The steam room

by BRK   

Mike reluctantly tries the steam room at his new gym and finds himself unaccountably able to alter the various men relaxing therein.

I’d never dared to go into a sauna, mostly because my brain randomly associates them with either dolorous Scandinavian crime fiction, laughable badly lit porn, or the dumpy high school football coach who laced the coals in his sauna with Kryptonite in the first season of Smallville. I’d overdone it, though, pushing myself at an unfamiliar gym only a day after moving into my new, slightly nicer apartment (thank you, merit raise!), and it was doing a number on me. I happened to notice the sign for the steam room as the body aches really started to kick in, just in time to make getting out of my sweaty workout gear seem like as daunting a challenge as those last ten reps on the incline press.

I finished getting undressed, got the required towel, and opened the door with considerable trepidation, the heat and the moist, steamy air escaping languidly past me as I peered in.

It was a larger room than I’d pictured: a square maybe 10 feet by 10 feet, with slatted J-shaped spruce benches lining all three walls and a rectangular heat source topped with coals in the center (with a sign saying not to pour water on it, as it was heated electrically). The thing looked a little like a barbecue; fitting, I thought, as I was about to braise myself.

The occupants were closer to what I’d expected. A couple of cheerful-looking guys around my age (thirty or so) in swim trunks with very ordinary bodies, chatting quietly in a corner. Near the other corner, two ripped dudes in towels with stoic expressions and close-cropped hair sat exactly a foot from each other, staring straight ahead and studiously ignoring each other. To the left hunched a doughy, blond forty-something with thinning hair who looked like he might have been an athlete once, on his own and looking lost. And, nearer to the door, sat a handsome older guy, maybe in his fifties, with a shock of dark silver hair and well-muscled—ex-military, maybe. His firm chest was abundant with salt-and-pepper hair, with a well-trimmed matching beard and an interesting-looking, slightly faded eagle tattoo on his left shoulder that probably had a story to it, much like the rest of him. Belatedly, I realized he was watching me, his eyes glinting with sardonic interest.

“Coming, or going?” he teased when he noticed me looking. “We don’t bite,” he added.

I pretended to be disappointed. “Aw,” I said.

He smiled, and I decided I might as well wind down from my workout in here. I came in fully, the door closing automatically once I was in, and sat down near him, the feel of moist heat immediately surrounding me. The low murmur of the couple in the corner quietly talking was mostly hidden by the white noise of the heater.

This handsome older fellow seemed amenable to company without being desperate for someone to talk the ears off of, which I liked. His eyes were a pretty light brown, and they were clear and sharp as he looked over my well-built but unremarkable swimmer’s bod. Old guy’s checking me out, I thought, a little chuffed. I’d never dated above my age group, and he suddenly had me wondering why. The guy was handsome, fit, and friendly—enough so I felt my dick reacting a little under the towel.

We exchanged names. His was Powell, though I wasn’t clear on whether that was a first name or a last name. Not that it mattered. I liked it. I knew five Johns, a Juan, an Ian, a Jan, and a Joanie. Four Mikes, too, myself included. The variation in pattern was a plus. “So what are you in for, Powell?” I asked him, settling into the bench next to him.

Powell’s eyes twinkled. “Murder,” he said diffidently. “Killed a guy.”

I nodded along. “I can believe it,” I said. “You look strong,” I added, joking, “probably could snap a guy’s neck, like that.” I snapped my fingers.

Powell shrugged, admitting the possibility with a quirk of the lips. Now that I was sitting next to him I noticed he was more toned and developed than I’d thought he was at first. Not huge, but densely packed, with a BMI probably scraping the bottom of the scale and visible striations in his chest and delts. I was enough of a muscle whore that my cock was definitely awake now and paying close attention. “How much to do you bench, anyway?” I asked, curious.

“Three hundred,” he said.

I nodded, impressed, then decided to keep the gag going and pretended to be skeptical. “I dunno,” I said. “I bet you’re lying so as not to scare me, and can secretly bench twice that much.”

