Three stories involving Steve, a muscle-loving guy who can alter reality.
Steve cruised down the highway during a blazing hot summer afternoon. He was treating himself to a relaxing vacation, touring the Deep South to experience the culture and scenery. Currently, he was moseying down a half-forgotten backwater highway he found on his map, thinking it would give him the scenic route to his next destination. He didn't want his trip to just be some tourist trap conveyor belt from one city to the next; he wanted to explore! He looked at his fuel gauge and started to worry, however. The needle was starting to dip towards the empty side of things, and he didn't know if there would be a gas station close by in this neck of the woods. After a few minutes of fretting, he saw a sign indicating a gas station coming up. Relieved, Steve pulled off to the side road to get to the gas station, thankful that he wouldn't get stuck out in the boonies with his lousy cell reception, as beautiful and quaint as the boonies may be.
The gas station definitely reminded Steve of an era gone by. If the “CASH ONLY” sign didn't clue someone in to the fact that this place was a little removed from time, the older-looking pumps would definitely drive the point home. But the gas was a whole dollar cheaper than it was back home, so Steve just shrugged and withstood the blistering heat as he started filling up his car. He looked around to help pass the time. There were only two other cars at the station. One of them had a redneck-looking guy filling up his truck and on the other side of him were two African-American boys in a smaller car. The black boys were dressed sort of flamboyantly, one of them wearing a pink t-shirt that barely covered his navel. They were chit-chatting and one of them apparently said something so scandalous that the other whooped and laughed, play-slapping the other and said, “Gurl, you so crazy!” between fits of giggles.
So they were gay, clearly. If the choice of wardrobe and mannerisms couldn't clue you in, the two were holding hands most of the time and there was a rainbow sticker on their car's bumper. Two young black bucks out on a date, maybe, or just taking a leisurely afternoon cruise. Too bad about the weather, Steve thought, wiping the sweat off of his brow. What broke him out of his reverie wasn't pleasant, however. “Damn queers,” he barely heard from the redneck, who shook his head disapprovingly. The man clearly wasn't brave enough to tell the two black boys what he thought of them (maybe because they both looked like they could beat the scarecrow-looking redneck up), but still felt the need to say it out loud. “Ain't bad enough they're niggers, they gotta be faggots, too,” he said, spitting onto the ground and wiping his nose with his forearm.
This really got Steve's ire up. Homophobia was one thing, he was used to confronting it, as an openly gay man he had to be. But racism? That was a whole other can of worms. Everyone in the South he'd met up until now definitely wouldn't have fit the stereotype of a dumb, backwards redneck, but this guy was taking the cake. He didn't see how the man had room to criticize the two African-American youngsters. First of all, they were cute. The redneck was not. Looked like there was some acne scarring from when he was younger. And the man definitely needed dental work. And that wispy hair that was the color of mouse… sheesh. The guy's exterior definitely matched his interior: unattractive. As the two black boys drove off, blissfully unaware of the slurs that had been hurled against them, the gears in Steve's mind started turning. Okay, he could work with this.
First thing he did was what Steve always did when he was about to make major changes: he froze the world except for him. Steve had a talent… or talents, depending on how you looked at it. He could change anything he wanted about reality, at will. He could even make it so no one would recognize the changes. And he definitely didn't need any accidental witnesses to what he was about to do, so freezing the world in place seemed like a wise choice.
The part that came after was more difficult. What to do, what to do… there were so many things to change he hardly knew where to begin! First off was that awful dental situation… The redneck looked better now that his teeth weren't as scraggly as his hair, at least it was a start. And that hair… why have it at all when it was so mangy-looking? He shrunk it back into the redneck's head; good riddance. His skin needed to be cleared up, too. Well… that was where the fun stuff would really start happening, he thought to himself. He started working on the skin. It was getting clearer and more smooth, but also darker and darker. First he just seemed like he had an olive tone. Then a creamy mocha, then milk chocolate and finally dark chocolate, stopping just short of being truly one of the darkest-skinned men Steve had ever seen. His skin was black, all right.
But that didn't make the redneck black, no sir. His features were all still very Caucasian. Time to go to work, Steve thought, cracking the joints in his fingers. He broadened the nose, making it wider, the nostrils getting a bit bigger as well, The cheekbones needed to sharpen, chisel out the face some more, and the eyes needed to be subtly reshaped, more like almonds… Those blue eyes wouldn't do with his new face, so he darkened them to a luscious, rich brown. And those lips… better puff them out. They swelled into two big pillow-lips, prominent, strong, sexy, and very juicy-looking. Damn, this was shaping up to be a real manly, handsome face! Not too shabby, if Steve didn't think so himself. What could he add…? Oh, yes, a dimple to the strong chin. Perhaps a nice mustache to warm that chilly upper lip of his… Damn! Manly almost to a fault! Not the most beautiful creation of his, but it wasn't intended to be.
