Wide receiver

by Logan Haller   

Dominic Hardy is a media personality and a former professional football player. He proudly considers himself “the most aggressive top on the planet.” He’s the alpha gay in any room. But a quest for a scientific fountain of youth will lead him to discover aspects of himself he didn’t know existed, and a few that weren’t there before they were installed in him by an extraordinarily handsome mad scientist.

I’m in Thailand to become young again, and stronger than I was even in my prime. I was briefly an NFL wide receiver, and already pretty fucking strong. Hell, I still have better endurance than most guys half my age. It was my old college roommate Savio Khatri who told me about this clinic—very secret, rich and famous only. I’m relatively rich, and the name Dominic Hardy is famous to guys who watch ESPN talk shows, but I never could have made it in without his influence. Ever since visiting Savio in his office, seeing his regained youth, feeling with my own hands the incredible new strength in his muscles, I’ve been horny like a teenager. It’s the night before my consultation, and I’ve never been to Pattaya before, so I figure I might as well make use of a couple of their famous boy whores.

The guys are probably in their mid-twenties, but they look like boys to me. Smooth, nimble, almost innocent-looking, despite their jobs. I’ve never needed to pay for sex, but I’ve always liked doing it. The power trip of being able to order male flesh like I’m ordering steak from room service. The freedom to tell someone exactly what I want without having to give a fuck if they’re having any fun. To be honest, the exchange of money always made me feel less guilty about the damage I tend to do to my bottoms. I’m very hung, naturally aggressive, and extremely muscular, especially for a guy my age. I’ve never liked moving slow, and I’ve always been world-class at going fast and hard. There’s some still-unbroken Bruin all-time records to attest to that.

Two whores arrive at my hotel room, and I immediately wish I’d asked for four. They look like appetizers, especially considering how fucking horny I’ve been since I saw Savio. They’re beautiful, but they look delicate, and I don’t want to have to pay anyone’s rent for the rest of their lives—you break it you bought it, as the saying goes.

“Hello daddy,” the older of the two says. “Thank you for inviting us.” He has to get on his tiptoes to give me a kiss on the cheek, just close enough to my mouth for me to taste his cinnamon breath. It’s that Asian kind of cinnamon, the same but a little different. He saunters into the room like he owns the place and puts his little purse down on the dresser.

The younger of the two looks timid. Frightened. He probably should be. “Please daddy,” he says, “I’m a virgin.”

I fucking hate being called daddy. The last thing I need is to be reminded how old I am. “This is a put-on, right? This accent, this virgin routine. You’re a professional, you can act like one.”

The older of the two immediately sounds about sixty percent more American—no, not American, he sounds kind of English. “I’m doing a routine, but he isn’t. He really is a virgin. I’m showing him the ropes.”

“Be gentle,” the younger one says, batting his eyes. It still seems like an act to me.

I say what I always say when a sex worker asks me to go easy on him. “No.” If he’s really a virgin, I pity him. Losing your cherry to me is like taking calculus before you’ve learned to count. I am not for beginners. I gesture for the older one to get on the bed. Then I gesture for the other one to take a seat in a spot where he has a full view. “Watch and learn,” I say. I haven’t used a condom in years, but I’m in a foreign country, and I don’t know where these kids have been. Actually, I have a pretty decent idea of where they’ve been, and that only makes me more cautious. I’d forgotten how fucking hot it is to slide a Magnum all the way on and see that there are still two inches of shaft left uncovered. Too big for extra large.

The supposed virgin stares at my cock with so much fear in his eyes, I start to believe he might not be doing it for show. The more experienced one looks eager to accept the challenge. “Please daddy,” he says. He caresses my beard. “Sexy bear daddy, please.” He slides his pants down to his ankles, “I’m ready.”

I’m really looking forward to being twenty again, so I never have to hear that fucking word. If I wanted to be called daddy, I would have had a kid with one of the half-dozen closeted tennis lesbians who begged me. I pull off my robe and climb on top of him. He’s already got his knees up near his ears. I position my arms under his legs, so he doesn’t have to hold them himself. I admire his professionalism, but for some reason I want to see if I can get him to break it. I slide in without taking a single moment to prepare him.