He chuckled, and… it happened again: he wasn’t that much bigger than I’d thought, but now he looked like he was made of fucking steel under his skin, every muscle fully delineated and looking a few steps beyond normal human muscle density. I blinked, ever so slightly confused. My eyes had to be playing tricks on me in this steam, or so I told myself, though my dick didn’t quite believe me under the towel.

My pulse was picking up as he leaned in confidentially. “You’re not far off, but I don’t do it here,” he said. “Stresses out the staff when I use up all the plates.” His voice was a sweet baritone that curled around my insides the way the wet, hot air in the closed room twisted languidly around our nearly naked bodies.

“I bet,” I said, swallowing. I pressed on with the fake scenario we were spinning. “So that means you must be one of those genetic anomalies from the late ‘60s I keep hearing about.”

He reacted as if I’d been serious. “Yeah? You’ve heard of us?” he asked, lifting a silver-gray brow.

I hesitated, no longer sure if he was putting me on; but nobody beat me at bullshitting, especially long-format, extended bullshitting. I kept on. “Well, there’s only, what, fifty of you guys? From that illegal in-vitro eugenics lab?” When he just watched me steadily without calling me out or laughing, I added, “I guess most of you got new identities and vanished from the public eye, so no one’s really in agreement on the, er, side-effects.”

Powell still seemed willing to keep the charade puttering along, while I was finding the whole thing increasingly unnerving. “Yeah?” he said. “Tell you what, Mike. Tell me what you’ve heard, and maybe I’ll confirm or deny.”

Now, there was an opening. “So, enhanced strength, obviously.”

“Obviously.” He watched me patiently, eyes still glinting with interest. The heat seemed to grow hotter, somehow, as I grew more uncertain of the situation. Sweat mingled with the hot vapor on my temples and decently-muscled shoulders.

“Um, let’s see. Slowed postpubescent aging?”

The strangest thing happened next. As I watched, the proportion of salt to pepper in his beard very abruptly shifted, becoming more dark than light rather than the reverse in the blink of an eye. I glanced down sharply at his chest and saw the same was true there; and there was some black now in the silver of his head hair, too, that I was sure hadn’t been there.

It didn’t make sense. What was this steam doing to my brain, poaching it?

And yet… something in me knew what was happening and made me test it by going farther. “Dramatically slowed postpubescent aging, I mean.”

His beard … went… black.

Chest hair, ditto. Head hair, all but a bit of gray at the temples. Faint lines in his face I hadn’t even noticed smoothed away suddenly as if with the pass of a god’s hand. I drew in a sharp breath, even as my dick got all the way hard—fortunately, it was hidden by my arms, which remained folded in my lap.

Powell smiled, unaware of my sudden shock. “Well,” he said, still sotto voce, “do I look 53?”

I shook my head wordlessly. He had a few minutes ago, every year of it, but now he looked 33, tops, and stranger still he knew that was what he looked like. Clearly, he had no idea what had just happened to him; or, rather, clearly nothing had happened because he’d been aging at a crawl since early adolescence. Clearly, something fucking impossible was going on… because, clearly, I—I—

Nope. I was not going there, not yet. Powell was still watching me, waiting for more prompts. Okay, a real test. We were in a steamy sauna. The aging thing could have been a fluke, a trick of the light. “Uh, well,” I said, feeling flushed and hot, “we do know everyone in the cohort ended up with these bright green eyes for some… reason…”

I trailed off, staring into vivid emerald orbs that seemed even more acute than before. He still seemed amused. “You’re just skimming the surface, kid,” he nudged playfully, his tone low and soft, enticing me in.

Something in my brain shifted, and my inner processes decided to just, well, go with it. All of it. Just… let it ride, see where it went. “Right,” I said, relaxing a little and trying a small smile. “I mean, wasn’t going to mention the more esoteric stuff, like the extra fingers or, uh, cocks.”

