Resolutions

by BRK

 Ray intercepts a seemingly magical book of fill-in-the-blank New Year’s resolutions his boss, Danny, had ordered, and starts making plans for improving Danny’s too-boring sex life.

Added: Jan 2021 Updated: 24 Jul 2021 28,472 words 10,238 views 5.0 stars (22 votes) This story was commissioned via Patreon.

R
Ray smiled at the harried-looking letter carrier and took the rubber-banded stack of mail from her with some relief. He liked his job (steady pay and manageable stress), and he liked his boss (handsome and genial, if easily distracted); but some days the only thing more boring than typing up other people’s documents all day was typing up other people’s legal documents. Slitting a few envelopes open and sorting through physical mail was a nice, mechanical distraction.

The letter carrier disappeared into the elevator, moving on to the next floor in the narrow building, and Ray amused himself by rolling his shoulders, cracking his knuckles, and adjusting his tie as if limbering up for some unaccustomed exertion. Flipping quickly through the envelopes and mailers for anything that looked urgent, he stopped when he got to a white, stiff 9-by-12 padded flat. He set the other letters aside and looked it over with interest. It wasn’t like the glut of routine, boring long manila envelopes he handled every day. Actually it looked like it might be personal, though that would definitely be an oddity as his boss never got packages delivered here that weren’t business-related. He checked the label—sure enough, the recipient was “Daniel Louden, Esq.” with the full office address. Could still be a deposition CD-ROM or something equally routine, though the sender was company in Oregon he’d never heard of called Ravenfinder World Logistics LLC. His lips quirked at the name. Were the owners some strange cult of mystical crunchy granola types? Was it founded by some guy named Ravenfinder? Maybe it was both, a mystical guy named Ravenfinder. Now he was going to be making up stories about the exploits of Graf Ravenfinder, Master of Logistics all through lunch.

He smiled to himself as he pulled the strip on the back that opened the mailer. He looked inside, then spilled the contents out onto his desk.

It was a thin, hard-cover book bound in thin black leather, with the word RESOLUTIONS on the front and nothing else. Huh. Well, that made sense, sort of. Tomorrow was New Year’s Eve. Danny must have ordered this hoping it would arrive in time to start using it on the holiday. It was still strange he’d had it delivered here, though.

He glanced up cautiously, confirming that Danny was not in fact at his desk. Two of the things he loved about this office was that its cozy, sunlit 800 square feet (filing archive and bathrooms included) encompassed the entire 11th floor of the narrow, pre-war block-filler known as the Wyandot Building, and that Danny had wisely elected not to ruin its openness with unnecessary internal walls. Danny’s cluttered, L-shaped desk was, consequently, directly in view across the office by the wide bank of windows, with just a hip-high bank of maple filing drawers separating his space from the rest of the floor. The only other desk in the room was Blake’s, on the same side of the room as Ray’s but in the other corner away from the elevator. His desk was unoccupied, too. Probably he was with Danny, as usual. Ray suspected that his boss had unconsciously (or semiconsciously) hired the very fit, preppy-handsome paralegal because exceptional looks were good for business. It certainly wasn’t on account of his work ethic, Ray thought sourly.

Having assured himself of his lack of spectators, Ray started flipping curiously through the book. It was well-made and handsomely printed, the kind of thing you got as a gift. Most of the pages seemed to be made up of fill-in-the-blank goals for the coming year, like “In the new year I will _________ more” or “I resolve to no longer _________”, accompanied by small, winsomely minimalist line illustrations of people walking in parks, dogs wagging their tails, rainbows emerging from clouds and other such positive reinforcements. Wondering if there were gentle instructions on how best to use the book (like, “Make one resolution per day” or “Read through your resolutions weekly—are you living up to your intentions?”), he flipped to the front. Not only was there was no introduction, there was not even a title page; the first leaf had just the words “The resolutions in this book are about” with a blank line underneath for a name.

Ray felt his brows draw together. That was an odd way to phrase it. Why not “This book belongs to” or something like that? It almost seemed to invite the idea that the owner of the book and the person with new goals and lifestyle choices might be two different people.

On the back of that page, at the very bottom, was a small block of gray type. It looked almost, but not quite, like the usual copyright disclaimer, and Ray read it with increasing interest.

“Published by Ravenfinder World Logistics LLC (RWL). All rights are reserved. The owner of this book accepts and agrees that everything in this book will become real as of 12 a.m. (local time) the morning after the resolution was written. The owner further accepts and agrees that only those who have read and understood this disclaimer will be aware of any changes having taken place, excluding principles of RWL, recognized agents thereof, and representatives of the various relevant oversight authorities. Changes are permanent, but new resolutions may only be added within one year of receipt. RWL reserves the right to undo any changes that result in, or are judged likely to lead to, world catastrophe, the extinction of the human race, or other outcomes to be specified at will by RWL as needed. Detailed terms are available for inspection by appointment at our offices in Larkscliff, Oregon. This book is nontransferable and remains the property in perpetuity of the person currently reading this disclaimer.”

Ray stared at the words, stunned and skeptical. His doubts faded to nothing, however, as soon as the text he had just read did exactly the same thing, leaving a pristine page with no trace of text and no sign that there had ever been any.

Ray blinked. Then he let his lips curve in a wicked smile. Congratulations, son, he told himself, the wheels in his head already turning. Looks like always reading the EULA has finally paid off.


Just then the elevator dinged and the doors trundled open. Ray yanked open his bottom drawer and swept the book into it, then the mailer, shoving the drawer closed with his foot just as his boss, Danny, and his pretty-boy paralegal, Blake, stepped onto the floor.

Not that Danny was a slouch in the looks department. Boyish and easygoing, average height with wayward dark brown hair, green eyes, and a firm jaw, Danny was in his early thirties and looked slightly younger; and while he didn’t have the athletic shapeliness the possession of which Blake was able to convey even wearing a suit, he hadn’t let himself start to get doughy around the middle, either, like some of his colleagues of a similar age had done. Ray had had a low-grade case of lust for Danny since he’d first interviewed as a legal temp two years back, and now, with a year under his belt as his full-time legal secretary-slash-receptionist, Ray’s physical interest in the man had been stoked by familiarity and affection. Most people would have said Blake was easily the better looking of the two, with his smartly trimmed platinum-blond hair, blue eyes, model-handsome face, and tall, Olympic swimmer’s physique; certainly standing next to a short, mousy-haired stick-figure like Ray there would be no question. But Blake was all surface. Messing around with him would be as much fun as reading a book with a nice cover, but inside all the pages were the same cover, repeated over and over again.

Blake breezed past toward his desk, tossing Ray an empty smile as he did so, but Danny paused, his overcoat over his forearm, and nodded toward the mail Ray had started going through before he was distracted. “Anything interesting?” he asked.

Ray shook his head. “Not even close.” His heart realized he was lying and tried sounding the alarm—thump-thump! thump thump!—but Ray kept his cool. “I did notice a flyer for Dwight’s Pizza,” he added conversationally. “Thirty percent off calzones.”

“That is tempting,” Danny said. Glancing briefly at his stomach he added firmly, “Make sure to burn that.”

Ray grinned. “On it,” he said—his usual “roger that” response to any instruction from his boss.

Danny smiled, then hesitated. “There were no packages, then?” he asked. “I was expecting something from this weird woo-woo company called—”

Ravenfinder, Ray supplied silently. He was so well trained to help his boss remember things he almost said it aloud. His heart pounded faster, like it was determined to alert anyone sharp-eared enough to hear it to a serious case of shenanigans. Fortunately that didn’t include Danny.

“—ugh, I forget, but I know they were in Oregon. A resolutions book? No?”

Ray grimaced in commiseration over his missing package. “Sorry.”

“Hmph. Well, that’s a pain. It was going to be a gag retirement gift for Judge Perez, but I guess I should have known better than to order from a company I’d never heard of.” He stood there for a moment, frowning. “Maybe I’ll just him sent him a fruit basket,” he added distractedly.

Ray smiled, understanding the reason for ordering the book a little better. Danny wasn’t fond of Judge Perez, a stubborn old coot who hadn’t changed an iota or had a single original thought since he’d joined the bench forty years before. He was also well-known for hating fruit of any kind, apples especially. He was so old, it probably still bugged him how Eve had tricked him into eating one back in the day.

“So how did you end up ordering from this place, if you’d never heard of them?” Ray asked, unable to suppress his curiosity.

Danny looked up at him, eyes twinkling. “Madam Sofia,” he said.

“Ahhh,” Ray said. “Madam” Sofia Brzezinski had been a particularly loony client they’d had a few months back. She’d claimed to be hooked up with a hundred different cults, mediums, and practitioners—”some dark, some not so dark,” she’d apprised them portentously. She’d come across as a complete nut job, but… apparently she wasn’t all talk, if she’d set somehow Danny onto the path that had led to this seemingly genuinely magical book Ray had selfishly diverted and currently had squirreled away in his bottom drawer. Huh, Ray thought. The freak was for real. Whaddaya know?

“Well, I’ll keep an eye out for it,” he said. “You, uh, making any resolutions yourself?”

Danny gave him a crooked smile. “Just to keep the ship afloat,” he said, turning and heading for his desk. “Gotta keep you two off the streets.”

“And we appreciate it, boss,” Blake said without looking up from his phone.

Ray sent the paralegal a dark look. Blake was, of course, oblivious, too focused on his Twitter feed or chatting with his actor boyfriend or whatever “brainless legal trophy boys” group forums he might belong to to notice Ray’s disapproval.

Ray sighed and went back to sorting the mail. He knew Danny’s schedule, and he was in for the rest of the day; there would be no getting at the book until after quitting time. As soon as he had the opportunity, though, Ray knew what he had to do. Danny, in his opinion, was leading a criminally bland life. His “resolution” to keep things on an even keel, however glib, was totally in character. He had a few friends but no boyfriends, no fuckbuddies. He needed spice, Ray decided. He needed to be sexed up. And the means of accomplishing this had just fallen out of the sky and into Ray’s lap.

Starting tonight, Ray would be inaugurating Project Danny 2.0. As he slit open an invoice from their water cooler supplier, Ray’s mind was already working through some very intriguing possibilities.


Finally. 6:15 p.m. The floor was dark with only Ray’s desk lamp casting a pool of illumination, like a spotlight over his workspace. Blake had disappeared at 5:30, primping in the elevator mirror as he left—he clearly had plans. Danny, however, had lingered, tying up a batch of last-minute pre-holiday emails before heading into the elevator himself with an admonition not to stay too late and a last reminder that the “company party”—i.e., New Year’s Eve dinner the next night at Danny’s cute suburban bungalow for the three of them (plus dates, if any)—started at seven. Ray waved him off and watched the elevator doors rumble closed.

Finally.

He pulled open his bottom drawer and whisked out the thin, leather-bound book he’d barely managed to stop thinking about for the last six hours. He set it on the desk before him, then, feeling a sense of occasion, he opened it to the first page.

The text there still read “The resolutions in this book are about”, with a blank line underneath.

Ray had his favorite fountain pen ready at hand. He unscrewed the cap, set it aside, and then poised the nib just above the thin black line, a universal symbol indicating information to be supplied.

He could make this about Blake, he mused. As far as personality went, Blake was in dire need of a make-over, maybe more than Danny. He snorted to himself. Refurbishment might not be enough—that edifice needed to be torn down and rebuilt. Realistically, though, there was no chance he’d waste something as momentous as this on someone as inconsequential as Blake Somerset. Whoever it was who’d said “There was no ‘there’ there,” Ray was sure they were talking about Blake.

Ray started writing in his customary neat, block capitals. Once he’d gotten as far as D, A, N, though, he paused. Full name? Did it need to match the addressee on the shipping label? If so, he should write it the same way—DANIEL LOUDEN, ESQ. That wasn’t a unique identifier, though, he thought, considering. There was at least one other lawyer named Daniel Louden in a hundred-mile radius (the cause of small but awkward red tape snarls on two previous occasions that Ray knew of). Unless he was supposed to supply social security numbers or DNA samples, the only logical conclusion was that what mattered in this case was the intent of the person supplying the information needed.

That settled the matter for Ray. As far as he was concerned, Danny needed to be less buttoned up, not more. His pulse quickening, he finished the name so that it read DANNY LOUDEN. He watched the blue-black ink as it quickly dried, embedding itself permanently in the thick white paper, and felt an odd sense of pride.

He turned the page over to check the back. Still blank. No copyright, no magically worded disclaimer, nada.

Weird.

So much for the preliminaries; now for the main event. Ray had given some thought as to how to proceed. He’d decided he would ration himself to three “resolutions” per session. One seemed too few, but too many might cause a pile-up of unforeseen and unexpected ramifications. Three seemed like something that he could monitor and observe, especially as he’d be seeing his subject the next night at the New Year’s dinner.

Now that the moment was on him, Ray found himself getting flushed and excited. He realized his cock was plumping rapidly in his snug boxer-briefs, and wanted to laugh. He’d heard about power going to someone’s head before, but he’d never realized that that was the head they’d meant.

He paged through the book, looking for resolutions that would fit with what felt like his “theme” for this session—namely, intensifying Danny’s sexuality. “Oooh, this one looks good,” he said aloud, stopping on a page a third of the way through the book. The text on the page read, “In the new year, I will _________ a lot more often.” Grinning, Ray picked up his pen neatly wrote the word ORGASM into the blank.

He was completely hard now. Setting the pen down he reached into his slacks and adjusted his thick, six-inch uncut erection. Fuck, he was boned. With his cock more comfortably positioned, his cheeks warm and with a bit less equanimity than before, he started paging through the book again.

A little further along he found another promising entry: “I will be much more productive in _________.” Almost before he could consider what he was doing he picked up his pen and wrote SEMEN in the space provided.

He stared at the word almost giddily, his cock throbbing. Would that work? That wasn’t just a mental shift or a choice, he realized—if it played out the way Ray was picturing it (and boy, was he picturing it), that would be an actual, physical change to Danny’s body. Was the book capable of doing that?

Well, what was the mind but neural pathways and electrical impulses? Maybe the emotional changes he was stipulating were just moving molecules around, same as boosting his jizz output.

He needed something he could track somehow. Something demonstrable. He leafed through the book some more, looking for a formulation he could use for a physical change. Finally, toward the back, he found just what he needed: a resolution that read, “I will accept the unexpected truth that _________.”

Licking his lips, he thought feverishly for a moment and then wrote: “KISWEET MAKES MY DICK GROW A MILLIMETER PER PACKET.” He had to put it on two lines in small letters, but he managed to stay in the space provided.

He looked over what he’d written and nodded. This was something quantifiable. KiSweet was an obscure all-natural sweetener, supposedly made mostly from kiwis (the fruit, not the bird) with a strange, darkly sweet taste. Danny had gotten a case from a client a few months back and, not wanting it to go to waste, had started them using it in the office; they were about eighty percent through it. Ray and Danny had gotten used to it, but Blake didn’t like it and anyway drank his coffee black.

Like any lawyer his boss drank a fair amount of coffee, though Danny’s average was probably on the low end: two 20-ounce thermal mugfuls a day normally, no milk, with a packet of sweetener each. So, all Ray had to do was get a good ruler, chart Danny’s cock size over the next few weeks, and confirm any measurable gains. How Ray would contrive to be able to measure Danny’s dick in the first place he wasn’t sure yet… but he was confident the book would help him find a way. The thought made him feel just a little smug.

And horny. Fuck, all this metaphorical playing around with Danny’s dick and balls was getting him majorly riled up. His ration of three “resolutions” complete, Danny capped his pen, closed the book, and quickly unzipped himself, fishing his aching erection out of the fly of his slacks without compunction. It wasn’t like he did this every day, but this wasn’t exactly the first time he’d massaged his rigid pud in the tranquil after-hours solitude of Loudon LLP.

All the things he’d put into this book—that was all so hot if it was actually all going to happen, if this book was truly the real deal. Danny made more sexual was a chronic fantasy, but the idea of it coming true was driving him wild. He imagined Danny getting all flustered by sudden arousal and the need to cum and suddenly he couldn’t hold back from exploding into his own hot, gushy climax, barely managing to catch his seed in his other hand as waves of pleasure flooded through him.
Ray woke suddenly sometime after midnight feeling like his dick and balls were getting strangled. Frowning groggily, he reached under the blankets to adjust himself in his underwear. When his hand reached his cock he froze. All at once he was wide awake, his heart pounding like a trip-hammer.

Leaving his hand where it was he reached with his other hand for the bedside lamp—stealthily, as if afraid of startling something. Warm light sprung up around him, revealing the lump formed by his hand under the covers. Slowly he withdrew his hand—the lump was still there. His flaccid cock pulsed, intrigued by all the attention, and Ray winced.

He drew back the covers and stared at the obscene mass of cock straining against his charcoal boxer-briefs. What the actual fuck—?!