He lets out a yelp. “Not so deep!” The bogus accent is completely gone now. I grin. I glance over at the virgin. Poor kid looks panicked. But it’s good for him to know what’s coming. After a few thrusts, the kid underneath me starts to moan. I can’t tell if he’s putting on an act, but it doesn’t really matter. He’s here for my pleasure, not his own. I’m so horny lately, it only takes a few more thrusts for me to cum. It’s not like I’m trying to make it last, the agency charges by the hour. Normally I could afford to keep them all night, all month, but I have expensive rejuvenation treatments to pay for in the morning. When I pull out, he makes a sound that’s a combination of surprise, relief, and disappointment. I hand the condom to him to dispose of. Then I signal for the virgin to kneel at the edge of the bed.

“With a guy my size,” I say, “you’re not going to be able to do much with your mouth, not at first. That’s something you’re going to have to learn.” I pat his cheek. If he’s going to call me daddy, I’m going to condescend to him like he’s a child. “For now, concentrate on using your hands. Put your lips around the head of my dick, use your tongue, and get as much in there as you can while using your lips to sort of sheathe your teeth. But concentrate on what your hands are doing. Use both. Squeeze and turn in opposite directions. When my dick is in your mouth, use your hands for horizontal movements. When your jaw gets tired and needs to take a break, use your hands for vertical movements. You understanding all this, kid?” He nods his head and complies with my instructions. I knew his English was better than he was pretending. “But try not to take too many breaks,” I add.

When I shoot my load into his mouth, he choaks and gags. He wasn’t expecting there to still be so much cum inside me, not after I just nutted inside his friend a few minutes ago. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting it either. It’s those damn pheromones Savio has now. This must be why he told me not to shower his scent off. When he gets my seed all nice and swallowed down, I lay the kid out on the bed to prepare him for his first fucking. He’s not going to like it, there’s no way around that. I lube him up and work his prostate with my thumb for a bit, then my index and middle fingers, but honestly, this isn’t my job. Even if he’s a natural-born size queen, this is going to hurt. And that, as the saying goes, is what the money is for.

I give them each cash tips that are twice what I paid the agency. While they’re leaving the hotel room, I tell the one I devirginized, “Start chewing gum. You need to build up jaw strength. And both of you should get butt plugs, if you don’t already have them. Wear them around for a few hours before you see me. I intend to have you both again several times before I leave Thailand.” They look surprised, and pleased, and scared.

After the whores leave, I stare at the ceiling, unable to sleep. I’m wondering how the hell I’m supposed to pay for these treatments. I make good money as an on-air commentator, but Savio Khatri is an actual billionaire—or he was until he spent every last dime of it to become twenty years old again. “He lent me one million dollars as seed money, so I could start over. No interest, but I only have a year to pay it back,” Savio said. “I’m not worried about it. I have all the energy and motivation I had thirty years ago, but this time I know what I’m doing.”

Savio kept referring to this mysterious person without explaining who it was. “He told me I would consider it money well spent,” “he said I would age at a tenth the normal rate from now on,” “he has developed a technique for growing custom organs in vitro.” The secrecy was starting to frustrate me. Why bring him up at all if Savio couldn’t say who he was? It had been nearly a year since I last saw my friend in person. We live in different parts of California, but we both travel a lot, and we’re usually able to meet up for drinks or a racquetball game once or twice a month. When he asked me to visit him in his office in San Francisco, he was in the middle of moving out of it.

His texts made it sound like he’d thrown his entire fortune away on a fad treatment some vapid actress might hock. But once I saw him, I understood why he thought it was worth selling his company for. I wasn’t looking at my dear friend of thirty years, I was looking at the handsome twenty-year-old I’d shared a UCLA dorm room with. Savio’s father was from India and his mother was Argentinian, and the combination gave him eyes like new copper pennies, and skin the color of cinnamon bark. In college, people called him Aladdin, because the Disney cartoon was recently out, and none of us were smart enough to know better. I thought he looked more like a prince than a thief, but I was half in love with him for the first year I knew him. Savio was a lothario who loved women, but he was so oversexed he sometimes fooled around with guys to “fill in the gaps,” as he put it. Occasional hookups stoked the fire of my crush on him, but I finally realized sex with a mostly straight guy was rarely going to be good sex, and he found a woman he liked enough to remain (mostly) faithful.