Next was the height. The former white bread redneck had been 5’7”… way too average for what Steve had in mind. He increased the man's height, stretching him to 5’9”, then 5’11”… 6’1”… 6’3”… Finally he stopped at 6’6”, towering over normal men, an intimidating presence… or would be, if he didn't resemble that damn scarecrow. He was still so thin! Steve licked his lips. One of his favorite parts was coming up. It was the part that he had to forbid himself from skipping to… doing it first sometimes screwed up what he was aiming for originally. But it was his passion… Muscle. He loved it. He couldn't get enough. He wasn't personally built for it, and he accepted that (although he didn't have to), he just loved it on other men. Almost to a fault. When he'd first discovered his powers, his hometown looked like the HGH-soaked anabolic steroid capital of the world in a matter of days. He had been a little repressed, to put it lightly.
So it was with his personal bias in mind that he started to grow muscle on the long, lean frame of the former redneck. He did it slowly, steadily, to make sure he had it under control. A few times when he'd gotten too enthusiastic and rushed, the men had turned out with some rather disproportionate muscles. They still looked, eminently fuckable, but who wanted pecs like beach balls on a gymnast's frame? Besides Steve, that is. The redneck's clothes had started to tear with the height growth and as more muscle packed on his skinny frame, it tore some more until Steve decided it was time it got an update, as well. The shirt and shorts started to reform into a short-sleeve navy blue button-up shirt, with matching navy blue pants. And they were looking very flattering on the dark-skinned man as he kept increasing in muscularity. Soon he had a swimmer's build. Yawn, Steve thought. Those were a dime a dozen. This guy was gonna get the deluxe treatment…
And so swimmers' muscles passed the former redneck by, as he graduated to a more muscular gymnast with nice, rounded pecs, strong deltoids, a hard six-pack and strong, bulging arms. Still not enough, Steve thought. The details on the man's clothes were coming in as they grew along with his muscles. Pleated pockets on his chest, epaulettes on his shoulders, pins and patches, tools that hooked themselves to his hips… The look was starting to come together as he entered into the lightweights of bodybuilders, then the middleweights, gaining more mass and definition within his shirt and pants. You could see even through them, now, that the former redneck was a muscular black man. The slacks held his rippling quads while his chest pushed out the front of his shirt, the short sleeves preoccupied with his deltoids while his beefy biceps and triceps were in mostly full view.
While this would've been enough for most people, Steve couldn't leave it there. This man could still be more, much more… The muscles kept inflating with sinew, packing on more striated mass while keeping the intense definition he knew was a hallmark of professional bodybuilders. Vascularity was obvious, too, as fat veins crept over his biceps, even his neck was thickening out, his traps tenting up the collar of the shirt, making space even more limited for that poor shirt. Pecs were reaching critical mass inside of the garment before the buttons holding them back began to snap off… first the top, then the second, then the third! It showed off the phenomenal thickness of these two pillows of muscle, emphasizing the incredible cleavage they had obtained.
His pants looked positively stretched across those quads, fat wedges of muscle hinted at beneath the dark fabric. His ass, no, now it was a booty, pushed out the seat of his pants a great deal, too, creating a shelf behind him to rival the one his pecs created in the front! His lats helped spread out his upper torso, making his ham hock arms splay out in a display of musclebound masculinity. Yet it also created an amazing taper, his waspish waist clearly needing to be powerful enough to keep the abundance of upper beef from toppling over. And still muscle kept pumping into this handsome black man's body until it looked almost cartoonish. The world's most muscle-obsessed comic book artist would've gone agog at the creature that was standing before Steve now. He had wanted a physique that would clearly be superior to the world's most accomplished bodybuilders and here it was. He'd made men as bit as this before, even bigger. But it still took his breath away and pumped blood into his nether regions when he saw the results.
The uniform (yes, it was clearly meant to be some sort of uniform now) was nearly complete. The metal insignia was pinned over the massive black man's beating heart. His gun and baton hung at his hips, ready at a moment's notice. He had a small pad of paper and a pen in one breast pocket for impromptu note-taking. The various accoutrements that accented his uniform made one thing clear: this man was a cop. And from the looks of it, a damn intimidating one, too. The only thing missing was his name.