Powell smirked sexily—he was as classically handsome as ever, but his young-looking eyes conveyed both his vitality and his experience, and the wry point of view that came with it. The vapor wafting half-invisibly around us made the whole conversation that much more surreal. “All true,” wagging a hand with six fingers and a thumb at me. Noticing the ragged breath I drew in his smile grew a notch more salacious. “You like the idea of a few extra cocks, Mike?” he teased, his voice low.

“Well, who doesn’t,” I babbled, looking anywhere but at his lap—like me, he was resting his arms there, hiding his junk, and who knew what was down there, under that towel. “I mean, it’s not like it’s that uncommon…”

I stopped myself abruptly, realizing for the first time just what I was fucking around with—because as soon as I’d spoken the words I became acutely aware of the fact that I was sporting not one but three raging hardons under what was quickly seeming like the inadequate protection of my towel. Because had made multiple cocks “not uncommon”—not just in this room but in the entire fucking human race, myself included.

“True,” Powell agreed mildly, in a way that suggested that both that he was aware of this phallic prevalence, and that thanks to his genetic mods he was still… anomalous in that area.

I gulped. I became aware that the ordinary couple in the corner was openly listening to us, and the two ripped guys were staring angrily ahead even more intently, like they were trying not to show that they were, too. “It’s, uh, a good thing they designed the acoustics in here so that the others can’t hear us,” I remarked casually.

The ambient sound in the room shifted and seemed to close off, and instantly the other men in the room were completely ignoring us, like before. I let out a breath and decided to change topics, and the changed “acoustics” meant we could shit-talk the others for a while. Always a good way to let the brain settle.

I nodded to the intense gym rat guys. “So what do you think their story is? The twins, I mean.”

Powell equably accepted the deferment of our discussion of his junk and considered the two men. “Are you sure they’re twins?” he asked.

I looked again, closer. I’d said “twins” because of how comically similar their fierce, flinty expressions were, and the way they were sitting like matching bronze statues, identically posed with their elbows on their knees and the two of them ignoring each other so stiffly that there was obviously something going on between them. They hadn’t looked alike at all. Though they were both roughly Hispanic to my eyes, their skin tones and hair color had been several shades different, the sandy-haired one had had a beakier nose, and while they were both developed to the level of pro fitness models the darker-haired one’s pecs had been squarer and flatter than the other’s… that kind of thing. Now, though, their differences were averaged out and wiped away, and they looked very much like brothers. Not like copies of each other, but like they might be fraternal twins.

I was rolling with it all, and here I went for it, because I wanted to see it. “Definitely identical twins,” I said, and, with a waft of the sauna steam they were as exactly alike as any gemelos I’d ever seen.

“Definitely,” Powell agreed. Eyeing them, he had a go at answering my question. “My guess is… they want to fuck, but they’re both absolute tops.”

I had to chuckle. I had no idea what the real sitch between them was, but Powell’s story fit their rigid antagonism perfectly. “They do want to fuck,” I agreed. “But it won’t work. Not only are they both tops, both they both have two-foot dicks and neither one wants to try stuffing the other one in. Even though any guy’s ass could totally take them,” I added, because I wasn’t completely heartless when it came to the travails of the monster-cocked.

The two identical twins were now struggling to hide massive erections under their towels, their cocks big enough to project past their knees. That seemed untenable, so impulsively I added, “Good thing it’s normal for anyone to be able to show their cock if it’s more than a foot long, hard or soft. As long as they’re not doing anything with it.”

I barely noticed that the twins now had their rigid erections exposed and pressed dramatically into their pecs, all while they continued to stare straight ahead… because in that very second I realized I had done it again. I’d talked about normalizing cocks over foot being exposed, which meant that cocks that big were themselves at least somewhat normal…

“Well, you’d have a problem if that weren’t true,” Powell agreed with a chuckle.

I looked down, heart pounding as I gaped at myself and my condition. I now had no towel, because a towel would have been pointless in light of my trio of four-foot-long erections erupting straight out of my groin and into the room, as if they were communal property. The ordinary couple and the fortysomething guy were eyeing them longingly, I noticed, and the twins, once again, were only pretending not to.