He was always the kind of guy who looked like he’d never had a zit in his life, but this new version of his twenty-year-old self was a whole new level. He looked like he didn’t even have any pores. As I walked into the office he was about to leave forever, his amber eyes flashed and his princely grin gleamed, and he gave me a hug that lasted much longer than was typical of him. I could feel how much more muscular he’d become. In college he was the kind of guy who relied on his face more than his body, and as an adult he relied on his wealth rather than either. Now he had the lean, taut physique of an elite triathlete. He smelled so good I lost my footing and stumbled while holding him. It made him laugh. He knew exactly what was happening. “That’s the pheromones,” he said. “Sorry not sorry. They’ll be doing their thing on you the whole time we’re in the room together.”

“Pheromones,” I repeated. I knew that pheromones were a real thing in the animal kingdom, but when people talk about them in relation to humans, that’s science fiction shit. But he looked so fucking amazing. He looked better than he ever had at his very best moment in college. And he didn’t look at all like someone who’d had work done, he looked like someone who’d taken super soldier serum, or been bitten by a radioactive spider. After just one glance at him—and one intoxicating sniff—I was ready to believe in the science fiction shit. There was very little I could say. “How?”

He laughed. “Look at this!” he said, and unbuttoned his shirt to show me his abs. “And look at this! It’s almost as big as yours now!” To my surprise, he unzipped his pants and showed me his cock, which was indeed much larger than I remembered. The smell got stronger, and I found myself wanting to get down on my knees to get a better whiff of it. I’ll suck a dick on occasion, because it’s part of the gig, being a gay man; but I’ve always preferred to be on the receiving end of that arrangement. I’d never in my life wanted a cock in my mouth so desperately. “My wife loves the new size,” he said. “And so does my mistress. But my other mistress says it’ll take some getting used to. I’m probably going to chuck all three and get new ones anyway.”

Again, there was only one thing I could say. “How?”

“You know what I used to think about a lot over the years?” Savio said. “That one time I let you fuck me. I honestly thought I wasn’t going to survive it! For three decades I would sometimes just sit there and think, ‘How did I actually let a guy put his dick inside me? And of all people, why did I pick the most aggressive top on the planet?’” He finished removing his shirt, then finished pulling down his pants. He put his hand on my chest, kneading the hair like a cat. He smelled like no man I’d ever smelled before, and I’ve smelled a lot of men. “Ever since I came back from Thailand with this new body, all I can think about is how much I need you to fuck me again.”

I didn’t have to be asked twice. I pulled him toward me and kissed him. He also tasted like no man I’d tasted before. It would be a cliché to say that he smelled and tasted like spice, but there was a little of that. Mostly he tasted like flesh—but not human flesh, he tasted like superhuman flesh. My mind was buzzing and my dick was throbbing. He was impatient, and he literally tore the clothes from my body. His physique was more acrobat than bodybuilder, and mine was more bodybuilder than acrobat, and I was still half a foot taller than him. But it was immediately obvious that he was now stronger than me. As we were kissing, he climbed me, held onto me with an incredible grip, wrapped his legs around my hips, and I knew that I couldn’t have pulled him off me if I’d wanted to. Which of course I didn’t.

His kisses were deep, and even his tongue seemed to have preternatural strength. I don’t think he’d quite adjusted to the new power in his body. We toppled over onto his desk with me on top of him, and it half collapsed beneath us. “Fuck me,” he said. “Now!”

My straight buddy of thirty years had transformed into a twenty-year-old power bottom. I was so surprised by his transformation, and overwhelmed by his beauty and his scent, I could only speak in single syllables. “Lube?”

“Don’t need it. Fuck me now!”

I started to slowly slide my huge dick into him, but the moment I passed the threshold of his sphincter, I was pulled inside. The sensation was part tugging, part sucking. Fucking him felt like three-in-one sex. It was incredible. He was thrashing against his desktop, tearing it apart, and I was hammering him from the moment I was inside him. I’d never gone so deep so quickly before, and he was in absolute ecstasy. He let out a long, loud moan that everyone in the building must have heard. It sounded like he was experiencing relief as much as pleasure. He came almost immediately. Thick, ropey spurts of cum covered his newly ripped abs, as well as the part of my own body that only barely still counted as abs. I came inside him, but his ass kept pulling me deeper. We were both immediately ready for round two. I had to use all my strength just to pull back enough to give him the deep thrusts he clearly craved.