Steve smiled. What a handsome, manly, rugged-looking cop! The physical portion was almost over, but there was one more major change that needed to be done. He'd sometimes forget the next part after the excitement of growing a man so huge. Then Steve would unfreeze everything and realize his mistake, blushing and having to do emergency retouching. He wouldn't forget this time, though: the genitals. This guy still had the same size genitals that the redneck had, and peering with his powers, Steve could tell that was definitely not anything to be proud of. Pretty damn wimpy, really, especially on the frame of such an otherwise powerful man. So he'd do him a favor and upgrade him a bit. He started elongating and thickening the organ, along with making the testicles swell in tandem. Four inches soft… it was progress. At least he was packing what most other men were, now. Five inches soft, now they were getting somewhere… six inches, yeah, real nice and meaty, it was definitely making a statement at his crotch. Seven inches and his balls were pushing out like jumbo eggs behind it. Eight inches and they were fresh fruit and a jumbo hot dog. Nine inches soft and… it looked perfect. Potent, obvious, yet still elegant and masculine at the same time. He would always be packing in his pants and shorts, but it wasn't comedic. This man was just blatantly hung. A huge, muscled, hung black man and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
There, that was the finishing touch on that body, Steve thought. He didn't need a single other change to that gorgeous physique. But he still wasn't done. There was still a spiteful, hate-filled bigot living inside that skull, and it was time to bring it all home. It was here that Steve's powers would be particularly useful in helping change someone. If he had to completely spell out every change he wanted to affect someone's life, he could literally spend a lifetime on one man, tweaking every single aspect of his existence. Instead, he could make broad strokes and the power would take care of the rest. It was very convenient, and Steve would often be pleasantly surprised by the outcome. The only specifics he had for this time was that the man would be a proud, gay African-American bodybuilder policeman. He didn't particularly care how the pieces fell after that. Considering his work done, he unfroze the world to see what his changes had wrought for the formerly skinny, bigoted redneck.
As the world unfroze around him, the black man gasp, a deep noise that promised a deeper voice to back it up. His eyes dilated slightly as the rush of the life changes enveloped him, obliterating his former identity in less than the blink of an eye. He was… what was his name? Oh, right, Tom Jenkins. Tom “The Tank” Jenkins. Officer Jenkins. It's what it said on the front of his uniform! How could he forget something as simple as that. Just another good ol' Southern boy that got kicked out of the house when he was 17 by a very religious mother who believed gays were sick and wanted no part of them, even if her only son turned out to be one. Luckily, he was a resourceful kid and found some jobs he could hold down to keep him fed, clothed and with a roof over his head. He had always been somewhat of a big kid, playing football at high school, and started to seriously get into bodybuilding around the same time he decided on law enforcement as a career. He was still idealistic and optimistic enough to want to keep the streets safe. He was a great cop and as his confidence in being a gay black man in the South grew, so did his physique.
It seemed he had natural genetics for it as he just kept blowing up year after year of lifting weights. It wasn't just handed to him, though. He fought through blood, sweat and tears for the mass he had today. And it was a lot of mass… the biggest pro bodybuilder there was. People doubted there would ever be someone as massive as he was at his height. Normally being so tall was a serious disadvantage in bodybuilding, but his frame just seemed to welcome the pounds as they added. Criminal justice was his first passion, but bodybuilding was a close, close second. Luckily his precinct supported his hobby and allowed him the time he needed to attend competitions and win titles. When he first popped onto the bodybuilding scene, the magazines were calling him “The Other Ronnie Coleman.” He got more comments on his obvious poser bulge than his physique. Over the past few years, however, Coleman was starting to become “The Other Tom Jenkins.” The Tank on the cover sold magazines, equipment and supplements nowadays, so it was a healthy secondary source of income for him. He was never in it for the fame, though. He just loved muscle; building it, flexing it, watching it… He loved muscle on other men almost as much as he loved it on himself!
Tom thought he was pretty well-adjusted, all things considered. In fact, after he started becoming a bit more well-known as a bodybuilder, his mother found out about him and attempted to reconnect with him. He would've worried about it being just a calculated move now that he was more successful, but after meeting with her, she admitted between sobs that she had regretted kicking him out and she was ready to love him unconditionally this time. He'd teared up, too, and they were closer than ever now. He would call her every day to gab about this and that; he was a mama's boy and he came by it honestly. With his careers as a bodybuilder and a cop both going better than he could've hoped for at the ripe old age of 30, and living with a boyfriend he fucked with his 13” cock and who could be The One, he was pretty content, all things considered.
“Excuse me, do I know you?” someone asked. It shook him out of his recollections as he looked down at the slim man in front of him. Kinda cute, but he already had a man.
“Possibly,” Tom admitted, smiling sheepishly and blushing. His voice was like if Barry White and a foghorn had a baby and dipped it in molasses. Deep, resounding, and with a sweet drawl. Posing in a skimpy poser on stage was one thing, dealing with fans face-to-face was another. He could be a little shy, but he was working past it.
