Egregious Fantasy

by BRK   

Seth lives a normal life in a humdrum world, until he happens to run into a guy who in every way surpasses anything he’s ever dreamt of.

It was a normal day. A day like any other.

My alarm went off at 7:30, like usual. I found my phone, focused on it blearily long enough to thumb-kill the tinny rendition of Open Mind by WonHo, checked the time, and set it back on the nightstand. I looked down the bed, impassively noting the slow-bouncing ridge halfway to my feet, like a lizard doing push-ups under the duvet. Morning wood, also like usual.

I reminded myself for the nth time of my plan to start getting up earlier so I could deal with it, though so far I hadn’t gotten around to it. To me morning wanks while you’re still half asleep were like coffee gone cold. A blow job would be another story—something to get the heart pumping. Even a rut along a nice firmly walled buttcrack. Or sliding my cock between a pair of smooth, supremely thick pecs, the crevice deep enough to feel like penetration, muscles squeezing my long, hard dick, taut balls smacking gently against the cliff-like undersides…

Damn it, turning myself on more was not helping me get my day started.

Tossing the covers aside, I climbed out of bed and stalked to the bathroom, resolutely ignoring the erection jutting out before me like a flagpole on a bank building. As I went about my ablutions I started planning the day ahead, and by the time I’d showered, dried, shaved, and brushed my teeth, the mundanity of my waking life had settled onto me enough my tumescence had receded, my latent horniness not doused but banked, for now.

Wiping my mouth, I gave my reflection a crooked smile. Reality, what a buzzkill, I thought, amused.

I went to pull on clothes and get going. My workplace, a moderate-to-high-end web design firm situated in a huge ex-industrial loft space full of hardwood floors, high ceilings, and picturesque brickwork, was mostly in-person but didn’t require business dress. Still, I did prefer to look presentable. I found my favorite dark jeans—the ones that made me look like I had a rounder butt than I did—and rifled the drawers in my bureau until I found the dark blue fitted henley I liked. As a trim, lean, well-proportioned thirtysomething I could get away with it. I wasn’t built or buff by any stretch, but I looked okay in a tailored shirt. By my reckoning, I was the second-best-looking guy in the office, which tells you as much about the office as it does me. No dream dudes in my world dancing next to waterfalls or saving the world in strategically ripped costumes, just everyday guys and dolls paying bills and getting through the day.

Socks, boots, pocket stuff. A minute to check my hair (I kept it short enough it didn’t need product, or combing even, really), grab my rucksack from the kitchen table, and I was out the door by 7:59. Like usual.

Work was work. The morning was spent engaged in long stretches of script coding, mostly utilitarian and repetitive stuff but tricky enough to require focus, punctuated by the occasional mini-crisis. Danielle couldn’t keep the charting software from crapping out on her station for the business analytics site she was working on, and asked if I could help sort it out. (Turned out she had an app conflict.) Ashok was getting client instructions that made no sense and had to be thrashed out in the group team-chat. My own test runs kept erroring out, and I was becoming increasingly frustrated until I found the blank row in the dataset that was sending everything out of range. With a feeling of mixed exasperation and satisfaction I killed the blank row, mounted the site on the testing servers, and heaved a sigh of relief as the proto version of our department store client’s refurbished cutting-edge shopping platform unfolded on my 38-inch ultrasharp curved monitor in all its taupe-and-dusky-rose-themed splendor.

By then it was past time for a well-deserved lunch break, so I locked my screen and skipped down the two flights of stairs to the street, headed toward the luncheonette a block down. The streets were teeming and the restaurant was packed—usually I went earlier than this when it was less busy, I guess—so I elected to get my lunch to go and eat it on the “terrace,” otherwise known as the roof of the second floor of our loft building (the lower floors being about 20% longer than the third, fourth, and fifth, which were added later). The firm had set out tables and chairs and had occasional luaus, potlucks, and other social events there. Mostly we used it to get away from our desks for a bit.

White bag of greasy goodness in hand, I was back in the lobby and pulling open the heavy fire door to the stairs, terrace destination in mind—the building had an elevator, but it was small and slow and no one used it—when I felt another hand grip the door from behind and above, like someone was wanting to keep the door open and follow me into the stairs. I turned idly to check who was behind me, and what I saw made me freeze in place, gaping. Literally gaping, for possibly the first time in my life.

I love guys. Big guys, muscular guys, beautiful guys. But I have a particular thing for muscular, beautiful East Asian guys. Call it a predilection, call it a fetish, but hot, ripped guys from that part of the world have always turned me on like nobody’s business. I got into Power Rangers late, in high school, entirely because of Yoshi Sudarso. I read a lot of manga and manhwa, always the ones with ripped, shirtless heroes. I watched kdramas for the shower scenes. (You know, when the story gets to that point where the rich chaebol CEO has encountered the female lead and is annoyed by her existence for some reason and he has to work through his feelings in a shower with strategically frosted glass doors as water runs lovingly over his firm chest and rippling abs, his head tilted back in handsome, vexed rumination.) In The Fast and the Furious I was the one cheering on Johnny Tran, waiting patiently for the scenes with Rick Yune sporting that sweet black tank top.

All those guys, all those fantasy dream men, had nothing on the man standing close behind me, entering my life like a sudden manifestation of a long-forgotten prophecy.

He was tall, taller than me by a head and a half, so my first impression was his chest. And what a chest. I’ve seen muscular men, but this guy had gotten all the swole I thought was possible and then pushed it even further. His pecs erupted from his chest like he was trying to see how thick they could go, stacking inch on inch, the muscle-piles straining at a thin, long-sleeved tee shirt so tight it looked almost painted on and so blinding white it made his skin stand out as pure sunlit gold. The chest mesas in question (how much I wanted to touch them!) stood out so far and so thick they cast actual shadows from the lobby’s stark overhead fluorescents over the chiseled ten-pack clearly visible through his clingy top. Of course his pecs made those wrinkle folds across the center of his shirt that said These Are Pectorals—those were so hot to me. I enjoyed seeing big-chested men in clothes as much as I wanted to enjoy what lay beneath them.

His arms and shoulders were as impressive as his pecs, every steel-hard curve I could have desired present and exaggerated to create an even more perfect aesthetic than I had known existed. The slope of his traps alone, emerging from the wide neck of his tee to full, delicious exposure, was, by itself, enough to get my cock swelling to full and painful hardness in my jeans.

I kept looking up, drinking in his boyishly cute, ridiculously attractive face. He had the sharp jawline and high cheekbones and ultrasmooth skin and those dark eyebrows I loved, the overall effect being not forbidding or aloof but infinitely calming and welcoming. His shoulder-length hair was bleached a natural-looking buttery blond—funnily enough he was blonder than me, my own dirty-blond coloring being dark enough I might as well cave and call it brown. I lit on those beautiful brown eyes, and I was gone. Just gone.

Then he smiled, a huge, megawatt smile that hit me like the jolt of a defibrillator. I smiled back, entirely on automatic. “Going up?” he asked in a honeyed, melodic voice that went straight to my balls. He said it as though I were holding an elevator door for him, instead of a stairwell fire door.

The joke didn’t even register for a second. My brain was too preoccupied by how much the sound of his voice turned me all the way on. It was more baritone than bass, resonant rather than super-low, and the fullness of it saturated my nether regions with pure sex. I swear, I almost came in my pants just from hearing him speak.

As my cock twitched and the moment stretched, I sensed motion below and looked down. I had to hold onto the door, suppressing a gasp. He had—his bulge—fuck, I can’t even describe it. Instead of jeans or trousers he was wearing loose gray nylon jogging bottoms, which though not as snug as his top still showed off his impressive thighs and calves, and probably, I had no doubt, a magnificent ass. The thing was, the bottoms weren’t loose everywhere. Snaking down his left pants leg was the biggest bulge I had ever seen. It looked impossibly thick—even if that thing was soft, and I didn’t think it was, entirely, I could tell by looking at it I wouldn’t be able to get a hand around it—and long enough the print of his wide head through the cloth was not just down to his knee, it was an inch past it.

Then the massive thing twitched, flexing against the fabric of his pants leg, and I stopped breathing for a second. It was like it was greeting me. Hello, it was saying. Do you want to play?

As I caught my breath, a tiny spot of wetness appeared just below that epic dickprint. Oh… my… god.

My heart pounded very loudly, once, then twice. Finally my brain kicked in and I very belatedly realized I was staring at another guy, at his dick, in public. At my work. I snapped my head up to meet his gaze, expecting to see anger or impatience. To my amazement he was still smiling that heart-tripping smile, though something in his eyes matched the interest and blatant invitation his cock had just extended to me. His gaze was just that bit more intense, his brown eyes that bit darker.

“Shall we?” he intoned, and I nearly lost it. Shall we… what? Fuck? Right here, right now? Can we? Please?

Then the big guy let his smile go lopsided and tilted his chin toward the stairs. “Oh,” I said. “Uh, yeah, sorry.” He took control of the door and I let go as he pulled it open all the way. We entered the stairwell, and the door eased back into place behind us, snicking shut and leaving us alone in the brick-lined vertical space.

The concrete stairs were wide enough for us to ascend together, even with my new acquaintance being as big as he was. I forced myself to be a human being and stop being a creeper. Sociable, that was the ticket. I knew I had not seen him before around here—to coin a phrase, I would have remembered anyone who looked like him—so I asked, “Are you here to meet someone?”

Please don’t be a new designer, I begged in my head. If he was a new hire at my firm that would be a disaster. I would love seeing him every day, but I wouldn’t get a lick of work done and I’d have to jack off in the toilets at least five times a day. It didn’t help that as we walked up the steps together—slowly, neither of us wanting to rush the encounter, apparently—I was smelling spunk, and I wasn’t sure if it was coming from me (as a sort of harbinger of a near-future orgasm?) or if it was part of the warm, spicy redolence I could almost literally feel coming off the dream man beside me.

“Yeah, kinda,” he said as we rounded the mid-flight landing and continued upward. Every word he spoke was still resonating in my balls and also, I’d just noticed, my anus. “My buddy is doing a fitness shoot in the photo studio on the second floor,” he explained. “I came to pick him up and take him to his next gig.”

I nodded. Second floor—shit. That’s too soon. “Are you a fitness model, too?” I asked, using the question as an excuse to scope his abnormally muscular form head to toe. Fuck, his abs were tight. He probably didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. Suddenly I regretted the onion rings currently jostling my roast beef sub in the bag from the luncheonette I was carrying, and vowed to pick up some fruit on the way home.

He chuckled, casting me a knowing look. “Naw,” he said. “I haven’t got the, uh, proportions they’re looking for.”

“I’m sure someone’s looking for them,” I said.

We stopped, and I realized we were already at the door to the second-floor loft space. I swallowed, looking up at him. He was gazing intently at me, friendly but serious.

“Are you looking?” he asked.

I want to do more than look, I thought, my cock straining in my jeans, then realized I’d said it aloud. I flushed—it’s embarrassing when your innermost desires leak out of your face. Something moved again below my field of vision, but this time I didn’t dare look down.

“When do you get off?” he asked, eyes twinkling.

My heart stuttered. In about five minutes, if the toilet’s free. “Five o’clock,” I said.

“I’ll see you then.” He winked. “Meet me… where we first met,” he added, as if that were already Our Place.

