MultiGeoff

by BRK   

New recruit Geoff reports for duty on a gigantic space station and learns that his first task is to reshape himself—and not in a figurative sense.

Geoff eyed the egg-shaped door into the Reconfigurator Room dubiously. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked the junior officer escorting him, whose name also happened to be Geoff.

Officer Geoff drew an arm around Geoff’s shoulders. “Course I am, recruit. Look at me!” he said, gesturing down at himself with his other hand.

Geoff gave Officer Geoff a quick once-over. The other man was certainly an arresting specimen, with his handsome, high-cheekboned, sharp-jawlined features, smoothly tanned skin tone and perfect blond coif, classically-proportioned torso, and four well-made legs, all poured into a very nicely fitting white station uniform. Though ten years Geoff’s senior, in the bright ambient light of the gleaming, gently curved corridor he looked fresh out of the Academy. In fact, the smile and the chiseled, clean-shaven features were familiar enough, Geoff was pretty certain they were a direct steal via the Reconfigurator from the galaxy-famous Academy poster-boy, Casper van Bugsplatter, the wet dream of a billion aspirational, imagination-stunted teenaged boys. It was a popular face in these parts, Geoff reckoned, judging by the dozen or so Caspers he’d seen so far since leaving the transport ship earlier that day.

Geoff was feeling pretty much like a straw in the wind at this point, every turn over the past year taking him further and further from what he knew and understood. He hadn’t known what to expect from joining the Space Service, but it wasn’t a life of tight uniforms, sultry looks, and constant make-out sessions between duty shifts. At least he looked good in the outfit—especially his legs and ass, or so he’d been told more than a few times. All that track and field in school paid dividends; even Geoff himself had been distracted by his own legs in a mirror more than once over the years.

His first proper posting, here, was turning out even stranger. The station itself was one big, planet-sized ball of weird. From what he’d heard, Geoff Star 479-shoe-33 got its peculiar name, “Geoff,” because the original commissioning admiral for these monstrosities had had an oddly whimsical temperament and thought it would be funny to christen them all with random people-names, like Geoff… Sally… Randall… that kind of thing. Then the Space Service had gotten larger and larger, and more and more of these things were built—more than was strictly necessary, in Geoff’s opinion; and as the naming convention was now enshrined it just kept going. Then it was centuries later, and somebody supremely anal was put in charge who decided that all of the Randalls who signed up had to be assigned to Randall Star and all of the Sallys to Sally Star… and all the Geoffs had to go to Geoff Star.

That made for a lot of Geoffs. The Geoffs of Geoff Star had innovatively addressed this potential problem by giving everyone posted to the Geoff Star a whirl in the Reconfigurator. That way, each Geoff came out looking distinctive, according to their own imaginations and/or fantasies; and as fantasies tended to be myriad and particular (it was a big galaxy) the results tended to differentiate everyone nicely, or so the theory went.

Geoff had to admit there was some merit to the idea: after all, if at some later date he had to specify which Geoff had been assigned to show him around and read him in, he wouldn’t be relegated to just going with “Officer Geoff” or “Lt. Geoff,” which would be frankly all but useless in telling the Geoffs from the Geoffs in this place. No, he’d be able to say, “Why, that was Lt. Casper van Bugsplatter Four-Legged Boytaur Geoff.”

Which would at least narrow it down, Geoff figured.

Officer Geoff still had his long, warm, nicely muscled arm draped around Geoff’s shoulder, which meant that when he turned to look at Officer Geoff’s blinding smile he was standing at ground zero, overwhelmed by the boytaur lieutenant’s irresistible sexiness. Fuck, make that Lt. Casper van Bugsplatter Four-Legged Boytaur Makes-Me-Horny-as-Hell Geoff, Geoff thought nervously. Come to think of it, maybe it was just possible that making sure the crew all went through the Reconfigurator wasn’t entirely about being able to tell all the Geoffs apart.

He hoped his flush of Geoff-inspired lust was not as obvious to Officer Geoff as it was to him, but then Officer Geoff wiggled his golden-blond eyebrows knowingly at him and he knew the jig was up. The other man looked away briefly and he heard the shoosh of the egg-shaped door being opened, then Geoff was snared once again by the intensity of that brilliant, cocky stare. Blue as the crystal seas of En’y, he thought. What was his cock like? Did have just the one? A set, one between each pair of legs? More? How big were they? How many? He needed to know, more than he’d ever needed to know anything.