Ray felt hot. He was getting hard, but the way his cock was bent meant discomfort would soon give way to pain as his prick strained to reach erection. With more than a little trepidation, Ray put his thumbs under the waistband, lifted his butt, and lowered his briefs.

His swelling, uncut cock leapt free like a spring snake from a can of peanut brittle. Ray’s mouth dropped open. It was fucking enormous!

As Ray gaped, baffled and awed, the thing busied itself getting fully hard, its girthy length crawling straight up his torso until the head came to rest smack in the middle of his thin chest, the slit staring right back at him. It jumped twice, spitting a bit of precum on Ray’s collarbone, and he gasped in surprise.

No, no, it was supposed to be Danny, he thought. “It was supposed to be Danny,” he told it, like his giant cock was a delivery guy who’d showed up at the wrong address. “Danny Louden,” he said to it. “The lawyer? Nice guy, friendly smile, no love life?”

His warm breath was gusting over the reddening head, and the sensation was so pleasant he almost swooned.

He let his head drop back, his mind spinning with so many questions he barely noticed as his hands wrapped almost automatically around his palm-filling erection and began slowly stroking. What the hell had happened? He’d definitely written Danny’s name as the recipient of all the changes, and he was almost certain the fine print had indicated two separate roles, the subject and the owner. And it was supposed to start at midnight, the growth millimeter by millimeter going forward…

So why did he, Ray, suddenly have a huge cock, and why now, the moment the resolution came into effect?

He settled into his mattress, increasing the pace of his strokes as he thought frantically through the problem. The cock growth had to come from the KiSweet, and—fuck. Fuck! It was so obvious he hadn’t even seen it coming. If KiSweet contained something that caused dick growth… well, why would that substance affect only Danny?

And for that matter, why would it only start to take effect tonight? After all, whatever it was was in KiSweet, and his actual resolution—the thing that would take effect as of midnight—wasn’t the growth itself, but that Danny would accept that his cock had been growing.

But—how was Ray so huge? So huge. His stroking sped up. He was getting close already—he’d be cumming in seconds. He had to figure this out. Thinking while he jerked himself was difficult, but thinking after cumming was impossible.

He tried walking himself through it. He pictured Danny making coffee in his thermal mugs. One packet torn open, the dark crystals catching the light as they poured out of the sachet and into Danny’s mug.

Then he showed up in his little reenactment, getting his own coffee. Filling his red ten-ounce mug with joe from the office pot. Picking up two sachets of KiSweet. Tearing them open. Pouring the junk-growing sweetener right into his cup.

Twice a day. For three months.

He looked down again. His raging hard-on was staring him right in the face, the slit weeping precum now as he jerked himself hard with both hands. A millimeter wasn’t something to be fucked with after all, he thought.

He was going to blow. Fuck, it was going to be spraying all over his face. Did he want that, or—? In one quick motion he bent forward and took the head into his warm, eager mouth just as he started cumming, spastically shooting hot spunk straight at the back of his throat. He tried keeping up, swallowing all the jizz his cock was giving him, but he was cumming too hard and too fast. He pulled his mouth off, panting hard, and let the last few spurts paint his face with warm, delicious cum.

He fell back as his climax ebbed, his enormous mostly-hard dick slapping onto his heaving, sweaty chest. Fuck, he liked both. The self-suck, and the face-painting. His dick twitched, agreeing and wanting more of each. “Soon, buddy,” he rasped, still breathing hard. “We’ll go again soon.” Maybe he’d find some sunglasses or something to wear for the second round. That would be hot as fuck.


Ten inches.

It took a few calculations on his tablet as he sat on his bed, feet on the floor, his new giant sausage dick lolling heavily and contentedly over the lip of the mattress. Four packets a day, roughly thirteen weeks of workdays, a millimeter a packet. Ten fucking inches, with proportional expansion in girth and balls. Growing the length was what he’d specified, but that wasn’t all it did, clearly.

Ten extra inches, though. Ten inches on top of what he’d already had. And apparently the answer to the eternal question “is that soft or hard” was both.

He shook his head as he stared at the numbers. A millimeter! Geez. He’d thought a millimeter’s growth would be negligible, and yet, here he was with a dick long enough he could… what? He could garrote people with it, for one thing. Just come up behind them, and—

Fucking KiSweet. He was so glad Blake drank his coffee black, with nothing in it. “Monster dick” wouldn’t even begin to describe that guy if he’d been getting this kind of dick boost. Whereas Danny…

Danny. If four sachets a day was ten inches, that meant that Danny, at two packets a day, was probably now packing an extra five inches. Soft, and hard. Fuck, how big was Danny before? Ray knew that he himself been just shy of six inches fully boned (don’t think “16 inches”… don’t think “16 inches”…), but his knowledge of Danny’s stats stopped at the general sense that the jeans he wore when he was out of the office had a pretty nice and hefty-looking bulge down there. There were probably Rain Men out there who could convert bulge heft to inches, but he wasn’t one of them.

Ray’s monster cock flexed. As he looked at it, it visibly started to grow, chubbing at the thought of Danny huge-dicked and needing to cum.

He needed to see. He needed to get a good look at what he had done to his boss, as soon as humanly possible.

It was a holiday, though—no work. And it was still sixteen hours until the dinner party. Heh, sixteen. One for every inch. He imagined himself tantrically taking one inch of his KiSweet-grown dick per hour into his mouth over the course of the entire day. His cock swelled a little more, excited at the idea.

Wait. Wait. If it was in the KiSweet…

Alarmed, he switched to his browser and did a search on KiSweet. Weirdly, there were barely any hits. Shouldn’t the internet be full of guys with two-foot dicks who’d heard about KiSweet and had to try it for themselves? But the main hits were about the company going out of business due to scandal after only a few months in business. Ray thought this was pretty odd. He remembered that the company had gone under in the old timeline, too, owing to lack of sales. No one liked the stuff, or even knew how to pronounce the name. (Ray assumed it was “kee-sweet” owing to its kiwifruit origins, but Blake called it “kai-sweet”, as if it were a tie-in product with the Karate Kid franchise or something.)

But shouldn’t dick growth have increased their profit margins a little bit?

Ray dug deeper. Apparently the FDA had decided the stray internet rumors that KiSweet was an effective penis and testicle enhancer were the company’s own attempts at viral marketing and had shut them down, despite the CEO’s denials; other countries followed suit, and between that and their other problems they were out of business before you could say “internet scam”. Everyone else seemed to treat it as a joke. It was even a short-lived meme: “I’m taking KiSweet” had, for a few weeks, been internet shorthand for “I’m doing something completely futile because I’m a gullible moron.” Actual reports of guys who’d grown their dicks—with pictures and everything, some even bigger than Ray’s—were dismissed as hoaxes. There was even a guy in the Philippines with an actual 30-inch cock, but he claimed that it was all down to the hardcore local-brand espresso he drank every day. A breathless interview on some Asian-language “porn news” website showed the guy, an otherwise nondescript, rather pallid-looking thirty-year-old with an unsightly porn ‘stache, squirming on camera while awkwardly pretending to ignore the red-tinged tree-trunk erection erupting from his tee shirt collar and pressing against the side of his face. The comments under the video that Ray could read were all angry or laughing denunciations of the ridiculous fake penis the guy was wearing in the interview.

Huh. What a weird, fucked up world, he thought. All these guys looking for a way to get bigger cocks, and yet when it actually happened thanks to an unexpected side effect from a corny wish in a legit-magical new year’s resolutions book from some weird, woo-woo company in Oregon, it was all dismissed as a con.

Still… there had to be another factor beyond poor sales, a strange taste, and bad distribution, or there’d be more guys with chest-high boners out there, enough for people to realize it was a thing. Maybe milk canceled it out? Both he and Danny went without. Would that be enough to limit the population of cock-growers due to an already obscure and unpopular product? Hmm.

He remembered the “unaware” clause of the incredible disappearing disclaimer. That might have something to do with everyone stubbornly not making the connection, he thought, on top of any limiting factors. Technically the perception filter gag applied to the actual “resolution” (the “I will accept the truth that” bit, in this case), but there had to be an awareness inhibition at least partly covering the ripple effects of the resolution, not just the direct impact. Then again, maybe there was an inertia factor involved in reality change, and the enormous mass—for lack of a better word—of what was real resisted the force of transformational change.

Ravenfinder might have stepped in into blunt the effects of his “resolution”—that, too, was a possibility, and a disconcerting one. Or maybe…

He glanced past his tablet at his dick, which was now almost completely hard again, sticking straight out between his unimpressive legs like it was challenging them for dominance. It would look so good with his hands wrapped around it, he thought. His hands, and his mouth. Fuck, he needed to see that.

With hardly a second thought he activated the camera on his tablet and got to work.


Determined not to become addicted to the amazing feeling of having his hard cock in his mouth, Ray managed to make it through the day with only one more round of self-pleasuring, right before he headed over to Danny’s. It’d seemed like a good idea to take the edge off before he showed up at his boss’s house and started trying to size him up through his high-end Levis. Even so, he was still a little warm-cheeked as he stepped up to the navy-blue door, dressed in his brown duffle coat, his nicest henley (the chocolate one), and the loosest jeans he could find. He rang the bell, feeling more than a little self-conscious of the wrist-thick 14-inch sausage he had managed to pack tightly under two separate jock straps, like a vacationer with twice as many clothes as his luggage could handle. Would Danny notice? Except… in this reality, he would have noticed a long time ago. Would he stare? Ignore it? Not care? A day’s worth of tension had Ray feeling pretty frazzled, and he forced himself to take a long, calming breath as he heard the sound of someone approaching from inside.

Danny opened the door with a smile, but Ray thought he could see something very slightly on edge and distracted in his green eyes. His cheeks looked a bit pink, too—maybe he and Danny had been engaged in similar pre-dinner activities. (Don’t think about it…, he coached himself firmly.) Danny also seemed to be very deliberately and firmly holding eye contact with Ray, almost as if he had trained himself not to look down at Ray’s obscenely obvious bulge. Guiltily, as he had been planning to look down himself the moment he saw his boss, Ray made himself do the same, keeping his eyes locked on Danny’s as they greeted each other.

“Hey, Ray, glad you could make it,” Danny said warmly after a second. “Come on in. Happy new year!”

“Thanks, you too,” Ray said, hanging up his coat on the coat tree by the door and following the taller man into living room of the cozy one-story home. It was still tastefully decorated for Christmas, with a tree in one corner and a few holiday cards perched on the fireplace mantel. “Something smells great,” he added truthfully.

Danny smiled brightly, pleased at the compliment. “We’re all meat-eaters,” he explained cheerily, “so this year I thought I’d try a sausage… lasagna.” At the mention of sausage his resolve seemed to falter, and he let his gaze drop briefly to Ray’s overstuffed crotch. He sucked in a breath and quickly looked back up at Ray, a little wide-eyed. He thumbed jerkily behind himself in the direction of the kitchen. “I, uh, should go check on that, actually,” he said. “The sausage. Lasagna! The lasagna. I’ll be about, uh, five minutes, so… make yourself comfortable. Maybe find a playlist?” He gestured toward the docked mp3 player on the side-table by the couch. “Okay? Sorry, I’ll be—” Then he turned and hurried out of the room without finishing his sentence. The sound of his footfalls, Ray noticed, were clearly taking him through the adjacent kitchen and then beyond it, in the direction of the main bathroom in the back.

Ray smirked as he headed over to the mp3 player. He hadn’t intended to make himself into a catalyst for Danny’s increased libido, but it was definitely a welcome and serendipitous byproduct of his fucking around with the universe. He dialed up some alterna-rock he knew the three of them could agree on, but didn’t turn it up too loud yet. Ray had good hearing, and the walls in Danny’s house weren’t as thick as he thought they were.

Sure enough, he soon heard faint grunting and soft, needy moans coming from the back of the house, as from someone in desperate need of release despite having recently cum. Ray’s own cock tried valiantly to chub in immediate, sympathetic response to these sounds of self-pleasuring, but it was so tightly packed that the ensuing constrictive discomfort was its own erection-inhibitor. He managed to bank his arousal for now, all his attention focused on the sounds coming from the back bathroom.

Danny was already chasing his climax, if the muffled sounds sifting through the walls between him and his boss were any indication. Ray was almost tempted to sneak back there and try to snatch a peek of Danny flogging himself, but just then there were three short grunts, and then a loud groan that went on for a surprisingly long time. “Jesus, so much cum,” he heard Danny say distantly through the walls, and Danny barked a laugh.

The doorbell rang. Ray heard the sound of a door opening in the back of the house, and Danny called, “Ray, can you get that? I’ll be right out.”

“On it!” Ray sang out, loud enough Danny could hear him. He turned the music up to proper dinner party background levels and, still wearing a self-satisfied smirk, he went to answer the door.

It was Blake, of course, kitted out in a natty, new-looking navy pea coat and a sky-blue cashmere scarf. He looked ready for a runway, and he obviously knew it. Next to him was a recently acquired boyfriend Ray had met once when he’d joined Blake as they were all leaving the office. He thought his name was Marcel. He was like a darker, Frencher version of Blake, equally well coiffed, well groomed, well built, and well smug about it. From snippets Ray had overheard at the office he knew that Marcel not only looked like he should be on TV, like Blake, but had landed an actual role in some daytime soap, playing the personal trainer and boytoy of a curmudgeonly financier’s depraved illegitimate son. Ray was almost curious enough to look up clips of Marcel’s performance, given that from the sound of it there was a strong chance he’d be wearing tight gym shorts at the most for the entirety of his screentime, but he hadn’t yet bothered to do so.

Blake was looking Ray right in the eyes, just like Danny had, but his demeanor was completely different. His expression said, I wouldn’t glance down at your oversized junk if you paid me. That figured.

Marcel, in contrast, was staring comically at Ray’s bulge, eyes round and mouth agape.

Ray turned back to Blake, suppressing an urge to grin. “Hey Blake,” he said. “Happy new year.”

“Raymond,” Blake responded coolly. “You remember Marcel.” He elbowed his date in the intercostals, hard, and Marcel jumped and looked up guiltily.

“H-hello,” he stammered, pulling a hand from his coat pocket and offering it to Ray. “Bonne année. It is nice to meet you again.” His eyes flicked down for a nanosecond, then back up. Man, this guy wanted to see it so bad.

That’s my life from now on, Ray realized unexpectedly. Guys staring, wanting to see it, pestering him for just a quick look or a suck. Well, maybe he could modify things with the book at his next “resolutions” writing session. Or… he could learn to live with having a 14-inch soft, 16-inch hard, deliciously suckable cock. Hmm. Decision, decisions. Perhaps Danny would have some perspective. He was bigger, too, and Ray was dying to see the end results.

Ray smiled and returned Marcel’s firm handshake. “Likewise. Won’t you guys come in? Danny’ll be right out.”

He bundled the couple into the house and indicated the coat tree for them to hang their gear up. As he was locking the door he heard Blake whispering to Marcel as he guided him into the living room, “Put your eyes back in your head. It’s not real.”

“It’s not?” was Marcel’s startled response.

They passed into the living area. Ray followed a few steps behind, both annoyed and amused. At some point he was going to have to show Blake just how real his equipment was. Preferably with a bit of dick-slapping across Blake’s pretty face. He thought Marcel might appreciate that.


Once they’d sat down to dinner and all the crotches were safely hidden under the table, the general sense of tension eased, and the four of them enjoyed a pleasant meal. The lasagna was delicious, and there was an excellent pinot noir to go with it; the side dish of garlic broccolini, meanwhile, was a nice counterpoint to the darker taste of the pasta. Danny plied Marcel for stories about life in the soap opera trade, which Marcel was more than glad to regale them with. They were having such a nice time Ray almost forgot about the cock transformations he’d triggered in himself and his boss (and however many others out in the world who’d ended up as big-cocked collateral damage of his innocent ploy to up Danny’s sexuality). Then Ray would catch Danny looking at him, and there’d be that something in his eyes that seemed to be saying something like, There’s a couple of elephants in the room, and they’re in our pants.

When Danny got up to fetch the apple cobbler he’d made for dessert, Ray finally let himself look at Danny’s crotch.

Holy fuck.

It was even more firmly packed away than Ray’s, but there was no question that Danny was hauling around way more meat than your average human male. It was a damned beautiful bulge, enticing even, and Ray’s own ginormous cock again tried to swell against its punishing confines.

Danny turned away quickly, abashed, and headed in to the kitchen. Realizing he was making a spectacle of himself, Ray sheepishly looked over to gauge the reaction of the other guests. Marcel was still staring at where his host had been standing, as if the image of Danny’s heavy, round bulge in his dark jeans had been burned into his retinas. He had a slight, dreamy smile on his face. Ray almost snorted aloud—the guy was clearly in cock heaven and loving it.

Blake was glaring at Marcel, which was even more amusing.

“I’m… going to go help Danny,” Ray said, standing and heading into the kitchen.

As soon as he left the room he heard Blake whispering something to Marcel that sounded like, “I knew I shouldn’t have brought you tonight.”