He stuck out a hand. It was a good two sizes larger than mine, but it wasn’t blocky or meaty. The fingers seemed long and clever. “Andrew,” he said.

I huffed a laugh, embarrassed at having gone all this way and not introduced myself. I shook his hand, basking in the measured strength of his firm grip. “Seth,” I said.

“Nice to meet you, Seth,” he said in that resonant, cock-hardening purr. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“In a few hours,” I repeated.

Suddenly self-conscious, I disengaged and turned away. Wordlessly I started up the next flight of stairs at a fast walk, glad I’d worn my butt jeans that day. The whole way up the flight I basked in the warmth of his stare on my back until I turned out of sight. The sound of the second floor door opening and closing followed a moment later, and I was left alone in the stairwell with my lunch, a pounding, fuckstruck heart, and a dick I already knew would never be able to get enough of the man I’d just met.

That afternoon, the more insidious parts of my brain tried to undercut the floaty euphoria I’d contracted from meeting the guy who’d looked like he’d stepped straight out of Rooftop Sword Master, only with a fat, knee-kissing club instead of a juggernaut warsword.

Getting him to meet up was weird, the doubting thoughts told me. He agreed too easily, they said. We’d just met, and already he was going to be there when I got off, to go and… what? Play canasta? Take a harbor tour? He was as all about sex as I was, and… I mean, yeah, I was fit, decent looking. A catch, for someone who looked like me. Not for someone who looked like him.

Maybe I’m his five o’clock, and that’s all there is to it, the dark corner of my brain tried to tell me.

Thing was, I just couldn’t believe it. The doubts didn’t track in my head. Because I’d felt it. He’d locked onto me. He hadn’t been looking at me like some kind of dissolute rake who passed through men like they were disposable paperbacks, or a callous douche-bro with a thousand asses at his back and call. I’d known guys like that. Dated one, even. Andrew, though…

Andrew had looked at me. Seen me. The heat in his stare wasn’t about looking for a tumble-and-squirt to wile away a gap in his drinking and clubbing schedule. It was discovery and quiet joy and “wild surmise,” like Keats first looking in Chapman’s Homer. In other words, he was feeling exactly what I was feeling.

I was too chicken to actually jerk off in the bathroom in the middle of a busy loft-sized web-design office at a quarter to 2 in the afternoon, which left me permanently turned on, hard and unslaked, for three agonizing hours. I sat nervously at my desk, inched in as far as my chair would go to hide my shame, and mostly failed to concentrate on my work. Every time I managed to stop focusing on my dick for a minute or three, I’d start replaying the encounter with Andrew—the way he loomed over me, the way he smelled, the way I could feel his heat, the swell of his enormous pecs and the twitch of that monster dick—and my cock started squeezing and writhing in my jeans like a newbie wrestler stuck in an unbreakable hold.

Finally it was time. I’d managed to get myself caught up in a debate on the team chat over the kind of green another client wanted as the keynote in their base palette, and had lost track of the time until it was nearly five to. Quickly, I logged out, shut down, and leapt up from my desk, escaping for the stairs with my rucksack strategically positioned in front of me. Andrew doesn’t even bother to hide his, I thought giddily as I waved at colleagues surprised by my unwonted haste. I was out the door and scurrying down the steps before anyone could buttonhole me.

He was there. Andrew was there, leaning against the unfinished slate they had lining the perimeter walls of the main lobby, his broad back to the stonework, one foot down, the other back. You know how sometimes people say some dude casually leaning against something is “holding up the wall”? Andrew looked like he actually could be. Just looking at him, even without any references—like, say, a doorframe he’d have to duck under—you could tell he was an expansion of the ideal male form. Everything about him was enhanced, from his size to his muscles to his cock to his uncanny mesmeric beauty. Starting with—fuck, he saw me and smiled, and my heart just about stopped.

I’d sort of clocked his big white sneakers before when I was gaping at his dick, the way you sort of notice the stuff in the background of a famous painting like the Mona Lisa, but now I deliberately slowed as I exited the stairwell so I could admire everything. His sneaks were high-end and sporty, very cool, and clearly conveyed that he had large, sexy feet that he liked to house in comfy-premium footwear. Maybe he’d leave them on during sex? Or just the socks? Bare would be hot, too. Fuck, I wanted his feet all three ways.

His legs were long, with thighs and calves that were powerful but not enormous. I wanted to see him walking, running, sprinting flat out as tirelessly as a—Fuck, I haven’t seen his ass. How awesome must his ass be?

And then there was the cock. I walked as slowly as I could, trying to look at his bulge objectively rather than gape and drool. Before I’d seen it sort of from above, but on approach like this it was clearly a colossal piece of meat. Not only was it bigger around than the thickest part of my forearm and considerably longer than any cock had any right to be, from this angle I could see it was bowed out toward me and twitching subtly against the fabric of his sports bottoms, like it was bent on getting hard and only the pants leg, and maybe a bit of iron will, was holding it back.

I had a strong suspicion that that beast never got soft, not truly, not even in sleep. Corollary: I bet it was always ready to ooze, too. It wanted to leak, to spray, to erupt with ridiculous quantities of spunk. It was a set of hypotheses I was desperate to test.

As I got close to him my self-awareness snapped back into place—I was staring again, damn it!—and I sent my eyes skidding up his incredible body, lingering over the disproportionately huge pecs only a second before meeting his gaze with an appropriate dollop of chagrin. He was giving me a knowing smile, like he’d known just what I was looking at and what I was thinking and didn’t mind a whit.

“Hey,” I said.

As I got close enough to look up at him I realized his eyes were aflame with lust. Seriously, his stare was so intense I would have boned up in ten seconds of that look, if I weren’t already painfully stiff.

We locked gazes for a long, long minute, the air between us hot and charged. Then he lifted a hand and slipped it behind my skull.

My pulse went into overdrive as he leaned down toward me, the warm yellow locks of his shoulder-length hair falling forward as he brought our lips together. I tried to help, going up on tiptoes in my scuffed leather work-casual boots and grabbing his steel-hard shoulders to help pull myself a little, but he had to do most of the work of bringing our mouths into glorious, blissful union.

It was over too soon. We separated, and he straightened a little, though not all the way, eyes boring into mine. He was so beautiful, his eyes full of craving and his buttery bleached hair loose and his sharp jaw smooth as silk. I wanted to cry. I was still grasping his shoulders, and his traps gave as I squeezed. It was a relief to feel it, because it meant he was human. Flesh and blood. So much perfect flesh.

Somewhere in the distant reaches of my peripheral senses I was aware of groups of random people leaving the building. My rational brain wanted to remind me I was in reality and my new man, flesh and blood though he may be, was not as drab and prosaic and as practical as the rest of my existence, but I wasn’t listening. We were fixed on each other, and that was fine.

He smiled, and it was his turn to be a little chagrinned at how needy he was being. Maybe he was thinking about practicalities and mundanities, too.

“You hungry, Seth?” he growled, and I swear in my current state his voice was like full-on quadrophonic with fucking subwoofers the way it was filling my entire body.

I stared hard at him, feeling more that seeing the straining of his giant dick and the unconscious flex of his inches-thick pec-mesas. “So hungry,” I said, more emphatically than I’d meant to. He’d been talking about food. Not me.

Andrew chuckled, caressing the back of my head with his fingers. “Let’s find someplace more private to get to know each other, then,” he said.

I wasn’t quite cognizant of what symbology might have been attached to going to his place as opposed to mine for our rather urgent first tryst, but the fact was, his apartment was closer. If I’d thought about it enough it would have occurred to me it was likely he had the bigger bed. Certainly this turned out to be the case when we bustled in, barely getting the door shut before he was backwards-walking me to the bedroom, kissing me all the way, ending with him tossing me on the king-sized mattress that dominated the neat-as-a-pin, simply furnished bedchamber. He stood back, already pulling at his body-hugging white tee and toeing off his big sneaks at the same time. I wanted to watch, and I wanted to strip, and it only took me a second to remember I could do two things at once. My boots thunked on the ground in succession as I kept my eyes on the show, enjoying every inch of his golden-skinned body reveal.

Once he was topless we both took a moment to admire his herculean proportions and the chiseled sculpt of his abs and delts. We grinned at each other, loving that we were both hot for his body. I wanted to laugh. I was on the verge of saying sonething silly, like “No more shirts for you,” except he had looked damn good in the shirt.

I realized he was looking at me now, still shirted, his tongue literally sliding along his lips in anticipation. I didn’t know people actually did that. He went for the snap of his waistband, his eyes entirely on me, and I shucked my blue henley as quickly as possible, not wanting to miss a second of act two.

He wasn’t wearing underwear, because of course he wasn’t. Why would he?

He started the pants sliding down slowly, looking up to watch my reaction with obvious relish. I unbuttoned my jeans blindly, not taking my eyes off him. He freed his orange-sized balls and then began revealing his forearm-thick, veiny, utterly beautiful shaft, inch by fucking inch, hampered only by the impatience of the organ in question to be free of all constraint. I pushed my jeans down and then my boxer briefs, my dick springing free with such force that it spattered my chest with three separate drops of precum.

Finally Andrew got as impatient as his dick and dropped his trousers to the ground, letting his cock jump upward to an almost vertical position directly in front of him. I was panting as I stared at it. Now it was as thick as his forearm and curving back gently toward him, the nearly fist-sized head in easy reach of his delectable mouth—all he’d have to do was pull it forward. Fuck, I thought, not only is he huge—he’s a grower. His balls looked bigger, too, more like navel oranges than regular oranges in size. I could almost sense how packed with man-juice they were. Already his cockhead and upper shaft were slimy with precum. How much cum does he make when he nuts?

Shucking my pants and briefs off me and tossing them aside, he made to move onto the bed. I stopped him with sudden “Wait!” He looked at me, surprised. I smiled wickedly. “Turn around.”

He beamed at me, making my heart trip again, then did a slow turn, showing off the goods. Fuck, he was magnificent. His ass was perfect—high, round, and thick. How does he walk around in regular clothes, even when he’s flaccid, or as flaccid as he ever gets? I wondered as he smugly finished his three-sixty. What does he look like in shorts? Fuck, what does he look like in Speedos?

Another for the list of things I wanted to see. It was going to be a long list.

Before I could say “C’mere” he’d crawled up onto the bed, his heavy, massive cock trailing slime all the way up my skin. I was so hot I almost thought it should boil right off me, but it stayed, his goo marking me as his. He was fully on top of me now, his massive chest brushing against mine, and I grasped his pecs in appreciation, feeling the smooth, perfect skin and reveling in their firmness and give, letting a few fingers slide into the deep cleavage between them. He was as hot as I was, a few beads of sweat already collecting between the heavy muscles.

I looked up at him, expecting him to kiss me, but that fire in his eyes told me he desperately needed to do more than make out. “I think you should fuck me,” he said. He licked his lips, letting them curve a little, and added, “This time.”

I panted. “Fuck, Andrew,” I said.

“Yes,” he said, smiling a little more. His cock was seeping generous quantities of pre, or maybe it was premature cum, too, since had so much of it. We wouldn’t need lube, at least.

I smiled back. “Should I fuck your pecs, or your ass?” I asked.

I was mostly joking, but he just said “Yes” again, his gaze intensifying as his need grew.