“No, really, I've seen your face somewhere… you gotta be some kind of bodybuilder with a physique like that…” the man insisted, pointing out Tom's huge guns. He subconsciously tensed them, making them get larger and more vascular with the simplest gesture.
“Yeah, I'm Tom Jenkins. You might know me, I suppose. 'The Tank?'” he offered humbly.
“Oh!! Right! The bodybuilder/cop who won Olympia!” the man exclaimed, suddenly seeming to place his face. “My name's Steve, it's an honor to meet you!”
Steve offered his hand and Tom gladly accepted it, shaking it firmly but not too hard. He knew he could easily hurt a smaller man if he didn't control his strength. “Please, the honor's all mine! It's cool to meet a fan,” he said honestly. He tried to be approachable and he swore he'd never get a big head just for being good at doing what he loved. “Just passing through?”
“Yeah, taking the back roads on my vacation,” Steve said, chuckling.
Tom chuckled with him, which was an action that could be compared to an earthquake's aftershock. “Doesn't get much more back of the road than around here! But they're mostly good people, they don't hesitate to help motorists who get lost in these parts,” he assured him with a brilliant smile that contrasted his luscious dark skin.
“Good to know! Well, I won't keep you, especially in this scorcher,” Steve said, wiping more sweat from his brow.
“Yeah, maybe July wasn't the best time for a leisurely stroll through the South,” Tom joked, drops of sweat falling down his own bull neck and onto the rounded contours of his pecs, disappearing into his straining shirt. “Take it easy, Steve,” he called out as he capped his tank and got back inside his fully decked out police cruiser and drove off.
“Who was the guy you were talkin' to?” a gruff voice beside Tom asked as they drove off. It was Tom's partner, 25-year-old Ezekiel. Zeke the Freak, the guys back at the station called him. Probably because he weighed close to 300 lbs. while still being 5’6” and was as strong as three big men put together! Tom was known as the bodybuilder in the precinct, but Zeke was the powerlifter, and a damn good one, too. He didn't compete, he just enjoyed knowing how strong and beefy he could get. His uniform looked like it was spray painted on, against its will. He was bulging powerfully underneath it and at times looked more outside of it than in. His blond fur sprouted through the collar as a sign that he was all man. And there was a bulge of similar dangerousness to Tom's pressing against the crotch of his slacks.
Tom just chuckled and put his hand tenderly on Zeke's bulging quad. “Don't get jealous, sugar bear. Just a Yankee passin' through on vacation. Recognized me from a magazine or somethin' and just wanted to say hi.”
Zeke was mollified by that answer, settling back into his seat after wondering what the two of them had had to say to each other. He wasn't as much of a people person as Tom, but he liked authority and order and was a good cop, it was just that Tom was able to talk to people better than he could. It was part of how they complemented each other as partners, both on and off the force. “Not jealous, just curious, don't be a bitch,” he teased. He leaned over and gave Tom a peck on the cheek.
Tom giggled and batted the blond bear away. “Not on the clock, sugar, that's the rule. You can do whatever you want to me when we get back home,” he purred, his crotch swelling just thinking of it. Not that his crotch could afford to swell in these pants. He should really focus on the road.
“I know, I know, ya just make me wanna kiss ya, that's all,” Zeke drawled, patting the black hunk's quad in kind. “And after I tear you up, I expect the same in return,” he added with a wink.
Tom took a deep breath at that, almost busting another button on his shirt from his pecs swelling at the action. He'd be counting the seconds on the clock, that was for sure.
The buzz of the crowd droned all around Steve as he made his way through the mall. It was almost Christmas and (like always, he thought ruefully) he had neglected to get Christmas gifts for his loved ones until now. As he dealt with pushy shoppers and lines that seemed frozen in place, he considered just making all the gifts he needed appear before him, gift-wrapped, at that, but he knew he shouldn't.
Steve was a very special individual, someone who could change any detail he wanted about the world around him on a whim. It was enough power to drive anyone to corruption. When Steve originally discovered his abilities, he made a promise to himself to never use his power as a shortcut to performing mundane activities, such as shopping or changing the channel on the television when he was too lazy to pick up the remote. These actions were practically the only things that kept him grounded, that made him feel like he was a human being like everyone else and not a god. If he started changing the world merely out of convenience, well, he wasn't sure he would know when to stop.
So he made his way with his bundle of gifts on the way back to his car after a fairly hectic day. It was getting late and his nerves were a bit frazzled when he heard a child crying. He looked over to see a little boy in tears because his father had apparently not known what the hours for the mall's Santa were, because the roped-off “Santa's Village” area in the atrium was now closed. The parent looked sheepish and tried to mollify the upset child (perhaps 6 or 7, Steve reasoned) but it was clear he wasn't having much of an effect.
