The Box

Customer satisfaction

by BRK

During his time in Bucharest, Peter is experimenting with his magic, infusing the clothes in the shop he’s working at with special transformative properties. What he doesn’t expect is for one of his customers to come back and confront him over what Peter had done to his junk.

Added: 21 Mar 2020 2,795 words 3,067 views 3.2 stars (5 votes) This story was commissioned via Patreon.

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This story features Peter Burgess from “The Box”, and takes place during his time in Bucharest as described in the flashback in Part 5 of that story.
I
“I know it was you.”

Peter looked up from the pile of jeans he was straightening—his jeans—to find a powerful-looking man glaring at him from under sexy dark eyebrows. His pulse picked up as he straightened and held the other man’s gaze. He’d been experimenting with his enhancement-infused clothing for a month now, taking over the weekend shifts at the kicky, moodily-lit hole-in-the-wall menswear shop in downtown Bucharest, not more than five blocks from the vast, magically hidden ultima-thule underground archive where he’d found the latest key to unlocking his abilities, and a little part of him had been wondering this whole time if any of his unknowing subjects would ever track their unexpected gift back to him.

Now, it seemed, someone had. A very large someone.

Not that the late-twentysomething gentleman standing stiffly before him in an expensive-looking XXL burgundy-black dress shirt, deep navy slacks that clung to his hard thighs, and dark brown boots was a hulking, looming ogre. He was six feet or so, just under Peter’s height, and was simply packed with impressive muscle like it had been laden on with an ice-cream scoop and pressed down hard and round, crafting something hefty but yet strangely perfect, his classical proportions amplified. He remembered this guy. He remembered thinking that he carried himself like someone who wasn’t used to how much muscle he had, like he’d worked out so passionately and so relentlessly, driving himself bigger with every pounding, unforgiving workout, that when he’d hit 225 pounds the gym had just given him an extra 25 pounds of iron-hard muscle as a rewards bonus.

Peter wanted to take credit for all that beautiful muscle, but in fact his nascent magic had nothing to do with it. The truth was that the whole month he’d been here he had been focused exclusively on cock. All his experiments in fashion-transmitted transformation had been aimed at different enhancements to that particularly compelling aspect of the male anatomy. Most of the changes he’d induced were subtle—an inch here, a bit of girth there, an uptick in stamina—but he hadn’t been able to resist escalating his own work with a line of trousers that brought about a truly remarkable change: two ample, upsized cocks instead of one. He knew exactly which trousers he’d infused with the spell, too. He was looking at them. Or, rather, trying not to look at them as he held the steely, cold-ocean-blue stare of the man in front of him.

He had a thick, dark beard, carefully trimmed, that seemed to go with his bristling eyebrows and his bulging physique. He had to be hairy under those nice, extra-big clothes, Peter thought. His equally dark hair was thick and lush as well, close-cropped on the sides and brushed into a swell on top that drooped in a Superman curl over his forehead.

Peter kept his expression bland, though inwardly he was giving himself a slow smile. Poking a bear was never a good idea, especially when the bear could obviously take care of himself and was standing only a foot and a half away. And yet… Peter was suddenly very curious how much he could get his burly visitor to say out loud. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir,” he said, in his calmest, flattest customer-service tone.

The big man’s eyes narrowed infinitesimally, as though he were disappointed Peter was playing dumb. A beat passed. Then: “You know,” he said, his basso voice like the scraping of iron on concrete.

Fuck, Peter was getting turned on. This man wasn’t his usual type… though he’d always kind of wondered what it would be like to have a body like that. Quality and quantity enhancement was great, and he had a few other tricks up his sleeve he’d barely had a chance to play around with, but he really hoped that if he kept uncovering secrets his magic would evolve enough he could change himself into anything. Normally, though, he was more into fresh-faced jock types, like… well, like Steve had recently been turning himself into. Thinking of going back home to Steve—but, no, he wasn’t ready yet. For now, he was here in Bucharest, in an empty upscale menswear joint, trying not to get too aroused while staring into the eyes of a sexy musclebeast who’d come to confront him about his special line of dick-doubling trousers.

Peter couldn’t help it. He let his eyes drop to the other man’s weighty crotch. He couldn’t see them, but they were his handiwork. Two meaty wangs, thick as anacondas, with veins winding lazily up their long, ponderous…

Suddenly the other man was moving, taking a step toward him, into Peter’s personal space. Peter’s eyes jumped back up to the other man’s, and those ocean-dark blues no longer seemed cold. “You sold the pants,” the other man said. A statement, not a question.