He slid down, and then I was pushing my cock between his heavy pecs, feeling his powerful muscle squeeze me as I rutted. I held onto his much larger tool, tilting it to the side a bit so it was out of the way. I didn’t dare to stroke it, though, lest he blast his clearly imminent orgasm all over me before we were ready.

The feeling of me pushing between his pecs was too good. My dick fit in there like a piston, and with the heat and tightness of the narrow passage it was already the best fuck I’d had. “Get me in you,” I gasped. “I’m not going to last!”

With powerful grace Andrew slid forward, reaching behind him to position my slime-covered cockhead directly at his entrance, and then I was pushing my long, hard tool into the most amazing ass I’d ever had. Seriously, I had no idea how many guys Andrew had been with, but it felt like I was breeding him for the first time. I groaned, and Andrew groaned louder, tossing his head back. Knowing I wasn’t going to last I started stroking his cum-messy cock with both hands, driving him to the edge even as I was bottoming out in his furnace-hot, exquisitely tight ass.

“Seth—I—” he blurted, his beautiful face flushed and faintly blotchy, like his massive golden chest.

“Do it!” I commanded. “Blast your cum all over me!”

He shouted, laughing as he came literal fountains of cum, spraying spunk all over me, enough for ten men. I was cumming too, busting all my cum into him, and when I was done he was still going.

So much cum. I loved it. I never wanted to not be covered in cum, holding his big, insatiable, never-soft dick as I gazed into those beautiful, lusty, eyes, the eyes that said he was all mine.

We were snuggling. There had been pizza, showers, more fucking. More pizza. “You like how I look, right?”

I nodded, knowing there was no way words could convey how much of a “no kidding” this was.

He nodded, grinning. “Me, too,” he said.

“Yeah?” I teased, idly stroking his prodigious pecs as I cuddled closer. His cheeks pinked adorably. If I hadn’t known he was genuinely into me and who I was and what I looked like, I would have felt a touch of insecurity I didn’t measure up to this particular rubric of masculinity. As it was, I was mainly curious where he was going with this. “You get off to yourself in the mirror?” I asked, letting my hand slide slowly downwards, stealthily seeking his never-completely-soft anaconda cock.

“I got a lot of horny,” he said, drawing in a breath as my inadequate hand found its quarry. The half-chubbed monster awoke from its doze, straightening and stiffening as it fell back toward Andrew’s incomparable chest.

“Don’t I know it,” I said wonderingly, coasting my palm along the hardening underside of his tool, the gigantic wang already messing gouts of warm, clear precum into his pectoral crevasse.

Andrew licked his lips, and I felt his warmth mounting as his arousal spiked. “Supposedly…” he said, his voice deepening just that little bit that let me know he was really turned on. He cleared his throat as I stroked along his cock, the full length, balls to tip. “S-supposedly there’s this place that’s all about, um, big Asian muscle hunks. The Muscle Café, I think it’s called. Some of the things I’ve heard are a little wild. Maybe a little impossible.”

I climbed up onto him, letting him buck his enormous, now rock-hard and increasingly messy erection into the weight of my body. It felt like he was fucking all the way through me, like I was the sheath for his beautiful, irresistible titanically oversized manhood. I leaned up and kissed him. “I thought this was impossible,” I said, nuzzling his smooth jaw with my lips. “And?”

“I want to go there,” he murmured in my ear. “With you. As a couple.”

My heart soared. As a couple. He’d said as a couple. “And get off on huge hot pretty-boy muscle dudes together?” I asked, pushing up to meet his sweet brown eyes. They were dark with lust and fully focused on my existence alone.

His cock bucked into me, hard, and it felt as amazing as actually being fucked. “I want to see you surrounded by big, smooth, beautiful muscle,” he confessed.

I nodded. “I like this kink,” I said with a grin, my pulse pounding as my orgasm surged up on me. I was close, and he was, too. We’d cum so many times, and here it was again, like cumming was as easy as breathing.

“So what do you say/” he asked, moving his broad hands over my butt and slipping a long, hefty digit into my ready ass.

“Mmf,” I grunted. I let the digit settle in me, then smiled down at him, staring right into his eyes. “Sounds like… a date.”

He pushed in more, and all at once we were both losing it. I bent down and kissed him hard as our cocks burst between us, bucking and jumping against our bodies as he finger fucked me, and suddenly geysers of his hot cum were blasting against our chins, covering us with spunk. We laughed and gasped against each other’s mouths as we came, the scene so hot I was already incredibly turned on even as I emptied my nuts all over my big, beautiful man.

Amazingly, somewhere in between all the bouts of sex that night we actually got some sleep. Maybe it wasn’t actual somnolence so much as delirium, like floating in the infinite luxury of endless afterglow. As I drifted, lost and serene, I knew Andrew’s beautiful body was wrapped cozily around me, and every inch of him that pressed against my naked form added to my fathomless ocean of pure, passive pleasure.

I mention this because I had thought that our first meeting at the fire door, him looming over me, me with my greasy lunch in hand, was the life-changing event from which I would always mark my days as “before” and “after.” It was that, but waking up to him was… even more so. Everything the night before—seeing him naked, making love to him, ordering pizza only to forget about it for an entire half hour until it went cold because I had to, had to, suck his giant cock—all of that had been perfect. It was a dream come true in every way.

Yet in the back of my mind, there had been something almost precarious about it. Dreams are fleeting, after all, experienced and then lost, sometimes barely to be remembered. We had this indisputable connection; I’d seen that over and over, physically having felt it between us. Even so, a tiny part of me couldn’t help wondering if our encounter might not be some kind of isolated fairy tale moment, a wondrous drop of color to punctuate an otherwise gray existence.

We meshed so well, even that was suspect, at some deep level I refused to listen to. I knew Andrew and I were meant for each other. Still, under all the pleasure and rightness of being with him, the nagging feeling that encountering such a fluke of destiny might be, maybe had to be, a momentary thing, a single, self-contained sample of a paradise otherwise beyond the pale for a mundane like me, wouldn’t quite go away.

Waking up to him, the sunlight trickling through the curtains and falling on his loose, buttery-yellow locks and the sloping curves of his neck and shoulders as we curled against each other, put those worries mostly to rest. It was easier to believe, in the first gauzy, diffused rays of morning light, that anything ephemeral about our time together was solidified and locked in. I wanted to believe it. I wanted to believe that he was mine, this beautiful, sweet fantasy man was mine, and I was his. Nothing could be simpler than that.

We were close, intertwined. His arms were around me, one of my legs between his, our faces inches apart. I wanted that to be us. I wanted there to be an us. Watching him, my thoughts processing like cogs and gears in the background of my mind, I decided what this morning light gave was not so much promise or certainty, but confidence. It would be a journey for there to be an us, but the route lay before us. We could make it happen.

Seeing him asleep, his long eyelashes splayed across the golden slopes of his cheekbones, felt like a gift. He looked placid and open, any defenses down. This close I could study the porcelain smoothness of his honey-brown skin and the exquisite curve of his burgundy lips, like something designed on a draughtsman’s table. Adorably, the roots of his hair were exposed with the barest sliver of undyed follicles, hardly more than a millimeter of black to be seen against the rich, warm yellow of his thick, shoulder-brushing mane. I found this sole “imperfection” in my dreamy-hot lover, absolutely unnoticeable at any range past sexy-smooching distance, utterly endearing. It was like a well-groomed teenager who hadn’t noticed he’s outgrown his jeans just enough for a fraction of his ankle to show above his Keds.

As I continued appreciating my reposing lover, very aware of our hard-ons throbbing between us like the most implacable of morning woods (mine rutting against his groin, his against our chests), I was surprised by something I had not noticed before: there was no hint of stubble showing whatsoever, even after an evening and night together. Expecting at least a few bristles to match my own narrow morning expanse of fine blond sandpaper, I hunted for any sign of little black stubs along that mythic jawline; but every inch was immaculate and undisturbed.

Fascinated, I lifted a hand to stroke gently along his jaw, feeling nothing but silky skin without the slightest interruption. He was “as smooth as Tennessee whisky” (a song I only knew from an American Idol clip I’d watched a few times featuring a ripped country-crooning Korean hunk who’d cheekily costumed up as Dante from Devil May Cry).

I was so fixated on my discovery that it took me a few beats to notice Andrew’s smiling eyes were open and watching me fondly. I flicked up at them, guiltily pausing my caress. “Don’t stop,” he said, his low, mellifluous voice churning my balls even more than usual now that it had the tiniest early-morning rasp.

I lost myself in two beautiful cider brown seas for a long moment, then rescued myself with a smile. “Hey,” I whispered.

The pressure of his massive hardness intensified against my chest, as though seeing me, curled up against him in the young light of day, had renewed his unslakable passion all over again. His surging precum (or preorgasm seed overflow, I still wasn’t sure which) slimed the surface of my chest over the sternum, its warmth and redolence reaching me at the same moment, seeping into the parts of the brain most susceptible to intoxication.

“Hey,” he breathed, holding my gaze. He didn’t really have to say more than that—his eyes and his cock were doing all the talking. I drew in a sharp breath, aching for him at what felt like twice the intensity of the night before.

I was pressed against him everywhere, but I had to touch him more. His skin, his muscles, were like a tactile catnip for me. I let my hand slide down from his jaw onto his pecs. These were so huge they actually jutted out past his chin, and my hand landed lightly on the upper surface of his right pec, like a catburglar dropping out of a fifth-story apartment window onto the roof of the three-story building next door. I turned my hand and let it find the shape of his pecs on its own, meticulously mapping them in my mind’s own proprietary high-fidelity mocap software, as much as I could with only one hand free and our pecs pressed gently together like this. I very much wanted to push him onto his back, climb onto him and do it properly, but there was no way I was moving from this miraculous Andrew-cocoon. I’d do it later, maybe pushing him onto the bed like he did me. Or in public, feeling him up in the grocery store or on the train or in the lobby of my office building, letting everyone see what glories were mine and mine alone. Or maybe all of those things. I wanted all the things. Andrew was a gift and a windfall and a fluke and a fantasy, and I wanted all, all, all of it.

His stare heated as I moved my hand over him, almost like they were working their way up to some sort of metapowered rays that would make me smolder inside and catch fire, endlessly burning for him. I was not quite panting, my breathing shallow and silent as I caressed his massive chest and flexed my cock against his lower belly. His hot stare was gratification and provocation all in one.

I licked my lips, and his gaze flicked down to them, thrilling me.

His face was amazing, all the more so for being framed by the impressive curve of traps bigger than my biceps. The caps of his cannonball delts were just visible in the peripheral vision as I drank him in. His shoulders were critical in that moment because they stood proxy for every pound and every square inch of his exaggerations of the masculine ideal—much of which I could feel and all of which I had committed to memory, from his sexy feet and long, clever toes to his Olympian’s thighs and firm, magnificent ass to his ludicrously amazing chest and monolithic, obsession-inducing cock. I could get off on his whole body just looking at his face, knowing all the rest of it was beyond the shoulders that suggested it. Instantly, I wanted to change the desktop and screensaver of every device I owned to just this: his face, his intense, lustful eyes, his hair tumbling across his forehead and along the side of his neck, his lips curved in a soft smile, the luscious arc of his powerful traps telling you what lay below was beyond any physical expectation you might have had before meeting this singular vision.