His cock ejaculated three more times, but it was almost as if the sensation was irrelevant to him. He needed my dick as deep inside him as possible, that was the only thing that mattered. I barely had a choice in the matter. Finally, his entire rectum gripped me, pulsed with the force of fist clenches, and Savio’s back arched with such strength it finished the destruction of his expensive desk.

“Look dude,” he said, as he searched the rubble of his office for what was left of our clothing, “I still prefer women. I think. But I tried to teach my wife to peg and there’s just no substitute for the real thing. After you’ve had the treatment, you’ll probably have the same pheromones I do, and you’ll be irresistible, so there’s no telling what I’ll let you do to me. And you’ll be stronger than me again, so who knows if I could stop you if I wanted.”

This was the first real mention of the clinic, and the possibility of me getting the treatment too. I still had nothing to say but, “How?”

Then Savio started referring to this mysterious him. “He said exogenous testosterone is primitive science, “he gave me the treatment,” “he’s beyond a genius, almost beyond human,” “he told me to let you know you’re welcome at his clinic in Thailand any time.”

“Savio, you’re killing me. Who the fuck is this guy?”

Savio smirked. “Do you remember Gareth Edris?”

Of course I remembered. Gareth Edris was the most notorious athlete in history. He ran track as an undergrad at Stanford, but it was almost more like he was the team mascot. He was five years younger than the typical college student, and it was impressive that he could compete at all at his age. But mostly he was just a cute kid everyone expected would grow up to win the Nobel Prize. He returned to athletics ten years later, after completing his graduate degrees—both a PhD and a MD—and he was completely transformed. Taller, more muscular, considerably better endowed. I had my own minor grudge against him because he knocked me out of the top spot, on bulge-watcher lists of every size queen’s favorite athlete. More importantly, he’d become so good at so many different events, he was banned from all organized competition, even though none of his tests came up positive for banned substances. “Yeah,” I said, “he’s the guy who juiced so hard he blew his cover by breaking every record.”

Savio had given up on salvaging the clothing he’d torn off of us, and found some company sweats and tees in one of his boxes. “That’s him. But it was never steroids. It was genetic engineering. Mostly. I’m not going to pretend to understand everything he does. And he’s gotten better at it since then. Much better. He essentially remade his body. Then remade it again every time there was a significant advancement. He remade mine. And he’s going to remake yours. I already have your plane ticket. Hey, do me a favor? Don’t shower my smell off of you. I want to know you’re in Thailand getting horny thinking about me.”

My driver is hired for the week, but I give him two thousand baht to go somewhere and entertain himself while I’m inside the clinic. I’m not sure what I was anticipating. Either an enormous building that’s absurdly high tech, or an opulent compound that looks like a resort. Gareth Edris’s office is neither of those things. It just looks like a suburban medical complex, six stories high, the sort of place that might have a dozen dentist’s offices, some dermatologists, cosmetic surgeons, that sort of thing. Nice, upscale, but nothing out of the ordinary. The surprised look in the driver’s eyes tells me two thousand baht is more money than it needed to be. “I don’t know how long I’ll be,” I say. “I’ll call you when I need to be picked up.”

Once I’m through the clinic doors, I find the extraordinary display of wealth and technology I’d been expecting from the exterior. The door opens into a reception and waiting area furnished with an extravagant hand-carved set of furniture—walnut, rococo style, if I can trust my carpentry summer job and my rarely used art history minor—including a large desk, two sofas, a coffee table, three sideboards, and several chairs. If they’re antiques, they’re extraordinarily well-preserved; if they’re not antiques, they’re meticulous reproductions made by excellent craftsmen. There’s statuary, vases, candelabras, and other decorations, all of which look like they should be in Versailles. But there are no walls. The 18th century reception area transitions seamlessly into an atrium the entre six-story height of the building. Stretching upward for most of that distance are five giant sequoia, actual fucking California redwoods. They’re the dominant smell in the building, and very familiar to me. The whole place is lit by lanterns that seem to float in space, an optical illusion I’d like to investigate later. The clinic has been designed to give the impression that we’re in either a European drawing room or a North American forest. The staff member at the reception desk is Thai, a beautiful fucker with a warm, welcoming smile. “Mr. Hardy,” he says, standing up to greet me. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

If I thought it was incongruous going from Versailles to Muir Woods, or that the floating lanterns had a whiff of science fiction to them, that’s nothing compared to this kid’s outfit. He’s dressed like he’s ready to go out and fight bad guys. Latex, neoprene—I don’t know enough about this stuff to identify the material. It’s probably something far more sophisticated than rubber. But he’s wearing a shimmering white bodysuit that shows off every single one of his gorgeously defined muscles. When he steps out from behind the desk to shake my hand, I also see that it nicely contours his ample junk.

