The cock

by BRK   

Waking up after sex with Steve is a little disorienting. He’s lying on top of his lover from the night before—because he’s now Steve’s cock.

It had been an incredible night. Steve was unbelievable; he knew how to make love with an animal passion that took my breath away. Our lips were locked before we were even inside the door of his apartment, our tongues caressing each other, and I was running my hands under his denim jacket all over his luscious body: narrow waist that ran up to wide lats and thick heavy pecs, broad shoulders, and muscular arms that were pressing my body tight against his; tight spherical ass-cheeks that felt so good cupped in my hands and long strong legs that wrapped around mine. I could feel the swelling in his crotch, a thick bone-hard cock pressed against mine, and before long we had shucked our clothes and cast our bodies onto his bed, rolling in pleasure. I was deep inside his tight ass, our hot bodies pressed together, kissing hard and loving every second, and the red-hot intensity of that moment was such that I knew I never wanted to lose that passion. When we came, I felt like I was going to pass out; and after we cleaned up, I curled up in his arms, and we fell asleep together.

When I woke up, I was disoriented at first, but then I remembered Steve and felt the warmth of his body against mine and relaxed. I felt myself get turned on at the thought of our wonderful sex and straightened out to press against him, luxuriating at the feel of his body. Then it seemed he hugged me—anyway, it felt kind of like a hug, except it felt like he was wrapped all around me. I woke up a little more and looked around.

I was lying on top of the sleeping form of Steve, but he was huge: I was lying across his six-pack abs, not quite reaching the great mounds of muscle further north; beyond, I could see his gorgeous face, his tousled hair splayed across a pillow. And one of his enormous hands was resting across my body. I tried to move, but I couldn’t do more than shift around a little. Blood was pounding in my head and I couldn’t make much sense of anything other than that his hand across my body felt really, really good.

He shifted a little under me and seemed to moan happily; then the hand wrapped around me, and I felt a thrill run through my entire body. The thrill made me stretch out more, and unexpectedly I started to stand, and as I looked down I saw that somehow my body was one with his, that I was standing rigidly from his groin, that I was awash with lust and hormones that were his as well as mine; and as he gripped me and began to stroke my thick hard cock-body I felt the greatest thrill, the biggest rush, I have ever known.

I was so turned on that as he began to stroke me faster and harder it didn’t take long for me to lose control, and I cannot describe the all-surpassing sense of total engulfment that took place when I had the first orgasm of my life that not just ran through a portion of my anatomy, but coursed white-hot through my entire body, twice, then once again, until I was spent and dazed and hungry to feel it again.

Steve was breathing hard, his pecs rising and falling, and he was looking down at me with a big smile. “Damn, Boner-man, you feel good today!” he said, and his voice sounded deeper and sexier than it had before. I leaned back against his abs in total agreement.

He pulled an old towel from beside the bed and carefully cleaned me and mopped up quite a lot of cum from his abs; I saw some had spurted up onto his left pec and was running down the slope to the ravine between them, and he missed that at first, until he felt the trickle. “Damn,” he whispered, and looked at me and smiled again.

Then all of a sudden he jumped out of bed and walked to the bathroom. I flopped now between his legs, only just now starting to wonder about what had happened and the ramifications. He stood over the toilet bowl and I felt liquid trickle through me and away; I shuddered slightly, but he shook me, which I didn’t mind. Then he got into the shower, and as the steam flowed around me and I splayed across his heavy balls I felt really good, and as he soaped first his luscious torso, then me, I suddenly started to feel really turned on, and I felt myself getting bigger and stiffer, until very rapidly I was standing proud, huge and hard, straight up in the steamy air. Steve laughed but didn’t fight it, and wrapped his soapy hand around me, and I felt the new thrill of lubrication. I was in ecstasy. Now he took his time, caressing me, stroking me along the length of my body, then swirling around the head, until finally I felt the electric thrill surge through me and I shot onto the walls of the shower.

When he had recovered his breath, Steve finished the shower quickly and hurried into his clothes; I curled up, nestled in clean white Jockeys, and fell asleep.

Later on that day, I … well, I’ll save that for the next story.