Incredibly, I realized I was getting close. “I might cum just from staring at you,” I confessed, a little abashed at how utterly gone for him I was. I glanced at those lips again. “Or kissing you,” I added.

He smiled just a tiny, tiny bit more. I loved being so close I could track the corners of his lips pushing into his cheeks, the slightest dent of a dimple just starting to show. “Sounds like a challenge,” he said in his cum-churning voice. He moved toward me and our lips met, a little moan escaping me as I opened for him, feeling his pecs and jutting my cock into him and basically pressing my whole being against him. The way he came with me the moment our tongues brushed, spraying so much hot seed all over my chest, neck, and chin as we gasped into each other’s mouths, felt like an affirmation.

Somehow, I had to extract myself from this immersive new part of my life and go to work.

I knew that, but I wasn’t sure I could make it happen. I eased into it as we showered. (His glassed-in shower was big enough for both of us, but not much bigger. It felt like the box we’d come in if we were a Massive Muscle Andrew and his Li’l Buddy Seth set on display in the deluxe toy aisle, on the bottom row with all the good stuff.) I had my back to the spray, which meant I was only shielding him up to about mid-sternum. As we soaped up each other’s chests I muttered, “You know, I have this thing I do every weekday. It’s one of my many little quirks.” I smiled up at him through my lashes and tried to be extra-cute, in a manga kawaii-panel sort of way.

He smiled that thousand-megawatt smile and my heart skipped a beat, as usual. “I like your quirks.”

“I’m glad. Are you—?” I began, not sure how to ask. Apart from visiting his fitness-model buddy at my building I had no idea what he did with his days. Part of me didn’t want to know. Pretending he existed just for me was fun, but also selfish and slightly creepy.

He shrugged his shoulders, the movement of bulging masses closely resembling a major seismic event. “I have stuff to do, too,” he said, eyes twinkling. He was being cryptic on purpose, the bastard.

“I see,” I answered in a knowing drawl. “So, you’re not going to tell me to forget work and drag me back to bed for a weeklong orgy of constant cumming?”

I felt his never-fully-soft cock twitch against my knees, swelling just enough to slip between my legs all on its own. I shivered, instantly half-hard. “Do you want me to?” he asked.

I stared up at him, hot enough any shower water reaching me past his barn-wide back should have been steaming off me. “Fuck yeah, I do.”

That smile again. “First,” he said, “I want you to do something for me.”

I almost said “Anything,” but for Pete’s sake, we’d just met yesterday. I veered into a “What’s that?” just in time instead.

He licked his lips, just quickly, the tip of his tongue appearing and then vanishing. “I’d love it if you washed my hair,” he said. His tone was low and sultry, like he was asking for a deep and thorough rim job, or something equally intimate.

My brows went up, taking in the tresses in question. In any other context it was such an ordinary thing, and yet with him all I could think was, That’s five minutes of sweet sensual touching. Ten with conditioner, and you knew lush, silky locks like his, cascading like a flaxen-blond waterfall onto his mountainous traps and beyond, required plenty of gooey white loving. The kind that came out of a bottle, that is, not my aching dick, though doing a Something About Mary on him might be fun too.

Something else occurred to me. “You realize, Mister Giant Man,” I purred, “you’ll have to get on your knees for me to reach.”

“Mm-hmm,” he affirmed.

I wiggled my eyebrows at him. “Do it, then.”

He did so, deftly lowering his fantastic body to kneel at my feet. I was awed, desperately hard, and he was hard too, his flat slab of monolithic manhood rising between my legs and nuzzling my ass. He was so massive his head was directly opposite my chest, which I found particularly hot—he was so big, and at the same time I—I, ordinary-sized Seth—was now completely shielding him from the shower spray.

I couldn’t stop finding ways to get turned on by him, but this flipped some major switches deep in my hedonistic, Andrew-obsessive id. If I’d knelt before him—and I had, the night before, so I knew this for certain—I would have been face-to-face with his taut, burgeoning, fist-sized balls. The fact that, kneeling, he was facing the same body part I ended up staring at when I was standing in front of him seemed to fill me with a sudden surge of extra cum to add to all the spunk I would have to mess him up with the next time I climaxed, which, as things were going, was probably going to be in about 29 seconds.

He held my gaze, as lust-fired as I was. “Shampoo’s behind you,” he said.

Somehow I found the bottle—I don’t remember looking at anything but him—and, checking first to make sure it was the right product, I squeezed a generous dollop onto his scalp, knowing it would require a bit. As I started working it it, I couldn’t help rubbing his cockhead, generously covered with a very different kind of ooze, into my crack. I moaned a tiny little moan as I worked the shampoo through his hair, feeling his wide cock-head nosing into an intimate place. It was so big, the glans alone was spreading apart my cheeks in a way that said, This is gonna be you.

He was still looking up at me. “We’re going to have to work up to that,” he said seriously. “I’m really big.”

I paused in my work, holding his head gently as if to keep him looking at me. My previous experiences getting fucked were not many and entirely immaterial. I was an Andrew virgin. I knew what it was like to be inside him—rapture. I wanted him to feel that. I wanted me to feel that. Him, inside me, filling me balls deep until my insides were nothing but giant, throbbing Andrew-cock.

“Do you want to, though?” I asked softly.

I swear, his eyes darkened in a millisecond, like he was instantly overfilled with need. “I want to drill you, Seth,” he said. “I want to nail you to the wall and fuck you hard. I want to make love to you for a week and mold you until you fit my cock and my cock knows only you.”

I gasped. In a sudden jerky moment I grabbed the base of my dick, shampoo foam and all, in a frantic, last-ditch effort to fend off a spectacular orgasm that would have had me cumming all over his sweet, gorgeous face. I pushed the orgasm aside with great difficulty, watching him closely. I expected him to smirk, proud of the reaction he’d instilled in me, but his face remained intent and his eyes wanton—and, I was shocked to see, a little vulnerable. He wanted this. No—he needed this.

I smiled, not lewdly but with lust and affection and a shared commitment to this goal. “Then we’ll start now,” I said. I resumed working the shampoo through his long hair, while at the same time I started maneuvering my ass so this cockhead could find my tight little hole. I had to stand on tiptoes to do it, which seemed like an incentive to get at least a little bit of him into me.

You have received a quest, I imagined the LitRPG version of us reading. Your goal for this encounter is to get your heels back down onto the shower tiles, with as much of that monkey-head-sized cock in you as you can manage. Rewards: Level up to Andrew Cock Repository 2. Bonus reward: Buckets of cum. Do you accept? (Yes/No)

I accept, I told my inner System firmly. Over the next fifteen minutes or so, as I worked his tresses, squeezing my fingers along his scalp and nape in a way he obviously found pleasurable, I moved my ass against the rigid, unmoving stone menhir of a cock, guiding my anus over it, along it, and against it, until finally I was ready to push down onto it. The whole time I got off feeling and looking at him, basking in the constant, never-abating stimulation of his physical size and beauty. I loved seeing him for this angle—all angles, really, but from this position I could look down at his pecs and admire how ridiculously thick they were. Just that was enough to push my arousal into the red zone, and there was so much more to him that turned me on like I’d never been before.

Finally I let it spread my anus maybe an inch, then two, the very tip of my glans peeping into my innards. I held position, holding my hands on his head and his head spreading my ass just this little bit, for a long minute. His eyes never left mine, watching me with patient fire.

“Rinse,” I said, pulling off him and standing aside to let the spray hit him. He smiled and dutifully washed the shampoo out of his blond locks, and I watched the movement of his oversized pecs and bulging biceps with proprietary appreciation. My hole ached, but not in a searing, you done fucked up way. My feet were complaining as loudly as my ass, frankly, my dogs not liking the whole holding-the-tiptoe-position thing. I told them I was working on it.

I bent to give him a little eye-to-eye smirk. “Ready for part two?” I asked. “Aloe conditioner boogaloo?”

“Bring it on,” he said. He glanced down at his chest-high, ultra-hard monster. “I can’t tell you how much he wants to be in you.”

“Even a little?”

“All the way,” he said. “But yeah, even a little.”

I collected a palmful of conditioner and resumed my position, resisting the temptation to shove the goo up my ass instead. Andrew was producing so much slick all on his own, lube was the least of my worries. I let the cockhead slide up against my anus and push in to his previous partway intrusion, and started working the conditioner through Andrew’s hair. I let the mechanical nature of the work distract me from the sensations I was getting from moving my ass around the cockhead, like I was trying to solve a shapes-into-holes nursery puzzle by forcing the hole to match the fucking shape.

My heel lowered just a little, and I groaned. “I want to kiss you, Andrew,” I said. “I want to be fucked by you.”

His eyes were aflame with lust. “I want that so bad.” Very deliberately, eyes on me as I worked his head and my own ass, he reached up and, very firmly, wrapped his big, long-fingered hand around my crazy-hard cock.

I drew in a breath—and, somehow, this relaxed me. My anus loosened just enough that I could feel most of his glans sliding into my channel. My very sensitive channel.

“Oh god, Andrew,” I gasped. “Oh, fuck, that’s so good. It’s just the head and it feels so—so—”

Something inside me let go and the whole head was in me, my heels flat on the tiles as lightning storms of pleasure electrified me. My orgasm, shoved brutally aside before, now rocketed toward me like a freight train. “Andrew, I’m gonna cum—!”

“Me too babe!” he said, his voice strained. “Get ready!”

He’d barely got the words out before we were blasting cum out of our guts and all over each other, me pulsing in his unmoving fust, him gushering impossible amounts of high-pressure cum deep into my ass. I’d thought I might try to take all of it, but I soon discovered that it’s just as hard having that much cum blasting in you as it is having a cock the size of Andrew’s. I had to pull off him and let him geyser hot cum all over my back, the shaft riding pleasantly against my sore, throbbing, utterly euphoric ass as I bent and kissed him hard and deep, the soft shower spray dousing us the whole time like we were sex freaks it was trying to calm down. Quest completed, I thought happily.

“We’re definitely doing that again,” he said.

“Mm-hmm,” I agreed. “Breakfast?”

“This isn’t our date, by the way,” Andrew said with a wink, looking up from a half-demolished stack of blueberry pancakes, one that had started out the size of a proper birthday cake. “This is just breakfast.”

When he’d agreed to my offer of a morning post-debauchery meal, I’d assumed his very modern and expensive-looking apartment would furnish us the venue and the comestibles to go with it. I’d been debating with myself which way the breakfast options would go, as we dried off and brushed our teeth and so on. (No shaving gear—I’d have to go to work with a faint stubble beard like a wannabe cover model.) Would he be the store-bought bagels and black coffee type? (Very manly.) Or maybe he’d be the romcom perfect boyfriend and whip up yummy Western omelets and buttered brioche from various corners of his unassuming, top-of-the-line Subzero. What I hadn’t expected was a booth at the busy, well-kept dinerant down the block where he was evidently so well known the wait staff and regulars barely gawked at him—meaning I, his companion, was the novelty.

The place was mildly 70s-themed. Not enough to be down your throat about it, but stereotypical 70s colors—avocado, cyan, buffalo, and harvest gold—were infused throughout the decor, accents, and menu design, and the staff uniforms consisted of plaid shirts and chocolate-brown corduroys.