“Yes,” Peter said, not looking away. He wondered at the thrill of pleasure coursing through him. The stranger was almost looming now, despite their similarity in height, thanks in part to shoulders a good 30% wider than Peter’s. Now that he was close, he could smell him as if all his air was this guy, and he smelled like earth and sweat and spice and invitation.

“You are… responsible,” the man said. Again: not a question.

“Yes,” Peter said. He was waiting. He could see it coming, and he was waiting for it. Both of his own dicks (long, but slightly svelter than the ones his erstwhile customer now possessed) were as hard as they could get tucked away as they were in his tight black jeans, and he had no doubt the other man was experiencing the same problem.

For a long moment they stared at each other. There was no soud but the distant noise of the street outside. Then, quiet but fierce, the man growled, “What else can you do?”

Peter finally let himself smile. “I don’t know yet,” he said, just a hint of saucy in his voice. “What would you like me to try?”

The other man stood close, still not moving, but his demeanor shifted. His focus slid from combative to assessing, his eyes falling from Peter’s and sliding down his rangy, tightly muscled form, accentuated by his soft, snug long-sleeved tee and equally cozy jeans. Perhaps the other man noticed, now, the subtle peaks of his tinned nipples, or the compact bumps of his cobblestone ten-pack, or the extra finger he wore on both hands. But he seemed to be looking deeper, and as he caressed his eyes back up Peter’s frame, Peter suppressed a shiver at being so thoroughly appreciated with a single look.

“You are very good-looking to me,” the other man said, low and rough.

And suddenly Peter understood. His smile softened. “Is this what you want to try?” he asked. “Tired of being big?”

“I like being big,” the other man replied quickly. “But… yes. I want to try.” The thick eyebrows lifted, and he swallowed, as if suddenly realizing how much he had confessed. “Is that something you—?”

Peter nodded. “I think so,” he said confidently. “I have to say,” he added, glancing down at the man’s sculpted, brawn-dense build, “I’m motivated to make it work.” He cocked his head slightly. “What’s your name?”

“Marius,” the other man said solemnly.

Peter gave his own name. The air between them seemed to be heating. Marius’s face seemed closer, or perhaps both their faces were slipping forward. They were about to kiss, as if their lips meeting hungrily had been foreordained the moment Marius set foot in the store a second time.

Guys liked kissing Peter. It tended to happen fairly often. Constantly, even, if he wasn’t careful.

That gave him an idea. He used one of the surprise extra tricks he’d discovered almost by accident very early on and took his mind out of time for a moment… because really, it’s rude to make people wait while you cast spells. He took a moment to appreciate his and Marius’s stilled forms, only a few inches from kissing hard and deep, and felt another huge rush of arousal. With an effort he turned his thoughts to the spell grimoire he’d uncovered here in Bucharest and which he’d absorbed fully into his own psyche for ease of future consultation. He thought he remembered seeing… yes. There were two spells he needed: one to give Marius (and himself) what he wanted, and one to invest that spell, not onto clothes this time, but into his own saliva.

He took his time, weaving the spells carefully so that they’d have no surprises, then, when he was satisfied, he turned normality back toward them.

They were so close. Marius was radiating heat, his intoxicatingly many scent winding through Peter’s nostrils and straight into his brain. Peter gulped, his heart pounding hard. He’d never tried anything like this. Their lips met, and Peter closed his eyes.

The kissed for a long time. It was sweeter and softer than Peter expected, though Marius’s tongue was just as aggressive as he’d expected. Then, Marius’s tongue seemed to get longer… a lot longer… no, that wasn’t Marius’s tongue. That was Peter’s.

He opened his eyes to find himself looking into his own irresistible face—loose, blond hair, milk-chocolate eyes, lips he could barely keep himself from falling back onto… But the man in Peter’s body stepped back from him, his eyes widening as he took in the muscle specimen whose powerful, very aroused body Peter was now occupying.

“God,” Marius said, only he said it with Peter’s smooth baritone voice. “Is that how big I am?” As if he couldn’t help himself he moved closer and started unbuttoning the burgundy-black shirt he’d come in wearing, until the magnificent, beautifully proportioned, muscle-swole body Marius had spent so much effort building and crafting was revealed to the open air, as it should be, its soft, dark pelt ready to ripple in any breeze like the grasslands of a savannah. Peter let the silky shirt fall down his arms and drop to the floor behind him, basking in Marius’s self-reflexive gawking.

Peter smirked at him. He felt amazing, like he was in a body that was supercharged with strength and energy. He he was certain not only could he lift his old body, he could lay down and do bench presses with it. He wanted to exert his strength. He was made of muscle… wide shoulders, thick arms, ponderous pecs, tree-truck legs, round ass, granite eight-pack. Fuck, his lats were so wide they were pushing against his extra-beefy arms. He needed to do stuff with this body. More than that, he needed, very urgently, to have stuff done to this body.