In the kitchen, Danny was pulling a square glass pan out of the oven. Ray grabbed a trivet and set it out the counter for him, and Danny set the hot tray onto it while Ray closed the oven door for him. “Thanks,” he said, setting the potholders to one side. “Um—”

They were standing fairly close. “Listen, Danny,” Ray started to say, but Danny faced him and interrupted.

“I have a confession to make,” Danny said. He moved closer, as if to heighten the intimacy of their conversation, but the consequence of this action was that their bulges made contact.

Ray gulped. He would need to do something about his arousal soon, and, if Danny really was orgasming much more frequently than before owing to Ray’s other resolution, his need was even more intense. Ray saw his eyes darken as arousal soaked through his boss. He looked very cute, with his earnest expression and his dark hair flopping over his forehead, and Ray kind of wanted to kiss him. Among other things.

Danny licked his lips. “It’s my fault,” he explained earnestly, his voice sounding rough. “What happened to us. I realized it today. It’s all because—”

“I know what happened,” Ray broke in calmly. He moved slightly closer, their straining crotches now pressed firmly against each other. “It’s not your fault.”

“I started us using that stuff,” Danny persisted.

“It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

They stared hungrily at each other for a long moment.

“Still,” Danny said at last, “I feel responsible for what happened to you. It must be a such a burden. Will you at least let me… take care of it?” he asked, his eyes pleading and sultry all at once.

A slow grin spread across Ray’s face. “Only if you let me take care of yours,” he replied.

Danny hesitated, then smiled back in relief. Then his gaze abruptly shifted past Ray, his brows lifting into his hair.

Ray twisted to look over his shoulder. Leaning against the counter on the other side of the kitchen, near the open archway into the dining room, was Marcel. His arms were folded over his firm chest, its contours visible through his thin, heather sweater, and his expression was rapt, as if this were all a show that he was lucky enough to have gotten tickets for. His midnight blue slacks were very tight, which meant there was no mistaking the long, thick, diagonal bulge protruding along the crease of his hip.

Blake appeared in the doorway. He took in the scene at a glance and grimaced. “C’mon,” he growled, “let’s go.”

Marcel didn’t take his eyes off of Ray and Danny. “Leave if you wish,” he said.

Blake frowned and glanced over at Danny and Ray. The four of them all looked at each other for a second or two. When no one else moved or said anything, Blake turned on his heel and disappeared. A moment later they all heard the front door open and then close again, not quite slamming shut.

Ray met Marcel’s heated gaze and decided, somewhat impulsively, that he didn’t at all mind an appreciative audience for what was about to happen next. He smiled a knowing little smile at Marcel, and Marcel smiled back, his gaze even more intense.

Ray turned back to Danny, his expression asking, You okay with this?

Danny blinked once at Marcel, then shrugged infinitesimally and turned his eyes back to Ray. His expression softened.

They both reached for each other’s crotches at the same time, their knuckles smacking against each other.

Ray huffed a laugh. “Me first,” he said. “I have to see.”

Danny nodded tightly. This first round wasn’t going to take long. With trembling fingers, Ray popped the waistband button of Danny’s jeans, then found the zipper and slowly pulled down the tab, the sound filling the quiet room. It wasn’t easy, the teeth straining as they were across Danny’s mighty bulge, but at last he got it down. He shifted the jeans down a little off Danny’s hips so he could get a good look.

Danny was wearing a pair of what looked like extra-strength compression shorts, presumably designed to restrain extra-large cocks like his. Ray would have to look into those. The pair Danny was wearing was bright red and looked magnificent as Danny’s cock strained and twitched against its captor.

“Hurry,” Danny said. “You’re making it really need to get hard, and it… can’t.”

Ray looked up at him and smiled apologetically. “On it,” he said softly, wiggling his brows, and Danny gave him a crooked smile. Then Ray slid a couple fingers under the elastic waistband on each side of Danny’s hips and, with a single, fluid motion, shucked the compression shorts downward, freeing Danny’s cock and balls.

Almost instantly, Danny’s cock swelled to massive, rigid hardness, soaring up and to the left so quickly it would have been like a punch in the face if Ray had been kneeling in front of it. Which he would definitely have to try another time. A musky scent rose up with it, with distinct notes of sweat and cum.

Danny’s cock looked amazing. Unlike Ray’s straight-up steel pipe, Danny’s had a gentle curve that made Ray’s ass twitch with curious desire. It wasn’t as long as Ray’s monster from the look of it, maybe 13 solid inches, but it was definitely a lot thicker. Oh, you beauty, Ray thought reverently.

From behind them came a low whistle, and Danny and Ray both grinned, Danny a little more nervously. I concur, Ray thought. He reached out and grabbed the curved, steel-hard prick with one hand, giving the warm cock a slow stroke that produced a small gusher of precum. Danny sucked in a huge, involuntary breath and quickly started fumbling at the waistband Ray’s loose old jeans, the only ones he thought he could get away with in public.

Ray kept up a slow-paced stroke, up and down, as Danny worked, and in moments Ray’s jeans were open, his jocks were pulled down, and his cock, too, was exposed. Danny took it in his hand right away as it started to expand to rapid and complete hardness, stroking with an awed expression as it rose up, and up, and up.

Oh la vache,” Marcel gasped quietly from somewhere behind them. There was the sound of unzipping—Marcel was finally taking out his own meat. Danny, gratifyingly, kept his wide eyes fixed on Ray and his stunning, chest-high erection.

“It’s so beautiful,” Danny rasped, meeting his gaze.

“So’s yours,” Ray said with a half grin, squeezing Danny’s uberthick, arching cock as he stroked and eliciting another sucked-in breath. Unlike him Danny was circumcised, but Ray’s hand was already plenty slick from the insane amounts of precum Danny was producing. He guessed from how hard Danny felt that he was very close—as was Ray.

Danny was taking in the proximity of Ray’s cockhead to his face. “How do you keep your mouth off it?” he whispered.

“I don’t,” Ray answered.

As if his words had triggered an instinctive, innate response, Danny immediately bent forward—he didn’t have to lean down very far—and took Ray’s cock into his hot mouth like he intended to swallow the whole thing. Behind them, Marcel cursed again, but Ray barely noticed, he was so flooded with pleasure from what Danny was doing to him with his mouth and lips and tongue, coupled with the awesomeness of the massive, hot, curving prick he was now diligently stroking.

“Oh, fuck, Danny,” he said. “If you keep that up I’m going to cum in your mouth so hard…” Danny hummed something that sounded like permission, and the sensation of it and a few deft, wide licks around Ray’s head sent him rocketing almost instantly into wild, uncontrollable stratospheric release. He grunted and started blasting cum into Danny’s mouth, and all at once Danny’s cock swelled and stiffened, jerking spasmodically as Danny released a massive orgasm. Danny couldn’t keep swallowing and pulled off, getting a few hits in the face as he gasped for air before he pulled back, panting and laughing, still cumming hard in huge gouts of spunk that spattered loudly on the kitchen floor. Ray kept stroking him as he came, and Danny kept a soft grip on Ray’s still-mostly-hard prick. As Danny finished his mega-orgasm, Ray leaned up and engaged him in a messy, cummy kiss. They separated with a laugh.

Still gripping Danny’s shuddering, bent, stiff-as-stone cock, Ray turned his head to appraise the results of his handiwork. The large, irregular puddles on the white ceramic tiles looked like ten people had spooged there, not just one. “Jesus,” Ray said dramatically, “sooo much cum.” When he looked back up at Danny he was blushing, recognizing that Ray had heard him before, but he was also grinning and very, very happy.

“I have never seen so much,” Marcel marveled, not party to the joke but appreciative just the same.

Danny’s grin was both embarrassed and challenging as he met Ray’s gaze. “I’m not anywhere near done yet,” he admitted.

Ray leered back at him. “Good to know,” he said.

Agreeing silently to clean up the mess later, the two of them moved out of the kitchen in the direction of Danny’s bedroom still gripping each other’s cocks, Marcel trailing excitedly behind. As they headed for round two, Ray had to congratulate himself on, all in all, a job well done, and wondered how he could possibly top himself with his next round of new year’s “resolutions”.

“Do you need a ride anywhere?” Ray asked Marcel, keeping his voice low. He was giving himself a five-second mop-up with a damp washcloth in the en-suite bathroom while Danny snoozed soundly in the next room, finally depleted and happily exhausted after a night of enthusiastic pleasure punctuated by frequent eruptions. Marcel was leaning against the doorway watching as he washed up, his arms folded over his chest, hazel eyes sharp and clear under long, dark lashes. His naked, toned soap-star body was fully on display, and every tanned inch of him, Ray thought, from his artfully developed chest and chiseled abs to his fit swimmer’s legs to his long, pert cock with its loose complement of foreskin, was a testament to his beauty. The pile of not-quite-black hair, once immaculately coiffed, was now rakishly disheveled, matching the thin hint of scruff just now emerging along his attractively sharp jawline as their night slipped slowly into day. Strategic tattoos—a subtle ring of zombie stitches on his right wrist, a cartoon heart filled with detailed and realistic fire on his left delt, a small Celtic cross over his navel—were perfect accents to a body designed to be looked at. Even his feet were hot, Ray mused: graceful and strong, with longish, lightly hairy toes. He was a man meticulously crafted by demons or angels to draw the eye and hold it… which made his singular focus on skinny, pale, unremarkable Ray seem, to him, weirdly perverse.

Okay, “unremarkable” was not the right word. Not anymore. His new endowment seemed to demand attention, so much so Ray was finding it hard to look away himself as he laved himself in front of the large over-sink mirror. His oversized cock was finally, blessedly flaccid after hours of stubborn refusal to be anything but huge, hard, chest-high and ready for ardent affection—Ray was still coming to grips with a new awareness that the only thing he craved more than his own mouth on his cock was two more mouths joining in.

Running the washcloth over his defined, barely-there pecs he frowned at his cock in the mirror, feeling its immense weight as it hung down from groin muscles strengthened by the months of slow growth that had been retconned into his past. It had seemed almost alarmingly insatiable last night. The thing had only just gone down, and the combination of Marcel’s lusty, admiring gaze and his own attention was making it twitch, threatening to awaken all over again and build toward more and yet more ecstatic, endless, shockingly copious jizz explosions.

He’d cum a lot last night.

Not as much as Danny, to be sure. The only sound in the quiet house right now was the washing machine he and Marcel had set running a few moments earlier, now gently churning away in its little alcove off the kitchen with the two sets of sheets they’d soaked with cum over the course of the night, plus various mopping-up towels and a tee-shirt hurriedly grabbed to prevent the wallpaper behind the bed from staining. (There were two sets of sheets to be despunked because… well, they’d thought they were done at one point around two a.m. and had changed the bedclothes so they could all curl up and get some sleep together; but it had turned out that both monster cocks, Danny’s and his own, were only taking a quick nap before roaring to life again, reading for more.)

Anyway, Ray was certain he had cum way more than normal. And his stamina was off the charts now, too, almost matching Danny’s.

He bit his lip, considering. He’d made that one resolution to be about Danny’s jizztacularness specifically, but he’d somehow caught some of it, too. Maybe whatever magic governed the resolution-changes tied Danny’s massive upgrade in semen production at least partially to the KiSweet that had grown both their cocks and balls? When he thought about it that way, it made sense.

He sure hadn’t expected it, though. The unforeseen ripple effects of these resolutions were as much a part of these resolutions as the primary changes themselves. As much a part of it… and just as exciting. He’d definitely have to ponder things like secondary effects and long-term consequences for the next round of additions to the book. Because there was definitely going to be a next round. He wasn’t sure what he’d write yet, but not going back the book and making more changes, soon, wasn’t even a possibility in his mind.

He slid the soapy washcloth up his thin, patchy treasure trail. Marcel still hadn’t said anything, so he glanced up at him in the mirror again. To his surprise, Marcel wasn’t staring at Ray’s dangling, fourteen-inch sausage at all. Instead he was watching avidly as Ray scrubbed his flat, lily-white belly. “Need a ride?” he repeated. Given that the guy he’d come with had stormed off in a huff shortly after dinner, the question wasn’t so much whether Marcel needed transport but if he was willing to accept a lift from someone as not-Blakishly-glamorous as Ray.

Marcel finally looked up. Ray thought he looked tired but sated, much like how Ray himself was feeling right then, though the man’s eyes were still clear and bright. “Sure,” Marcel said, sounding pleased. “Merci.”

Ray felt unaccountably relieved by Marcel’s honest gratitude. He gave him a small smile. “Pas de problème,” he said. That got a genuine dimply smile out of Marcel. Clearly an American bothering with even the simplest bit of French was cause for semi-impressed amusement. As Ray finished washing up he found himself oddly motivated to learn more phrases he could use on Marcel. Especially the dirty ones. He wondered what the French was for “Lick my monster cock until it covers your face with spooge.” He suppressed a snort. Someone one on the internet would know. He added researching Gallic spunk-talk to his mental to-do list.

After a last quick pass over his pits and creases he grabbed a brick-red towel from the bar behind him and swiftly dried all the parts he’d just gone over. It was his fourth or fifth towel of the night, seeing as they’d showered after that two a.m. bring-down-the-house finale that had turned out to be just the pre-intermission show-stopper, plus the ones used for mopping up. Fortunately Danny was the kind of guy with a linen closet full of towels and sheets, most of them rich, saturated solids in interesting blues, reds, and greens. It was almost like he knew Ray would turn him into a super-soaker one day, Ray thought with a smirk.

Finished drying, Ray rehung the towel and, collecting Marcel with a hand on his gym-hardened, ogled-by-soap-fans-everywhere shoulder, he returned to the bedroom.

Danny lay on top of the (third set of) sheets, sprawled artlessly in exhausted bliss. He looked delicious, even without taking into account the hefty, oversized cock draped across his upper thigh like a living, five-star Photoshop morph. Ray had to resist an urge to lick that slumbering beast back to a naughty, towering readiness, not easy given how his own cock and balls were egging him on. Instead he sat on the edge of the bed and brushed messy brown hair away from Danny’s sweet face.

Danny mumbled a little and opened his eyes. They seemed to light up when he saw Ray, joined by a big, slow smile that set Ray’s heart going a-pitter-pat. “Heyyy,” Danny said fondly.

“Hey,” Ray said. “Go back to sleep. I just wanted to let you know I was heading out.” Danny would, as always, be attending a J.D.s-only New Year’s brunch later with his local alumni, and getting out of Danny’s hair would also give him a moment to take stick of what had happened between them. How much would a night of passion change things? Would they go back to normal and pretend it never happened? Would they be awkward and uncomfortable for weeks? Would Ray need another job?

Had he ruined everything?

“Okay,” Danny said contentedly, unaware of Ray’s sudden inner turmoil. “Will I see you later?”

Ray stared a half a second. He wants to see me later? His heart sped up a little more. “Uh, sure, if you want.”

“Good,” Danny said sleepily. “I remembered yesterday while I was cooking a couple of things I wanted to go over with you for the gay conference before we fly out.”

Ray had clean forgotten about the conference with everything else that was going on. They were due to leave for Austin late the next day for a half week of meetings and elbow-rubbing over legislation and precedents relating to LGBTQ rights in public schools. Danny always called it the “gay conference”, with rolled eyes implicit.

If only, Ray thought. Ray had gone to the first one thinking it would be wall-to-wall hot gay lawyers fucking. While most of them were hot, and some were probably queer, all they did was talk about gay stuff, at least as far as Ray had seen, without actually doing any of it. He’d been bored out of his mind.

Ray ducked his head. “Right, of course,” he said. “The conference.”

Danny was watching him, his green eyes twinkling mischievously. “Plus I kind of want to spend some time with you that doesn’t involve… briefs,” he added, his smile turning into a smirk.

Ray groaned. “Oh my god,” he said, “that was the worst lawyer pun ever.” He grabbed a pillow and started swatting him with it. “If you ever want to touch my dick again with those talented lips of yours—”

Danny laughed, fending off the pillow. “All right, all right,” he said, grabbing the pillow from him and tossing it aside. “Duly noted.” He beamed up at Ray.

Ray narrowed his eyes at him. “Do you have morning breath?” he asked suspiciously.

“Come find out.”

Ray did so. They kissed for a minute (a little morning breath, but worth it, he decided). Then Ray stood up, patting Danny on his bare, slightly hairy chest. “Go back to sleep for a bit. I’ll see you later.”

“See you—ooooaaooo—later,” Danny said around a yawn. He looked past Ray with a smile. “You too, Marcel.”

Marcel had been watching their interaction from a few feet away with a languid smile, looking ready to start in on another round with them or crawl into bed and sleep the day away, whichever. “Thank you for a pleasant evening,” he said politely, then added with a twisty smile, “A very pleasant evening.”

“Likewise,” Danny said happily, his eyelids closing. He was already drifting off.