“More coffee?” our wiry server, Shaun, asked, appearing at our table. The place was packed and full of the sounds of people eating and chatting, but it wasn’t noisy enough for it to be hard to hear Shaun or each other. He actually did slightly resemble a taller version of the younger Cassidy brother, so maybe “Shaun” was an assumed nom-de-service. Whatever the case, he was committed enough to the bit to have feathered his auburn hair in emulation of his pop-star/Hardy boy namesake.

“Please,” I answered, moving my ochre-hued mug toward him. I’d finished my bacon, eggs, and toast already, but Andrew was still happily plowing through his not-at-all-short stack. Shaun poured, eyeing me like he wanted an excuse to linger. I’d already texted work I would be a little late, after the shower, and now I was starting to get in the range of milking that word “little” past its usual meaning. “You know,” I said, “I have a picture somewhere of my dad wearing that exact outfit.”

“This old thing?” Shaun joked, finishing his pour and turning to Andrew. “What about you, big guy?”

I glanced over at Andrew, who was, in almost every sense, a big guy. I spent a moment just being awed at how he was he was literally filling his side of the booth. Like, if someone told him to scooch over, he was so tall and so wide, there would be nowhere to scooch. Me, I could have scooched over twice. Shaun and his mythical elder Cassidy brother David could have both joined me and still left room for my rucksack on the seat next to me.

Honestly, facing him like this, I could believe Andrew was built to occupy a diner booth. No gut, so he wasn’t even close to crammed in front to back, his chiseled ten-pack offering plenty of room between table and bod. At the same time, his pecs pushed outward from his body, hovering ponderously over the Formica table. His reach easily encompassed the entire table, from the salt caddy to the metal-trimmed edge against which Shaun was pressing his corduroy-covered crotch. And speaking of crotches, I was very aware of how the mighty goodness of his pecs above the table was mirrored by an equally mighty goodness below. Especially as Andrew’s legs were long enough that his knees were enveloping mine under the table—meaning his fat, thick, never-fully-soft turgid prick was pressing inquiringly against my kneecap, the beastly thing taunting me with its size and its utter virility.

Andrew shook his head. “I’m good,” he said.

“You are,” Shaun purred. He glanced between us. “So,” he asked, the half-full coffee carafe held in mid-air to one side like a fashion accessory, “how did you two meet?”

“Uh…” I hesitated. He clearly assumed we were “together,” and I was still wary enough about this very new connection I didn’t want to jinx anything by playing into that.

Andrew had no such concerns. “I picked him up,” he said cheerfully.

“Not literally,” I put in hastily.

Shaun lifted an eyebrow, and I blushed, because Andrew had indeed hoisted me off my feet up a few times the night before, his thick biceps barely bulging with the effort.

I could feel eyes on me, the regulars gossiping about the man that Andrew had brought with him. Glancing over I caught the gray-haired veteran server behind the counter trading comments with a customer in a ball cap, both turned to look at me. When she saw me looking, she surprised me by tossing me a quick, unrepentant wave before she moved on down the counter to serve another customer.

Turning back to Shaun, I realized he was watching me expectantly. “Andrew was visiting someone in my building,” I explained. My gaze drifted to Andrew, masculine and handsome, those amazing shoulders barely contained in a wide-necked moss-green henley, and my heart started doing that tripping thing. He wasn’t just looking at me, it was like he was imbibing me. Penetrating me. I remembered our activities in the shower, and suddenly it felt dangerous to be in the presence of others. “I took one look,” I said, holding his gaze, “and I knew I had to have him.”

Shaun sounded impressed. “Good for you,” he said, stretching out the words. “I never would have had the guts.”

With some difficulty I forced myself to look up at Shaun, offering him a crooked smile. “I think I’m learning to seize opportunity,” I said. By the balls, I added mentally. The big, beautiful, fist-sized balls. I didn’t say it aloud, but Shaun’s smirk said he heard it anyway.

Andrew’s cock nudged hard against my knee, and I bit my lip, suppressing a gasp.

“Nice,” Shaun said. “Well, I know what I’m going to be picturing when I get home tonight,” he added saucily, glancing between us, before sashaying off to another table.

I chuckled a little as I turned back to Andrew, not quite believing this was my life. Andrew was studying me as he continued eating. He seemed amused by the encounter with Shaun and my effort at claiming him.

I doctored my coffee and sat back against the cushions of the booth, sipping from my mug. I took a second to work myself up and then asked, “So, am I going to see you later?”

He grinned, the power of it thrilling through me like faint, tingly radiation. Silly boy, that grin said, and my insides did a little happy dance. My hard-on, too. Thank goodness for restaurant tables, I thought. Though, sitting here with my boner out of sight was only postponing the problem—I’d have to leave eventually. It’s not like anyone could blame me, I thought defensively.

“Are you free tonight, after work?” Andrew asked, downing another multi-layered forkful of blueberry-studded flapjack.

“You want to have our date?”

“Yeah,” he said.

I drew in a breath. We’d already talked about what our date would be. The Muscle Café. He wanted to surround me with hot, delicious, personal-fetish muscle. It was like him satisfying my core fantasies with himself wasn’t enough. He wanted to escalate them. Grow them to unnatural size, just like him.

“Okay,” I said.

He smiled, a simple, happy smile. “Meet you at the usual place?” he asked, downing the last of his pancakes.

I grinned, entranced, aroused, and exhilarated. “The usual place it is,” I said.

My stomach was tense as I descended the concrete stairs. I had timed my arrival for 4:59 precisely, one minute ahead of our agreed meeting time at the designated location. I resisted the urge to check the clock on my phone at least three times on the way down. I was nervous he wouldn’t be there and certain he would be. My heart was pounding for both scenarios, which was interesting. My worry and excitement were, for once, in perfect sync.

Escaping on time had been a gauntlet. The department store client was taking twice as long as usual to respond to queries; the new hire was setting a record for first-week incompetence (had he fudged his credentials, or was he as thick as a bowl of old oatmeal? no one could agree); the coffee pods were all decaf island coconut. I had just signed off and was literally striding toward the door, rucksack over my shoulder and an I’m done here look on my face, when Amanda tried to get in my way, needing my help getting rid of the black line the scanner-printer was leaving on all of the documents. I slipped past her, not to be deterred. “Clean the glass strip on the feeder intake,” I called over my shoulder, and then I was gone.

Time seemed to slow as I pushed open the fire door, a tempest of thoughts and emotions making it impossible to do anything but move forward. I looked around, and smiled.

He was there.

I walked toward him, trying to keep it cool and not beam at him like an idiot. My practical brain kept trying to keep my imagination in check. This doesn’t mean he’s yours forever, this doesn’t mean there’s an “us.” He just showed up for a date.

The look on his face, though. I didn’t dream the connection. He wants this to work out as much as I do.

I stopped a couple feet away and did a very obvious appraisal. He smiled and spread his hands, helping me in my assessment. Instead of the simple green henley and track bottoms he’d had on this morning, he was now wearing an expensive-looking cobalt-blue top, loose enough not to be a three-D guide to all his muscle groups yet tailored to subtly enhance the magnificence of his every sculpted curve and swell, and pleated charcoal trousers roomy enough to reduce the intrusive presence of his arm-thick anaconda to an understated companion. The shape of his knee-kisser was muted and the dickprint invisible, making me wonder if these trousers had a sleeve for his third leg, or if he’d made crafty use of soft leggings or some other well-practiced means of downplaying his beast when the occasion called for it.

I smiled when I got to his feet. He was still wearing the big, white sexy tennies I liked, the cuffs breaking over cushioned tongues and thick white laces.

“What do you think?” he asked, as I raked my gaze back up to his cocky half-smile. “I, uh, had a chance to go home and change before coming.”

I put a couple of fingers to my ear. “Before what?”

He smiled wider, making my blood temperature rise a degree or two. “So?” he prompted, gesturing toward the outfit.

“You know what you have to do before I can answer that,” I said.

Rolling his eyes as if I were a chore to deal with, he stepped out from the wall he was leaning against and did a slow turn. I clapped and whistled appreciatively as the butt came into view, not caring what the other random people in the lobby thought.

“Superb,” I said honestly. We started slowly toward the glass doors of the building. “So how are we getting there?” I asked, as we exited onto the sidewalk, suddenly buffeted by the noise and warm air of the city street. Andrew gestured toward the black sedan idling at the curb. “Fancy,” I said, teasing him. He opened the rear door and I got in, scooting over as he climbed in after me. I made sure our shoulders overlapped, not that they could do otherwise in the confines of an ordinary car. Andrew was actually a little too big even for the back seat of a sedan, having to rest the back of his skull against the padded ceiling the whole way over. I kind of wanted to see him in a Prius or a Mini, just to get the full effect.

Our destination was down a short, narrow side street in a little-used corner of the warehouse district. I wasn’t even sure the lane we turned down was on the map, and I noticed the driver was not using GPS or anything like that, so he must have memorized the directions. I might have worried that we were being led into a lonely back alley for some nefarious purpose, but then I saw the light streaming from the front windows, and a single, bright neon sign mounted on the brick exterior of a low, otherwise unassuming structure that read Muscle Café. A few men were standing around outside chatting animatedly, both wearing white jeans and ribbed white tanktops that showed off impressive bodybuilder physiques. I drew in a breath—the two massive hunks standing on the pavement in front of the place were a very good omen.

Andrew turned to me, his shoulder pressing delightfully into mine. He seemed excited, too, like he didn’t know what to expect, though he was playing it cool, like I had earlier. “You hungry?” he asked, low and sultry, repeating his playful words from the night before.

I grinned up at him. “Always,” I said.

We got out of the car and entered the establishment, getting a cheery greeting from each of the wide-backed Adonises conversing out front as we passed. Inside was larger than I expected. There were plenty of people, but the mood was relaxed rather than bustling, like the diner. I quickly recognized that the white-and-white ensemble of the two guys outside was the staff uniform. All of the massively muscled, dreamy-faced hunks moving from table to table were wearing it, and all of them looked like they were born to let their lats and shoulders spill from straining tank tops and their asses protrude from any pants they wore.

As we hovered near the door, looking around in wonder, a staff member appeared in front of us. He was Asian and gorgeous from head to toe, about my height, with loose, medium-length black hair, a mischievous smile, and muscles shaped to a perfection that would make the gods and Michelangelo weep. His shoulders were thick and wide, his arms like sculpted marble, his abs flat and rippling. Maybe Andrew had warped my perspective, but on first glance his pecs seemed comparatively demure in his white tank. They were thick and well defined, with tight little nips poking at the cotton fabric of his snug top, but with his arms and shoulders they seemed… slightly out of proportion?

Guiltily, I looked back up at his smiling, deliciously handsome face, wiping away my slight frown. His expression seemed oddly knowing as he greeted us, full of easy ebullience. “Hi there, guys! I’m so glad to see you here tonight,” he said, looking between us. He did seem genuinely excited we’d come, though there was a glint in his eyes, too, as he continued. “My name is Min, and I’ll be leading the team that will be serving you tonight. Please feel free to ask any of us for anything you want.”

A motion caught my eye, and I looked down to see that Min’s chest was quickly inflating with dense, awesomely shaped muscle. He wasn’t just flexing or anything like that—his pecs were swelling with mass, power, and aesthetic beauty as we gawked in amazement.

