “We’re already rich as Croesus, so we don’t need more money. And completely customizable bodies? That way leads to the super-rich getting luxury surgeries while denying poor people basic health care. And probably incites a eugenics war.” “Still,” I went over to the mirror and stared at my face—my new face—in the mirror. It was blemish free and unscarred. “Stuff like this could get you the Nobel. And completely revolutionize medicine.” “The inventions that could save people’s lives, I wouldn’t hold those back. I released modified versions of those already. They’re my money-makers. But the ones that were just pure vanity, I saved those for my workroom. Proof of concept, really.” “You never planned on using them?” I asked, still ogling my new face. “Not really. Not even on you. You were so fucking gorgeous already that it never even occurred to me you’d be interested.” “I’m interested.” I took a few steps back so I could marvel at my gigantic body heaving with muscles in the mirror. All this muscle was mine. The pecs that cantilevered out like cliffs were mine. The arms that burst with enough mass for a bodybuilder’s chest were mine. The legs that were so thick they diminished redwoods were mine. The fur, the abs, the height, the incredibly small waist, the face—it was all mine. My cock stirred and began to stiffen. Oh my god, my cock. The feeling of blood rushing to fill a thick 20-inch girder of a cock was the most erotic rush I’d felt. The sensation of two medicine balls of testicles drawing up to my body stirred my erection on. “I can see you’re interested,” Walter commented. “This is amazing,” I said. “And it’s not just vanity muscles. Those are your muscles, just magnified. You are the strongest man who’s ever lived.” All I could say was, “Fuck.” “And I took your notes. I modified your lung capacity, flexibility, foot strength. It should all be up to snuff.” “This is magnificent.” I strutted over to him, feeling my mass shift and flex with each motion. In one swoop I lifted him up. He was light as a feather, so I held him against my massiveness and kissed him fiercely. My nerves danced excitedly as I felt his heat pressed against my stony firmness, and his silky soft lips dance with mine. When the kiss ended, I just held him dangling there, and asked, “How did you do this?” “Surgery, gene manipulation, hormone treatment… I could go on. Do you really care?” “I guess not,” I admitted. “And it gets better,” he said. “I decided to give you 30 extra pounds. You’re 450.” That couldn’t be right. “450 pounds with a 30-inch waist?” “Yeah, that was a Rubik’s cube to figure out, but you have all your vital organs, don’t worry.” Not allowing myself to think about his inclusion of the word “vital,” another fact hit me. “Wait. You’ve lost 22 pounds, and I weigh 450.” “Indeed, you are three times as big as me. Glad you realized.” I kissed him again all over his face, and he felt up the tops of my pecs and my traps, the only muscles he could reach. When I ended the kiss, I wondered aloud, “What will the tabloids say about me now?” “Walter Jaffetz’s trophy husband undergoes extreme plastic surgery, becomes sex god.” I smirked. “Yeah, it’ll probably be something like that.” “It’ll be exactly that. I planted the story a week ago. Every rag with a photographer is desperate for photos, and some reality shows have left messages. If you’re interested.” “You planted the story?” He nodded. “Should I not have?” I shrugged, feeling my muscles kiss my ears. Walter looked me in the face and asked, “Are your arms even slightly tired?” “No, why?” “You’re still holding me up.” “So I am,” I remarked. “Want me to put you down?” “I’m in no rush.” I felt his cock stiffen and press into my unyielding flesh. “And it turns me on how huge you are.” It turned me on too. I’d been erect this whole time, but now that we were drawing attention to it, I could feel my cock stretch its full 20 inches, poking him in the ass. “Oh no,” I said as the thought hit me. “I’m too big to fuck you.” “I didn’t cheat on my diet or workouts, I swear,” he insisted. Then, innocently, he added, “But I did have one surgery.” “So, I can…?” I trailed off. “Fuck your husband up the ass with reckless abandon. Yes.” I tossed him in the air and caught him. “That was invigorating,” he said. “You weigh nothing to me.” I tossed him again. “You didn’t have to go on a diet for me. I like your little belly.” “Good, because I’ll probably gain it back in no time. I was uniquely motivated for today. So my behemoth of a husband would be three times my petite, demure size when we had reunion sex.” I tucked him under my arm and carried him to our bed. Then, I threw him to the bed. From my perspective, it felt like I tossed him lightly to the