The next event that happened shocked Steve so much that he was a bit taken aback for several moments. A man, maybe in his late thirties or early forties, turned from wherever his destination had been and looked straight at the father and boy. The sour look on his face said volumes before he even opened his mouth. “Tell your kid to shut up! Santa isn't even real!”
The little boy's visage turned to one of horror as he cried even louder at hearing this. The father looked as stunned as Steve did at the stranger's actions and didn't know whether to punch the guy's lights out or comfort his disturbed child first. The annoyed stranger, for his part, turned right back around and started walking off as if he hadn't just traumatized the boy.
Steve snapped at this. He'd heard enough stories since the day after Thanksgiving of people being trampled for Black Friday sales, disrespectful sales clerks, stores ripping off consumers with bogus holiday “deals,” criminals robbing toy and video game stores, he was just sick of it! The holidays were supposed to be the happiest time of year for everyone, but he had seen little holiday spirit on display, especially that evening at the mall. Seeing this extremely rude man disabuse that child of the magical notion of a person out there who wanted nothing more than to give out toys to good girls and boys sickened him. He did what he always did whenever he wasn't sure how to react: he froze time.
All around Steve, the milling shoppers stopped in their tracks, frozen in whatever state they were in. Steve bit his lip and paced a bit in the crowd, trying to think of what he should do, if anything. After all, a kid had to learn that Santa didn't really exist at some point in time, didn't he? In fact, he was a little surprised that some smart aleck kid in his class at school hadn't already spoiled it for him. But looking at the expression of absolute disappointment and grief on the boy's face, learning that people as magical as Santa Claus didn't really exist, made up Steve's mind. He would give the kid Santa Claus, all right.
He turned toward the rude man who had been walking away. A pinched, grouchy face, thin as a rail, maybe 5'7” on a good day… None of it screamed Santa Claus. It had to go. Steve smiled.
The first thing Steve thought should change was the man's height. Not that there was anything wrong with people that height; Steve himself was 5'8”. But there was something about Santa Claus that needed to be… large. Larger than life. Kids needed to look up, up, up at him. So did adults, for that matter! The rude man instantly began growing taller. He started filling his clothing differently as he grew proportionately, his pants cuffs riding higher up his legs, his shirt cuffs receding on his forearms, his shoulders taking up too much room in his shirt, his thighs looking like sausages swollen inside a too-tight encasing. As he grew past 6'3” he completely burst from his clothes, he was just too much flesh to be held back by the clothes that had fit him so adequately moments before. And still he grew and grew in height, until he reached what Steve considered the rather stately height of 6'10”. Surely that was enough to command respect and admiration from most.
Steve had a tough decision to make after that: what should come next? The physique or the bodily features? Looking once more at the man's pinched face sealed the deal. Steve didn't want to look at this churlish, unattractive man anymore. But he had his work cut out for him. This guy didn't resemble Santa in the least. For one, he looked way too young. He started aging the man, watching the years pile onto him as his skin lost some elasticity, wrinkles growing more pronounced along his face, his hair graying and then finally turning white. Pure white. Snow white, Steve noticed, to his satisfaction. So now he was looking at a dramatically aged version of the rude man. Still didn't look like Santa, he thought. He changed the man's face further, actually altering the features. His cheeks puffed up rounder, his mouth, which naturally formed itself into a frown, started curving the other way, looking rather jovial when at rest. His eyes went from a dull brown to a twinkling, playful blue. The man's entire head actually changed shape, going from its longer shape to a more rounded one, instantly making the man look friendlier by miles. And who'd ever heard of a clean-shaven Santa?! A big beard instantly sprouted on the man's face, growing longer and longer until it hung halfway down his chest. He was getting there, but Steve still thought that the hair was missing a certain something. Then it hit him. It all needed to be thicker. The hair as it stood now was just that: hair. Ho-hum, not ho-ho-ho! Steve increased the thickness of the man's hair, both the beard and the hair on the rest of his body, until it looked appropriately rich, voluminous and soft. This resulted in quite a bit of hair growing over the man's chest, arms, legs and butt, but Steve didn't mind this side effect. In fact, it was right in line with what he had planned.
The creator looked over his work of art and saw… a tall, hairy, bearded old man. Still not Santa. The disparity was mostly caused, he thought, by the fact that the man was still as skinny as he was at his old height. Well, he would have none of that. He decided to whip up something very special for this one, given the occasion. Steve started adding the muscle. Really, it was always his favorite part and he couldn't wait to get to it, but he knew he had to be a good boy and form the other aspects of people before he started adding muscle by the truckload, or they never ended up looking like they fit together by the end. As the old man's body started firming back up, the looser skin growing more taut with the bloom of firm, strong muscle behind it, Steve smirked. This one would be going a little bit differently than usual. Santa didn't look like a bodybuilder after all. And so with the slightest effort of Steve's whim, the bulky padding of fat started to pile onto the old man as well.