When I woke up from my nap, I was still nestled in Steve’s fresh white cotton briefs, lying against his largish balls. I was comfortable and relaxed. I felt movement in Steve’s body around me, first one side, then the other. I guessed we were walking. I could hear street noises—so we were walking outside, in the city somewhere.

Still possessed of my senses, I could smell his sweet, salty balls, and my life-force—somehow transferred from my human body to my sexy new boyfriend’s great cock—seemed to extend like the roots of a tree into those balls, which were resonating ever so slightly as they worked to create hormone and seed. It felt like the humming in the floor that you feel when you’re in the same building with a great machine but it’s many stories below.

I could even faintly feel the other processes of his body—his heartbeat in particular pulsed through my body, a light surge that gave me a feeling of comfort and satisfaction each time it rippled along my length. But I could sense other more distant processes in the massive body to which I was now integrally attached.

I shifted my position in Steve’s shirts and felt my body fill out a little as I thought about my situation. I really, really loved being Steve’s cock. Nothing, not even sex with Steve when I was in my human body, could compare with the awesome, fuse-blowing pleasure I’d felt that morning when Steve had wrapped his massive hand around my engorged body and brought me slowly and inevitably to the most incredible orgasm of my life.

I felt myself start to stiffen rapidly. I tried to adjust myself as best I could, pushing along the cotton fabric as I grew, the friction creating an agreeable sensation in itself, until I lay hard and throbbing along the line where his crotch met his left leg, my head snuggling under the waistband of the shorts, as I tried to straighten out. I loved the feeling of throbbing against his hot skin. My god, just being hard as a cock, pressed against his flesh by his cozy underwear, was better than actually getting off in my old bod, great though that had been. I was in heaven.

A part of me wanted me to worry about what had happened to my old body. It hadn’t been around when I’d woken up as Steve’s cock; and somehow, somehow I knew that it hadn’t died or anything—I felt some kind of faint connection to it, it was still around, walking the earth. Was it a zombie, or had some other spirit taken possession of it?

But in my present state I was easily distracted, and as I thought about my old body, all I could think about was how sexy I had started to look lately—long hours at the gym had been paying off. And, well, how good I was at giving head. I throbbed harder, more insistently, against Steve’s flesh. I knew that more than anything I wanted to be held tightly and messaged rhythmically. By Steve’s hand, or by a hot mouth (I thought of being licked by an expert tongue and suddenly my head was wet as precum leaked out of me)—or by a hot, firm, tight ass—oh God! I wanted to be inside a supertight ass, pressed against all over by hot, firm muscle! I wanted that with every fiber of my being.

At that point, I heard a deep, booming voice. It seemed to come partly through the clothes I was struggling against and partly through the body I was pressed against. I recognized it as Steve’s. “Man,” he said, “why am I so horny today?” I felt his hand adjust me so that I was pointing straight up, my head rising past the constraing waistband. I throbbed, pressing hard against the waistband and the button of the jeans with what I still thought of as my chest (actually, my cock-body did flare out wider where the upper torso would be, narrowing to a trim “waist” and long slender “legs” that extended snakelike far into the guts of Steve’s bod, my sense of the tube growing gradually dimmer as it went into his body).

“Easy, Boner-man,” I heard/felt Steve mutter. “Man, you’re not going away. I’d better take care of you soon—you’re really obvious!” The massive hand brushed against me, skittishly, as if he were afraid others would see. I throbbed harder. Oddly, though I was now a fraction of my old size, an appendage of a six-and-a-half-foot hunk, I somehow—and this is hard to explain—but in becoming hard I had grown, and now I felt like a giant version myself, huge and powerful, a twelve-foot giant with huge muscles, quivering with strength and energy.

The street noises went away and we were inside somewhere; I couldn’t see through the cotton shirt Steve was wearing, but the lighting changed as well. He said a series of quick hellos, to which I heard faint replies, then I heard a door close. We had to be alone now, because he suddenly started to grope me through the jeans as he crossed a room. I quivered with joy.

He sat down, pressing me hard against his abs, and I pulsed excitedly, expecting to be let out for a j/o. But he continued to grope me through the fabric while he picked up a phone and entered a number. His pulse had risen and was pumping through me like adrenaline.