I looked at Powell, addled with the intense arousal that seemed to be seeping into the wafting steam filling the room, infusing us all with desire. “What about you?” I said wildly. “Your dicks are almost as big. I guess you can control whether you’re hard or soft, huh?”

Powell gave me a knowing look. “I can control a lot of things.”

I grinned at him, acting envious. “You can control size and number, can’t you?” I said. Fuck, I was envious. Given the size of my balls and my current level of horniness, I guessed I was hard a lot in this form, though I didn’t dare say it aloud. Powell just winked, confirming my guess. Because I had made it happen.

I looked around at everyone staring, or trying not to. Totally gone now, I said, “Fuck, I’m sure glad that it’s normal for people to join in and help get a guy off if he springs an erection over three feet long. Especially… sexy shapeshifting goo people like the blond guy.”

The blond guy, who had now been a blue, translucent goo entity shaped like a four-armed, four-legged middle-aged dreamboat this whole time, was grinning at me as he got up and moved toward my out-thrust hyper cocks. The ordinary couple was too, the messy-haired one with five cocks leaking onto his sternum, the other with the long wavy hair and the monochrome sleeve-tattoo possessing two extra-wide ones pointing almost straight up and at the level of his collarbones. The twins stood up last, their iron-hard single cocks pressing so hard into their pecs I wondered if they could even be moved a millimeter.

Powell rose as well, laying aside his terrycloth covering, and I blinked as his six cocks grew and grew and grew, longer and longer without gaining width, straight toward my flushed and heated face. In my fevered state it was natural just to open my mouth and let one in, and another pushed in next to it, riding my tongue’s edge and the inside of my cheek, while the first pushed toward my throat. I shouldn’t have been able to take it, but the footlong-plus cocks I’d foisted into the world, presumably a characteristic of humanity from the dawn of history (and I’d have to look into how hung the Neanderthals were) had caused us way back when to evolve with the capacity to accept monster wangs into any orifice, male or female… just as nature intended.

Taking Powell’s two cocks, while he painted my face with precum from the other four (or six?), felt so good I almost missed the blue goo guy shapeshifting into three conjoined cocksleeves, squeezing and fucking me as he slid up and down my impossible lengths. I wanted to shout with the unbearable pleasure, but my throat was, well, busy. Meanwhile, the twins were diligently attending to the cockheads of my three monsters, licking the glans and slits and striking the sensitive skin like they ministered methodically to clusters of four-foot cocks every day. The ordinary-guy couple were underneath groping and massaging my taut, basketball-sized nuts.

With all that stimulation I quickly rocketed toward orgasm, and in minutes I was rocketing scads of spunk from my enormous, thrill-loving hard-ons. The twins swallowed as much as they could like champs, earnestly competing with each other to see who could guzzle more. Goo guy squeezed and stroked with abandon, finding his own slippery release on the hard curves of my enormous dicks, and the ordinary-guy couple in multiple sprays of cum came all over my scrotum, battering the tight orbs with volleys of cum. Finally, like a climax of climaxes, Powell pulled out and started dousing me with hot, high-intensity spunk from eight gushering two-foot beauties.

Finally we all subsided. The twins returned calmly to their seats, but ordinary-guy couple found the water hose (!) installed on one wall to take care of situations like this and started rinsing me with a spray medium-pressure warm water, washing the cum off me and down a central drain that had not been there before. After completing this customary task of cock hospitality, they gave me a friendly wave and returned to their seats, picking up their quiet chat like nothing had happened.

I was spent, but also energized. I looked at Powell sitting next to me, who seemed content, still regarding me like I was someone he wanted to know. I was floating on a cloud of steam, uncertain of anything in the universe except that I wanted to spend more time with Powell. “You know, I could use a proper shower,” I said.

“I have a great shower at my place,” Powell said. “Room for… lots of things.”

I huffed a laugh. “Sold.” I got up and we left the sauna together, goo guy still happily wrapped around my ankle-length cocks as we headed for the exit and the slightly modified world I’d created.

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