mattress, but in reality I rocketed him nearly into the wall. Tentatively, I said, “Perhaps we should hold off sex until I have a better understanding of my strength.” “Smart,” Walter said, his legs in the air and his face pale from the shock of being tossed like a ragdoll. Despite the look of fear, I could also notice a familiar note of disappointment in his voice. “We can always use the VR machine in the meantime. Find out what sex as a stopwatch feels like.” I laughed and sat on the bed next to him. I thought I was sitting gingerly, but the bed shook and rumbled as if a quarter-ton weight had been dropped on it. I suppose one had. “But how will we figure out the limits of my strength?” I asked, suddenly nervous about breaking the bed. “Oh, that’s easy,” Walter said, righting himself. “Like I promised, I hired you a trainer. I explained to him your size and your goals.” “What goals?” “To get bigger of course.” “Bigger?!” “Yeah. With your enhancements, and a dedicated regimen, I suspect we’re nowhere near your upper limit.” “Then why not just make me bigger?” “Didn’t want to take your goal away from you. You said your goal was to become a bloated mass of muscle.” He pat me on my steely thigh. “There’s plenty of room left to bloat.” “Does that mean I have to work out to keep these muscles?” That sounded like an impossible task. “Well, not really. You can get bigger, but without a radical crash diet, it’s going to be hard to get smaller. Unless, of course, I remove the regulatory implant. This is your baseline normal.” My cock leaked. “Looks like somebody likes it.” I leaned over to him and ripped off his clothes with one hand. “If I promise not to pulverize you, can we forego the waiting period?” “The waiting period was your idea.” “Good,” I said, and with that, I was on him. 63 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
actorsarecool Posted June 29, 2022 Share Posted June 29, 2022 TQuintA - so stoked to have another story from you! Can’t wait to see where this goes. Your work is awesome as always! 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
citizenies Posted June 29, 2022 Share Posted June 29, 2022 Woot woot new story ~ loving it 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
OldFashioned Posted June 30, 2022 Share Posted June 30, 2022 Jeeeesus. I immediately got excited when I saw you’d posted a story, and this still exceeded my expectations. 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
cregssatx Posted June 30, 2022 Share Posted June 30, 2022 Awesome new story! I love your writing style, all the detail you include, and your quirky characters. Can't wait to read more of this and anything else you write! 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TQuintA Posted June 30, 2022 Author Share Posted June 30, 2022 I love all the feedback I'm getting; I feel flattered as always. Especially considering the length of the normal story I post on this site, I understand why people think this is just the beginning. However, I should probably confess that this story, as far as I am concerned, is done. Of all the stories I've posted on this site, this is the one I'm most likely to write a sequel to (no promises) because there are a few places I could think to take it, but I've reached the end of my outline and am personally satisfied with the open-ended resolution. This has also been a somewhat experimental writing situation for me. I finished writing a full-length play back in February (months earlier than I anticipated), and then was struck by three different story ideas simultaneously (based on three different pictures I'd found online). For fun, I decided to write all three stories in one go--bouncing back and forth between them. I've been working on all three stories in tandem for a few months now, and this story reached what I saw to be its ending well before the other two. The other two stories I'm writing (working titles "Weird, But Sweet" and "I Can Fix Him") are both at around 40 pages each and nowhere near done. Since this story was finished, I decided to post it and concentrate my recreational writing time on the other two (which might not be done until next year). Again, thanks for the remarkable feedback. 22 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ToolShedCub Posted June 30, 2022 Share Posted June 30, 2022 i would sleep for 3 months for this body! 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Mdlftr Posted June 30, 2022 Share Posted June 30, 2022 TQuinta, You have a gift for creating new worlds and unique characters who have believable voices and actions. it's good to have you posting again! Mdlftr 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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