“C’mon,” Ray said. They collected their clothes and got dressed in the kitchen, transferring the laundry to the dryer while they were at it and starting it running before leaving the house, just as the eastern sky was burning with crimson promise. They got into Ray’s dew-covered car and pulled out onto the empty streets.

“Do you want to be dropped off somewhere?” Ray asked him.

Marcel shrugged, watching the suburban houses slide by. “I don’t have anywhere I need to be,” he said negligently.

“What, no New Year’s Day shoots today?” Ray joked, glancing over at him. Man, he was solidly as good looking fully clothed as he was naked, he thought. That slightly mussed morning-after look was hot as fuck on him, too. What is he doing with me again? He shifted his legs a bit, situating the weight of his crotch more comfortably, and though, Oh yeah, right.

Marcel smiled and looked back at Ray. “Actually, we are shut down for the holidays until two weeks from now.” He gave Ray a speculative look. “You mentioned a… gay conference?”

Ray had been turning the upcoming conference over in the back of his mind ever since Danny had mentioned it. A couple hundred young lawyers and their assistants, a chunk of them gay and, he knew from experience with this particular organization, most of them good looking and ranging from buff to built. A few ideas about what he might add to the Resolutions book for the next round were already starting to percolate.

He pulled up at a stop sign and looked over at Marcel. “You ever been to Austin?” he asked.

Marcel grinned.


Ray rationalized stopping by the office to grab the Resolutions book now, rather than coming back for it later, by telling himself it was on the way home anyway, more or less. Plus he was pretty sure Blake had never brought Marcel around to check out the place—certainly he had never done so while Ray was there—and, after all, Marcel might be curious about the space the three guys he was fucking around with had in common. So Ray made the appropriate turns and a few moments later he was slipping into the underground garage of the building next door (which happened to be owned by the same realty management company as their beloved sliver, a.k.a. the Wyandot Building, so they got to use it for free). He found his space and pulled up the parking brake, the loud rip-like sound reverberating through the mostly empty parking level. “I’m going up to the office to pick up some things,” he said. “Want a tour?”

“Sure,” Marcel said easily, his hazel eyes glinting happily against the drab gray of the garage.

Ray wondered if Marcel thought he was about to have a little office sex. He might not be far off, come to that. He was already starting to feel profoundly horny again, and his body and his id were telling him they wanted Marcel to help him do something about it. The truth was, Ray felt conflicted. His crush on Danny was only getting deeper, but he was also attracted to Marcel. And though in his eyes the Frenchman might not be in the same league as his rough-around-the-edges, boyishly handsome, extremely adorable boss, he was, nonetheless, (a) very fine to look at and (b) very game, two attributes that got his lizard brain slavering for tactile contact and his balls churning like an industrial turbine.

He and Marcel held each other’s gazes for a moment, and Ray felt so hot all of a sudden he half expected the windows to start steaming up.

Giving up his token resistance, Ray let his lips twist in a slight leer, with seemed to delight Marcel. He heard himself say in a growly voice he didn’t entirely recognize, “Ever been fucked on a lawyer’s desk before?”

Those eyes looked like they were going to cast actual sparks any second. “Lawyer, no,” he said straight-faced. “Judge, though.”

Ray’s mouth fell open and he gaped at Ray, all Lothario affectations forgotten. “No shit,” he said. “Really?”

Marcel did his little shrug. “Not a real judge,” he clarified.

Ray got what he meant and grinned. Of course, it was on the show. Presumably not on the show, not the actual fucking, unless Hot Springs Harbor was a very different kind of program than he thought it was. Maybe it was more Dante’s Cove than All My Children. Or, more likely, Marcel had fucked around with somebody on the empty set one night after everyone else had gone home. Ray’s smile faded a little as he realized it had probably been Blake. “Welp,” he said, unbuckling his belt and reaching for the door latch, “let’s get you that nickel tour.”

Marcel grabbed his forearm, stopping him, and Ray looked over at him in surprise. Marcel looked earnest now. “Raymond—” he began.

“Ray,” he corrected. He almost hated to—his hated first name sounded nearly tolerable when spoken in Marcel’s gentle accent.

“Ray,” Marcel repeated. He licked his lips and said, “I do want you to fuck me, but…”

He trailed off, and Ray understood. “You don’t think you can take me.” This conundrum had cropped up in his own head the night before, too, which was why they’d tacitly limited themselves to mouths and hands (and bodies) all night. It was still bugging him, actually, at some low level in nis brain… because he very much wanted to make love to Danny and Marcel. In the butt. For ages, until they screamed.

Geez, had he been this much of a top before he’d grown a monster cock and balls? He wasn’t even sure.

“I know that I cannot,” Marcel responded seriously. “I have not been with many men—that way.”

Ray nodded. The fact that Marcel had a relatively untested hole frankly made him want to screw him into the bed even more. Ray was a little embarrassed to catch himself thinking that way, especially right at that particular moment when Marcel was being serious and vulnerable—all the more so given the way his massive dick was even at that moment trying desperately to thicken and unwind from its compact prison. Insensitive prick, he thought wryly, and had to hold back a smile.

“So,” Marcel was saying, “I was thinking that perhaps we will need to work up to it slowly. With toys, and…” He paused for a second to think of the word. “…buttplugs.”

Ray let himself smile at that. Marcel saying the word “buttplugs” was both endearing and tremendously hot. And yet… this was a big deal, what Marcel was proposing. He sobered a little. “That sounds like a serious investment of time and, um, anus,” he said. “Is that what you want?”

Marcel’s smile went crooked, and he squeezed Ray’s forearm, which he still had in his hand. “You would not believe me if I said how much,” he said. Ray barked a laugh.

There was one other thing, though. “What about Danny?”

Marcel shook his head. “I want you to fuck me, Ray.”

Right. “Because I’m bigger.”

“Yes,” Marcel admitted. “But also because I… like you.”

“You like me,” Ray repeated doubtfully. He tried to make sense of that and failed. “What does that—what does that mean?”

Marcel did the little shrug. “I do not know,” he said. “It is young. Maybe it means only that I want to kiss you as well as your giant prick,” he added with a slight smirk.

Ray grinned. If that wasn’t an invitation, he didn’t know what was. He slid a hand around Marcel’s nape and pulled him in for a long, athletic snog, stopping only when his dick seemed to be hell-bent on strangling itself in his underwear.

“C’mon,” he said breathily, suddenly too warm again. “Let’s get you upstairs.”


Any prospect of a morning idly wiled away with a few rounds of lawyer-desk sexytimes was foiled, however, by an unwelcome presence lurking in the darkened office. As soon as the elevator doors rumbled open Ray started as a head lifted from a shadowed corner. and a horrible, sepulchral voice moaned at them.

“Ugh, go away,” Blake wailed, like the voice of a hundred dead souls trapped in the House of Lamentations. His disheveled silhouette seemed to peer blearily at them from the vicinity of Blake’s desk across the darkened office, then dropped its heavy head onto its arms again with an audible thump.

Ray exchanged glances with Marcel as they stepped into the space, the elevator doors trundling closed behind them. Though Ray was half-inclined to feel a bit entertained at Blake’s New Year’s Morning discomfort, it was clear from Marcel’s contrite expression that the man felt at least partly responsible for Blake’s current unhappy condition. On balance, Ray could sympathize. Actually, were the truth known, Ray was more to blame than anyone: it was one of his resolutions, after all, that had led to Marcel’s head being turned—even if Ray hadn’t exactly meant for the changes to be as extensive as they had, or for himself to end up someone to attract the fascination of latent mega-size queens like Marcel.

Marcel met his gaze and nodded sideways toward the wreck currently slumped over Blake’s desk, and Ray nodded. He didn’t begrudge Marcel trying to make things whole with Blake. Marcel turned and crossed the office, his gait easy and purposeful. When he got to Blake’s desk he pulled up the guest chair and sat next to him, resting a hand on his back.

“Go ‘way,” Blake repeated, his voice muffled against his arm. Marcel’s gaze lit on something on Blake’s desk that made his dark, well-groomed brows lift in surprise. Ray’s eyes had adjusted enough to the gloom to make out what it was: a half-full liter bottle of Absolut Citron.

Well, no wonder. Ray headed for his own desk. While Blake’s presence wasn’t exactly welcome, it could serve a useful distraction. He sat in his chair and quietly opened his bottom drawer, watching the other two as he did so.

Blake lifted his head a little, though it was still turned away from Marcel. His short platinum blond hair was a real mess, Ray saw, the product Blake used religiously leaving it matted in all the wrong directions. “All you guys with your giant dicks,” Blake pronounced blearily to the room in general, “can just Fuck. Off.” His malediction completed, Blake lowered his head again.

Ray met Marcel’s gaze. Though not distraught by any means, Marcel definitely looked like he was feeling that Blake in his current state was his responsibility. Ray, for his part, was starting to suspect he didn’t have the whole story with these two. Someone as nice as Marcel wouldn’t have sloughed Blake off so casually just because he wanted to ogle monster cock, however much of a size-obsessive he was—right?

Or maybe he would. He didn’t know Marcel that well, and giant cock was clearly a dominant interest with him, to say the least, much to Blake’s chagrin. Still, Ray couldn’t help thinking they must have been close to falling out before they’d showed up at Danny’s. And he would bet every inch of his Marcel-distracting dick it was somehow because of Blake’s corrosive personality.

Marcel had bent over Blake a little more, and was now rubbing small circles on his back. “Your penis is very large,” Marcel assured Blake calmingly. “The largest I had ever seen.”

“Yeah, before,” Blake grumbled bitterly.

Ray shook his head, turning on his desk lamp and opening the Resolutions book. The “giant dicks” comment had had him wondering of Blake was truly disadvantaged in the cock department, and the pity that his kindled in him had got him weighing what he might do with one of his next resolutions to help him out a little… even given the absolute certainty in his mind that an extra-hung Blake would be even more of a dick than he already was. If Blake was already hung, though, all bets were off. No way was Ray was giving that jerk any kind of equipment upgrade unless he had been bona fide short-changed to start with, and that clearly was not the case.

“Come on, Blake,” Marcel urged. “I saw the Starbuck’s on the corner is open. Let me treat you to one of those nonfat light java chip frappuccinos you like.”

Blake lifted his head to glare at the man. “You just want to break it off with me all amicable and stuff,” he said shrewdly.

“I want to apologize,” Marcel clarified.

“And break up with me,” Blake repeated. He sighed. “I should apologize too. What I said—”

“It’s fine,” Marcel said briskly, helping Blake awkwardly to his feet. “Let me buy you coffee?” he offered again.

Blake glowered at him, then nodded and let himself be led across the office to the elevator. He did not even spare Ray a glance as he passed, which Ray was more than fine with. He was still wearing the cobalt-blue body-hugging waffle-knit long-sleeve he’d had on the night before under that new-looking pea coat, and as before it showed off every bump and bulge of Blake’s toned and beautiful body. Marcel looked like a match for him, his heather sweater highlighting every curve of his defined physique. No wonder they’d become a couple, Ray thought. His admiration and envy took him a little by surprise. An intense wave of horniness washed through him.

Blake seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “It’s just, you’re so pretty,” he whined as Marcel pressed the button. “And I’m pretty. Don’t we look amazing together?”

The elevator opened and they stepped in. “Yes, Blake,” Marcel said. “Very amazing.” Just before the doors closed he caught Ray’s glance and winked. Then they were gone, the superficial, hung-over pretty-boy paralegal and his mega-cock-loving ex.

Ray smiled, then resolved very firmly and determinedly to not waste any more mental energy on Blake Somerset if he could possibly help it. Instead he turned his attention fully to the book open in front of him, mentally rubbing his hands together in glee, his arousal now simmering and potent. He had a purpose with this thing, he reminded himself. He started paging through the book, his mind teeming. What new ways can I find to further sex up Danny Louden’s universe? he thought. He pondered the nearest approaching landmark on Danny’s personal timescape and let his smile turn wicked.

He flipped through for a while, then stopped and slapped the page when he found exactly the right entry. The winsome lettering of the resolution read: “From now on I will always _________.” Thinking of the upcoming “gay conference”, this seemed like a slam dunk. He picked up his favorite pen and, in his usual small, neat block letters, wrote TURN GUYS ON.

He looked at the completed resolution happily, then tilted his head, considering. Would that be enough? The high-achieving lawyers at the last Austin get-together had been good-looking and buff but repressed as fuck. Would they get turned on and not do anything about it? Probably, Ray huffed to himself in disgust.

He decided he needed to escalate this resolution—just give it an extra bump. He briefly pondered adding more words to it, but it looked so elegantly complete the way it was, his three little words filling the blank space exactly, and he didn’t want to mess with it.

He went forward a few more pages until he found another phrase he could work with. This one read, “I will make wherever I am more pleasant because _________.”

Interesting. Yes. This one definitely had potential. His pen hovered over the line for a moment, then, almost as if his dick were writing the response instead of his brain, he quickly added the words GUYS TEND TO BE AFFECTIONATE AND MAKE OUT AROUND ME, stacked in three tight rows of text.

There, he thought proudly. That should make things “more pleasant,” especially in a roomful of good-looking but dull lawyers. His cock was as hard as it could get bound up in his pants, and was begging to be let out. He was feeling flushed and more than a little randy. He thought of his handsome, hapless boss in the midst of a lot of hunky, dressed-down guys all getting a bit turned on and maybe a little handsy… their eyes falling to each other’s full, sweet lips…

A twinge of doubt tugged at the edges of Ray’s fevered imagination. Maybe it would make things too interesting? He shrugged the thought aside, but he made himself look the words over again.

They were pretty mild, really. Affectionate was good, and a little making out never hurt anyone.

Maybe he should take the book with him on the trip? He should take the book with him. Just in case of a need for… adjustments. That seemed reasonable. The thought turned him on even more.

With that settled, he started paging backwards through the book again, looking for new inspiration, when his phone buzzed. He picked it up: it was a text from Danny. “Guess what I’m doing,” it read.

Oh, fuck. His dick lurched, and he thought there might be serious danger of the monster ripping right through his jeans.

Another text came through. “Hint: can’t talk on the phone right now.”

Shit shit shit! Ray jumped to his feet and fumbled to release his button and yank down his zipper at record speed. Freeing his dick from its denim and boxer-brief constraints with a sigh of relief, he watched with no small amount of awe as his club of a cock swing rapidly toward his face, becoming achingly hard in mere seconds. He dropped his bare ass onto his chair, an action that all but pushed the head into his mouth. He didn’t resist.

With his worshipping lips around the crown of his sensitive, enormous prick, susurrations of hot pleasure shuddering through him in relentless, unstoppable cascades, Ray picked up his phone and typed, “you bastard.”

Danny sent a laughing emoji. “So,” came the next text, “what are *you* doing?”

Ray huffed a little laugh that sent a spasm of joy through him and his quivering, rock-hard dick. “I *was* making plans for the conference,” he typed. Truthful, though not in the way Danny would think. Then he glanced at the time at the top of his screen and added, “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your brunch?”

“Yes,” agreed the response. “Help me cum quick!”

Ray blinked at the screen. Should he send dirty talk? He wasn’t sure yet what would do it for Danny—they would need to explore all that. All this sexy was new. Well… what would make him cum, if it was the other way around? As soon as he framed it that way in his head, he knew the answer. He turned on his self-facing camera and sent a shot of himself going down on his own ginormous, massive dick.

There was no response for a few seconds, during which Ray bobbed slowly up and down his own cock, excited and smug. Then: “thanks!” followed by an eggplant and several splash emojis.

Ray laughed around his dick. “My pleasure,” he sent. “Text me later!”

“ttyl” Danny confirmed. Ray set his phone down and looked at the book as he gently fellated himself. So. He had these two guys that liked him for his beautiful sixteen-inch wang. But he couldn’t stop thinking about how he didn’t measure up in every other way to either of these men, who were both deeply sexy in very different ways—Danny, relaxed and fit, with an endearing, floppy handsomeness and easygoing charm, and Marcel, with his lithe, sculpted frame and arresting, TV-star beauty. Meanwhile, Ray was skinny and tight, but if he didn’t possess the giant dick he was currently sucking, would either of them even care?

And why shouldn’t he do something about that? After all, the book had come to him, and he’d changed himself once already, even if it was by accident. Obviously it wasn’t forbidden by these Ravenfinder mages or the mysterious “oversight authorities”. He leaned forward, sucking harder on his succulent cock, and started sifting backwards through the book again, looking for a likely resolution.

After a minute he found one he thought he could use. It read, “One thing I don’t notice about myself is _________.”

He must have already started forming the words because they were flying out of his pen almost before he knew it. What he wrote into the blank was, HOW MY CUM MAKES GUYS ABLE TO GROW MUSCLE IF THEY WANT TO.

He was not going to feel guilty about this one. Absolutely not. Just because he knew he would be the recipient of Danny’s cum in the very near future… After all, he probably wouldn’t be the only one. Lots of guys would win out with this one. Though if he got to kiss and suck and pleasure Danny more than most guys did, that was a perk of being close to this sweet, sexy man… He shivered, another blast of arousal shuddering through him. When he blew he was going to cum so much.