He smiles bashfully when he sees I’ve noticed. “We don’t all wear them. But you’ll quickly discover that there’s a language to the uniforms. One like mine tells you I’ve been through the full complement of enhancements. You could think of it as a—containment suit. Those of us who have had the pheromone modification are difficult to concentrate around. Either a few of us wear these, or everyone wears gas masks. This is far more practical.”

“I’d have a hard time getting any work done around someone who looks like you, dressed like that, no matter what you fucking smelled like.”

He smiles. He’s incredibly beautiful, but the sheer amount of lust I feel right now tells me some of those pheromones are leaking through. I can feel my wood start to make its way down my left pantleg, as it likes to do. “They are a bit sexy, aren’t they?” he says. “Follow me.”

He leads me into the atrium, and I’m able to get an excellent view of an exquisite ass, incredibly muscular yet perfectly shaped. The bodysuit rides up high enough to give me a perfect glimpse of how his cheeks separate. “Do you all go out after work and fight crime?”

He glances back at me, his smile turning mischievous. “According to international law,” he says, “we’re the criminals.”

I’m not sure what to make of this. I’m worried he’s not actually joking. I try to change the subject. “Your English is perfect,” I say.

“I’m from Toronto.”

I shut my dumb mouth and let him take us wherever we’re going. We pass flower beds, ferns, manzanita shrubs, it’s like we’re in Marin County. At the center of the five redwood trees is a rock pond fed by a waterfall. Standing near it, looking down at the tablet he’s holding, is a figure who truly does look like he emerged from a comic book—one drawn with a bit of homage to Tom of Finland, especially in the region of his package. He’s very tall, probably my height. He looks like he’s twenty-five at the oldest. He has extremely broad shoulders that create a Y shape with his narrow hips and waist, then flare out again into long, muscular legs. His skin is olive-tan, his nose is aquiline, his jaw is so square it’s almost trapezoidal, and his eyes are a dazzling shade of leaf green. He’s also wearing a silvery white bodysuit. He looks like someone put “handsome superhero fantasy” into the prompt of an AI image generator. He looks up from his tablet to watch us approach, his face neither friendly nor unfriendly. Once we’re close enough, he extends his hand for me to shake. “Dominic Hardy,” he says, “I’ve dreamed about meeting you since I was twelve years old. My name is Gareth Edris.”

Gareth Edris was a fifteen-year-old nerd-athlete from Stanford who transformed in ten years into the greatest Olympian who ever lived. The transformation from that Olympic athlete into the person in front of me is just as dramatic. In addition to the comic book physique, he’s handsomer, taller, and has completely different eye color and skin tone. And like the kid from the reception desk, he has pheromones that aren’t entirely contained by his outfit. This mindless, sex-charged buzzing in my brain is starting to become familiar. I can’t exactly smell them, but my dick is absolutely throbbing, and not just because he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’m pleased to see that I seem to be having a similar effect on him. You can’t hide anything in a white bodysuit made of future-rubber. “I wouldn’t have recognized you,” I say.

“I’m curious, though. Do I look at all familiar?” I shake my head no. He smiles in a self-satisfied way. I’d have a self-satisfied smile on my face twenty-four seven if I looked like him. He gestures toward a bench near the pond, inviting me to sit. He perches on a boulder at the edge of the water. We’re facing each other, just a few feet apart. “I started college at fourteen,” he says. “I had your NFL poster on my dorm room wall. I thought you were the perfect human specimen: face, height, musculature, everything about you was ideal.” He nods toward my pounding cock. “Even your manhood. You were, ahem, the total package. When I first started making alterations to my genome, my only purpose was to make myself more like you. No offence, Mr. Hardy, but I’ve exceeded that goal considerably.”

I can feel myself blushing. “I’d be offended if it wasn’t so obviously true,” I say.