“Ryan? Hey, It’s Steve,” I heard. “Listen, I know our regular session isn’t until this afternoon, but it turns out I’m even hornier than usual today … uh-huh … great! … yeah, as soon as you can, man. I’m at the office. … Yeah, thanks.” He hung up the phone and muttered to me as he stroked me through the fabric, “Honestly, Boner-man, if he hadn’t stopped charging me a long time ago, you’d be bankrupting me by now!”

I pounded impatiently against my confines, but the most he would do was unbutton his shirt so that I could see at last, though presumably he only did it to keep me from wetting his shirt with precum anymore. We were in a fairly spacious office—Steve must be a successful businessman or attorney, I thought with the part of my mind that could still function logically. Why was he wearing jeans? For I could see them trailing away below my, hugging his gorgeous legs. Of course, I realized—our date was Saturday; it’s Sunday. He’d come in to do some paperwork, and I’d sidetracked him. Well, fine! What did I care about paperwork?

Precum was oozing out of my head and dripping down my back; it felt cool, like sweat on a hot summer day. While we waited, Steve daubed a finger in it and slowly drew that single finger around my super-sensitive head, then around the top of my body. I shivered all over. My pulse, Steve’s pulse, pounded in me. He was going to drive me crazy! Each caress with that single wet finger made me quiver. I was totally hard and shoving against the waistband of his slacks, which constrained me across the chest. I wanted to be engulfed in hot flesh so badly, and he was teasing me remorselessly!

Ten minutes of this passed, though to me it felt like an hour, then suddenly I heard a rich voice say, “Starting without me?”

Steve’s finger stopped. I realized there was another man in the room—and God, he was gorgeous. Tall, broad-shouldered, long black hair, olive skin, beautiful muscles filling out a gray work tee, Levis hinting at a considerable package. Every part of his body looked as though it had been put together on purpose, in the best and most sensual way. He was grinning at Steve—and at me.

“I see what you mean,” Ryan said, still grinning at me.

Steve stood up and walked around the desk. As he did so, Ryan started to loom like a giant over me. But straight ahead I could sense somehow the pounding of another cock, already getting hard in Ryan’s musky underwearless jeans. I couldn’t sense much beyond raw, animal passion—and an instinctive response to me. He could sense me, too, through those jeans, and he wanted to touch me and he wanted desperately, passionately, with every fiber of his now steel-hard body, to fuck the body I was part of.

“I won’t be able to get anything done until he goes to sleep,” Steve rumbled high above me. They closed the gap and kissed, and a thrill ran through me, a deeply satisfying sensation, the start of something that would rock us all.

As they groped each other’s bods they thrust their hips rhythmically, but whereas I was standing straight up, my animal colleague was at an angle. I could sense his pure desperation in wanting to touch me, immediately, and he pounded angrily on Ryan’s jeans. At last, the hunk reached impatiently into his jeans and hauled up his ponycock so that it stood straight up like me, pulling up his tee to reveal his abs and give it room. I quivered and got even harder, if that was possible. He was big. Dark like the flat abs behind him, he towered inches over me and spread wider than me as well—and every cubic centimeter of that burning slab of sex flesh was saturated with longing for me.

Quickly they closed the gap again and we were pushed together. He was broiling hot, though his skin was velvety soft. I was sweating precum. We were pressed hard together, hips in a hot fucking rhythm, and suddenly we connected. You know how sometimes when you’re having hot sex with a sensual man you suddenly reach a point where you’re connected where you feel everything and your bodies melt together? That was what happened, only ten times stronger. Our cock-spirits throbbed together, and that big hard hunk of a cock-body seemed to wrap around me, on fire with passion for me, and suddenly a thick stream of very hot precum erupted from both of us at once. Steve and Ryan, kissing ferociously and groping each other’s hot bods, moaned softly.

