Meta-mischief

by BRK   

Detective Randy Trevino starts experiencing increasingly strange and embarrassingly sexy glitches in his morning routine, and he’s sure his precinct frenemy, the lean and handsome Detective Jake Rivers, is behind it.

Randy had just dropped into his desk chair for the morning and was about to pick up the case notes on the Isbecki homicide, sipping his morning latte like always, when he heard snickering coming from behind him. It had to be Watkins and Bond, the detectives at the next set of desks over, just behind his. Randy frowned. He was already feeling unaccountably self-conscious—it had been a weird walk in, with Randy feeling almost like people had been looking at him funny and hiding smiles behind their hands the whole way through the precinct. And now this.

He was about to round on Watkins and Bond with a “What the hell?” look on his face when his captain sat down on the edge of his desk. He was smirking like he knew a joke Randy didn’t. He was young for a captain, cute and sylphlike; that combined with his snappy dress sense and prematurely snow-white hair gave him a distinctive look that Randy found not unattractive.

“You, uh, forget anything on the way in this morning, Detective Trevino?” Captain Wong asked, eyes dancing.

Randy looked up at him, confused. “Uh… like what?”

Wong said nothing, subtly adjusting his tie instead. Shit, had Randy forgotten his tie? He looked down, and was greeted with the sight of a flat belly and lightly tanned, thin but well-defined pecs. Nope, he hadn’t forgotten his tie—he’d forgotten his shirt. And his tie.

Open laughter erupted from the desks behind him. Randy glanced over his shoulder at Watkins and Bond, who were shamelessly watching their conversation. Wong and Randy might as well have been putting on a skit for their entertainment.

Randy narrowed his eyes at them. Watkins, a sharp-dressed young blond woman, waved at him, wiggling her fingers. Bond, a heavily muscled Black guy in his late thirties, blew him a kiss.

Randy’s cheeks warmed. Irritated, he turned back to Wong. “Sorry. I can go home and, uh, change, or—”

Wong waved him off. “Naw, don’t bother. I don’t mind.”

Randy’s brows drew together. “You don’t…. mind?” he repeated.

“Naw,” the captain said, standing. Facing slightly away from Randy, he made a show of adjusting something hefty in his crotch. “Not at all,” he sang as he walked away, his words trailing behind him as he headed back to his office on the other side of the bullpen.

This produced more guffaws from his audience. Randy turned and shot his hecklers a baleful look, but Watkins just went back to her work with a smug smile, while Bond stroked his ponderous pecs through his dress shirt and puckered his lips again. Was that a taunt, or… Bond couldn’t actually mean it, right? That seemed as likely as Wong genuinely having to adjust a big fat boner in his well-tailored slacks.

Over him? As if. Randy was no shirtless model. He was middle-aged and doughy and—well, no, not doughy, that didn’t make sense. Why had he thought that?

Feeling perplexed, provoked, and peeved all at once, Randy scanned the rest of the room for other tormenters, his vexation simmering like a long-cooking broth. Fortunately for him the desks were largely empty, most everyone being either off shift or out on call, but annoyingly he spotted one additional observer: lounging in the doorway was a tall, lean figure with a blue “#1 Cop” mug in his hand and a very satisfied look on his handsome face.

Randy knew that mug (meaning his face) all too well. Jake Rivers was one of the top missing persons detectives and Randy’s own low-level nemesis. In fact Rivers had been pranking him since the day Randy had shown up at the precinct a year back—he’d left a whoopie cushion on Randy’s newly assigned chair, a bit of mischief so trite it ended up being twice as mortifying. Randy had gotten him back with a classic meringue pie in the face at a break room “birthday party” he’d arranged just for the occasion, and they’d been trading japes and antics on an irregular basis ever since.

As if the pranks weren’t enough, the guy was distracting and almost irresistible, with long legs that filled out his pants in exactly the right way, nice square shoulders, loose dark hair, and a quirky, smarmy smile that had featured in more than one of the embarrassingly intense wet dreams Randy had started having in recent weeks. The man was, in short, maddening in every conceivable way.

Randy tried staring the miscreant down from across the room. Was this Rivers, upping his game? As if responding to Randy’s silent question Rivers gave him a very deliberate wink before rolling off the doorframe and disappearing into central command. “I knew it,” Randy muttered. “That sexy fucker’s going down.”