“You want ‘big’, little guy?” Peter taunted playfully, taking a moment to revel in his new deep, gritty voice. He reached for his trousers and started rapidly undoing the fly. Marius gaped, looking around, but Peter wasn’t worried. He’d had sex right here in the store a few times—being inescapably alluring sometimes led to that—and the one time they’d been interrupted, the intruder had happily watched, hauling out his big erection and lazily stroking himself until they all came together, then left without a word.

With considerable difficulty Peter prized both of Marius’s massive dicks from the confines of his underwear and trousers, watching them inflate in seconds to total, stell-hard erections sticking straight out in front of him. As if it were automatic, Marius dropped to his knees on the carpet in front of him. Then he stared at the two cocks in front of him, stymied.

“Do you want—?” Peter started to ask in his new, low voice, but Marius interrupted him.

“Don’t ask,” he gasped. “Just do.”

Fuck, that was unexpected. And wildly, insanely hot. Peter felt like his two mighty Marius-cocks actually swelled a little in size and hardness just from how hot that was.

He placed both his hands to either side of his own impossibly handsone face, then took himself out of time again. Another new spell, this time invested in Marius’s hands. When he came back, he watched as the head he was grasping shifted and became two.

Peter took his meaty hands away, and instantly Marius’s sweet Peter-mouths were wrapping themselves around the heads of his dicks. Peter almost cried out—it felt so good, being double-sucked when he was this turned on, that he had to force himself not to cum. Marius pulled back, sensing Peter’s distress, and spent some time teasing Peter by sliding his mouths up and down his bulky, rigid shafts. Then he started licking at mouthing Peter’s weighty, tightly contracted balls. Meanwhile, he’d fished out his leaner, longer Peter-cocks and was stroking them avidly with both hands as he tantalized his own (temporarily former) body.

“Stop fucking around,” Peter gritted out, his fists clenching at his sides. Marius laughed and then, suddenly, engulfed Peter’s giant Marius-dicks and slid all… the way… down, until his mouths were squeezing the bases of Peter’s erections. Never before had Peter been so grateful for his innate capacity, improved by a considerable amount of practice and just a little bit of magic, to take gigantic, hard cocks down his throat (and, naturally, up his ass as well).

“Unh, oh fuck, Marius,” he panted. “I can’t hold out…” Marius stroked himself faster as he engaged in skillful and extremely effective deep-throating. Peter gave another inarticulate cry, and then he was blasting hard, soaring through an enormous orgasm like the bursting of a dam. He came in Marius’s mouth until he choked and pulled off, then kept on cumming, painting Marius’s twin Peter-faces with ungodly amounts of hot spunk. Marius was doing no better—the expensive-looking brown-leather boots he’d walked in wearing were currently being soaked with extreme amounts of jizz.

Peter raised Marius to his feet and held him in his mighty arms, Marius’s cum-covered Peter-faces resting against the upper shelf of Peter’s heavy, hairy bare chest as their pulses steadies and they caught their breath. Then they were kissing again somehow, and Peter gave himself over to it, delighting in kissing both of the sweetly gorgeous faces at once, then each in turn while the other nuzzled his jaw and neck, until he realized they were both hard again and nothing else was going to get done that day.


Peter locked up the shop and went home with Marius. Marius wanted to stay in Peter’s body for a while, and he wanted to do stuff, so they kept things relaxed and day by day. They went to art galleries, they ate in swanky restaurants, they worked out together at Marius’s gym, and the whole time Marius kept being surprised at how often hot guys ended up kissing those mesmerizingly handsome Peter-faces. If anything, Marius got kissed more than Peter ever had, being possessed of twice as much hot visage as Peter had been. And of course they had lots of sex—every kind of sex, and everything that Peter did to the body Marius had borrowed, Marius loved.

Finally, after a week, Marius was ready. Peter swapped their bodies again, feeling a mixed sense of loss and relief at being back in his own lither frame, though it wasn’t quite the way he’d left it. He ended up keeping the two heads for the rest of his time in Bucharest (and enjoyed the same uptick in sweltering-hot kisses Marius had in Peter’s body), but he reduced the number of arms and legs to four, and made sure his soft cocks weren’t hanging any lower than his knees, just for practicality’s sake.

Marius, meanwhile, seemed finally at home in his usual body, having spent a whole week appreciating it from without. Peter stood in the shop and watched him go, sharing a final wave. He turned away, smirking, and wondered just how soon it would be before Marius discovered that the secret spell Peter had infused into those beefy, talented hands was still there, ready and waiting for Marius’s next amorous encounter…

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