Abruptly, they pulled away as one and quickly shucked their clothes, and I had time to see that Ryan’s luscious body had a light coat of dark hair before they pressed together again, this time with Ryan’s right hand stroking us together. I thought that was heaven, being stroked together with Ryan’s hot animal cock. But now having connected with me Ryan’s cock was burning to penetrate the body I was attached to. Ryan soon complied, turning Steve around and bending him over his desk. Suddenly I felt out of the action, and I hung there, yearning to press against him again. Then I felt it. Ryan’s cock was slowly penetrating Steve’s tight hot ass, and I could feel everything—Ryan’s cock’s ecstasy, the parting of the anus, the impatient twitching and slow joy of Steve’s ass muscles, everything.

As Ryan’s animal ponycock pushed relentlessly up Steve’s tight, hot ass, I felt as though I were fucking and doing the fucking at the same time, only more so. All the times I’d fucked in my human body, I now realized, I was away from the action. I only felt a dim echo of what was really going on. Now I was getting everything and I almost couldn’t take it. I was deluged with hot, passionate pleasure, and it was frying my circuits.

Even as I wondered what it would be like to be up Steve’s ass I was there, swollen and huge and hot and engulfed in hot, tight muscle, pressed hard all around me. I thought I had been feeling pleasure before, but that was nothing compared to this. I was being slid deep inside Steve’s tight ass, and it felt so unbelievably awesome that I couldn’t take it for long. Ryan seemed to understand and started to pound Steve’s ass, and this quickly brought me to the edge. I could feel the searing cum welling up in my lime-sized balls, tried to hold it back as long as I could—I could feel Steve’s cum building too—then suddenly the dam burst and I was exploding, enormous quantities of pumping through my body, each one an ecstasy, until I couldn’t take it any more and blacked out.

When I came to, I was a little disoriented. I knew I was lying half-hard across a lap, but I could see Steven a few feet away, leaning against the desk, looking gorgeous. His cock was still hard, pointing straight up at his navel.

“I see you still won’t get any work done,” I felt/heard Ryan say, and I realized hazily that I hadn’t just imagined trading places with Ryan’s cock—I really had! No wonder I had felt the full force of that incredible orgasm. That meant that the passion animal was now in Steven’s cock—no wonder it was still rock-hard.

I glanced up at my new host—Ryan was even more gorgeous from this angle, every detail of his expert design visible from here except his beautiful backside. Turned on by the turn of events, I started to stretch—and got more turned on as I stretched, and stretched, and kept stretching. Oh, I liked this a lot.

“You either,” I heard Steven rumble. “Maybe we should try again.”

“Wish I could,” Ryan said, drawing on his jeans. The last thing I heard before he zipped up the jeans over me was: “I’ve got a party to get to.”

We were in a cab, going… somewhere, and I was literally throbbing with anticipation. Where were we going? Dunno. Didn’t care. Just being a cock was like being remade as energy that’s been not just made flesh but made muscle. Saturated with the potency of concentrated, endless potential pleasure. Intricately rooted deep into testicular powerhouses designed to do nothing but make me erupt in all-consuming surges of blinding, senseless ecstasy.

Each second was gratification, and the only variable was the range of intensity from a simple, everyday sensual luxury to a rapturous, brain-melting elation, the seismic nature of which built and released with utter devastation. It obliterated every everything: body, soul, mind, everything.

And whenever you weren’t feeling that, you were thinking about it happening again—because it would happen again. And again, and again.

In my old life, any moments of emotional self-affirmation—moving into a first apartment, workplace achievements, the serendipitous moment when you clicked with someone—were rare and unlooked-for. They were to be cherished and protected for their singular emergence even as they receded into memory, not knowing if there would be another. As the horny id-spirit infusing a beautiful, easily aroused cock-body, I wallowed in the joy of knowing the exhilaration of the next orgasm was ahead of me as the last was behind me in an endless series. It loomed, inevitable, a wall of pure pleasure I would continue crashing through over and over and over again, because enduring that continual, spasmodic starsplosion was exactly my life.

Hard, the steady thrum of present pleasure and future climax was amazing, like being grown into a steel beast of raw, mindless power and building to that infinitely satisfying explosion. Flaccid—or, as I was now, half-flaccid and half-turgid, having calmed to a state of steady, pulsing excitement since leaving Steve’s swanky office—it was… fuck, I’m going to say it. It was better. That muscular power was still there, but it was all potential, coiled and waiting. I knew what I was able to become, and just knowing I could—and would, definitely would, imminently—was intensely hot all by itself.