Bond appeared next to Randy’s desk, looming over him. “Hey, Trevino,” he said. “I’m headed to the bathroom. You got any pants I could borrow? You know, in case I lose mine on the way back.”

From behind him, Watkins barked a loud laugh. Randy made a surly, fake-amused face. “Ha, and may I add, ha.” Bond chuckled deeply and wandered off.

Randy found his venti latte and took a long gulp, adjusting his soft but uncomfortably trapped junk as he thought. How had Rivers done this? Because dollars to cop doughnuts, he was responsible. But… for what, exactly? It reminded him of something, and he swallowed another swig of coffee as he tried to think of what it was. Wait—this was like that episode of Seattle Crime where the hypnotist was the killer. He had murdered someone by making them think they were driving on a straight highway when in reality they were on a windy mountain road with hairpin curves, and they’d ended up smashing through the guard rail at 70 miles an hour and sailing into the ravine. Was this some sort of hypnosis thing, too? It seemed like there was more to it, but it seemed to fit at least part of what was going on. Like “forgetting” his shirt—that was totally something he’d make Rivers do if he had hypno abilities.

Bond walked past, returning to his desk with a wink. Randy ignored him, his mind on Rivers. He finished his coffee and tossed it in the can, reflexively adjusting his tiresomely huge dick again. At least it was slumbering for now, flaccid and content. He checked the time on his laptop—9:29. There was one lead he could follow, he realized: he still had remote access to Rivers’s browser history, thanks to a previous prank in which he’d enlisted the help of the precinct’s tech lead. Lewis liked him, and the price had been a single five-minute kiss in the back stairwell. Randy hadn’t minded too much—Lewis was a great kisser, and in return Randy had been able to permanently change Rivers’s desktop wallpaper to a close-up “selfie” of Randy’s butt-hole. Rivers had had to get a rebuild, and Randy still had the login credentials to—

The phone on Randy’s desk rang, and instantly he started feeling the orgasm welling up in his fist-sized balls, ready to burst out of the ridiculously large, permanently hard cock he had shoving sideways out of his pants, bypassing his chiseled six-pack and thrusting out past his hip and into the empty air by a good four inches. Fuck!

“There he goes,” Bond said.

A torrent of intense pleasure suffused his body in a single, sudden gush, accelerating his pulse and heating his skin. Frantically, Randy reached for the large, galvanized metal pail he kept under the desk for this purpose. At first he couldn’t find it, and he nearly panicked—had Rivers taken it? That asshole! Then his hand found the lip of the pail and he gratefully grabbed it and got it into position just in time for the spurts of high-pressure cum to start blasting against the metal interior. The distinctive sound rang through the bullpen loud enough for Wong to emerge from his office and watch with obvious pleasure, arms folded comfortably over his chest. Randy wanted to die… and/or kill. Probably both.

Meanwhile, the damned phone was still ringing. He snatched it up with his free hand. “Trevino.” In the throes of his brain-melting release it was all he could do to choke out his name.

“Hi, this is Bryan calling with the vehicle service department. We’ve been trying to reach you about your car’s extended warranty. We sent you several notices—”

His orgasm started subsiding as the dulcet voice droned in his ear, and as he set down the sloshing cum bucket he found that was finally able to focus on what the caller was saying. Rage and humiliation churned in his belly along with a hot core of afterglow. “I don’t even own a car!” he shouted, slamming down the phone.

The bullpen broke out in laughter and clapping—it seemed some of the desks had filled in while he was mapping out the problem in his head, and there were now a good dozen spectators enjoying the show including Wong, Bond, and Watkins. And Rivers, who was skulking in the doorway again, slurping from his coffee mug like he was an innocent passer-by poking his head in on kerfuffle with a suspect. Randy aimed a finger at him as he wiped off the end of his cock with a handful of deli napkins, but Rivers just grinned at him over his mug and disappeared like before.

Everyone else was just starting to go about their business when Randy’s desk phone rang again. “Shit!” he shouted, inciting another ripple of laughter as a second orgasm welled inescapably up in him. Clumsily, he got the quarter-full pail in place just in time to start spraying into it with both cocks, this time kicking up drops of spunk-spatter that flew out of the pail onto his face thick, sculpted chest. He tried to aim the twin gushes of cum more toward the side of the pail as he picked up the phone. “Trevino!”