I exchanged a quick glance with Andrew, who was as shocked as I was. We looked back, and Min was still growing, developing a really impressive set of overhanging pecs, the muscle packing on not just toward the bottom but all the way to the collarbone. I had to compliment whatever force that was accomplishing this for not neglecting the incline presses.

The growth quickly ebbed and stopped, and Min popped his new hooters experimentally, seemingly very pleased with the results.

We looked up at him, stunned. Min’s playful smile had gotten sly, and a little cocky. “Welcome, guys,” he said, “to the Muscle Café!”

As we trailed after Min to our table, I should have been distracted by our attractively muscled attendant’s high, compact, and (appropriately enough) rather cheeky butt, the white jeans clearly having been designed to maximize the effect and draw the eye to these most perfect specimens of tight, gluteal sculpture. I was, a little, I’ll admit, but mostly I was trying to sort out what had just happened. Had I seen what I thought I’d seen? Min had to have been performing a trick of some kind. Like, maybe there was a pectoral equivalent of sucking in your stomach to make the flex more impressive. If that were combined with Min having an unusual swell when he flexed—the pec equivalent of being a grower, not a shower—then I could see that resulting in quite an impressive display.

Well done, I thought, puzzled but impressed. I didn’t know how expensive the Muscle Café was, hidden away off the beaten path with a distinctive theme and uniquely qualified and perhaps specially trained staff, but I was willing to bet the tips were pretty generous.

It was a bigger place than it looked to be from the outside, as I’d already noted. The footprint was oblong, maybe thirty by sixty, with dark blue-gray walls. These were dappled with shifting light gels like at a nightclub club, though the gentle, overlapping movements of the colored patterns were more reminiscent of a kaleidoscope than a disco. One of my pet peeves dining out was the way some restaurants tried to maximize butts in seats by putting as many tables on the floor as possible, so you had to squeeze sideways between yours and the next just to get to your chair (how did Andrew handle places like that?) and during the meal you were as likely to hear the foibles and opinions of the couple next to you as your date’s. This place almost went to the opposite extreme. The only tables were an array of sturdy square four-tops skirting the edges of the room, each standing a few feet apart along the four walls, with gaps for the entrance and host station at one corner and a wide, dark archway leading to the back areas midway across the far wall. In the center was nothing—no tables or anything, not even an eye-catching light fixture, just a smooth, empty, black-tiled space that had an air of being reserved for… something.

The staff, too, stayed nearer the tables as they worked rather than crossing the middle space, the white-clad demigodlings generally keeping to the perimeter like coastal trading ships accustomed to hugging to the shorelines, creating a current-like motion that was a part of the atmosphere in the room. We joined, like salmon making for our spawning grounds. A low, barely perceptible beat clung to the place as if swirling slowly around our ankles, like an unobtrusive house soundtrack. There was a heady scent in the air, too, with notes of seasoned steak and hot caramel, things like that. It was pervasive enough I thought it might be incense, or maybe house specialties being served to all the tables, but I thought I caught a whiff of it as other muscle-sculpted servers slipped by our little troupe to either side on their way to the kitchens or other patrons. Was it something to do with them?

As we moved toward the back corner I noticed all of the tables but the one Min was leading us to were occupied by eager couples and trios being taken care of by one or more members of the crew. From the brief glimpses I got the patrons seemed to skew toward the twenties and thirties with a few silver foxes mixed in, and on the whole were not any harder on the eyes than I was. Their easy attractiveness seemed to complement the playfully exaggerated hotness of the staff, almost as though a portion of the energy of this place was drawn from the natural synergy of beauty and crackling appreciation between the servers and the serviced.

I wanted to try and figure out how this place worked, but I kept losing track of what I was thinking. The full house and the choice clientele did suggest not only reservations but also restricted access, maybe by invitation, though I got the impression Andrew didn’t know much more about the place than what he’d told me. I blinked, finding myself staring at the cleft where Min’s traps met his delts, and how the strap of his ribbed tanktop nestled so pleasingly into it, and how enticing the crisp white of the cotton made his golden, tongue-tempting skin. What had I been thinking about? I’d have to ask Andrew later how he’d, uh, something something synergy of muscle-hotness-beauty something. How long had I been hugely, achingly hard?

Was Andrew getting hard? Would they like that? I had a feeling they might like that. Rocking a thick, girder-hard boner was more natural here than at Andrew’s little diner where we’d eaten breakfast. Not that Shaun would have minded. We should have invited Shaun, I thought, momentarily forgetting this was a date. He’d be so turned on.

Because of the separation of the tables and the way they were positioned, though, when we did sit down the focus wasn’t on being a part of a lucky smattering of muscle-loving diners. The tables were set with their points facing the wall, not the sides, so we were sitting next to each other and facing out toward the center of the room. It felt as though everything that was coming was just for us.

Min beamed at me as I settled in standing right in front of me and bending down to speak to me. The room wasn’t loud enough for it to be hard to hear him, so maybe this was to give a look down the cleavage I had thought he hadn’t had when I first came in. If anything, they looked bigger now. Seeing his pecs again suddenly made him a little uncanny to me, like there was something unbound about his physical presence that my brain was capable of sensing but did not quite know how to process. That scent I’d noticed was strong this close to him, but then, it was everywhere around us.

“I’ll be back with menus and noshes,” Min said, meeting my gaze in a way that hinted once again he knew something of what I was thinking. Maybe he was unbound in that way, too. “Any drinks? Water?” He flicked his gaze between us, though he was mostly focused on me, and I remembered Andrew’s wish in coming here that I be surrounded by hot, delicious Asian muscle. Had he intimated this desire to the staff, or was that a part of their eerie intuition as well? “We have a booze bar, a juice bar, a boba tea bar… pretty much anything you want.” He winked, flexing his shoulders somehow in a way that made them seem to briefly bulge like he’d gotten a huge workout pump only for it to ebb away back into his core. I ordered an iced barley tea, and Andrew asked for apple juice. Min nodded, his thick, silky hair sliding along the sides of his neck, then turned and disappeared into the mix of white-tanked, white-jeaned muscle hunks.

There was something about the random movements of the wide-shouldered staff as they passed our table and the others around us that felt hypnotic and otherworldly, like a panoply of hard, exquisite muscle specifically designed to suborn me in particular into a state of heightened lust and lowered inhibition. The feeling of us being isolated intensified. I started to feel like I’d entered another dimension—one entirely suffused with thick muscle, exhilarating beauty, and slow-burn, erotic need.

Nervously, I reached for Andrew, gripping his upper arm, and the granite solidity of his massive biceps through the thin fabric of the cobalt-blue top grounded me even as it compounded my growing arousal.

He gave me that thousand-watt smile that hit my balls like a taser, making my dick jump in my pants. “He’s hot, right?” he said in that blood-heating resonant baritone, nodding toward where Min had been hovering in front of me, giving me a look down his tanktop.

I swallowed guiltily, clinging to his rocklike upper arms. “I’m here with you,” I said loyally.

His lips twisted and he leaned in toward me. “Can I tell you something?” he asked.

I nodded. He bent a few inches closer, his eyes locked in mine. “I want you to promise me you’re going to let these guys turn you on,” he said urgently, his voice a notch lower than before. “I want you to look at all this sexy, perfectly carved muscle and feel as much of it as they let you. I want you swimming in muscle, as turned on as you can possibly be—because then I’m taking you home and having my way with you all night.”

I stared at him, panting shallowly. He lifted an eyebrow. “Will you do that for me, Seth?” he asked.

I nodded. “Say it,” he breathed, his mouth quirked and his eyes intense. “Promise me.”

I wanted to laugh. We were out here, in public, and Andrew was deliberately edging me with words and hot waiters. “Promise,” I got out finally, matching his crooked grin.

“Good,” he said, leaning back. He flexed his bicep where I was still gripping onto it like an anchor to reality, and I shivered very slightly.

“Aw, I thought you were a chest guy,” Min teased, having rematerialized in front of me while I was talking to Andrew. Our drinks were already on the table, almost like they’d appeared there rather than being brought, along with a big basket of different kinds of yummy-looking rolls, a ramekin of creamy butter, and a couple of oblong laminated menus. They weren’t very big, maybe the size of a standard envelope. I looked over at Min, again leaning over me, and I felt a resurgence of awe at his physique. He was nowhere near as big as Andrew, either in mass or proportion, but with Min—and the others on staff here, from what I could tell as they walked by behind him—every muscle had been made perfect and then kicked that perfection up by another 20 percent.

Still bending toward me, Min made a bulky double bicep at me, grinning wide—not so much cocky as gleeful at a chance to titillate me. “Go ahead, feel,” he said. “Are mine as good as his?”

I tossed Andrew a glance, but he the look he was giving me was half horny, half faux-reproving. “You promised,” he mouthed. Rolling my eyes, as if to say, “Fine, if I have to,” I turned back to Min. Extremely conscious of the throbbing, ultra-hard prick burning away in my lap, I reached up with my free hand and caressed the mighty, alpine peak of his right bicep, feeling the steel-hard muscle under his bare skin as he held it there for me, as steady as Gibraltar.

Physically caressing a big, well-built man and feeling his acres of hard, aesthetic muscle had always been a deep dream of mine. I had gotten myself off so many times over the years visualizing unusually muscular Asian dudes and imagining the feel of their arms and chests and abs under my palms… covetously tracking each muscle’s cuts and striations and swells through feel alone… decadently drinking in their size and power and mathematically idealized proportions in hours-long sessions of worship and appreciation.

And now, here I was, two massive bicep peaks flexing into each hand. I felt the wet precum on my skin as I judderingly doused myself in sex-juice. If anything, my balls seemed to be building on new capacity, swelling with the need that was to come.

I wanted this. Actually, that’s not the whole truth, I told myself. I didn’t just want this, I wanted more. Greedy horndog that I was, if it was my literal fantasy, having grade-A bicep pipe in both hands, my irrational, impulsive response to its unexpected fulfillment was kind of to wish I had more hands, more biceps to feel, more muscle to explore and slowly, almost tantrically, get off on, building up through touch to an epic, utterly blissful climax to everything I’d known and soaking into my infallible sensory recall, ready to be enjoyed again and again.

Min was watching me, as happy as—well, as a muscle-boy who loves getting felt up and knows the guy doing it is turned on well past the bounds of normalcy. “Well, what do you think?” he asked smugly.

I met his gaze with some difficulty, but somehow couldn’t manage to say anything right away. The world had telescoped and it was just us: me, Andrew, Min, and the biceps I was venerating with my lucky, lucky hands.

Min had that knowing look again. “Wait, try the other one,” he said. I blinked, thinking he meant the left bicep, but my eyes unfocused for a tiny fraction of a second and he had another set of arms flexing immediately behind the first, the two bulging limbs so crazy close to each other the sides of the muscle were pushing hard against each other. He could have worn them in the same sleeve, if he wore sleeves, and if the sleeves were the size of pants legs.

I looked at him, startled. “Go ahead!” he coaxed. In a heated daze I slipped my hand back onto the rear peak. It felt exactly the same as the first—which is to say, spine-tinglingly awesome, plus an electric twenty percent bonus awesome. The heady, sexualized scent was all-pervasive, channeling everything in me into sensual appreciation and raw, volcanic arousal. Was that cum mixed in with the odor of meat and spice? Lots and lots of ever-present cum woven into the fabric of this place?