Feeling the past was as great as anticipating the future. My mind and body were full of the lingering thrill of my most recent orgasm, feeling the tingle in my flesh and the cum still in my pipes and smeared across my glans. All of my orgasms were as fresh in my mind as if they had just happened—not in detail but in the punch and force of the volleying release—and the ones to come seemed almost as present in my sensuous being, despite my not having experienced them, yet.

And being this cock… it was wicked good. Dangerously good. Ryan’s cock was big and bold, and I was feeling those qualities within me—almost as though the animal ferocity of the cock-spirit I’d replaced was a bit infectious. It was like I’d moved into a new house and everything in it was luxurious and intimate and made for sex, and maybe there was something in the water, too.

I’d loved being Steve’s cock, sure, enough I’d barely looked back on being human. But Steve was new in my life. A stranger, like Ryan. Becoming Steve’s cock had followed close on the heels of our first fuck. And—well, if we were in a video game or an isekai lit-rpg I’d probably say I’d leveled up one, and not just the size. Being Ryan’s hot, half-hard tool was just that little bit more vivid and animating, making me feel everything with more heat and vigor than before.

I squeezed along Ryan’s hip, content and amped all at once. I wanted to get hard, but I could wait, knowing it was going to happen. Not because Ryan was a very sexy guy with a big cock who seemed to have paid-for (or used-to-be-paid-for but still regular) “sessions” involving lots of libidinous intimacy, but because… it was going to happen. Because I was this cock, and this cock was me. I was going to get boned, swelling and thickening, and I was going to cum hard and often.

I really did want to get hard. The transformation was—well, it was all “the best part.” But the transformation was awesome, because of the giddy feeling in the moment, because of the amazing stretching and growing of my cock-body. It was… it was a little like being a shapeshifter, I thought as we rumbled through the city, the honks and sirens of the Sunday afternoon traffic reaching me dimly through the heavy, snug fabric of Ryan’s underwearless button-fly jeans, behind which I was temporarily constrained. Except most of the time, shapeshifting in movies and literature seemed like a chore. Werewolves had a particularly terrible time of it, it seemed. Almost every wolf-out I’d seen looked painful as fuck. Either it was like that for shapeshifters, or it seemed like a projection, almost—a mental, existential thing and not a deep, physical transformation. Or Pokémon, maybe, evolving into something else and not going back? I dunno.

For me, it wasn’t like any of those things. Getting hard was something to look forward to. And then it happened, every second of it amazing, and every second after was amazing, until the ultimate, explosive, everything-all-at-once scintillation of pure, ultimate climax.

That was the capper, of course. He craved the intense awareness of escalation and the build to release once you were hard, a cataclysm that was all but certain, bearing down on you, meant only for you. It was that wall of raw, mind-blowing joy, a wall that seemed to be racing toward you as much as you toward it. No other road, no turning aside, just the crash, all white, and then soaring bliss.

In the middle ages they’d called it a little death, and until now I’d been too distant from it—all the way up in my skull, as it were, instead of down here experiencing it first-hand. I hadn’t known just how apt that old medieval analogy was. Death; heaven; then remetamorphization, a rebaselined me ready to rise and die gloriously again, and again.

Fuck, yeah.

I was humming to myself, still half-hard and enjoying the steady thud of Ryan’s heartbeat pulsing straight through me, when I sensed the cab slowing and pulling over to a stop. Ryan moved forward in his seat—to pay, I guessed—and a muffled exchange of quick goodbyes followed. Then we were getting out the cab into what sounded like a street or avenue only a little less busy than the business district we’d left behind.