“Smooch for good luck?” Officer Geoff suggested.

Before Geoff could respond, Officer Geoff pulled their mouths together and they were kissing deeply and enthusiastically. Geoff’s tongue danced ecstatically with both of Officer’s Geoff’s for just long enough to get Geoff thoroughly and completely turned on, with every stop pulled out and all systems go. Then, before he knew what was happening the kiss was over and he was getting a gentle shove in the middle of the back. He stumbled into the white oval void of the Reconfigurator, the door that would seal him in perfectly with nothing but himself and his overpowering lust shooshing quietly closed behind him.

Geoff was registering the cozy warmth of the all-white Reconfigurator Room, which seemed if anything to amplify the intense horniness Officer Geoff had stoked in him with that look and that kiss, when he noticed the floor was gone and he was suspended weightlessly at the center of a huge egg-shaped space as big as the transport carrier he’d arrived in. It was mostly smooth surfaces, with the occasional seam or control to help provide a sense of scale. Then his uniform was gone, and there was no more keeping his three-quarters erection from wafting gently around in the zero-gee environment.

Somehow, being naked in this clinical yet womblike space only turned him on more.

What do you want, something asked him. It wasn’t asked aloud, or even communicated to him mentally by some kind of psychic comm-link; it was just there, a question written on the universe. He responded automatically, his desires appearing larger than life on the surfaces of the Reconfigurator Room all around him, and because he was so aroused, what he desired meant the sexual imagery filling his brain at that very moment.

He stared lustily around him at the dozen or so figures projected on the walls in a full 360-degree arc, all depicting the same slightly improved version of himself: handsome, tousle-haired, bearded, athletic but not hugely muscled, and down below four very fine legs—like Officer Geoff had, though actually they were mostly his own legs, defined, lightly hairy, sexy to look at, nice feet, so good at running and jumping and looking amazing.

Yeah, he thought huskily. Yes, yes, good. A good start. All other thought or concerns outside this room were gone—there was just him, and future him, ready to be shaped. Ready to be made.

He felt his heart beating as he twisted slowly at the center of the zero-gee room, scoping out all the multiple images of his augmented self that seemed to softly emanate from the gleaming white interior surface of the Reconfigurator. Fuck yeah, I’d do me. His own cock was rock-hard, just like in the images. He watched as a few little spherical drops of precum floated gently away from him and into the emptiness as he turned on his axis, admiring this Boytaur Geoff before him.

His eyes were drawn to the cock. It was a reflection of his own, a bit thicker but just as hard, its twin thrusting from between the rear legs. He remembered his manic focus on Officer Geoff’s equipment just before he’d been shoved into the space, and suddenly the thick hardons in the images looked… lonely.

One hadn’t seemed like enough. Two wasn’t enough. More, he thought.

The cocks in the images doubled, and he realized belatedly that his own body was already four-legged and that his cocks were expanding and splitting and becoming two slimy, jostling tools. He almost came, looking at himself, feeling his hardness and his phallic multiplicity that was reflected on all these images in the sloping white expanses around him.

Two, two per crotch, still looked forlorn. Insufficient. There was room for more, so much more. More, he thought obsessively.

He watched intently, and nothing seemed to happen for a minute. Then, on all of the images of him, it happened at the same time—his cocks grew wider and split and became four thick cocks, the balls with them. Then again, becoming eight. The force of the separation flung sex-goo out on all directions from his steel-hard tools. More, a phallic explosion, a dozen desperate cocks in every groin, with balls to match. So much need, so much arousal. Geoff felt his own cocks multiplying with the images. He was riding an orgasm that wanted to explode through him, but in his mind he held his climax in an iron grip as he stared hard at all the visual echoes of his becoming.

He was seeing all of the hims, twisting around to take them all in, and filled him now… what he wanted now… was everything. Not just one of them—all of them. All of them combined. All of them, he rasped in his mind. All of those cocks, all of those crotches, all of those legs…!