“Hi, this is Derek calling with the vehicle service department. We’ve been trying to reach you—”

“Go to hell!” he shouted, the words strangling in his throat as his slowly ebbing climax tore him apart. He slammed down the phone and ripped out the cord, wondering who kept reconnecting it every time. Rivers, probably. Or his asshole colleagues.

The chuckling and applause subsided as people returned to their work, but Randy’s red cheeks lingered, only some of the burn from the rush of euphoric release and afterglow. He fell back in his chair, bare skin sticking to the cheap upholstered vinyl. Over the resuming hubbub he heard Watkins snark, “You know, Trevino, you should try bottling that stuff. I mean, it’s got to be good for something.”

“And you make so much of it,” Bond added, the smirk audible in his voice.

“Fuuuuuck yoooooou,” Randy said loudly without turning around, dragging out the words for emphasis. They chuckled but didn’t say anything else, and Randy was free to think. He really should empty the damn bucket before it started to reek, but the orgasms had energized him and he needed to end this prank, and maybe get back at Rivers, if he could. He knew he was on the right track. Orgasms being triggered by his desk phone was such an obvious hypno prank, it was embarrassing he hadn’t cottoned on two weeks ago when it had started happening. It was two weeks, right? Weirdly it felt almost as though it had just started happening, but he distinctly remembered…

He shook his head, turning to his laptop. It didn’t matter. Using the illicit credentials Lewis had given him he logged in as Rivers and started scrolling through his tantalizing rival’s browser history. Almost immediately, he hit paydirt: a very suspiciously named website called next-level-pranks dot net.

Randy followed the link and found himself auto-logged into the website under Rivers’s account. There was a page of metrics that seemed to be updating live, all related to “Subject A.” Next to “Subject A” at the top was his official police department headshot. “That fucker,” he muttered under his breath. He clicked on his picture and brought up a new screen, listing the “suggestions” and “retcons” on him that were already implemented or timed for later release.

All of them were dated to this morning around 8:30 a.m., which seemed… wrong? This had been going on for weeks, at least, right?

At the top were a set of switches, including “All changes socially normalized (for subject only).” That one was switched on. Randy guessed that that was so whatever Rivers did to him, nobody would bat an eye, more or less. Honestly, it was damned peculiar for him to be able to bust his load in the middle of the precinct and the most that happened was that he made a spectacle of himself, he thought slowly. He tried imagining Wong doing it and shuddered. The guy’d probably be locked away.

He read through the list of changes, his anger immediately surging at the very first entry.

(mental, starts now, ongoing) Subject believes his first name is “Randy.”

What the hell? He fumbled his wallet out of his back pocket and pulled out the driver’s license, goggling as he read JEROME TREVINO. Shit! He could almost hear Rivers chuckling at that one. At least he hadn’t gone for something worse, like “Slutwhore” or “Trevor.” He put his wallet away and kept reading.

(mental, starts now, once only) Subject goes to work today not realizing he has forgotten to put on a shirt.

There it was. Proof Rivers was fucking with his head, just like he’d thought. Well, assuming Rivers wasn’t a step ahead of him and he whole site was a plant. It was too real, though. The next instructions were odder:

(physical, starts minus 2 weeks, ongoing, retroactive, low potency) Coffee gradually increases Subject’s fitness, muscular size and definition retroactively

(physical, starts minus 2 weeks, ongoing, retroactive, high potency) Coffee gradually grows Subject’s cock

(physical, starts now, 24-hour duration) Increase previous two changes to ultra potency

Randy stared at the screen. That was where “doughy” had come from. He’d been doughy, he just couldn’t remember. He’d always been as nicely built as he was now, and not just in his memories—his photos from high school and college all showed the same sculpted physique.

He had mixed feelings about this little subset of changes. It felt normal for him to be buff, but his cocks were really, really too big. He’d thought it was an accident of nature, but, no, it was Rivers being a jerk. Dirty pool tying the changes to caffeine—Rivers must have noticed he loved his lattes as much as he loved his job. Maybe more.

Fury rose again as he read the next one.

(physical, starts minus 2 weeks, ongoing) Subject’s desk phone causes instant, massively productive public orgasm

That was a real dick move, Rivers, he thought, not noticing the pun.