I was starting to become a little curious, if only as a by-product of wondering about my next glorious orgasm. My grasp of the passage of time was not as linear or as ruthlessly sequential as it had been when I was a phone-checking, bill-paying, work-burdened human (that part already seemed utterly alien, like it had sloughed off me the second I’d left my human body behind), but I could sense, faintly, the bright light of a sunny mid-afternoon even through the denim of Ryan’s well-worn Levis. The street noise had a “day” feel to it, too: people shopping, vendors yelling to passers-by, that kind of thing. Ryan had mentioned a party, and to my mind the word “party,” juvenile birthday celebrations aside, generally suggested gatherings in the black of night—you know, when liquor flowed more freely and inhibitions might be more easily laid aside. All the more so, I guessed, for the sort of parties that an escort, or ex-escort, like my new human might go to. Maybe this event was less soiree and more fuckfest, and for all I knew those were held at any hour of the day. And sometimes at all hours and around the clock, if the setting or inspiration were Caligula’s Rome or an ‘80s circuit party.

Or, maybe not. What did I know? This wasn’t my world. Wait and see, then. I throbbed once against Ryan’s hip as we passed through a door and entered a quiet, enclosed space, and I heard him chuckle in response, half through the denim, half rumbling through me. “Be patient, big guy,” he said, sounding amused.

I liked that. I’d been tall as a human, though not as tall as Steve and Ryan, but slim and only just above average looks-wise. For sure, no one had ever called me “big” anything. Even when I’d started packing on some actual brawn they’d just said I was cute, like a gym-muscled Noldorin elf with a monthly appointment at No Fuss Cuts. Screw that! Ryan was a tall, broad-shouldered, olive-tanned, lusciously long-haired vision of godly muscle and masculine allure, with a deep, rich voice and enough charisma to bed the dance troupe of a Broadway show during intermission. And he was calling me “big guy.”

I squeezed, growing a little along his crease—enough my damp head was sliding the rough inner seams of his waistband. Ryan huffed again as we moved through what felt like a large room that seemed empty of people, if not furniture, since we kept having to move around things.

“Down, boy,” I heard Ryan say, the smirk audible in his voice. I flexed at him in reply, wanting to laugh. He didn’t mean it, and we both knew it.

There was noise ahead, and—was that the smell of food? I questioned this, wondering if I should be able to smell, but I could hear and see and feel—and anyway, I had been smelling, and tasting. The sweat of Steve’s balls. The intense redolence of Steve’s cum, and Ryan’s. The “bouquet” of Ryan’s jeans, the detergent and fabric softener from a recent wash mixed with male musk, precum, and Ryan’s specific brand of spunk. It was the food that was odd to me. It was all familiar—meats, vegetables, cheese, strong alcohol—and, well, it all meant pretty much nothing to me now.

Was that, I dunno, freeing? Not having to eat? Would I miss the savor of a good steak, compared to experiencing the blast of orgasm as an actual cock? I was guessing not.

Then we went through a set of doors, and into the party.

The new space was more enclosed but still large, enough for a few dozen people to be talking, laughing, and moving about, and in clusters rather than a large mass. Like in the main space we had just left, I seemed to have a spatial awareness (for all I knew it was natural for my “kind”), suggesting negative areas that were probably… furniture? Tables, maybe. A restaurant with a good-sized private space? That would make sense. No one was in the main space, so we were tucked away back here in splendid isolation, free to be as libertine as we liked. Nice.

As if to provide support for my guesses, Ryan was moving through the crowd greeting everyone he met as if they were lovers he was intending to fuck in the next few moments. It was in this way that I ascertained that all of the attendees seemed to be fit, well-built men who were, delightfully, more than willing to be sensually embraced and deeply kissed by my commandingly sexy roué between the ice-clink of cocktails and random samplings of hors d’oeuvres. Nor was Ryan the only one mingling in such a carnal fashion, going by the smacks of kisses, little moans, and jovial butt-slaps creating a murmuring foreplay soundscape around us in three-sixty sensurround.

Needless to say, I responded fully to this manly stimulation from all sides. Within a handful of heartbeats, I was standing as tall as I was able, and then some. I was straining well out of Ryan’s jeans, thick and proud and iron-hard, my glans nuzzling his lightly-haired innie under the loose gray tee shirt. This was something of an improvement in terms of knowing what was going on around me. I could see more through the light cotton than the denim, and smell and hear more too; but it was all sex. Sex sights, sex smells, sex sounds.