“So what’s the verdict? Front or back?” Min asked softly, his tone intimate and suggestive. I could tell he was just playing and the question didn’t really matter, though the pulse of the flexing under my hand on the rear peak might have been a little competitive. Under all that there was a wisp of innuendo in what he’d asked about “front” and “back,” maybe, but I was happy to for it just to be there without my trying to parse it out.

I met his eyes again. “They’re both great?” I offered inadequately. He nodded, pleased with the answer. He started to move back, and I quickly seized the chance to drop my hand to my lap where it could at least pretend to hide the big, obvious boner along my hip that we all knew was there. Min grinned, straightening, and as he lowered his arms to his sides I saw, weirdly, that they were back to the usual two. It was as though the other set I’d felt up had been mere ephemera, a brief and unreal optical illusion. The heck?

I looked up at him, probably a little wide-eyed. At this point, my brain was racing but not quite in gear. I think it was telling me I could either fret, or take it off the hook for a bit, and given the nature of the stimuli surrounding me the latter seemed the superior option all around. I was still clasping Andrew’s boulder-like upper arm, which was good because without that anchor I might have felt adrift in fantasy.

Min’s pecs were definitely bigger. His shoulders were looking really massive as well, and something made me think he was slightly taller. Maybe it was his abs? The expanse between his pecs and his white waistband looked longer than I’d thought it was, and—shit, was that his package? How had I not noticed the cantaloupe-sized bulge aggressively pushing out his straining, white-denim crotch?

My cock pulsed frantically as I stared at it, awash with lust, and I veered within an inch of actually cumming and blowing my load right there before we’d even ordered apps.

Min looked very please with himself as he nodded toward the menus, smiling at both of us. “The special tonight is—?”

“You?” I blurted out. Half of me was calling him out on being so brazen, but half it was just the crazy amount he was turning me on. Andrew chuckled and flexed again under my hand.

Min winked at us. “Some dishes are… included in the price,” he drawled. “We do have osso bucco over saffron risotto, and braised beef short ribs in red wine. There’s a few desserts to choose from, too, but we can talk about that after you’ve enjoyed everything I bring you.”

We ordered—I don’t remember what, I think I got a variation on chicken satay with little wooden skewers, and Andrew got the osso bucco. Then our bulging, too-pretty foodbringer was gone in a twinkling, moving off and mixing into the trickle of similarly hot servers and staff moving around the perimeter of the room. I turned to look at Andrew, intending to say something about not being able to last with the way Min was laying it on, but Andrew’s gaze was so heated as he stared at me, ravishing me with his warm brown eyes, that I lost track of everything I was thinking.

Keeping his gaze on me, Andrew removed my hand from his thick, hard bicep and drew it under the table, placing it against something that was even thicker and harder that was definitely not his thigh. My eyes widened—Andrew was totally boned. He’d moved his feet forward a bit so that the thing could stretch eagerly past his knee, but I know its size wasn’t nearly as big as it should be. Whatever compression undies or adaptive cocksock he was wearing to wrangle his thigh-length semi (he was never completely soft, his hormones just ran way too high) was now constraining him from reaching his full, ship-mast-sized glory.

I searched his face. Was he uncomfortable? In pain? It didn’t look like it. All I could see in his face was raw, gratified lust.

“I love seeing you so turned on,” he said, his voice curling through my heavy balls like always. “I love how hot you get and how worked up you’ll be for me when I take you home.”

My jaw fell a little. I was so incredibly turned on by his naked, unapologetic desire for me. If I was about to say anything, though (I’m really not sure), the words fell away as the low-key music built up a little, filling the space around me with a steady, throbbing beat. I realized Min was in the middle of the floor, walking toward me, his jeans and tanktop gone and only a stretchy white Speedo keeping him from complete nudity. Two others were flanking him, similarly attired, all of them heading for me. My heart and dick pounding in sync as he approached, hand out in a universal gesture.

I gaped, scared but wanting this with every fiber of my Asian-muscle-fetish body. Grabbing the iced barley tea I swallowed down a large gulp as though it were fortifying whiskey, slammed it back down, and got to my feet. With a huge, happy smile, Min grabbed my hand and pulled me out onto the dance floor to the whoops and cheers of the staff and the other patrons watching from the shadows. Min nodded towards Andrew, drawing him into the group after me with a yank of his chin, and to my delight before barely a beat had passed I felt Andrew’s massive warm presence behind me as we moved into the center of the room.

As the music picked up a little more I realized Min may have shed his clothes because they no longer fit him. Speedo Min filled the space in front of me, even larger than before and still not even the slightest bit bulky or as brutish. Every muscle was exaggerated and mesmerizing, yet he remained as proportionately delicious as Michelangelo’s David and as elegant and limber as a gymnast. His face was even more compelling, drawing me in, his long hair even more luscious, his steak-and-spice scent was invasive and intoxicating, and his swollen junk was shockingly fantastic. The bulge, if you could still call it that, resembled nothing so much as an overinflated beach ball threatening to burst the straining Speedo that somehow fully contained his massive cock and balls. Only the root of his half-a-foot-wide beast was showing above the taut, tugged-down elastic.

I was surrounded by more muscle than even I had ever dreamed of. Min pulled me in, looming over me, his cuboid pecs bigger than my head, moving his hips and shoulders with the low, pulsing beat. I followed suit, letting the tempo inside me as I matched his sways and bucks. Andrew was right behind me, his massive body thrumming with excitement as he drew in close and let me sense his size and the extent of his excitement where it was almost pressing against my ass and legs. The two additional servers flanked me to either side, their physiques swollen beyond human normal but demure compared to Min and Andrew.

As I watched and the music pounded, Min grew. I thought he’d already grown, but the grin on his face told me he’d been saving the best part for this exact moment. As four muscle gods gyrated around me, Min let himself expand inch by inch with every floor thrumming, heart-pounding throb of the music surrounding us. It wasn’t just that his muscles were slowly expanding, it was that he was getting bigger, surpassing my size moment by thumping moment, and I realized with a thrill that he was slowly building himself to Andrew-like magnitude.

“Do it,” Min commanded eagerly. “Touch me. Feel me. Let the sensations into you.”

I didn’t need telling twice. My hands shot up, latching onto his mighty pecs. I grinned as I felt the pulse of their slow growth under my hands, matching the beat that was filling all of us. Andrew was close behind me now, his hip against my lower back, his pecs brushing my head, and that massive tool hard against my ass and thigh.

I was burning up. I wasn’t just facing orgasmic explosion, I felt like I was seconds from conflagration. I moaned, exulting in touching muscle, feeling growth, having muscle and size pressed against me. I had to feel more of his growth, as much as I could. Almost shivering, I jerked my hands onto his delts and grinned as they seemed to push outward against my hands. I could feel the energy seething through the striations, layering on wonderful, sexy new mass pulse by pulse. If I were super-strong enough could I keep them in place and prevent them from growing, or was the enlargement impulse so strong nothing could hold it back?

I met Min’s gaze, loving that he was so thrilled by how into this I was, like his torrential pleasure came entirely from the magnification of my abject and fervent appreciation. Look at that happy face, I thought. You are the ultimate muscle boy. You’re a sucker for worship. You’re made for me to want you.

He winked, once again hinting that either he was a little empathic or my thoughts and fantasies were fucking transparent—possibly both. I grinned wide, sliding my hands down onto his sides. He was taller now, inches taller than me already, so his lats and flanks were in reach. Fuck, the feel of his lats pumping with growth, spreading his man-wings bit by bit, was the hottest thing yet—I loved the feel of pecs and arms and shoulders, but the dramatic, decorous flare of a guy’s lats could turn any man from hot into irresistible. Any guy whose lats you could see from the front was good by me.

I drew my hands down, almost mindless from the pleasure of Andrew pressing against me and the dancers to the side looking like wet dreams and Min growing just for me. My hands reached his hips, and I suddenly realized his muscles weren’t the only things swelling larger than life on Min’s fantasy bod. “Do it,” he urged again, and I looked up at him, shocked. His eyes were glowing with lust as he loomed over me, almost a match for Andrew. His growth seemed to have tailed off, leaving him in a permanent state of massive irresistibility. “Do it, pull it off,” he said. “Feel what I’ve got for you.”

“Do it,” echoed Andrew in my ear, his whole body plastered against me.

“Do it! Do it!” cheered the other two dancers. They were still the size they were, maybe a little bigger, but they were a part of the stimulus Min and Andrew were pushing through our little fantasy muscle cluster.

Totally immersed in this ocean of arousal, I did as directed. Reaching down, I grabbed the narrow elastic of the impossibly accommodating Speedos and pulled.

Unexpectedly, instead of yanking down over the massive shaft, the fabric split apart at the center like a pair of tearaway pants, and suddenly the Speedo fell away and he was naked, and Andrew was naked, and the other two dancers were naked, and it was all okay because I was naked, too, hardbodied and hardcocked and pretty much on fire with how turned on and ready I was. We weren’t dancing now so much as slowly revolving, like the universe we were in consisted of a huge turntable and shifting color patterns and nothing else. Immediately, Min’s cock was raging hard between us, and Andrew’s was pressing against my back and neck. Min’s was topping out at his shoulder, almost as thick as his muscle-exaggerated arm and getting longer and thicker with every pulse.

To my amazement and slight dismay his raging meat was already fountaining arcs of wet, hot goo into the color-shifting air above us. “Don’t worry,” Min said as he pushed it hard against me, putting me at the center of a muscle-and-cock sandwich as his dick continued geysering into the air, covering all five of them with slick globs of redolent spunk. His cockflesh felt thicker between us, as if its size were a matter of whims and dreams. “That’s not cum,” he said, straining as though he were holding back something. “I mean, it is, but I’m not cumming yet. I have so much cum I’m spraying it even when I’m not orgasming.”

He bent, taking my mouth, and when he released me the other two muscle boys took turns kissing me, building up my arousal beyond what I thought were my unsurpassable limits. All four men rocked against me as the universe revolved and Min rained down slick cum onto us.

Min bent to speak in my ear. “Turn around, Seth,” he said.

Shaking, I fumbled my way around to face Andrew. He was smiling at me, and I hugged his giant, towering-yet-familiar prick possessively to me with both arms. I could see the need in Andrew’s eyes—he wanted this in me, almost as much as I did.

Min was rutting messily against my meager back. “I’m going to give you a gift, little man,” he purred, nuzzling at my nape.

I met Andrew’s eyes, alarmed. I wanted giant muscle dick in me more than anything in the universe—but I wanted it to be Andrew’s giant muscle dick to made it happen. As usual, Min was reading my thoughts. “My gift isn’t my dick, little man,” he murmured, and I could feel the smile of his lips against the heated skin of my neck. “It might be too big for you—this time, anyway.” He looked up, meeting Andrew’s eyes. “My cum will help make happen what needs to happen,” he said.

Andrew’s eyes darkened. My entire body was instantly saturated with impossible levels of lust. “Please,” I cried out, gripping hard onto Andrew’s warm, throbbing colossus.

Without another word, I felt Min step back, pushing his truncheon downward along my spine. Its warm, spurting outflow splashed against my skin with considerable force, enough so I wondered just how powerful his actual cumming would be.