(physical, starts minus 2 weeks, ongoing) Subject’s refractory period is 15 seconds

(mental, starts plus 1 hour, ongoing, retroactive) Subject is permanently fully aroused and unable to get soft

(physical, starts now, 24-hour duration, retroactive) Subject has as many cocks as he has orgasmed during this period

Okay, that explained a lot. No wonder his dad hadn’t been able to give him a good answer when he’d come home from his first day in P.E. and asked why he had more dicks than the other boys at school. Weird his permaboners were mental, though. He’d always thought it was a physical condition, but it fit with how he was constantly horny all the time.

He reread the pixel-formed words. As many cocks as he has orgasmed… If he came again today, he’d grow another cock… He had no idea what to think about that. Having two cocks was what he was used to, but that feeling wasn’t real, was it?

There was one last entry:

(physical, starts minus 10 years, ongoing, low potency) Subject emits pheromones that make men lust after him.

Well, that was true enough. Guys often got hard around him, like Wong earlier. Fuck, his college roommate had jacked off eight times a day just from being around him, and he was ridiculously straight.

Randy grinned, finally seeing a chance to turn the tables on his hot tormenter. He clicked on the pencil next to the entry to edit it.

(physical, starts now, ongoing, high potency) Subject emits pheromones that make Jake Rivers lust after him.

Nice.

He looked upwards through the list. He should really click the “undo” button next to all of these; but thanks to the prank itself everything was normal for him, so it all looked… “right.” No, scratch that, the phone making him bust his nut was an obvious candidate for reversal—he was a cop for fuck’s sake. He spent half his time in the office on the phone.

He clicked “undo” on that one without qualms or hesitation, then looked down next to his chair to see the half-full pail… disappear?

Huh.

Okay, he couldn’t think about that. Moving on. He decided to edit the coffee transformations from “ongoing” to “14-day duration,” capping his backdated muscle and cock growth as of first thing this morning. His current body size was perfect, after all. He also revised the previous two weeks of retconned cock growth to “low potency”… then changed it again to “medium potency.” Well, big dicks were normal for him. He checked his hardons, noting the heads nosing just barely from his waistband… like always. Good.

The part about being permanently aroused—he should change that, right? But he loved being horny and hard, it felt amazing. Finally, he edited the text to read “often fully aroused and unable to get soft for at least an hour” and left it at that, because his real priority was bigger than all of this: retribution.

A new subject profile and a bunch of insidious commands later, Randy was standing in front of Jake’s desk, taking in his permanently shirtless state, his inflated, godlike muscles, and the arm-sized erection he had resting against his left shoulder, emitting a steady flow of precum that slicked up his shaft and half his rippling torso. Unlike Jake, Randy had made sure to include in his changes a full awareness of who had done this to him, though as he’d made Jake forget the website (and then deleted Jake’s browser history) the hottie had no idea how. Everyone in the squad was watching them with interest, waiting to see what would happen between them.

Jake glared up at Randy and immediately started cumming spectacularly, as he was programmed to do at least once a day just from seeing him. Irked, Jake jumped to his feet, his massive chest heaving and his skin blotchy red from the spontaneous orgasm. As was his new normal, more precum oozed from his enormous cock and dripped sporadically from his stiff, down-pointing nipples.

He was a head taller than Randy now and outweighed him by at least fifty pounds, as well as being devastatingly handsome enough to make anyone with a dick around him as hard as adamantium. Randy wasn’t intimidated by the size and sexiness, though; and as for his bonerific beauty, well, he was hard already. Close, too. He’d told himself to be careful how many times he blew his load today, but reveling in the presence of his incredibly fuckable nemesis he couldn’t quite care.

Jake slid his hand around Randy’s neck, his eyes still full of fire as Randy’s pheromones washed over him. “I’ll get you back, Trevino,” he growled, before diving in for a fiercely passionate kiss that pushed Randy over the edge, making him explode through a massive orgasm that left his chiseled abs and three fat, navel-high cocks covered in lots and lots of hot, gooey cum. Jake joined him in a second orgasm—easy enough, as Randy had made sure Jake’s refractory period was even shorter than his own. Around them, Jake’s colleagues clapped and cheered in approval—just another perfectly normal Monday morning for their hugely built, hugely hung fellow detective and his favorite frenemy-slash-lover.

Randy smiled as he broke the kiss, gazing up into eyes he never wanted to not see. “Can’t wait,” he whispered, before leaning up to start another searing, orgasmic kiss.

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