“The most difficult human material to work with is bone,” he says. “Even the brain, for all its complexity, is less difficult to modify. I was enhancing my cognitive abilities long before I got around to my bone and skeletal structures. Once the skeleton has finished growing, it’s almost impossible to make it pliable again, to induce another growth spurt, to create new facial features that don’t look like uncanny-valley cosmetic surgery. It’s possible to just pull the bones out one by one and replace them with synthetic material. I’ve tried it on others, to mixed results. I didn’t want to do it to myself. Reconfiguring my skeletal system was a long process. A painful one. All of this is to say, Dominic Hardy, that giving myself a face that’s an improved version of yours is my greatest triumph. Aesthetically speaking, at least.”

I stare at him, trying to match his features to my own. Now that he says it, I can see myself in him. Am I flattered or fucking terrified? What have I gotten myself into? Who did Khatri get himself involved with? “Look,” I say, “I’m just here for the rejuvenation serum, or whatever it is. I’ll write you a check for everything I own, and be on my way. I don’t need a new face, or pheromones. And I definitely don’t need a bigger dick, that would be a problem, actually. So. . . a little fountain of youth, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Scientifically speaking,” Gareth Edris continues, as if I hadn’t spoken, “I think my greatest accomplishment is giving a man an electrocyte muscle system, similar to an electric eel’s. It generates enough voltage to kill a human. Which is precisely what he’s doing right now, on my behalf.” My eyes widen. I look around to see if there’s a reasonable way to try to make an escape. The kid from the reception area is standing just behind me, the same friendly smile on his face. “My electric assassin is working off an indenture, you could say. He thought he would have a hard time performing in that capacity, but it turns out he quite likes the job—or he started to, after I edited out his ability to feel remorse.”

I stand up. I start to say something, I’m not even sure what it’s going to be, but Gareth Edris nods. With extraordinary speed, the kid from the reception area injects something into my neck, just below my jaw. I sit back down. My muscles feel like they’ve turned to sponges.

“That’s just a sedative,” Gareth Edris says. “I’m not quite finished introducing myself to you. Regarding the genital enlargement procedure, I’m well aware of the perils of having too much of a good thing. I made my own much too large. I was trying to outdo you. I thought I was being restrained. I thought, ‘I don’t want a practical-joke dick, I just want to be bigger than Dominic Hardy.’ I went too far—you know how men are. We overreach, especially in our fantasies. Everyone loves looking at a massive cock, but few people can actually take one this size. I had to be so gentle with anyone who tried—and I hate being gentle. But I love how heavy it feels between my legs. I love the way men stare with drool on their lips. So instead of making mine smaller again, I decided to make partners who could accommodate it.”

He watches my face for a minute, to see if I make a reaction. I’m fucking terrified, but even if I could move, the kid from the reception area has his hand on my shoulder, holding me in place. “Once I perfected the techniques, it seemed to me there was one person they were always intended for. You’ll be suspended in something like amniotic fluid for the better part of a year. Nanobots, enzymes, peptides, none of those are quite the right words, but they’re the ones you’re likely to know. For you, no time will seem to have passed. But I’ll be on tenterhooks, in an agony of anticipation, knowing that I’m finally going to have a boyfriend.”

With that, he nods again, and another needle goes into my neck. My consciousness slowly fades.

My life becomes a dream of floating. It’s not true that no time passes; what’s true is that time is passing confusingly. I become aware, and realize that I’m helplessly suspended, tubes extending from my nostrils and mouth, needles stuck into the veins of my arms. And as soon as this awareness reaches me, I’m overwhelmed by a pleasant calm that can only be the result of chemicals being pumped into me. The next time I become aware, my body feels completely different, but the chemicals arrive again, and they feel the same. I’m becoming stronger, and the stronger I become, the more chemicals are required to keep me unconscious. It’s a nightmare of floating, while also being an exquisite fantasy of total transformation. This is how a butterfly feels inside its cocoon.

I wake up in an enormous bedroom. Well, it’s a room with a bed in it—several of them. King-sized beds with dark gray silk sheets. There’s some equipment I don’t recognize, and one I’m pretty sure is an industrial-strength sex swing. I’m lying on one of the beds. Bay windows open out onto an ocean view. A pleasant breeze plays over the skin of my naked body. I remember being very frightened, but I don’t feel that way anymore. I know that there are changes in my body. The sensations are already wonderful, just lying here. I’m excited to get a look at my new self.