The indistinct shapes of well-proportioned men in casual clothing, like Ryan, moved and churned around me and against me. Firm abdomens and rigid cocks were pressed hard against my transformed achingly erect form. The musk and savor of imminent, uninhibited wantonness absolutely pervaded the room, and as blood pounded through me all I could think was how urgently I needed to be gripped and stroked, whether by fist, or mouth, or the friction of a tight, hot hole. I yearned with all my inches of hard, heat-radiating existence to push my exceptional width and indefatigable stiffness through any man-made passage. Finger and thumb? Yes. Skilled mouth and tongue? Yes! The muscle-ring resistance of a deep, needy ass? Yes, yes, yes!

Music started twisting around us. It turned out to be a succession of jazz standards set to a heavy, rhythmic beat, as if to encourage the swinging of hips and the grinding of bodies. The young, horny, carnal men attending these debaucheries did not disappoint. I writhed against man after man, feeling the potency of their cocks even when we were not mashed together, shaft against shaft, as we sometimes were. I could sense their spirits. Most were animalistic, mere unthinking beasts like the especially potent one Ryan had possessed and which now was no doubt diligently keeping my former host Steve from getting any serious amount of work done.

A few cock-spirits were like me, though: thinking, knowing, aware. I wanted to laugh, because the aware ones were, without exception, even more pleasure-seeking and cum-desperate than the beast-cocks. I guess intellectual perspective beat out stimulus-response when it came to knowing the true value of a good orgasm!

All through this part of the festivities, as my being drowned in the joys of pressure and friction and the constant stimulation Ryan was feeding me from his tactile appreciation of strong, muscular torsos and eager mouths and tongues, there was a sensory note I could not quite place at first. A figure, one among many, singular. Something was moving among the guests, something I recognized—or, perhaps the point was that it recognized me.

I couldn’t understand it, and I was so overwhelmed with a score of pleasures that I couldn’t think or ask, only feel. The bodies churned, men dancing, laughing, rutting to the music. Then, all of a sudden, after however much time had passed egging me toward overstimulation and release, the entity I had been unconsciously tracking was there. It was against me, its body being held and kissed by Ryan as we twisted to the beat, and suddenly all of my sensations were multiplied.

I gasped, feeling my orgasm becoming imminent—maybe ten orgasms. I was on fire. I couldn’t think why this one partner should be so different, except… except.. I recognized the cock-spirit, I realized. It was my old cock-spirit. Animal, primal, and unaware, rock hard and full of instinctive need.

My cock-spirit. I shuddered, excited and scared.

There was more, though—more to why I was sensing this man from afar, and watching him as he grew near. For the first time that night, I sensed a spirit in the body, too.

Except it wasn’t a human soul. It wasn’t even a man, not in the human sense. It was a cock-spirit. A second cock-spirit, but this one was aware, like me. Aware, desperate, and hungry.

There was a bigger shock, bigger even than two cock-spirits in one body. The bigger shock was, I recognized the second one.

It was Steve’s cock-spirit, which I had swapped with the night before. Steve’s cock-spirit, aware and alive, inhabiting not the cock but the body.

My body. Driving my body around.

Looking for me.

I needed to see.

With a level of frenzy only achievable by cocks trying desperately to stave off orgasm, I tried communicating with Ryan. We were connected. He felt what I felt, and vice versa. So far that had been limited to variations on “fuck, yeah,” but I knew it went deeper than that.

Shirt off, I sent to him. Shirt off shirt off shirt off.

Groaning into their kiss, Ryan maneuvered us into someplace darker—back hall? side room?—and hauled off his loose tee shirt, barely pausing the mack session to do. The guy we were with had a button-down that get yanked open romance-novel style, flying buttons and all, and shoved off his shoulders while they Frenched each other like kissing was forbidden and they were about to be hauled to the gibbet.

We were in a grotty single-user bathroom, dark and lonely. The kissing was driving me wild—all of Ryan’s pleasure was overloading my own. Music from the private room filtered through the walls, muffled and distant.

Then the other man wrenched himself free of the kiss, and…

My own face stared down at me, staring and desperate.