Min’s wide cockhead reached my crack, filling the space between my buttcheeks with slick. I stared into Andrew’s eyes, stroking his giant cock. Hands started moving over me, across my shoulders and back—the two dancers’ hands, and Andrew’s hands, which I knew in a second. Funny I could pick out his hands from anyone else’s.

He found my hole, pressing his glans gently in just as Andrew had done in the shower, and then I was filled with gushing warmth. I realized Min was cumming, and then I was cumming, and Andrew was cumming, and everyone was cumming and cumming—

I was in my seat, at our table. Andrew was next to me. We were both dressed, Min was in front of me back to the size and uniform he had had before, the shadowy diners were enjoying their meals and interacting with servers, and most startlingly of all there was absolutely no sign of the gallons of cum that we had released into our little revolving muscle-fuck universe—

Or, maybe that wasn’t true. I felt warmth in me, a tingling, stretching feeling that had no explanation. It was almost like… like room was being made…

My cum will help make happen what needs to happen.

I glanced quickly over at Andrew. His smile was tentative and hopeful, seeming to ask me if what Min had hinted at was happening, back there. Slowly, I nodded, and though I knew I had just orgasmed excessively in a fantasy pocket dimension somewhere—and I truly had, if the afterglow churning through me was any proof at all—even with that my cock started to harden all over again.

He’s going to fuck me, I thought with wonder. Maybe not today, but soon he’s going to drill me deep and fill me with so much jizz even pocket fantasy universes will reel back in surprise.

“There you go, you two. Enjoy your meals,” Min was saying. I looked up at him in surprise, registering the strangeness of his white and white outfit and the comparative normalcy of his previous, pec-swollen form, and he nodded at the table. Sure enough, there was a plate of skewered chicken in front of me, and mess of meat and bones for Andrew.

“I hope everything has been satisfactory,” Min said a little cockily, popping his oversized pecs for emphasis.

I stammered out something to the effect that it had indeed been to my liking, and with another cheeky grin he was gone.

I realized I was pretty hungry, as was Andrew, and we quickly devoured our entrees, the sides, and even most of the basket of rolls, as though unusual amounts of physical replenishment were needed. I had my barley tea refilled four times. Hydration is important!

Finally we were stuffed enough that we left the place with our desserts untouched and boxed up for later, the two of us more focused on curling up together than food or fantasies or sexy go-go boys. Andrew’s hired black sedan was waiting for us, and we climbed into the back, slaked and sated but with all our towering stimulation and desire still present, banked and unbated, waiting for the next explosion.

As I settled against Andrew my phone buzzed, and I pulled it out my pocket. There was a text from an unknown number. Pulling it up, I smiled at the brief message.

Good luck, little man. See you around!

Vote on this story

Metabods is an alternative gay erotica site involving fantasy situations. All relevant characters are intended to be 18 years or older. If you encounter a story in which it appears that is not the case, please use the “Report a problem with this story” link directly under the tag list to call it to our attention, and that story will be placed under immediate review. Thank you.

Three more giant guys by MegaMaker Three More Giant Guys is a follow-up to the collection titled “Three Giant Guys.” These are quick hot stories about guys becoming huge, hot, sexy giants. 3 parts 9,928 words Added Nov 2024 19k views 5.0 stars (4 votes) No comments yet •Always Hard•Cock Growth•Huge Balls•Ball Growth•Huge Cock•Hyper Cock•Always Cumming•Hyper Cum•Public Orgasm•Multi-abs•Addiction•Getting Dumber•Other Mental Changes•Straight to Gay•Hyper Muscle•Pec Fucking•Hyper Strength•Immobility•Muscle Growth•Muscle/Strength•Muscle Worship•Always Shirtless•Public Nudity•Man Scent•Butt Growth•Increased Libido•Getting Handsomer•Gradual Change•Voice Deepening•Getting Taller•Giants•Forced Growth•Plausible Size Difference•Size Increase•Hair Growth/Getting Hairy•Destruction/Violence•Dom/Sub•Nonconsensual change•Nonconsensual sex•Lycra/Spandex•Complete •M•M/M

The real you 2 by MegaMaker Felix has always hated his mutant side, while his boyfriend Orion identifies with it. One night during sex Orion finally gets Felix to accept it. 1,770 words Added Sep 2024 15k views 3.7 stars (3 votes) No comments yet •Always Hard•Cock Growth•Huge Balls•Ball Growth•Huge Cock•Hyper Cock•Always Cumming•Hyper Cum•Public Orgasm•Multi-abs•Straight to Gay•Hyper Muscle•Pec Fucking•Hyper Strength•Immobility•Muscle Growth•Muscle/Strength•Muscle Worship•Always Shirtless•Public Nudity•Man Scent•Butt Growth•Increased Libido•Getting Handsomer•Voice Deepening•Getting Taller•Giants•Forced Growth•Plausible Size Difference•Size Decrease•Size Increase•Destruction/Violence•Nonconsensual change•Shapeshifting•Complete •M/M

The second subject by MegaMaker A college kid named Angel is kidnapped and brought to a facility to become the next test subject for underground scientific advancements. 14 parts 33k words Added Dec 2024 Updated 1 Feb 2025 34k views 4.6 stars (14 votes) No comments yet •Always Hard•Cock Growth•Cock Pumping•Huge Balls•Ball Growth•Huge Cock•Hyper Cock•Cum Milking•Always Cumming•Hyper Cum•Multi-abs•Other Mental Changes•Straight to Gay•Hyper Muscle•Pec Fucking•Hyper Strength•Immobility•Muscle Growth•Muscle/Strength•Muscle Worship•Always Shirtless•Man Scent•Butt Growth•Increased Libido•Foot Growth•Getting Handsomer•Gradual Change•Voice Deepening•Getting Taller•Giants•Forced Growth•Plausible Size Difference•Size Increase•Age Difference•Destruction/Violence•Blood•Nonconsensual change•Nonconsensual sex•Restraints•Lycra/Spandex•Hyper Pheromones•Horror•Complete •M•M/M

Teacher’s testimony by Six Pecs A teacher testifies to having been part of the inner circle surrounding a young man with godlike powers. 12 parts 49k words (#88) Added Aug 2024 Updated 9 Aug 2025 47k views 5.0 stars (46 votes) No comments yet •Cock Growth•Cock Shrinking•Huge Balls•Ball Growth•Huge Cock•Cock Body•Hyper Cock•Nipcocks•Hyper Cum•Nipple Emissions•Public Orgasm•Extra digits•Multi-abs•Multicock•Multiarm•Multilimb•Multitorso•Replication•Other Mental Changes•Straight to Gay•Hyper Strength•Muscle Breast•Muscle Growth•Muscle Theft•Muscle/Strength•Public Nudity•Body Parts in Strange Places•Man Scent•Voluptuous Men•Butt Growth•Hyper Anus•Feeding•Foot Growth•Getting Handsomer•Gradual Change•Transformation•Voice Deepening•Getting Taller•Giants•Forced Growth•Plausible Size Difference•Size Decrease•Size Increase•Age Progression•Age Regression•Human to Inanimate•Hair Growth/Getting Hairy•Hyper Tongue•Tongue Growth•Mouthcock•Age Difference•Incest•Father/Son•Selfcest•Nonconsensual change•Restraints•Rubber/Latex•Absorption•Hyper Pheromones•Infectious•Merging•Shared Body•Goo People•Possession•Gay Pride•Hypnosis•Mind Control•Shapeshifting•High School (18+)•College/University •M/M•M/M/M•M/M/M/...

One more drop by MegaMaker A college water polo player, Rain, is having trouble keeping up with expectations after a lackluster swim season. Afraid of getting cut from his team, he finds a mystery serum that improve his performance. To his surprise it works and his improved performance gets the approval of his entire team and his coach and really attracts the attention of his friend River. Will the attention go his head? Will his team and coach find out? And… will there be any side effects caused by the use of the serum? 16 parts 48k words (#91) Added Mar 2023 Updated 20 May 2023 95k views 4.9 stars (69 votes) No comments yet •Always Hard•Cock Growth•Huge Balls•Ball Growth•Huge Cock•Hyper Cock•Always Cumming•Hyper Cum•Public Orgasm•Multi-abs•Addiction•Straight to Gay•Hyper Muscle•Hyper Strength•Immobility•Muscle Growth•Muscle/Strength•Muscle Worship•Always Shirtless•Public Nudity•Man Scent•Butt Growth•Increased Libido•Gradual Change•Voice Deepening•Getting Taller•Forced Growth•Plausible Size Difference•Size Increase•Hair Growth/Getting Hairy•Lycra/Spandex•Complete •M/M

Out of control by MegaMaker Would you become a titan of muscle and mass if your boyfriend asked you to join him? This is the quandary Bailey faced when his lover, Derick, brought him some strange serums. What would Derick do if he said no? 10 parts 22k words Added Oct 2024 Updated 23 Nov 2024 37k views 4.0 stars (8 votes) No comments yet •Always Hard•Cock Growth•Cock Shrinking•Huge Balls•Ball Growth•Huge Cock•Hyper Cock•Always Cumming•Hyper Cum•Public Orgasm•Multi-abs•Addiction•Other Mental Changes•Hyper Muscle•Hyper Strength•Immobility•Muscle Growth•Muscle/Strength•Muscle Worship•Always Shirtless•Public Nudity•Man Scent•Voluptuous Men•Butt Growth•Increased Libido•Gradual Change•Voice Deepening•Getting Taller•Giants•Forced Growth•Plausible Size Difference•Size Decrease•Size Increase•Destruction/Violence•Blood•Dom/Sub•Nonconsensual change•Nonconsensual sex•Sex-Slave•Hyper Pheromones•Complete •M•M/M

No nut for you by Musclesaber Joey has almost made it through No Nut November without breaking his determination. With his big balls aching for release he calls his friend Brian, who has a good way for him to find some release without losing NNN. 2 parts 8,269 words Added Nov 2023 Updated 9 Dec 2023 24k views 4.8 stars (9 votes) No comments yet •Cock Growth•Huge Balls•Ball Growth•Huge Cock•Hyper Cock•Hyper Muscle•Pec Fucking•Hyper Strength•Muscle Growth•Muscle Gut•Muscle/Strength•Muscle Worship•Butt Growth•Belly Growth•Getting Taller•Giants•Plausible Size Difference•Size Increase•No Nut November •M/M

The real you 4 by MegaMaker Trevor, a mutant and proud thereof, thinks he’ll spend his evening soak in the gym hot tub alone. That’s until a sweet guy named Danny catches him rubbing one out. They have a heart-to-heart and Trevor finds out that Danny wants to become a mutant, too, to be seen as more manly. 7,405 words Added Oct 2024 13k views 5.0 stars (2 votes) No comments yet •Always Hard•Cock Growth•Huge Balls•Ball Growth•Huge Cock•Hyper Cock•Always Cumming•Hyper Cum•Public Orgasm•Hyper Muscle•Hyper Strength•Muscle Growth•Muscle/Strength•Muscle Worship•Always Shirtless•Public Nudity•Man Scent•Voluptuous Men•Butt Growth•Increased Libido•Getting Handsomer•Voice Deepening•Getting Taller•Forced Growth•Size Increase•Lycra/Spandex•Shapeshifting •M•M/M