There seem to be some full-length mirrors set up nearby, for me to do exactly that. I get out of bed and stand upright, testing the strength in my legs. I feel completely weightless. The smallest hop, using only my calf muscles, sends me high into the air. I flex my arm muscles and feel their corded strength. I’m like a metal statue covered with warm, smooth skin.

Smooth skin? I check my chest, and I’m relieved the hair is still there—though maybe the texture is a little different now. My beard is completely gone, not a trace of stubble; I have a feeling it’s never coming back. I step over to the mirrors to have a look at myself. My eyes don’t know what to focus on first. My broader shoulders. Narrower waist and hips. Incredible vascularity, ripped musculature. Glimmering blue eyes. My body hair situation is one I recognize from photoshoots with fitness models. My chest hair is a perfect pelt that covers my enormous pecs. But it’s such a specific shape—ending before it reaches my shoulders and neck, funneling down into a light cone of hair over my abs, expanding out into a small mound of pubic hair—it almost looks like I’m wearing an accessory. There is no other body hair. The veins and striations of my legs and arms stand out, which is why models often shave those parts of their bodies. I check my ass for hair, and barely register that there isn’t any, before noticing that my buttocks have become two perfect muscular spheres; I look in the reflection of the reflection to get a glimpse of the most perfect posterior I’ve ever seen. Gareth Edris appears behind me in the reflections. My heart leaps to see him. We grin at each other like two old friends reunited. But how could we be old friends? We both look twenty. The first words I say with my new, slightly deeper voice, are, “This is incredible. Unbelievable. I feel amazing! But an ass like this is wasted on me. I’m the most aggressive top on the planet.”

He embraces me from behind. His hand runs through my chest hair; his fingers glance over my nipples, giving me my first taste of how sensitive they now are. My dick is fully hard. It isn’t any bigger than it was before, but its ample weight now seems to be immune to gravity. It shoots upright like a missile launching into space. Examining our reflections in the mirrors, I see that we really do look almost identical. My mouth is a little larger, my lips fuller—they never used to be this full. My eyes are bright blue where his are mysterious green. My hair is sandy blond, and my skin has a cornhusker tan whereas his hair and complexion are darker. We’re like two perfect, handsome, muscular figures made from different materials, but using the same mold. “Not anymore,” he says. He kisses my shoulder. Shivers run through my body. “You’re now my own personal bottom, voracious and insatiable.” He slides one of his fingers effortlessly past my sphincter, deep into my rectum, to show me the extent of the changes he’s made.

I ejaculate the moment he touches my prostate. I don’t even realize it at first, not until I see that the mirror in front of me is covered in my cum. The pleasure of a dick orgasm, which used to be one of the driving forces of my life, has been totally eclipsed by the ecstasy of having just one of Gareth Edris’s fingers inside me. He nibbles on my neck. My legs turn to jelly. I would slump to the floor if he wasn’t holding me upright with his incredible strength.

“I quadrupled the number of nerves in your prostate. But just as importantly, I encased it in an organ of my own invention, a nerve cluster that’s similar to a woman’s clitoris—several clitorises, in fact.” He pulls his finger out and then reinserts two, pushing them as deep as they’ll go, as if to prove his point. I gasp. There are things inside me that didn’t used to be there. Wonderful things, fucking extraordinary. The pleasure is so intense I think for a moment I might lose consciousness. For all my new superhuman strength, I feel utterly weak, totally helpless. He speaks directly into my ear. Not a whisper, but a deep, rumbling voice that reverberates through my body. “And even more importantly than that, I replicated this prostate-clitoris structure and put a second one five inches inside you. And another one at seven inches. And at nine inches.” He wiggles his fingers and a seemingly endless stream of cum shoots out of me, splattering the mirrors. “But eleven inches deep within you where few men besides me will ever be able to reach, I’ve put a cluster with more nerve endings than the rest of them put together. Not only are you now a ravenous bottom, Dominic, you’re also the world’s biggest size queen.”