He spotted the resolution on the page opposite the one he’d just completed, just as his tongue was making a slow circuit around his leaking cockhead. It went, “I will no longer hide _________.”

Memories of making out with Danny overpowered him, and his dick seized for a second, seeming, impossibly, to stiffen even more in his mouth. He picked up the pen, his hand almost shaking, and wrote MY STRETCHY EXTRA-LONG TONGUE WHEN KISSING.

Fuck, he was close. So close—!

The elevator dinged and Marcel stepped out. Ray closed the book and slipped it into his drawer, but there was no time to hide his dick or what he was doing with it. He looked up hurriedly to see if Blake was with him. He wasn’t, thank god.

A huge, dimpled smile bloomed on Marcel’s handsome face as he saw what Ray was up to, driving Ray even closer to cataclysmic release. Marcel was just standing there, though. Impatiently, his climax imminent, he popped his mouth off his dick and said, “C’mere and help me with this thing!”

Marcel, of course, was more than happy to oblige.

Danny checked the time on his phone. Almost midnight. So much for “brunch”.

He sighed, repocketing his phone, and sat back against the red-leather upholstery of the decidedly upscale booth at Sirrah’s his buddies had repaired to after three hours of bloody marys and mimosas at Mrs. Toad’s, the trendy eatery Ted’s wife’s ex-mother-in-law owned; an afternoon of beer and football playoffs in the reserved VIP room at Min-Ho’s Sports Bar on Seventh; and cocktails and stilted conversations at the alumni club. “Now we can relax!” Brock had happily announced as he’d dropped into the booth and started loosening his cobalt-blue tie, as if they’d been spending a harried day filing briefs and dashing between courtrooms and this was their long-awaited release from lawyerly bondage.

Danny probably should have known better than to assume he’d be able to duck out unnoticed after the cinnamon cappuccinos, asparagus-and-zucchini frittatas, and glazed lemon-ginger scones were gone as he had in years past. Over the last few months, as he’d watched the slow and at-first-inexplicable accretion of his private parts with wide eyes and watering mouth and experienced an accompanying steady upsurge in his increasingly insistent libido and the quantity and frequency of his orgasms, Danny had also noticed a subtle and sort of subsidiary side-effect: guys wanted him around.

Before, Danny had seldom been in the thick of things, a wandering star that passed through conversations and gatherings and then moved on without much involvement or impact. It was always “Oh, hey, Danny, good to see you” and when he left it was “okay, see you next time”. Now, though, his gravitational force had somehow increased. Once he joined a group, especially if it was mostly guys, he was welcomed with enthusiasm and generally had to fight to leave. Greetings were more likely to be “Danny!! Where have you been, bro?”, usually with accompanying grins and arms over the shoulder or slaps to his biceps, and when he suggested leaving his shoulder or wrist would be grabbed and he’d hear, “Wait, I need your advice about something” or “You totally need to hear what happened in Judge Mixner’s courtroom last week” or “C’mon, you never tell us what’s going on in your life” or “There’s this guy I have to introduce you to, let me tell you about him.”

Danny was pretty amused by all this, seeing as how the explanation for it was so patently obvious and yet so ridiculous. His standing in the city’s legal community was the same as ever; his practice had neither grown nor shrunk; his networking remained incidental and mostly limited to people he liked talking to anyway; he’d won or lost no big cases, publicized or otherwise. Literally the only thing that had changed about him in the last six months was the size of his junk and his progressively off-the-charts need to blow his load several times a day.

It wasn’t even that his friends and colleagues were staring at his huge unit or anything. For anything work-related he’d been dressing in suits with extra-loose trousers and packing his equipment up as tightly as he could, even for professional off-hour gatherings like this. In fact today he’d worn his loosest suit pants, the charcoal wool trousers that barely showed a bulge even as he walked around or sat down, with the jacket, a white broadcloth shirt, and a navy pinstriped tie—an outfit that in past years would have made him almost invisible among his more finely dressed brethren. He always did what he could to make sure that no one looking at him would have any clue that he presently possessed a massive, 13-inch extra-thick wang with a sweet, lickable curve when it was fully hard. And yet… these days guys around him seemed to be picking up on something—either the size of his cock or the extreme potency of his sexual need, he wasn’t sure which—like he was emitting some kind of subsensory metadata, and instead of casually dismissing him as peripheral, like he was used to, he was now instinctively important to any group of guys he joined. Slipping away unnoticed was no longer one of his superpowers, destroyed, it seemed, by the unconscious emanations of his alpha cock.

Maybe he was being too nice, he thought to himself, idly swirling his Dewar’s in a wide, stubby rocks glass. If having a huge dick and an amped-up sexy drive really meant something to these yahoos on some unconscious, primitive level, he should be able to leverage the eldritch power of his superior junk to tell his groupies to politely fuck off.

He smiled. He could almost picture it: the Danny from another world who acted like an overconfident asshole. If Ray saw that he’d joke that Danny had finally found his feet as a lawyer.

His smile widened, a little wistfully. He missed Ray. It had only been a few hours—less than a day, anyway—but Danny had never even imagined sex could be that good or that intense. Or that… prolonged. His cock made a valiant effort at trying to thicken against its bindings. Fuck, he wanted to be back in bed with Ray more than anything. Ray, and Marcel too, just for the fun of it. He huffed a laugh, remembering Marcel’s awed and delighted expressions as he’d eagerly and attentively helped Danny and Ray maximize their pleasure again and again and again. Now there was a genuine huge-cock groupie.

“What’s funny?” asked Archer next to him, offering him a dazzling smile. Danny drew in a breath, and his cock strained some more. As the married alums had drifted home to spouses and partners his posse had dwindled to four apart from himself: Archer, Brock, Ted, and Camilo—easily, Danny thought, the four most handsome attorneys-at-law in a fifty-mile radius. Archer was tall, svelte, and classically pretty with pallid skin, lush, shoulder-length ash-blond hair, and ice-blue eyes, the kind of guy who made people think all trial lawyers were really sexy vampires. Brock, a budding patent attorney, was the kind cute, bright-eyed, milk-fed country boy with short dark hair, naturally broad shoulders, and washboard abs you desperately wanted to see in a tight white tee shirt and snug jeans, or maybe a tight-fitting cop’s uniform, instead of his loosely tailored lawyer duds. Ted, a real estate lawyer and the only one of them aside from Danny of them not from out of town, was a Trinidadian DILF who made even his receding close-cropped hairline look good, though so far he’d managed to defy the dadbod enough to keep a flat stomach and a firm jawline. And the prosecutor in their group, Camilo… Camilo looked like the lost Iglesias cousin, from the branch of the family that had been secretly subjected to low-key experimental genetic enhancements. Danny felt a little overwhelmed now that their New Year’s crowd had been pared to just them, like he was being subjected to a concentrated dose of single-guy male hotness. It didn’t help that he was surrounded by them, either: Danny had ended up at the center position in the semicircular booth, with Archer and Ted on his right and Brock and Camilo on his left, as if the others had conspired, consciously or unconsciously, to block his departure. Perhaps they had.

Fuck, these guys were sexy as hell, all the more so for being loosened up by varying quantities of alcohol. Danny felt a shiver of heat and knew his struggling dick would have to be set free soon. He’d already ducked into various bathrooms three times on this day-long junket to get himself off, and that was after trying to proactively clean the pipes before he’d headed out. Mmm, that had been fun. He remembered the pic Ray had sent him, and another gust of sultry heat slid through him, hitting every inch of him from head to toe. His cock squeezed so hard he thought it might rip right through his pants and smack against the table—probably hitting it hard enough to knock it over, he thought bemusedly as he tried to marshal himself.

He was still holding Archer’s gaze, those ice-blue eyes filling his vision. They narrowed slightly, as if seeing something in Danny’s eyes. Fuck, are my pupils opening up? he thought. Can he see how much I need to cum right now?

What was the question? “Oh, uh,” Danny dithered. “I was thinking about my assistant.” His recklessly let his mind drift back to the night before, which was a mistake—his dick struggled some more, and he felt so hot he wanted to strip to his skin right there in the booth. Something else besides him and Ray getting off. Earlier. Go back earlier. The kitchen? “He… has an admirer,” he finished awkwardly.

“Oh yeah?” Archer asked, interested. His smile grew lopsided, the only sure sign of intoxication when it came to Archer, as far as Danny had ever seen. Otherwise he seemed relaxed but dead sober. “Is your assistant cute?” Archer persisted. “You got a picture?”

Danny’s eyes widened. Did he have a picture? Fuck, did he ever.

Danny was momentarily distracted as Archer’s gaze dropped briefly to Danny’s lips. Okay, that was odd. He was pretty sure Archer was straight… but when the man’s glittering pale blues lifted back up to meet Danny’s, he thought he saw something new there. Curiosity? Interest?

He remembered the question Archer had asked, about whether Danny had a picture of his newly admired assistant. Uh, no. No way anyone was ever seeing that picture except Danny. And maybe Marcel. No one else, though. “Uh, not on me, I think,” he temporized.

Archer nodded, seemingly having already forgotten what he’d asked about. He was staring into Danny’s eyes kind of intently now. Fuck, was Archer… turned on? He glanced past Archer and noticed Ted watching both of them, unconsciously licking his lips. He was definitely hungry, and not for Sirrah’s famous portobello sliders. He was being relaxed about it, though, even as he shifted closer to Archer. Archer didn’t seem to mind, though he kept his eyes on Danny.

He was about to say… something, he didn’t know what, when Archer’s gaze flicked to Danny’s left and his smile widened. Ted looked that way too and grinned. “Nice,” he said.

Frowning, Danny looked to his left and was shocked to see Camilo and Brock had settled in next to each other and were casually making out with big, goofy smiles on their faces, like that was the part of the natural progression of guys hanging out at a bar. Expensive whisky, a bit conversation, some sloppy snogging. Just your typical boys’ night out. Geez, he could see Cam sliding his tongue right into Brock’s mouth, and it looked as innocent as two guys talking excitedly and intimately about something, their faces close together as they traded happy dialog—except their faces were a little too close for talking, and what they were trading was not dialog. If Danny were to do that thing with the tongue… Brock’s hairy-knuckled hand, he noticed, was resting on Cam’s thigh—not feeling him up, really, so much as just being close and intimate with his buddy, like you do. Cam’s hand was idly caressing Brock’s left shoulder blade through his suit jacket. Ted was right, he thought. Brock and Cam making out was, indeed, nice.

Also: what the hell?

Not trusting himself breathe or even think, Danny turned slowly back to Archer. When their eyes met, Archer’s thin, dark-blond eyebrows wiggled and he tilted his head toward Brock and Cam. You want to? asked the eyebrows.

Danny gulped. “I gotta hit the head,” he said in a strained voice that sounded a little loud in his ears. That thing about knocking over the table with his dick suddenly seemed not only plausible but imminent.

Archer nodded as if Danny had suggested nachos or a game of darts. “Good idea,” Archer said. “I’ll join you.”

“Heh,” Danny said, blushing. “I don’t need help, thanks.”

“That’s not what I heard!” Ted said unexpectedly, in an undertone that was nonetheless easily audible to the others.

Archer instantly turned to Ted. “What did you hear?” he asked eagerly.

Well—” Ted began. Ted always relished the chance to tell a good story.

Danny, taking advantage of Archer’s distraction, did the only thing he could figure to do: he slid off his seat and dove right under the table. Pushing his way out awkwardly through the forest of legs occupying the cramped space he clambered out of the booth, got to his feet, and walked as quickly as he could without actually breaking into a canter in the direction of the bar’s back hallway. Hopefully the men’s room was back there. If not he would find the rear exit, walk straight out of the bar, and maybe just keep going until he reached the flames of fucking perdition.


Danny found the restrooms, but he was out of luck: half-past midnight meant the bar was at its busiest, and a quick glance inside told him the little men’s room (three stalls, three urinals, two sinks) was packed, with a short line that was about to emerge into the back hallway. One of the bro-types guys queuing for a piss idly turned to look at him, and his bored expression quickly morphed into one of subtle lust, complete with the oo-face Mulan made when Chang took off his shirt in basic training. At the same time one of the guys at the urinals was frowning down at his dick, muttering a confused “Fuck, what the hell?” while trying awkwardly to force his sudden hard-on and its high-pressure yellow stream back down below the horizontal.

Danny quickly retreated to the hallway and decided to make for the back door after all. Walking to hell probably wasn’t an option, but… neither was going back to the booth. He should probably just go home, except home was twenty minutes by cab from here and he needed to free his dick now, ideally to be followed by releasing the load building up in his balls that felt big enough to paint a wall.

Danny burst out of the rear exit and into the chilly night air. He was standing under a yellowish security lamp in the small twenty-car parking lot behind the bar, delineated to either side by ten-foot chain link fences and in back the concrete wall opposite separating Sirrah’s plot from the businesses facing the next block north. An alley to one side led around to the front. All the slots were filled with pricy sedans and sleek-looking sports cars.

Danny tried to steady himself, but the universe was acting slightly out of kilter. Everything felt a little unreal, like he’d imbibed more than just alcohol on their holiday excursion. With the world in this strange, altered state he could probably just grab a taxi or a rideshare and totally get away with giving the driver a show, but… Danny was too mild-mannered to really consider doing something like that, even if the driver was into it. The threesome with Ray and Marcel was the craziest and most outré thing he’d ever done, and even that had him marveling in retrospect that it had really been him sandwiched between his hot, giant-dicked assistant and a keen, exquisitely buff soap-star cock-worshipper. His burgeoning hormones were bolder than he was, apparently; but he wasn’t ready to brazenly suck himself off in a cab while the driver watched hungrily in the rear-view just yet. Probably a good way to end up driving into a reservoir anyway, he thought, squeezing himself through his pants and feeling the building turgidity of his painfully swollen, half-hardened cock.

Danny was nervously gauging the feasibility of ducking behind a dark SUV in the far corner and taking care of his needs—better than crouching behind one of the smelly Dumpsters, he reckoned shakily—when the door opened behind him and Archer stepped out. He wasn’t alone, either, though Danny was a little surprised to see that his companion wasn’t Ted but Camilo. Maybe the other two had been paying attention to him and Archer even while they’d been sucking face; either that, or Ted’s story—and clearly he had some kind of story, some scuttlebutt about Danny’s dick despite the effort he’d made not to use urinals or let anyone see what he was packing in the courthouse restrooms—had gotten everyone’s attention, not just Archer’s.

“Where you headed, Danny?” Archer asked genially, moving toward him, a steely glint in those forbidding eyes. “I told you that I’d help.” Before Danny could react Archer had closed the distance between them and was bending to kiss him, and Danny was so horny that he just let him, surrendering to the moment.

Archer’s lips met his and Danny opened for him with a moan, barely registering Camilo’s hard body pressing gently against him from behind as his kissed Danny’s neck. “Why am I so turned on around you,” Camilo muttered near his ear as he stroked Danny’s ribs with both hands. “I’ve never been this hard for any girl.” By way of demonstration Camilo began rutting rhythmically against Danny’s ass, and Danny could indeed feel an extremely stiff and very wide erection—almost as wide as Danny’s—trapped at a perfect vertical behind Camilo’s fly. Danny smelled Camilo’s potent, savory cologne, which seemed to complement Archer’s subtler, spicier scent.

One of Camilo’s hands slid up under his suit jacket to grope lightly at Danny’s chest, even as Archer, still kissing Danny, found Danny’s hips with his hands and Danny’s crotch with his own. Archer was hard, too, his cock feeling long and lithe like Archer himself, and Danny was past caring about anything but his all-consuming need. He broke the kiss and looked pleadingly into those ice-blue eyes. “Help me get it free,” he murmured urgently.

Without hesitation, Archer dropped to his knees on the cold concrete in front of Danny, giving Danny’s crotch his full attention. Danny let him, sliding his fingers into Archer’s rakish mane, but his attention was drawn by Camilo, who put a hand to his cheek and guided him to twist his head around enough for Archer to kiss him. Camilo slid his tongue in deep, and Danny was tempted to do the same. He always held back, not wanting to shock people—even Ray and Marcel had only gotten a hint of it. But maybe the time for that was past. He was so horny these days, and so in need of cumming, and it was starting to look like he might be getting all kinds of help with that. He should do what he could to make sure things were interesting for them as well.

He felt his cock finally being released in stages from the confining jock straps he’d used to hold it back. It sprang free along Archer’s smooth face, and he heard Archer moan even as Camilo hummed ecstatically into their kiss. “God, Danny,” Archer said worshipfully, now purposefully sliding his face along the stiff, curved shaft. He heard the pull of a zipper—Archer releasing his own dick, like he couldn’t deny his own need to get off after seeing what Danny was packing. “Ted was right, you’re huge,” Archer crooned, low and reverent. Danny could feel his breath brushing along his shaft, making his scalp prickle with anticipation. “Where have you been hiding this monster? You must have the biggest dick in the country.”