Well, wasn't that one of Santa's major features? Steve thought to himself. People thought of Santa and they thought of his jelly belly! Well, this Santa's belly wouldn't jiggle like that, but he'd certainly cut the same shape. He saw the man's cobbled middle start swelling out, the definition on his chest and arms softening a bit as it bulked up even faster with the added mass of fat. If anything, it made the man look more robust, Steve thought. The stark leanness and vascularity of fat-free muscles could sometimes make them look smaller and more, well, scary to a casual observer than they should be. And he couldn't have anyone think his Santa was small or scary in any way. Who should be frightened of Santa, after all? His thighs and butt blew out, adding shapely bulk to them. Whew, Santa had a ba-donk-a-donk, Steve thought as he saw the hemispheres of gluteal tissue bubble up like rising bread dough, dusted with hair like a light snow. His back broadened tremendously and his chest barreled out so much that Steve doubted they made a bra size to hold hooters like Santa's! But even those couldn't eclipse the bulky man's belly, which crested out even farther! It ballooned out like a massive beach ball, but was tight as a drum. Santa's stance naturally adjusted as his thighs blew up, too, his oaks rubbing up against each other until almost the knee!
Santa was huge, imposing, but still Steve pushed his boundaries. Muscle and fat kept bloating onto the man's frame, magnifying it, girding it with firm strength and supple tenderness. Santa was nearly as wide as three men, and definitely as thick as that! He looked like a giant polar bear, powerful and furry. Even through the bulk of the fat, the huge size of his biceps, delts, pecs, traps, quads and glutes were obvious. He looked like a powerlifter that ate another powerlifter. He was tremendous, imposing, masculine, strong… and yet his face said he was stately, regal, friendly, wise, playful, cunning, endlessly compassionate and generous. Steve stood before him, almost shaking. Santa was nearly there.
But it couldn't possibly be Santa Claus without the outfit, no sir. Steve was about to start wishing the clothes into place, when he noticed that Santa was hung rather pitifully, his great expanse of belly seeming to bury his paltry package. Steve blushed. He didn't often think of Santa that way, but looking at him now, nude and mighty as he was, he had to admit Santa had some sexual appeal he hadn't previously considered. He willed Santa's package to grow, filling out until he could see it from beneath the outcropping of muscular bulk. The cock was as pale and fat as the rest of him, looking jolly even in repose as it grew and grew, propped up by testicles that were swelling to the size of jumbo Christmas tree ornaments! A mighty ten inches soft for the King of Christmas, Steve thought to himself.
A package that heavy looked like it could be a hassle to carry around unfettered, so he started the clothing process by giving Santa a big jockstrap with a green waistband and a giant red pouch to keep his candy cane and jingle bells collected and supported where they should be. It also let his big bear bare ass breathe out into the open. Steve didn't think any sort of boxers or briefs would fit over that caboose, anyways. Next came the pants, which were a rich crimson color, looking like crushed velvet as they draped over his enormous quads and calves, and of course, big black boots to keep his enormous feet dry as he walked through the snow. The white furry trim of the pants seemed to blend in with Santa's treasure trail, to Steve's amusement. Steve gave extra room in the back so his booty wouldn't bust through should he have to bend over. Not that a man with a gut like Santa's would be looking for reasons to bend over, but he had to keep good ol' Kris Kringle decent. Well, at least decent by some standards.
Next came the jacket. Steve had to conjure up a LOT of fabric to even begin to wrap around the circumference of Santa Claus. He was an enormous, wide, thick man, after all. Steve couldn't imagine a tailor knowing what to do with it all, but since he was only limited to his own imagination, it all ended up fitting him perfectly, the luxurious red fabric covering him up splendidly, the trimming matching his soft, snow white beard. Steve made the jacket a button up so that, if Santa ever so desired, he could leave the top few unbuttoned, he thought devilishly. The final touches were the white gloves and the jolly, jaunty cap on his head, covering the bit of bald spot that Santa had developed from his aging.
Steve stepped back and looked at his creation. He smiled as he took in the friendly features, massive, powerful, beastly physique that belied the giant's gentle, giving, nurturing nature wrapped up in the iconic clothes. But something still felt off. What was it that made this man Santa Claus, after all, and not just the biggest, sexiest, best damn mall Santa that Steve had ever seen? There was a certain je ne sais quoi to Santa that his creation was lacking. Then it suddenly came to him. Santa was magical, right? After all, no human being could deliver presents to every child in the world in one night. Steve had never tried anything like what he was about to do, but he hadn't found a limit to his power yet, so he hoped it would work. He decided to see what would happen if he gave this guy the magical essence of Santa Claus. He crossed his fingers, closed his eyes and wished it.