With no effort at all, he picks me up in a bridal carry and brings me to one of the beds. He dumps me belly-down onto it, climbs on top of me, and thrusts the whole of his gigantic cock into me without preparation. I don’t need it. I’m now self-lubricating, the way Khatri was. If there’s any pain, I can’t feel it, because I’m so overwhelmed with pleasure. Just like I can now barely feel my dick orgasms because their pleasure is so trifling compared to the joyous explosions happening inside my ass. He thrusts deep and hard, and at every given moment, some part of me—one inch deep, or five, or eleven—is climaxing. I’m so overwhelmed with sensation, every part of me is spasming. When he’s ready to cum, my body somehow seems to understand it, and all five of my new organs cum along with him. I lay there quivering helplessly. He flips me over, slides his arms underneath my knees, and positions me for another immediate fucking. He kisses me as he slides inside, but I can barely kiss him back because my mouth is practically numb. He laughs. “You’ll get used to it,” he says. He speaks between thrusts. “Your neural pathways are readjusting.” Thrust. “I enhanced your intelligence considerably.” Thrust. “Just so your brain.” Thrust. “Would be able to process.” Thrust. “All the new.” Thrust. “Sensations.” Thrust.

I lose track of how many times he fucks me before we take a break to have a meal together. Somehow his servants know when it’s time for us to eat. Two pretty young Thai men bring trays of fruit and meat into the room and lay them out on a sideboard for us. They remind me of the prostitutes I hired—however many months ago. Do those boys wonder whatever became of me? Or were they relieved not to have to take me again?

Gareth looks into my eyes, strokes my hair, and kisses me. Then he helps me up off the bed and carries me to the food. My body is still shaking. I can barely force my mouth to form words. “Thanks,” I manage to say. But what am I thanking him for? For feeding me, or for transforming me? It’s like I’m having a seizure, if it were possible for a seizure to feel extraordinarily good. He puts me in a chair and prepares me a plate of food: lettuce wraps, spring rolls, skewers of chicken and shrimp, piles of mango and dragon fruit. He sets the plate on my lap and feeds me a piece of mango. “Can you feel it?” he asks. “The connection between us. It’s already strong, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I say. It’s difficult to explain why, but I’m already desperately in love with him. I remember standing in the atrium looking for a way to escape. Why would I ever have wanted to run away from this extraordinary superhuman man?

“When I first learned to alter the genome, and to grow augmented organs in vitro, it became immediately clear that I needed more test subjects than just myself.” He dips a piece of shrimp pancake into a dark sauce and eats it hungrily. We must have been fucking for hours. “But I was consumed with guilt over some of the mistakes I made with them. And more mistakes were inevitable. So I altered my brain. I’d already made improvements to it, and I knew how to edit out some of those peskier human emotions. But once my mind no longer trafficked in things like remorse or sympathy, I also had a hard time forming bonds with people. I missed it. I wanted a companion, someone I could see as my equal—or quite nearly equal.” He smiles, then pulls the meat from a skewer with his teeth. “The compromise, I decided, was to create customized pheromones, so that we would match each other like puzzle pieces. Yin-yang. We will be uniquely drawn to each other, Dominic, and our affection will only grow the longer we’re together. We’ll fuck other people, of course, sometimes together, sometimes not. But for both of us, sex with someone else will only ever feel like foreplay for sex with one another. I’ll always feel protective of you, which is silly, because you’re now the second strongest person on the planet. You could take a .45 caliber bullet at close range without much damage. But I’ll be compelled to keep you safe, and you’ll be compelled to keep me happy.”

When he finishes his plate of food, he starts feeding mine to me, so we can get back to fucking sooner. “When your brain has adjusted to all these new sensations,” he continues, “you’ll see things with a clarity you’ve never experienced before. I’ve given you extraordinary gifts, and you’re going to love them. You’re now the second strongest person on the planet, and the second smartest, the second fastest, and so on. You’ll never have another bad day in your life, Dominic, and your life will be exceedingly long.” He takes the plate from my lap and puts it on the sideboard. Then he scoops me up and carries me to one of the beds, a fresh one. He kisses my nipples, then kisses my lips, then positions me so he can fuck me from behind. I tremble with pleasure as he slides himself deep inside me once again. I look forward to my brain readjusting enough that I can have an actual conversation with him. At the same time, I’m enjoying being his helpless creature, despite all my new power. “I didn’t give you all these gifts so you could do complex equations in your head. Or put on a cape and fight crime. Or defend the world from aliens.” Thrust. “I gave you these gifts.” Thrust. “So you could take.” Thrust. “A pounding from me.” Thrust. “For hours on end.” Thrust. “Every day.” Thrust. “Until the end of time.”

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