Danny smiled into his kiss. He didn’t even have the biggest dick in his own law firm. Archer let his tongue out, giving Danny’s shaft a long, warm lick, and Danny grunted, deepening his kiss with Camilo as the sexy Spaniard simultaneously felt up Danny’s defined torso and humped his round, tight ass. Without wasting any more thought he let his tongue slide deeper into Camilo’s mouth, and deeper, and deeper. Camilo growled with pleasure and humped him harder.

A wave of arousal more intense than any of the others before it crashed over him. Danny broke free of the kiss and panted, “Archie! Please!” His tormenter got the message and began working in earnest to bring Danny to the monumental orgasm he craved. The moment a warm and zealous mouth wrapped around his wide cock-heard Danny rocketed to the edge of release. “Yeah! That’s it!” he coached. Hands wrapped around his base, and Danny, still with Camilo wrapped around him and pressed against him from neck to knee, was flooded with pleasure from all sides. Camilo kissed his neck on the other side as though sullying a fresh virgin just as Archer’s hot mouth sank deeper onto Danny’s too-thick, ruler-busting shaft, and Danny released a moan from some fathomless place far within him. His back arched and his plum-sized balls seemed tighten and swell at the same time.

Archer and Camilo moved faster, their movements seeming almost choreographed. Camilo found his own fly with one hand while continuing to molest Danny with the other, releasing his fat, stone-hard erection to press hotly against Danny’s crease. Archer moved avidly up and down on Danny’s cock, only able to take the top third or so but making up for it with his long-fingered hands as they jerked Danny’s cock together with firm, slick strokes, while his tongue moved deftly around Danny’s cockhead. “Guys,” he panted, breathless and desperate. “Guys, I’m close—”

Camilo rutted against him, using both hands again to pleasure Danny’s body, while Archer quickened his pace, twisting his hands on Danny’s impossibly hard shaft and taking his cock as far as he could into his hot, willing mouth. Danny let out a yell. “Fuck, yes! Guys, I’m gonna—!”

All at once Danny was exploding into full-blast orgasm, releasing torrents of cum into Archer. One hand pulled quickly off Danny’s dick as Archer stroked himself frantically while he jacked and mouth Danny into a sustained mega-orgasm, Danny’s hands still loosely thrust into Archer’s hair. Camilo was suddenly Danny, one hand around Danny’s waist while he pulled himself off too, and as he started cumming he grinned and bent in for a very sloppy kiss. They were both gasping, though, and Danny had to pull away throw his head back, still cumming like he had to show them how it was done. Archer couldn’t keep up with the volume of hot, bitter spunk Danny was putting out and pulled aside, letting his spray spatter loudly against the concrete behind him as Danny came over and over. Archer stood, and Danny, still cumming, luxuriated in the extreme pleasure of these two sexy men embracing him and slowly his torso and back and ass while his orgasm slowly tailed off, leaving him in a simple, floaty bliss.

Archer rose to his feet, looking smug and a little sweaty around the temples, and the three of them held each other close, taking comfort in the press of warm, hard masculine bodies, leg against leg and flank against flank, while a slow, cool breeze wafted around them, riffling a stray flyer for cut-price drinks on Thursday nights. Their mostly soft dicks hung from their flies as if they might be needed again at a moment’s notice. Danny turned to Archer as he felt up both his old friends under their jackets. Archer’s strong, slightly flared back felt especially nice, though it got him wondering briefly as his hands roamed across the taut fabric why he was wearing a shirt that seemed a size or two too small. Hadn’t he noticed the buttons straining across those swimmer’s pecs of his? he wondered muzzily. But he was too calmly euphoric for any thoughts to take hold in his sex-sozzled brain matter, and his questions slipped away as he fell into a dreamy, wide-mouthed kiss with Archer. Camilo’s hand, meanwhile, had slid down to Danny’s very nice ass, if he did say so himself. He seemed to be groping Archer’s ass with his other hand, too, and he was currently giving Archer’s neck the lips, tongue, and teeth treatment that had Danny’s own neck buzzing pleasantly. That was probably going to leave a bruise he’d have to explain, Danny thought. To a room full of gay lawyers. At the moment the idea of that kind of consequence to a moment like this seemed kind of funny and kind of hot, and he deepened the kiss with Archer, tasting his own thick, bitter spunk in Archer’s hot mouth as he let his inexplicably long tongue stretch deep into a kiss-partner’s mouth for only the second time he could remember. Archer grunted in happy surprise and turned the kiss more aggressive, a move Danny was happy to reciprocate as the three men writhed against each other. Danny was still pretty turned on, enough to go again if he wanted, and it occurred to him to wonder what Brock and Ted were up to. Maybe Archer and Camilo were just the first shift, he thought with amusement, and they were waiting to tag in. He could gear up again easily enough, but he was content to let these two men enjoy him and each other exactly like this.

They embraced like that under the amber sodium security light for a long time, kissing and caressing each other and pressing close, until at some point a guy in a J. Crew sweater and a shaggy mullet pushed out through the back door and caught sight of them, then averted his eyes and walked swiftly past as if they weren’t there, adjusting his bulge as he headed for a blue Mazda in the corner. Camilo had broken in on the kiss with Archer, leading to a some quality three-way smooching before Camilo stole him away, and now Camilo was chuckling into the kiss, while Archer smiled against Danny’s much-abused neck. “Maybe we should head inside,” Danny suggested.

“Remember to tuck in first,” Archer added.

“Or not,” Camilo said, his smile wicked as he pressed his forehead against Danny’s. He didn’t need to look to know Camilo was half hard at least; the Spaniard’s arousal seemed to seep through his warm skin and onto Danny’s.

With some reluctance they made themselves presentable and headed back into the bar. The crowd had thinned out some, judging by the noise drifting down the back hallway from the main room, and Danny decided to try the men’s room again, for its intended purpose this time. The others went on ahead back to the booth, Archer’s shoulders twitching uncomfortably in his too-small suit jacket. Dude needs to find a place that sells a proper athletic cut, Danny thought, watching him go with interest before ducking into the men’s room.

The stalls were occupied, but there was no line now and the furthest of the three urinals was free. Danny walked over to it and self-consciously started freeing the cock he had just been carefully putting away. As was opening his fly he realized that the man next to him, a handsome fortyish stockbroker type with a tropical tan and a few silver strands here and there in his coal-black hair, was watching him with what seemed like confused dismay. Danny turned his chin to stare back at him, wondering what was riling this guy. Did he smell like jizz? Was the jerk offended that he was wearing the colognes of two different guys? Then Danny saw the guy’s piss-stream tracking further and further up the back of the urinal as his long, skinny, uncut cock hardened and elevated like a construction crane. Danny’s glance downward drew Mr. Tan’s attention that way, and he gaped down in consternation. He quickly looked back at Danny in alarm. The piss-stream squeezed off, whether ended naturally or by conscious effort Danny couldn’t say, and then the cock was abruptly tucked away and Mr. Tan himself was gone, so instantly and completely he might as well have teleported out of there.

Danny blinked after him before shrugging in bemusement. He freed himself finally and let loose some of the potent potables he’d enjoyed over the course of the group’s excursion. It had been fun, but he wished he was already home. He smiled, thinking of Ray being there, and Marcel, too, if he wanted. His little bungalow had been just fine for him, but it seemed so natural to picture Ray there waiting for him, his pretty eyes filled with lusty, welcoming affection. His cock twitched as he emptied, and he quickly diverted his thoughts to a fallback litany of various stock unsexy things, like cable news pundits and rampaging capybaras. Thus distracted he was able to finish his business and stow himself away again.

Washing his hands at the sink he caught sight of himself in the mirror and froze, feeling an instant, overwhelming surge of sizzling-hot arousal at his own reflection. Fuck, no wonder that guy was cheezed, he teased himself. I’m hot as fuck! Manually shifting his tightly packed bulge as best he could he went to rejoin his friends, grinning in disbelief at himself for being such a horndog he’d managed to turn himself on.


Ray decided he liked Marcel’s apartment. Unlike his own place, a one-bedroom cookie-cutter apartment completely interchangeable with every other apartment-tower one-bedroom ever made, Marcel’s digs consisted of the top floor of a solid, four-story Victorian house in an older but still nice neighborhood. The house was painted a jaunty yellow and had a deep, shady porch Ray knew would be quite pleasant on a hot, sunny day. The apartment itself was reached by a run of narrow stairs with mushy carpeting and was sunny and compact. To Ray it smelled like rich, gourmet coffee, which he liked a lot. There was a coffee shop downtown he ducked into sometimes just to steep himself in the aromas for a bit, and Marcel’s place reminded him of it.

He followed Marcel into the living room and at his gesture dropped gratefully onto the futon-couch abutting a wide, watermelon-tinted wall. After an hour or two of sexy hijinks at the office Marcel had decided to repay him for their night of wanton abandon with a tour of the studios where his soap was shot; apparently he could get into the place despite the production being down for the holidays, though Ray didn’t know if his access involved a well-aimed wink at the security guard they passed (clearly a fan of Marcel’s) or was more routine. Marcel had been sure to show him the judge’s chambers, and had seemed as tempted as Ray was to bend it once again to certain nonjudicial uses, but they managed to keep their pants on and continue the impromptu tour. This turned into a long walk through the city center as Marcel talked about his experiences as an alien and an actor, and Ray told stories about crazy clients and the most bizarre lawsuits he’d been a part of. He even mentioned Madam Sofia, hinting that he had reason to believe she was the real deal without going into why—though, as he told Marcel about her bright fuchsia hair (striped with lemon) and her twin pocketbook dogs and her demands that all her legal filings be in italics, it occurred to him that even someone who seemed crazy but turned out to have genuine supernatural talent (or, at least, genuine supernatural connections) might still, in the end, be nuttier than a pecan pie.

Dinner at a cozy Thai restaurant was followed by more walking that had landed them back at Marcel’s, and while Ray was happy to get off his feet and maybe do a little midnight necking with his cock’s most ardent fan he couldn’t help thinking about poor Danny, stuck socializing with his alumni buddies when he probably would rather have joined them on their pedestrian jaunt through the studios and around the city. Ray had texted him a few times to check up on him and learned that he’d been unable to get away this year after the brunch, meaning he was likely doomed to be dragged through all the day’s events this time. He remembered Danny’s newly enhanced libido and smiled, wondering how he was going to get through it.

Speaking of libidos, Ray was feeling a resurgence of need himself. He watched Marcel’s round, pert ass receding into the kitchen as he went to make them a pot of tea and felt his blood running fast and hot, and his comically oversized dick weighing heavily in his groin.

To distract himself he looked around Marcel’s living room. For all Marcel was an up-and-coming TV star his flat definitely belonged to someone at the “struggling newcomer” stage rather than the “made it big stage.” Large framed posters of classic noir movies hung on several of the walls, and one of the corners held a bookcase packed with vinyl LPs, a midline phonograph standing on a small end-table nearby. There was no flatscreen that Ray could see, though there might be one mounted in the bedroom instead, or Marcel might stream everything on his phone or laptop; but it amused Ray to think that Marcel wasn’t interested in watching TV despite being one of the people employed in the business of giving other people something to watch. Some sausage-makers know better than to actually eat the stuff, he thought, amused.

He got up and walked over to Marcel’s record collection, glancing curiously over the spines. Blues, jazz, some artists he didn’t recognize. Some were genuine vintage LPs in scuffed outer sleeves, others looked like pristine, glossy reissues. He was standing there, wondering about the measurability of how much was lost transferring sound to vinyl compared to digital when he had a sudden, strange sensation, like a wall of stiff but porous membranes pushing through him hard, and he shivered, hard, and had to blink several times to clear his vision.

“Fuck, look at you,” Marcel said with raw appreciation from behind him. Ray looked over his shoulder to see Marcel standing in the kitchen doorway, drinking him in hungrily.

“I don’t know what’s sexier,” Marcel said, raking his eyes over Ray from top to bottom, “your body or your giant cock. Oh, wait,” he added with a wink, “never mind.” Marcel smiled licentiously and turned back to the kitchen just as the kettle started whistling.

Ray stared after him in bemusement. He knew Marcel loved his huge, luscious, insatiable dick, but his body wasn’t all that…

He looked down and gasped silently.

…impressive…

Somewhere in the last few moments, between one second and the next, Ray’s body had completely changed. The skinny, picked-last-for-sports body he was used to was gone. Instead, Ray beheld a hard, slate-carved physique that looked like his own wet dream—in fact, staring at the delicious, Olympic-gymnast proportions of his shoulders, arms, chest, abs, thighs, and calves, he had a feeling that with a little time in front of a mirror he could probably nail down exactly which muscly, lickable wet dream his body had suddenly been molded to resemble.

Even his clothes had changed. His go-to casual outfit was a long-sleeved tee or button-down with loose pants, but all at once that look was gone, and instead he was wearing his lone, sky-blue tank-top and a pair of jeans that, while not skin-tight, did not hide the perfection of his thighs any more than they did his ridiculously large bulge—a bulge that was definitely straining from Ray’s flushed reaction to his own instantly bulging and crazy-beautiful bod.

And it wasn’t just that he had become suddenly, thirst-trap-level hot. He felt remade. Where before he had been pleasantly fatigued from their outing, suddenly Ray felt tireless, like this body came not only with strength and endurance but limitless stamina as well.

His hand shaking slightly, he pulled out his phone and double-checked the time, already knowing what he’d see. Just after twelve. It was the book, of course. Obviously, the resolutions he’d made to spice up Danny’s life had unexpectedly come back hit him as well—again. But… how?

He closed his eyes and tried ignoring the feeling of power and vitality coursing through his muscles and the rush of arousal making his dick struggle against its tight, compressed prison, instead trying to conjure the resolutions he’d made so far.

The one about the dick-growing sweetener had been the resolution that had affected Ray as well as Danny, and after a day or two coming back to it in his mind a few times he was sure it was all down to phrasing. Most of the resolutions involved things that would start happening in the new year, like the ones about Danny’s libido and cum production. But the dick-growing resolution, as Ray had written it, made a statement about the KiSweet that was true, past, present, and future; the change was that Danny recognized it. Since the resolution had been about the nature of the KiSweet, it had also affected Ray as well (and everyone else who used it). Danny would not have noticed, the fine print Ray had read specifying that only Ray would be aware of all the changes—except that, uniquely, the wording of the dick-growing resolution in particular had explicitly made Danny aware of the effects and what had caused it.

He fought to remember the phrasing of the muscle-growth resolution as his intense arousal tried to temporarily nullify his capacity for reason. Too bad he’d ended up leaving the book at the office again. What the fuck had he written? Something about how Danny’s cum lets people grow their muscles. If they want. Ray grinned, opening his eyes and looking down at himself again. Evidently, Ray had wanted.

Clearly, this resolution had ended up being a “Danny’s cum does this” all-time absolute instead of a “from now on Danny’s cum will do this” projection. Danny’s cum now had always instilled an ability to grow muscle… and the night after the dinner party Ray had swallowed and otherwise partaken a lot of Danny’s cum. Ray was now in a timeline in which he had made himself an extremely awesome muscle-bod yesterday, just as he had awoken the day before in a timeline in which he had, over several months, slowly accreted a 16-inch monster cock. Because he was the only one aware of the resolutions, he was the only one who would even know what had happened. If he had this right, that meant that everyone else who got a cum injection from Danny would give themselves muscles and not even be realize what they’d done. Maybe. He’d need to follow up on that for sure. Line up a few volunteers, he thought dryly.

What was he missing? Was anything else going to be boomeranging back on him? He thought about the other resolutions: about guys getting turned on by Danny and tending to snuggle and make out around him. Oh, and Danny’s tongue. He was pretty sure those were all “from now on” resolutions that only affected Danny himself—and, of course, any guys in his immediate proximity. That was going to be fun to watch at the conference.

Ray was going to need to buy new clothes.

Wait. Wait. He went back to the wording of the resolution, as best he could remember it. Danny’s cum makes guys able to grow muscle if they want to. Able to grow muscle, if they want. Was that—was it just once?

He stared down at his pecs, the straps of his tank top laying across their upper curves as if to highlight their symmetry, and willed them to expand just the slightest bit.

And they did.

Holy fuck! He could grow his muscles!! His dick jerked and bucked at its restraints like an enraged bull trying to bust out of its pen at a rodeo. He was so turned on he thought he might black out. Fuck, what had he done—?

“The tea is ready! Do you want milk in yours?”

Ray swiveled wide-eyed to face him. Marcel met his gaze and was instantly concerned. He set down the mugs on the coffee table, coming over to him. “What’s wrong, Ray?” he asked, rubbing his hands comfortingly along Ray’s newly impressive upper arms. Marcel himself seemed unchanged—perhaps he had not “wanted” the muscle growth. His soap-star personal-trainer body was already perfect, after all, and his face… for a moment Ray was lost in his exquisitely handsome features, the man’s classic Gallic beauty achingly framed by fresh stubble and messy, end-of-day hair that drove Ray wild.