When Steve opened his eyes back up, he nearly stumbled back. It was subtle, yet powerful and unmistakable. THIS was Santa Claus, without a doubt. There was a… a shimmer to him, almost; an aura about him that made you believe. His clothing wasn't just red velvet, it had some sort of… mysterious thread weaved in that made it twinkle and glow in just the faintest way, so faint it made you wonder if you were making it up. It was in his hair, too, and seemingly even in his eyes. Traces of wonderful magic were all around Santa Claus, filling Steve with peace, harmony and goodwill toward his fellow man. He wondered if everyone who got close to Santa would feel this way. It certainly seemed so. Santa was the jolliest man in the room, after all. Maybe he infected others with the holiday spirit, as well. His cheeks were rosier than ever. And there was a faint odor of… peppermint coming from him? And next to Santa was an enormous brown bag, presumably filled to the brim with presents, that only seemed reasonable in size when put next to the gigantic St. Nick.
Seeing no other way he could improve upon the Christmas icon, Steve decided he was essentially finished. Before he would unfreeze the world and have it continue on its way, he had to make sure that this Santa didn't only look like Santa, but acted like him, thought like him, really, truly believed he WAS Santa, because starting now… he was. Santa Claus would be a real person from now on, not just a pleasant folktale that parents told their children about to bribe them into being good. He wished it upon his creation and unfroze the world.
The moment he did, Santa closed his eyes, taking a deep breath that tested the strength of the buttons on his coat and the quality of the threads as they fought to keep his mighty chest inside. The rude, pinched, joyless stranger had been obliterated in that moment, replaced by the jolly old elf himself. Santa relaxed into his easy grin for a moment before he heard the crying of a child coming from behind him. That wasn't what he wanted to hear, especially so close to Christmas! He turned around and crouched in front of the little crying boy, whose eyes were blurred from wiping away his tears. “What's the matter, little boy?” he asked in his deep, basso profundo voice that shook his belly with every syllable. “Aren't you happy it's Christmastime?”
The boy slowly looked up, confused and hopeful at the same time. As his eyes were cleared from his tears, he saw a big nose in front of him, attached to a round face, with big flushed cheeks, twinkling eyes and a beard as pale as freshly fallen snow covering all yet also letting him see that Santa was smiling from ear to ear. Instantly the boy squealed in delight, shouting out “SANTA!!” for all to hear.
Santa Claus chuckled as he raised himself back up, hoisting his heavy black belt around his belly, holding his pants up. “That's right! And I can't stand to hear a good little boy cry like that so soon before Christmas… Say, you wouldn't want your present a little bit early, would you?” he offered with a wink at both the boy and his beaming father. The boy screamed in assent and the father nodded, giving his permission. Santa gave another jolly laugh. “All right then, let's see what I have for you in my bag!”
He turned around and opened up the giant sack he carried with him this time of year. He reached inside and pictured the boy in his mind as he rooted for the present. The sack was magical, of course, like every item he had. It held the toys of every good girl and boy in the world inside of it, and all he had to do was think of the child in question and the present would find its way into his paw. Once he felt his hand full of something, he yanked it out and presented the kid with a fresh, new basketball with a bow around it. The boy squealed even louder at this. It was exactly what he wanted. Of course it was, Santa thought to himself, that was how the magic worked. Whatever gift the person in question wanted most was what the bag gave him. Santa smiled down at a good deed done and patted the boy gently on the head. “Keep on being a good boy, Billy, and I'll have something for you next year, as well! Merry Christmas!” he bellowed as he waved at both Billy and his father as he closed his sack back up and went along on his business.
Santa Claus loved making a child's day, as he often did on these days leading up to Christmas. He would dress up in his full outfit, take his magic sack with him and stroll around stoking Christmas cheer where he could sense it was needed the most. Sometimes it was a mall full of tired, jaded shoppers. Sometimes it was a soup kitchen where the homeless and hungry had nowhere else to turn. Sometimes it was a hospital, where sick children needed a little love and hope injected into their lives.
But sometimes, he just wanted to fuck, too. His powerful cock throbbed ruefully in his jock. Santa wasn't too worried, however. He never had much trouble finding a good old fashioned fuck. Well, he normally didn't in his street clothes. In full regalia, he got slightly fewer woofs than usual. He turned into a door marked “Employees Only” down a corridor of the mall and worked his magic to change into his regular attire. His iconic clothes changed away to a more discreet red and green plaid flannel shirt tucked into freshly pressed khaki pants held up by the world's strongest suspenders, precariously pressed against his belly, pecs and great big trapezius muscles. He gave his gut a firm rub before going back out into the crowd, enjoying being just one of the crowd. Well, almost. His magic was still present around him, improving people's moods, making them friendlier, more generous and caring. There was still something vaguely fantastical about the giant polar bear of a man, but it was difficult to put your finger on. Just the way he liked it.