“There you are,” it cooed, the smile possessive and determined.

I gaped, quivering with ten layers of shock and stimulation. Instantly, with the clarity of an extremely powerful orgasm suspended like a taut violin string, I saw what had happened.

During sex with Steve, I had made an unconscious connection with Steve’s cock. It was minimally aware, a state achieved by only a small number of cocks—most were mere animistic primal forces drawn from the reserves of raw sexual energy powering key aspects of the universe. Instinctively, wanting to experience the other’s perspective, we had swapped places, exchanging self-aware cock energy for a human soul.

It should have reverted naturally after we came. Somehow, I had gotten stuck, by accident or choice. Then Steve left with me riding shotgun, and his cock-spirit—let’s call him Little Stevie—was forced to deal with operating the levers on the body I had abandoned, and generally trying to be human.

Cocks aren’t very good at being human. I don’t know this empirically, but it seems like it would be self-evident. Also, I suspect that they don’t want to pay bills any more than we do.

Fortunately for Little Stevie, there’s that sensory affinity I mentioned, and it’s much stronger for a genuine cock-spirit than for a human soul playing at being a cock-spirit like me. He found Steve in his office, but by that time I had instinctively swapped again with Ryan’s beast dick.

Little Stevie’s quest was delayed while an unusually-randy Steve fucked “me.” not knowing that half the cast in their sex-tableau had been playing musical chairs behind his back. Eventually, though, he was drawn to the very private two-year anniversary party being thrown by Ryan’s top-drawer escort agency, the raw sensuality of his cock-spirit mesmerizing the staff into letting him in.

And now here he was. Behind my staring, dilated eyes and lightly-muscled form was Steve’s cock-spirit, come to force me to swap back. Thing was, I was loving being a cock so much that going back was pretty much the last thing I wanted.

“Yeah, there he is,” Ryan parroted happily, thinking his new friend was just glad to see the big, extremely hard cock he’d been getting to know through their clothes. Ryan had had a couple of whiskeys, too, and was thinking a little more loosely than usual. Quickly, he unbuttoned his jeans and exposed my full length to him.

Before I could do anything, Little Stevie (in my old body) was falling to his knees and engulfing me in his very hot mouth.

I was already riding the knife-edge of a colossal orgasm, and mere seconds of Little Stevie’s knowing oral ministrations hurled me over the edge with no hope of succor or abatement. A swimming sensation pulled at me, trying to dislodge me from my moorings with the force of a brutal undertow. With every fiber of my being I shouted, No, I want to be a cock! I won’t go back! I won’t go back! I won’t—

I awoke in the bathroom alone, bleary with afterglow so intense it was like a really nice hangover.

Someone was banging on the door. “Hey, c’mon!”

I gripped the sink and lifted my gaze to the mirror, shocked to see Ryan’s face instead of my own, sweaty and flushed, a few locks of the beautiful hair stuck to his forehead.

I let out a breath. “Fuck,” I said, in Ryan’s low, sexy voice.

I was crushed I wasn’t a hard, raging phallus anymore. That was heartbreaking. Still… My eyes drifted over the curves of Ryan’s exquisitely muscled, extremely desirable body in the mirror, tracing the rounded traps I’d never quite achieved and the heavy, perfectly sculpted chest I couldn’t have produced on my old body without genetic reengineering.

Could be worse, I thought.

Below, Ryan’s half-hard cock flexed and chubbed where it hung exposed from the fly of Ryan’s jeans, reacting instantly to my prurient thoughts and exceptional hotness. I looked down at it, curious. Who are you? I thought at it. But I was stuck being human again and couldn’t sense cocks anymore, so I couldn’t tell if it was Little Stevie, or my own unaware, instinct-only cock-spirit, or even if it was Ryan’s human soul getting to play at being a cock just like I had.

I should probably find a way to figure that out, I thought glumly.

The asshole banged on the door again. “Jesus Christ, bro!” the guy yelled.

I ignored him and the world beyond for one more moment. I had a promise to make, and it was a very important one. I stared into the mirror, Ryan’s eyes looking back at me.

“I will be a cock again,” I vowed.

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