As he watched the images stared to move together, a slow, flesh-made kaleidoscope of muscle and dick. Every version him became extended, the gap between the front and back legs becoming a torso, with a chest and abs, and legs where the arms would be. And the torsos were the other images, and they were all coming together in a single extended Geoff, cocks, legs, torso… cocks, legs, torso… again and again, multiple iterations becoming one, bending around in a great ouroboristic curve so that the arms and head at the top were brought enticing near to the last of the legs and cocks.

Geoff was so overwhelmed by the universe-perfecting sight of his transformation in the reflective images that he was barely aware of the same thing happening to him, making him ingto a long, delicious, twisting creature of legs and dicks curved around on himself, made for pleasure and release. He smelled his own nearest multicock crotch before he truly felt it from within—and then he did feel it, all of them, many times over. A dozen legs, a dozen crotches, all full of big, fat, jostling, straining, orgasm-needy cocks.

He was ready to cum countless times over. The image on the wall stilled, the moment poised. The eyes were staring back him. Yeah? they seemed to say.

Oh, yeah.

Geoff’s control snapped, and he came convulsively from every single fat, hard, towering cock. The cum went everywhere, smacking across his face and arms and torsos and beautiful legs and spinning out in long globby arcs as he climaxed again and again, and again.

He couldn’t seem to stop cumming, and he didn’t want to. This was infinite pleasure, and he knew, without any reservation, that this was exactly what he wanted.

When he was able to focus again he found that he was sprawled out on the reinstantiated floor of the Reconfigurator Room, his body still arrayed in big oval of legs and large, half-hard, spend-covered willies. The nearest dozen were still mere inches away, twitching against each other as he smiled at them. Geoff thought it was kind of funny he hadn’t even managed to taste any of these yet—and they were just the ones it was easiest for him to reach.

Lt. Casper van Bugsplatter Four-Legged Boytaur Geoff was standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his heroic, recruitment-poster chest. “Impressive,” he said smugly. “I guess that’s what happens when you go in horny.” He still looked delicious in his white four-legged uniform, and Geoff’s felt a momentary bit of embarrassment at being caught covered in multidick jizz, tinted with the faintest drop of umbrage that Officer Geoff bore a lot of the responsibility for the “going in horny” thing. All of that quickly capsized, however, under fantasies of Officer Geoff peeling off that uniform and helping Geoff take care of his many, many cocks.

Art by noahsense. Commissioned by SlinkyDragon. Used with permission.

“I guess we won’t have much trouble telling me apart from the other Geoffs now,” Geoff joked.

“It’ll narrow things down,” Officer Geoff agreed, his smile seeming to want to twist into a leer as he watched Geoff clamber to his lotsa lotsa feet. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. I’ll have you reassigned to one of the quarters with the really big showers. And the really big beds,” he added, looking Geoff over.

Geoff looked down at himself, then over his shoulder at the trail of legs and bent-over torsos trailing away behind him. “So, uh, how do I requisition some… pants?” he asked, turning back to Officer Geoff.

Officer Geoff looked surprised. “You didn’t wish for pants in the Reconfigurator?” he asked reprovingly. He tsked. “You gotta make your uniform in here, dude, while you’re in reshape mode. Otherwise? No pants.”

Geoff gaped at him. “What?!” he said, aghast. He glanced down at his heavy, jizz-smeared, cock-and-balls beset crotch, then back up at the other man. “I can’t report for duty like this!”

Officer Geoff shrugged and turned away. Geoff fought the distraction of his boytaur ass and padded after him, leave a trail of footprint-smeared semen on the pristine, glossy-white floor of the station as he went. The door to the Reconfiguration Room closed itself after him with a shoosh, like a bit of punctuation at the end of Geoff’s reshaping of himself.

Geoff’s focus, however, remained fixed on his trouserlessless, chronically cum-dripping future. “You’re kidding, right?” he protested again as he trailed after the other man. “Tell me you’re kidding!” They disappeared around the curve of the vast station, Geoff’s voice getting fainter and fainter, until finally the corridor was silent and empty. Unnoticed, the little cleaning droids rolled their eyes as they followed behind at a respectful distance, dutifully mopping up all the gloopy, toe-smudged spunk their newest recruit would be leaving behind from now on.

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