He made his way toward the mall's exit, scanning the crowd to see if anyone caught his fancy. If not, gay bars were usually a bit festive this time of year, and he could easily find some good boys looking for a firm and loving muscle daddy bear. And if that didn't result in anything, his compound at the North Pole was certainly not shabby at all. His elves had the builds of powerlifters and could really be sluts for Santa's cock, he chuckled to himself. The crowd was thinning out the closer he got to the exit and he happened to see a young, slender man furtively looking at him. Santa could tell his line of sight was going straight to his belly. He smiled to himself and cradled the bulk gently for a moment, as if trying to adjust it with his suspenders. He looked over and saw the young man's eyes pop out of his head and something else attempt to pop out of his fly. Santa smiled even wider and strode over to greet him. “Hello there, young man. I couldn't help but notice you taking an interest in me,” he rumbled pleasantly. His voice could be overwhelmingly imposing if he wanted it to be, but here he was as gentle as a caress across the younger man's ears.
The object of his desire shivered. “Uh, interest? I mean, well, I hope you don't mind me saying this, sir, but… well… given the time of year and all… You sort of look like Santa.”
“So I do at that!” Santa chuckled jovially. “The name's Nick. What's yours?”
The young man looked surprised at that name. “James… But c'mon, really? I say you look like Santa and you say your name is Nick? You're teasing me, right?” he asked playfully with a smile.
Shit, the kid was cute. Freckles and curly brown hair and everything. Santa's package swelled further, making a noticeable lump in his pants. “Nope. Nick Saint, as a matter of fact. You must be quite the admirer of Santa, though, because you seemed like you were fixated on my bellly!” he pointed out, stepping a bit closer to James, turning up the heat. Santa was sweating a bit from the excitement of the chase. His sweat smelled like peppermint. And his cum tasted like egg nog, too. The boys certainly never complained about that.
James could smell him and moaned a bit. This guy was totally pushing his daddy buttons. There was a certain… something to him that he couldn't quite place. His red apple cheeks seemed to glow extra bright, his beard seemed to glisten… This man was just otherworldly, almost. “I'm sorry if I stared, Mr. Saint. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. It's just… it's so big.” Eep.
Santa beamed at that. “You can call me Nick, it's all right. And far from making me uncomfortable, you flatter me! I appreciate the size and heft of my gut… and appreciate good little boys who like it, as well,” he purred. It rumbled through his belly.
James was close enough that he could feel it rumble through him, too. Santa stepped closer and James suddenly realized just how massive this man was. At first he seemed all gut, but now he saw the enormous pecs pushing out his festively-colored shirt, the biceps and triceps that looked barely restrained in his sleeves, how wide his back must be to make his torso that big. He gulped. Santa got close enough that his belly pushed a bit into James. The younger man's cock was throbbing in his jeans. The belly had little give. It was serious beef on this bear of a man. “That's… that's good to know, Nick.”
Santa looked down the bulbous crest of his pecs and belly at the boy, radiating gentility and kindness. If he hadn't been magical, there was a good chance James would've been so intimidated he would have fled before Santa had been able to say two words to him. But he was letting James know it was okay, that he had his best interests at heart, that he'd been a good boy all year long and this was a long overdue reward. “What do you want most for Christmas, James?” he asked quietly. His was a voice that was still able to be heard among the din of the holiday shoppers.
James took a moment to swallow before answering meekly, “To be big, like you.” He didn't know where that candor had come from. He would have never admitted to anyone he'd just met that he wanted to be a big, manly man's man, to be tall and broad and thick and strapping and hairy and beefy. It seemed like the complete opposite of who he appeared to be, but he felt it was who he really was on the inside.
Instead of laughing at him for his ridiculous wish, Santa nodded. “I don't think that's something Santa carries around in his bag, but something tells me you'll have a merry Christmas,” he said softly, with equal parts understanding and eroticism. He slid an arm behind James and laid a big, strong paw over the boy's butt as he squeezed it, leaning down and in for a kiss. A kiss that would change James' life. He could hear the boy moan and growl as he started growing, adding pound after pound of muscle and fat, growing hair, becoming big just like his object of lust and Santa grinned. Happy holidays, indeed.
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Is it mistaken identity? Or is something darker at work here? Whatever the case, when our main character gets sent to detention, he’s sure there’s been a mistake. The guy sitting next to him, however, sees things differently.