“I’m sorry about the tea,” Ray rasped.

Marcel had just enough time to draw his brows together in confusion before Ray pounced, engulfing Marcel in a kiss that lasted long enough for Ray to shuck his pants and underwear as quickly and as violently as possible. The second his dick was free he was pressing it hard between them, practically stabbing Marcel in the chest as he held him close and kissed him ravenously.

He broke free, panting, and gasped, “I need to cum. Now. And that’s just for starters.”

Marcel beamed at him, half innocent, half rake. Ray found his gaze steadying and alluring all at once. “Oh, cher, you will cum,” Marcel said. “As many times as you need.” His lust-darkened hazel eyes danced as he added with a grin, “I swear it.” Ray grinned too and dove in for another kiss, knowing that Marcel was the kind of man who always kept his promises.

It was only on arriving at the airport that Ray realized he’d forgotten one small detail when he’d invited Marcel along for the “gay conference”.

It wasn’t that Blake was glaring hatefully at him from his spot five seats down from him and Marcel in the opposite bank of airport gate-area uncomfortable chairs. If anything, Blake was ignoring him. But he was ignoring Ray so intensely and so venomously Ray was surprised the paperback he was pretending to read hadn’t burst into flame.

He looked like he had gotten over his momentary recourse to Absolut therapy, at least. His rosy skin looked smooth and healthy, his neatly trimmed platinum hair was perfectly coiffed, and he’d clearly given more thought to his ensemble than the frumpy post-holiday masses clogging the whale-wide passages and moving walkways. It did look good on him, Ray had to admit: said outfit including a blindingly white button-down shirt, opened low enough to show his artfully sculpted cleavage, with a thick smooth weave that teased you into thinking he was wearing a light jacket over a bare chest; richly-colored cobalt-blue trousers with sharp creases and pert little cuffs; and svelte white athletic shoes so pristine it was hard to imagine Blake actually wearing them out in the real world. Ray thought the man had never looked so preppy. When he’d first arrived, shortly after Ray and Marcel had, Ray had had to hold himself back from whispering to Marcel something bitchy about Blake thinking they were traveling to Austin by yacht.

Now, with nothing better to do until Danny got there, Ray let himself stare at Blake, knowing it was bugging the paralegal not to respond. He knew if he were honest with himself he was more than a little conflicted when it came to Blake. His default setting was defiant self-assertion, which was grating enough most of the time that Ray was grateful he reported to Danny and Blake wanted nothing to do with him. Usually, though, he projected a confident, unadorned smugness that was easy to ignore. This prickly demeanor was a recent development, and Ray couldn’t help but be aware of the extent to which he was the author of Blake’s discomfort. Literally the author, in fact, when it came to the fact that Blake, whose hefty tool, he guessed, had always been a go-to ego boost, was now surrounded by coworkers with huge, ruler-busting monster wangs. And it sure wasn’t Blake’s fault that his hot trophy boyfriend was such a committed size queen that their separation on meeting the transformed Ray and Danny was almost a foregone conclusion. Sure, Marcel’s jumping ship for the S.S. Sixteen Inches was probably as much about Blake’s attitude and preening as it was about Ray’s oversized junk; but the fact remained that Ray had outright stolen Blake’s boyfriend right in front of him and then acted like Blake deserved it for being a stuck-up pretty boy… all because Ray had had used a magical book to inadvertently give himself a cock so big his mouth was already used its texture and taste.

He turned to look at Marcel, sitting in the next seat to his left in the otherwise empty waiting area. His beauty was a little less… staged than Blake’s, though it was still deliberate: his Gallic skin, for one thing, was very well taken care of, and the fitted coral-red tee shirt, distressed jeans, and boat shoes he was wearing were as carefully chosen as Blake’s, if not quite as flashy. His loose, dark hair looked casual and un-fussed-over, but Ray knew better, having watched his new lover primp and cajole his hair into just the right shape that morning with a mix of awe and amusement. Marcel was on his phone, flicking through a news feed, and with his eyes down Ray could see the subtle swipe of guy-liner he’d watched him apply, an accent he suspected few noticed who weren’t looking for it. He sure hadn’t, before today.

Marcel felt Ray’s eyes on him and looked up. Ray smiled at him, but then his mouth scrunched to the left. When Marcel lifted an eyebrow in enquiry, Ray tipped his head back and to the side slightly, in Blake’s direction. I feel bad, he told Marcel without speaking.

Marcel gave him a soft smile that managed to both convey his affection and tell Ray he was being silly, all at the same time. It was my choice, he seemed to say.

Ray felt himself melt a little as he fell into those clear, hazel eyes. Marcel’s smile turned suggestive, and heat crept up the back of Ray’s neck. His carefully-stowed cock swelled a little, testing its restraints, and he let out a ragged, impatient breath. “I’m glad we’re not flying commercial,” he confided in a whisper.

Danny had texted him that morning with some unexpected news: he’d managed to cadge a private jet to Austin thanks to his college buddy Archer. This had been a huge relief to Ray, who hadn’t been relishing the prospect of being stuck in a business-class seat trying to hide a giant hard-on under one of those miniature pillows they give you on commercial airliners. And he had no doubt there would be hard-ons, what with being crammed in between Danny and Marcel on either side of him the whole way. After getting the details from Danny he’d quickly leveraged Danny’s platinum-class airline membership to convert their four commercial tickets into vouchers against future flights, and now here they were, in the waiting area for the remote gates reserved for private fights, knowing that now, if he boned up en route, at least everyone on the flight would already be in the know about just how much cock Ray was packing. Of course, it would be pretty gauche to whip his pillar out and let Marcel go to town on it right there in the cabin—Ray knew he would be pretty pissed about that, if their positions were reversed. Maybe swanky corporate jets had bathrooms big enough to fuck in, or something. He could only hope.

Suddenly Marcel looked past him and lifted both of his thick, dark brows. “Who’s that?” he murmured approvingly.

Surprised, Ray turned to see, feeling his own eyebrows slide up his forehead as he caught sight of the group of five singularly impressive men strolling toward them like a male-supermodel version of the cocky power-walk from The Right Stuff. They all had shoulder-bags or satchels or gym bags with them, prompting Ray to wonder: Were they coming with them?

Ray was soon distracted from rational thought, however, by the collective hotness of the group headed their way. Every one of them was exceptionally and distinctively attractive, from the tall, cocky hunk with the blue eyes and shoulder-kissing dark-blond mane and the fit, middle-aged, dark-skinned dad to the broad-shouldered, smiling, strong-as-a-steer country boy and the stubbly, hard-muscled, insanely hot Latino sex god. And amidst them all, a step ahead like he was effortlessly collecting an entourage as he moved through the airport like a magnet collected iron filings, was his own handsome but unassuming boss, Danny Louden, Esq., his firm jaw, green eyes, floppy hair, and the tight body hinted at by his loose pants and soft-collared brick-red polo looking not at all out of place among all these brawny, beautiful, sex-radiating specimens of ultimate manhood.

For a moment, Ray’s perceptions blurred so that it actually seemed like the five men were walking toward them in slow motion, and he forgot about everything but the spectacle of Danny and his unexpected posse. “Holy…” he heard himself whisper.

“Indeed,” Marcel concurred.

Weirdly, the effect of the group’s hotness seemed to intensify the closer the men got. As they entered the cul-de-sac boarding area where their private-flight gates were Ray suddenly realized with a rush of heat that all four of Danny’s friends were rocking hefty erections as poorly hidden by their high-end casual outfits as their bulging shoulders, thick arms, hefty pecs, and thick, powerful legs. The lush-haired blond with the perfectly-planed face had on a thick deep-lemon v-neck tee that clung to his aesthetically ideal muscles like a second skin; his dark-olive chinos encased not only long, elegantly sculpted swimmer’s legs but, like a prize for the observant, a long tube-like bulge that angled straight toward his left pants pocket, as though to tease onlookers with the possibility of reaching in for a feel. The sexy-cute cornfed farmboy wore an open light-green button-down over a white undershirt, and both were straining so hard at the shoulders and upper arms Ray wanted to see him do a double-bi just to put that fabric to the test; his black jeans hugged his round thighs and did nothing to hide an average-length, club-like lump reaching almost straight up just to the right of his bulging zipper. Though not as ripped as the others, Ray could tell the dark-skinned dad was extremely fit even despite the thin navy blazer and tailored lilac Oxford, and the way his loose-cut dark-blue trousers shifted as he walked baldly hinted at a curved kielbasa of a hard-on. And the Latino sex-god’s elaborately-patterned shirt, featuring large gold-and-black dragons wrapping around his delicious torso against a starry cobalt background and open to his mid-chest, seemed designed to heighten sculpted, honey-dark, hair-dusted proportions so inviting they made Ray’s hands itch. The bulge in his worn, relaxed-fit jeans made by his raging erection was massive and unapologetic.

That’s when Ray noticed they were all looking at him, their handsome faces registering interest and curiosity over the simmering lust they’d already projected. Had Danny mentioned him to them? What had he said? Ray glanced at Danny at the center of the group, taking in his hot boss as he smiled and waved at Ray.

Abruptly, like he’d swallowed a pill that produced instant results, Ray’s level of arousal jumped hard from a low purr to sudden redline. All at once he felt flushed and hot, but the pleasant nature of this sensation was quickly submerged by urgent discomfort in his groin, as his massive cock fought to get hard and tried to bend itself in half against the constraining fabric.

He leapt to his feet, Marcel rising with him, wide-eyed and pink cheeked. Ray had just enough time to see Danny register surprise at Ray’s alarmed reaction before he spun to put his back to the newcomers and the rest of the terminal. Shoving both hands into his pants, Ray struggled to straighten his enormous dick before it fucking broke off. Marcel had turned with him and was doing likewise, using one hand to straighten his own hefty prick to lie along his hip. “I’m glad it wasn’t just me,” Marcel murmured, eyeing Ray’s efforts with amusement.

Ray grunted, finally managing to free his dick from his clingy boxer-briefs and manhandle it into a straight-up vertical position. He stared down at it as it stood there tapping eagerly at his chest, radiant with heat and hungry for mouths and hands and every kind of stimulation. With a shudder of need Ray managed to pull his heavy tee shirt over it, though not before looking up and noticing a slack-jawed airport worker in gray coveralls not twenty feet away gaping at him through the window from the tarmac outside. He seemed to be reaching for a pocket, too, like he might pull out his phone and start taking pictures. Ray gave him the finger and the guy shut his mouth and scurried off.

He glanced over at Marcel, who smirked and shook his head at the obvious cock-pillar thumping his shirt, a glint in his pretty eyes. Ray sighed. The shirt he was wearing was Marcel’s, which should have made it baggy on him given their height difference; but with his recent increase in beautiful brawn and the 16-inch super-thick iron-hard pole he was hauling around, even a size-large heavyweight dark-brown tee with the cursive legend “I eat pain for breakfast” couldn’t do much to mask his current state of extreme and literally towering arousal. He wanted to suck himself so bad, too, preferably with Marcel’s help. And even Blake’s. And Danny and his smoking-hot hunk-retinue. Just the thought of all those mouths and hands made him surge perilously close to the edge, and it sucked that he couldn’t do any of what he was thinking. Not here, anyway.

Marcel was grinning knowingly at him now, irrepressible as always. Ray growled low in his throat, exasperated by his self-engineered predicament and Marcel’s enjoyment of it. He couldn’t resist diving in for quick, deep kiss, though, which was happily reciprocated. Then he turned Marcel by the shoulders to face Danny and his friends just as they rolled up in front of them, positioning himself a little behind his lover like a pregnant actress hiding behind the back of a chair. It wasn’t much cover, and obviously Danny and his friends would still be able to see everything, but he could at least try to stave off a public commotion until they took off.

“Hey, Danny,” he said in rasp, meeting his boss’s gaze. His chagrin faded as Danny’s lusty green eyes seemed to dose him with even more intense arousal. His hand was still on Marcel’s well-defined shoulder as he stood behind him, and the heavy infusion of libidinous craving made him squeeze hard against Marcel’s nicely rounded delts. He sensed Marcel feeling exactly the same, and it was only now that Ray belatedly remembered what he’d written in the resolutions book.

“From now on I will always,” the prompt had read, and in the following blank Ray had innocently written the potent reality alteration he, Marcel, and Danny’s friends were now experiencing: TURN GUYS ON. The apparent and unexpected strength of those three little words surprised him, though—it was as if he had written “AND HOW!” after them.

“Afternoon, Ray,” Danny responded with transparent casualness, his green eyes alight. As was apparently their longstanding ritual he kept them on Ray’s face despite the elephant-trunk in the room, i.e., Ray’s rigid, aching, fever-hot, and very insufficiently-shielded erection. After a moment Danny turned his fond look on Marcel. “Afternoon, Marcel,” he said, in the way you greeted someone who should be only an acquaintance but the taste of whose jizz you are intimately familiar with.

Danny then glanced to the right with a crooked smile. “Afternoon, Blake,” he added. “Ready to go?”

Ray turned his head to see Blake staring at Danny slack-jawed, eyes alight, book forgotten. He was shoving surreptitiously at something in his lap with the heel of his free hand, though it was unclear whether he was aware he was doing it. After second or two of lag time Blake fluttered his eyes and seemed to come back online. “Ready, boss,” he responded, hand now pressing into his lap. Then his eyes seemed to heat and he added, “Very ready.”

Ray narrowed his eyes at Blake. He didn’t want to share Danny—at least, not with Blake. So why did he want to run his hands affectionally over Blake’s tall, tight body and mash their lips playfully together? He reeled a little inside—that made no sense. And yet the desire was there, to cuddle close and casually make out with the haughty but handsome paralegal, defusing all the latent tension between them and…

Shit… and make things more pleasant. By making out.

The other new resolution.

Blake’s bright blue eyes met his just then, and if the way they dropped a moment later to Ray’s mouth was any indication, he was feeling exactly the same imperative. The confusion line between his platinum brows told him the impulse was just as unexpected on Blake’s end. Ray deliberately turned away and squeezed Marcel’s shoulder again instead, leaning forward to kiss the side of his neck for good measure.

“So, introductions,” Danny said, gesturing for Blake to join them, which he did with some reluctance, awkwardly holding his hand in front of his crotch. “Guys,” Danny went on, gesturing to them, “this is my paralegal Blake, my legal secretary Ray, and their friend Marcel.” Ray suppressed a smirk. Tactful, Danny. “Boys, these are my alumni friends, Archer, Brock, uh—” He paused, noticing for the first time that the remaining two friends were kissing passionately. “—Ted, and Cam,” he finished, leaning into their names pointedly to get them to come up for air. They did, unabashed and smiling. Danny shook his head slightly in bemusement and turned back to Ray, Marcel, and Blake, whose hand had inexplicably found the small of Ray’s back. Ray was so turned on he didn’t even mind that it was Blake—if anything, he kind of wished the hand would move lower.

Maybe if he made his ass just a little thicker it would draw Blake’s hand downward, cupping his hard, round, attention-hungry glutes…

No. Shit, no. Just because he was the only one who knew he had full control over his muscles now didn’t mean he should just randomly grow and shrink himself. He looked over the four men shrewdly, looking for clues. Three of them were impressively built, and while Archer might have sculpted himself a body like that—he seemed like the kind of guy who always worked hard to look good and stay strong—he had a hunch that farmboy Brock and Latino sex-god Cam were a good ten or twenty pounds brawnier today than they were yesterday, without even knowing it, while Ted, like Marcel, had probably tightened himself up unconsciously without feeling a need to grow himself. Ray wondered just what Danny had gotten up to with his alumni buddies, and in how many different combinations and venues as the night and morning progressed.

“Archer’s the one who’s graciously loaning us the use of his jet for our trip to Austin,” Danny was saying.

Ah. Ray smiled up at Archer. “Thank you,” he said, meaning it. “I’m more grateful than you know, believe me.”

Archer’s light blue eyes twinkled. “I can imagine,” he said, dropping his gaze to the head of Ray’s giant cock, which from his perspective was just visible over Marcel’s shoulder. He then pulled out his phone, though his gaze lingered on Ray’s equipment for a moment before he finally looked down at his screen.

“Are all of you going to Austin with us?” Marcel asked.

“Absolutely,” Ted said easily. Ray was a little surprised by this. They were all lawyers, and probably very busy lawyers. Were they all fallow so close to the New Year’s holiday? Or had they pushed their various schedules and hearings back just for the privilege of staying close to Danny for a couple of days and letting him make them rock hard and insatiably randy the whole time they were with him?

“We decided we’re not done with ol’ Danny just yet,” Brock chipped in, flashing a brilliant smile and throwing a long, haybale-hefting arm around Ted’s shoulders. No sooner had they looked at each other than the two of them were making out, as if that was just what you did around Danny. Which it was, thanks to Ray.

Almost unwillingly, Ray turned his head to look at Blake. Blake was staring down at him, his full, pink lips curved in an unconscious smile as his hand stroked Ray’s lower back with firm, minute strokes. It’s just a kiss, something in him urged. Kissing when Danny’s around is a good thing…

“Captain says the jet’s ready,” Archer announced just then—very opportunely, Ray thought. “ETD thirty minutes.”

Danny shouldered his bag, glancing around at his unwittingly assembled harem with a smile. “Shall we?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked with Archer toward the glass doors that led out onto the tarmac. Marcel and Ray grabbed their bags and followed, the others trailing behind them, a veritable parade of masculine strength, lust, and arousal.

As Ray passed through the doors into the cool afternoon air, he thought, This is going to be one hell of a trip.


Ray and Marcel held hands as they strode across the tarmac to Archer’s private jet, and Ray decided not to wonder whether it was primarily the result of Danny’s male-intimacy penumbra or their growing mutual affection. He knew how he felt about Marcel, and that, unlike his newly ripped physique or his impulse to snog his in-office nemesis, was something he could be sure hadn’t changed since yesterday.

He noticed Cam was keeping step with them, the chilly January breeze ruffling his half-open dragon-themed shirt. He was grinning at Ray—and, more particularly, at the poorly-hidden indomitable erection under his borrowed shirt. Ray smiled back at him, feeling the same powerful urge to make out with him he’d felt when he’d been standing with Blake before. Ray didn’t mind too much—Cam looked like he was probably a talented kisser.

“Okay, I gotta ask,” Cam said, leaning close, his smooth, baritone voice amping up Ray’s febrile desire to introduce their tongues to each other. Nodding toward Ray’s giant cock, Cam continued, “Is there something in the water at your office, or what?”

Ray barked a laugh. “Not in the water exactly,” he admitted. As Cam’s expression he asked, “Ever hear of KiSweet?”

Cam looked incredulous. “That’s an urban legend!” he scoffed.

Ray bit his lips together and shook his head.

“No way!” Cam said. He pondered this a moment, then grinned. “Got any more of that stuff?”

Ray nodded his chin toward the massive shape pushing out one side of Cam’s distressed jeans. “I don’t think you need you need it, dude,” he commented.

Cam grinned. “Oh, it wouldn’t be for me,” he said. “A couple of the guys at the D.A.’s office, though…” He trailed off, then looked ahead to where Danny was just now reaching the parked airplane. “All my life, I don’t know how I never realized how insanely hot a hard cock was,” he said, an undercurrent of wonder in his voice. “I guess I never saw one that was big enough before to really catch my interest!”

Marcel leaned into speak into Ray’s other ear. “And that is how size queens are born,” he laughed.

Ray turned to him with a smile. “You should know!”

Their transport turned out to be not the small puddle-jumper type he’d expected but a mid-sized Gulfstream twin-engine wide-fuselage cabin jet that, from the looks of it, could probably take then to Acapulco or Oahu as easily as Austin. Ray whistled internally as he took it in and mentally revised Archer’s financial stratum upward. As they climbed the steps and entered the cabin, Ray saw that the light gray and white interior was divided into two sections: a set of very comfy-looking seats, two facing two with two more across the aisle, and beyond that a long couch on one side and another pair of seats facing each other opposite. Ray looked at the couch longingly—it barely took any imaginative effort to picture himself lounging naked and hard on that couch with Marcel, Cam, Blake, and who knew who else going to town on his cock, his mouth and every other part of him.

Geez, he needed to cum. He really, really needed to cum.

Danny and Archer were talking to the captain and co-pilot, who looked weirdly like a suburban husband and wife who’d decided to cosplay the movie Airplane! for their latest date night. Archer’s eyes snagged on Ray’s chest-high erection as they passed, but said only, “Have a seat anywhere! We’ll be taking off shortly.”

Ray and Marcel moved aft, near the couch. Marcel offered to take Ray’s bag and stow it with his against the aft bulkhead. Ray handed him his bag, then turned—and found himself face to face with Blake.

He’s so turned on right now, Ray thought, taking in his pink cheeks and dilated pupils. He found his eyes falling to Blake’s lips again, but he forced them back up to the taller man’s lust-dark eyes. He barely noticed as Blake rested his hands on Ray’s hips, and Ray did the same.

“I want to…” Blake said, then faltered. He closed his eyes, then continued. “I want to apologize for the mean things I’ve said about you.”

Ray blinked at him, surprised. He wanted to make a catty remark, like, “Which time?” But something in him needed to deconstruct their mutual antagonism, box it up, and put it away. With a pang of unexpected contrition, he said only, “Likewise.”

Catching motion behind Blake in his peripheral vision, Ray looked past Blake’s square, tennis-pro shoulders to see Cam, Ted, and Brock engaged in a three-way make-out session. Hot. Ray’s aching cock surged and tried to get even harder.

Blake shifted closer, wanting Ray’s attention. His chest and abs brushed against Ray’s monster erection through their clothes, and Ray bit back a moan as he met Blake’s gaze again. Their hips moved closer too, almost automatically, and Ray felt the press of Blake’s fat ten-incher against his waist.

Blake licked his lips. “I want to bury the hatchet between us,” he said, sounding only slightly unsure as to why he might want such a thing. His eyes dropped briefly to Ray’s lips and then back up.

Just then, Ray felt Marcel’s encouraging hand on Ray’s shoulder. Knowing Blake was currently under the influence of Danny’s sex-nimbus, however, Ray thought it was only fair to remind Blake of one of the chief reasons he didn’t like Ray lately (the other, of course, being the throbbing flesh-tower they currently had gently pressed between them). Clearing his throat, he said, “Marcel and I—”

Blake cut him off. “Just…” He closed his eyes for just a second, as if letting go of something, then looked past Ray at the man standing behind him. “Just make sure he’s happy and stuff,” he finished with a quirk of his lips, turning his needy gaze back to Ray as he did so.

“I promise,” Ray said with a crooked smile, conscious despite his jesting tone of a vow being made to both Blake and Marcel. Marcel stroked his shoulder and kissed his neck, just as Ray had done back in the lounge. Blake, for his part, was staring hard into Ray’s eyes, as if only peripherally conscious of Marcel and his couple-ness with Ray. Blake had stated his injunction almost distractedly, too, as if smoothing things out between them was so much more important in this moment than his failed relationship with Marcel. Ray, with the part of his rational brain that was still working, registered again how the effects of his latest resolutions seemed way more potent than he would have expected. He’d have to try to get to the bottom of these “and how” intensifications… later.

Blake smiled, even as Marcel moved closer, pressing his own boner against Ray’s perfect ass and caressing his bulging shoulders and upper arms. Talk time over, Ray’s lizard brain announced. “So,” Ray said, smiling saucily up at Blake, “we good?”

Barely a moment later Ray and Blake were making out, deeply and passionately, like that was completely normal for them. We are very good, Ray thought, even as Marcel pressed closer behind him and began mouthing hotly along Ray’s sensitive neck. Ray released all his concerns and anxieties, including whether the detente with Blake would stick. Such worries were immaterial. Just then, for Ray, the present had wholly swallowed up the future as well as the past, and all that mattered was the unbridled pleasure only a planeful of hot and horny guys could provide.


Though he’d gathered a few hints somewhere in the course of the evening’s events that Archer had managed to wangle a suite at their hotel for their last-minute trip to Austin, it was now well past midnight and Danny’s new friends showed no sign of leaving the large, well-appointed adjoining doubles Ray had originally booked for himself, Danny, and Blake oh those many moons ago, before a strange little book had changed his boss’s life and that of everyone around him. At least the maddening need that had suffused them all on the plane and which, if anything, had escalated on the move from private jet to hotel suite seemed finally to have relaxed a few alert levels. From where he stood by the balcony door, Ray, still hard and ready for more, felt like a general looking out over a battlefield after a momentous fight; except instead of corpses the beds were littered with naked muscular men languorously kissing and cuddling each other, and instead of blood everyone was covered in unreal quantities of cum (most of it Danny’s), Ray included.

Most of the beds were occupied by couples enjoying the heady pleasures of mutual afterglow, but the pairings (and triplings) had been almost random and constantly shifting all night, like each round of sexual congress had been a gear in a larger meta-dynamic—as though all eight of them had been making love together as a single, Danny-powered organism, creating pleasure in every conceivable pattern amongst them. Still, he kind of liked the couplings they now found themselves in, and hoped the fact that they were winding down in these patterns would persist. In the nearest bed, slick, unflappable, supremely sculpted Archer was lying under Blake, who now nearly matched him in elegantly carved brawn. They were alternating kissing with murmured conversation, their gazes boring into each other. Ray wasn’t sure if he was watching a coming together of mentor and protégé, or an idealized man meeting his younger equal, but he was fascinated and inclined to ship these two just to see where such a connection would take the two men.

Beyond them, in the further bed, Cam and Ted were making out sloppily. Unsurprisingly, newly-minted size-hound Cam had spent most of the time on the plane and in the hotel with either Ray or Danny—Ray could still feel the shape and heat of Cam’s impressive tool in his ass from their last round of fucking—but it turned out Cam was also a connoisseur of expert sensual kissing, and between fucks tended to gravitate to Ted, whom Ray agreed was easily the best kisser out of all of them.

Ray turned and padded over to the open connecting door, his seemingly indefatigable hardon swiping across his suddenly Insta-worthy pecs as he moved like an obscene metronome. In the next room, in a queen-sized bed so mussed from energetic play it looked like flotsam from a shipwreck, Marcel lay dozing atop the hugely muscled form of Brock, the latter stroking his back slowly with a sweet smile on his lips, his big cock twitching and flopping down below despite the big guy being almost asleep himself. Ray couldn’t quite believe how huge the boyishly cornfed patent attorney had gotten—and all over, too, not just the pecs and shoulders like Ray had done at first. He was more uniformly proportionate now. In fact he’d taken some time during a lull and consciously modeled himself on Archer’s carefully planned physique, though he’d deliberately held back from the full fitness-supermodel level of sculpted swole that Archer—and now Blake—had achieved. (He still wasn’t sure if Archer had grown himself at all, or if he’d already looked like that before. He’d have to cyberstalk him for before pictures.)

Brock, meanwhile, had been unconsciously growing himself like crazy all night, finally plateauing at a nearly-Hulk level of completely ripped, zero-fat swole, and Ray was honestly half-amused and half-alarmed at the morning-after prospect of Brock’s perplexity at not fitting into any of his own clothes. He knew the magic behind the resolutions was self-protecting, but the built-in unawareness imbued in everyone but him could only go so far, surely. Maybe it was up to Ray to talk Brock into shrinking himself. Would he have to tell him the truth? Would he believe him? Was this the kind of scenario that conjured Ravenfinder wizards or MIBs from the “oversight authorities” so ominously mentioned in the disclaimer? Ray was half-scared and half-curious. Maybe it was a good thing Brock had pushed the boundaries of plausibility, if he got to find out what happened next in cases like this.

He looked to the side and saw Danny lounging happily in one of the chairs by the window in the second room, swigging from a bottle of water, thick-stubbled and tousled in a way that made Ray’s hard-on flex with appreciation. Like Ray he was covered in Danny’s own cum, and like Ray Danny sported a red-tinged, mega-sized boner that showed no sign of flagging. His lay against his torso as he half-reclined in his chair, its gentle curve making its impressive thickness look like a bending road that sloped away from Danny’s crotch as if toward parts unknown.

That Danny was still hard and ready for more was not too surprising: increasing Danny’s need to cum and the amount he came each time had, after all, been Ray’s first two resolutions. What he didn’t quite get was why Ray himself was apparently just as tireless. The only thing he could figure was that the increased orgasms and increased semen reality-changes had been tied to the KiSweet as a by-product of the increased cock size, as the most efficient means of implementing all three resolutions. He wasn’t sure if he bought that, but it was an indisputable fact that he had cum like a geyser six times tonight and still wanted more, and that his boss, the actual target of the more-climaxes/more-spunk resolutions, was in pretty much exactly the same boat he was.

Danny caught Ray admiring him and winked. Ray entered the room and walked silently over to him. As he did so he marveled at how all of his senses were so heightened and pleasure-soaked that even the feel of the thick pile carpet under his bare feet was a low-key turn-on.

Danny set his bottle on the table beside him and rose to stand directly in front of Ray, their monster erections sliding along each other as they shifted to face each other. Ray wrapped his young-godling arms in a comfortable embrace around his boss, and Danny followed suit with a soft smile, letting their megaboners press lightly against each other.

“Still haven’t had enough, I see,” Ray teased.

Danny shook his head, smiling in disbelief, then moved in for a long, intimate kiss. It was like their other kisses at first, but partway through Danny broke down at last and let Ray feel just how long and talented his tongue was for the first time, making Ray moan into the kiss as they two of them ground their slippery cocks together. When they finally broke for air they were both panting lightly. Danny was watching him closely, as if to gauge his reaction to Danny’s unnaturally long tongue. Ray just smiled and said, “Finally.” Danny grinned.

Ray was close just from the kiss and the feel of their bodies and cocks rubbing together. “Let’s go take a shower,” he suggested quietly. Danny nodded, pleased by the idea, and they walked together back across the second room toward the deluxe en-suite bath, Ray dragging a finger over the snoozing Marcel’s pert buttocks as they passed.


The shower was a mutual success, and Danny, finally tuckered out, collapsed happily onto the remaining bed, a look of supreme contentment on his face as Ray tucked him in. He planned on joining him and getting some shut-eye himself, but first he tiptoed into the next room and retrieved a couple of items from his bag. Making sure the four hunks in that room were genuinely asleep, he then snuck back into the other bedroom, turning the lights out in both rooms as he went.

Once in the second room he moved over to the small circular table and sat in the chair, flicking on the (thankfully weak) table lamp and checking for motion from the other three occupants. Seeing none, he settled into the chair, uncapped his gel pen, and opened the resolutions book he’d managed to retrieve from the office in case he needed to fine-tune his reality-changes during the “gay conference” trip. Now he was glad he’d done so, because there were a couple of things he definitely wanted to try to do.

He’d made Danny capable of more and crazily productive orgasms, and that plus his now-constant environment of turned-on men meant mondo cock-eruptions for his libidinous boss. To Ray all that was amazingly hot, enough so that his at last mostly soft cock perked up immediately as he thought about it. Still, maybe he should give Danny more control over it. He leafed through, looking for the right resolution to use, and finally settled on one that read, “One thing that makes me happy about myself is:” followed by a blank line. Ray let his pen hover over the line for a moment before carefully adding, I CAN CONTROL HOW QUICKLY I CUM. Ray sat back, nodding. That way, if he needs to cum, he can cum, on command as it were.

It suddenly occurred to Ray to check the time. There were a few phones on the table, some of which were plugged into chargers—amazing that anyone had been mentally focused enough to think about phone batteries on a night like this, though if he had to pick he would guess Archer, at least, out of all of them, would have the necessary self-possession. He grabbed one of the charging phones and woke the screen. To his surprise, he saw that it was only 11:50. He would have sworn it was later than that. Though they had crossed a time zone westward, so maybe that was what had thrown him off.

He returned his attention to the book, pleased the changes he was making would be implementing tonight rather than tomorrow night at midnight. There was really only one more he wanted to try for.

He paged backwards in the book and found a resolution that began: “From now on, I will always”, with a long line after it. That one would just work, he decided. He only had a few minutes left, anyway. Quickly, Ray wrote: BE COMPLETELY HARD AND READY TO ORGASM…

“Whatcha working on?” asked a quiet voice.

Starting, Ray instinctively slapped the book shut and pushed it aside. Even as he looked up to see Marcel’s smiling, curious face his heart stuttered as he realized what he’d done. He hadn’t finished the resolution! He’d meant to write that Danny would BE COMPLETELY HARD AND READY TO ORGASM ONLY WHEN I’M NAKED, to give clothed Danny more control over his giant cock and even more giant libido while he was mixing with folks in public and so on. Now, though—fuck, what had he done?

He tried to keep his face blank and relaxed as Marcel sank into the other chair, nodding inquiringly again at the resolutions book. “Oh, it’s… a kind of journal,” Ray stammered, heart pounding. “I’ll show it to you someday.”

Marcel nodded. His gaze was fixed on Ray’s, and he got the impression Marcel had something on his mind besides Ray’s midnight doodling in a mysterious book. Something had piqued his interest, and he’d been waiting for a moment alone with Ray to bring it up.

Marcel’s expression softened into a lopsided smile, his hazel eyes dancing. “So,” he said. “KiSweet, huh?”

Update posts:
Weekly Update: 2 January 2021Weekly Update: 16 January 2021Weekly Update: 15 May 2021Weekly Update: 24 July 2021

Flashback posts:
Friday Flashback: Super Libido

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