Dave looked around his little office frantically, but there was nowhere he could hide. His three monster cocks were softening rapidly, but he knew there was no way to conceal them. And as for his extra arms—he spread his four hands in an unconscious gesture of futility.
Whoever was outside knocked again, and Dave stood, walking toward the door, while trying to shove his still-ponderous cocks into his slacks. “Yeah?” he called through the door, staring down. The bulge was beyond obscene. Not to mention uncomfortable.
“Mr. Logan?” It was Ken, the college kid he'd just hired as a new cashier.
“Yeah, Ken?” Dave reverted to his nervous habit of knuckle-chewing. He felt flushed and weak from fear and regret that he'd so rashly given in to temptation, changing his body in a way he could never hide; yet, perversely, something in the back of his mind was straining to pull him back to the box and its remaining contents, like an eager dog on a long leash.
“I was just going off shift, and wanted to see if I needed to, you know, touch base with you,” Ken said. He sounded perplexed that his new boss hadn't opened the door, but evidently wasn't about to ask questions. “You know, before I went.”
“No, that's O.K.,” Dave said. “You run along now.” He breathed a silent sigh of relief.
“O.K. See you tomorrow!” He heard the noise of Ken walking off.
Tomorrow. He would see him tomorrow. He'd only delayed the inevitable.
He walked over to his desk chair, around the big box in the middle of the floor, and sat down, only to find that doing so severely scrunched his enlarged genitals. With some exasperation he kicked off his shoes and shucked his slacks and overstrained Calvins. He slumped in his chair, naked except for his socks, arms resting atop one another, his cocks lolling on the leather seat between his legs. The light hair on his back forearms tickled the hair on his front forearms. He could feel the skin on his back and legs sticking to the chair, and he stayed still for a while. Delaying the inevitable again, he decided grimly, sitting forward—much to the annoyance of the skin on his back.
He remembered something about customized clothes from the packing slip. He leaned over and pawed through the big box, pulling out a tight stack of men's dress shirts tied crossways with ribbon, and a similar stack of slacks. Untying the ribbon on the shirts he held the top one up. It was just like one of the dress shirts he owned—fine linen, cornflower blue with a button-down collar—but it had four sleeves. He held it up, spreading the sleeves with his two remaining hands, and chuckled to himself at the absurdness of it all. It slipped on easily and was startlingly comfortable. There was a very comfortable snug spot, right between his front and back arms on each side, that the shirt slipped into in a way that felt particularly pleasant.
Next the slacks. These looked like ordinary slacks, but there was clearly more room in the crotch area and the legs were roomier as well. On inspection he found silk sleeves on the insides of the legs, two on each side, presumably meant to hang onto his loose cocks. The extra sleeve intrigued him. He slipped the slacks on, standing to hitch them up with two hands while guiding his soft salamis into the sleeves with his other two hands, for the first time wondering how he'd gotten by with only two arms. He buttoned the slacks and felt better. He might be a freak now, but at least he was properly and comfortably dressed.
He knelt down to look through the rest of the box. There was still a great deal he hadn't gotten to.
Dave felt the onset of evening as he rummaged through the mysterious box he'd been sent, muscled upper arms brushing excitingly against each other through the smooth, rich fabric of his new four-armed dress shirt. Just on the edge of perception he was aware of the store standing empty and dark except for his office. The whole place was still and silent, resisting event the faint whine of passing traffic outside.
He was alone. Free to explore.
He paused and sat back in his chair, a right hand scratching his navel idly between the buttons on his shirt. He felt strangely reticent. He loved—more than loved—the changes he'd made to his body from what was in the box. The warm, very heavy feel of three ponderous cocks was a revelation, and no less fantastic was the indescribably luxury of four long, lithe arms, and perhaps most unexpectedly the delight of four strong hands. He found he was constantly and unconsciously cupping his hands together, or folding them or flexing them in groups of two, three, or four. They felt warm and comforting and fundamentally erotic.
Maybe he should quit while he was ahead. He wanted desperately to discover what else he could do with what was in the box, but what if he did something he didn't like? Was this box tailored to his needs, his own secret fantasies he hadn't admitted to himself? Or was it a generic collection of things some folks liked and others didn't?
He glanced down at the box. It seemed to be tempting him, but in a harmless way, like a hot cup of chocolate on a bitter cold day.
He decided to walk around a little, let his mind settle. He got up and quickly headed for the door to his little office, delighting in the simple pleasure of his mostly soft cocks rubbing a little against the ultrasoft fabric sleeves inside his loose pant legs.
He unlocked to door and stood in the doorway a second. The gentle pleasure from those cocks made him want to do one more thing.
Unable to resist, he turned back to the box and, casting caution aside, closed his eyes and reached in. He cast his hand about, feeling boxes, booklets, flesh, then closed his hand on a plastic vial. He drew it out and, without looking at it, popped the top off and tossed the contents into his mouth, not knowing even whether he'd pulled out pills or potion. A viscous, faintly sweet substance slid down his tongue and quickly dropped down his throat and into his system. He tossed the empty vial back in the box and looked down at his body. There were no changes that he could see or feel.
He shrugged, grinned to himself, and turned back toward the door. He walked out into the short hallway that led back into darkened coffee shop.
He heard a snick behind him—the sound of someone trying to close a door very quietly. Dave whipped around, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. The only other door at this end of the hall was the stockroom. Its solid gray door stared silently back at him. Behind him an ambulance siren tore past on the street outside, dopplering high and low before vanishing into the city background hubbub.
Dave tried to call out “Who's there?” but couldn't find his voice. Then he shook his head. He was done being the guy who fell back, melted into the crowd. He'd changed himself, and there was no going back. He strode right up to the stockroom door and tried the handle. It was unlocked. He swung it open.
The room inside was dark; he could see only by the light filtering in from the street through the big front windows. He sensed, rather than saw, someone crouching in the corner, trying to keep very still.
Dave swallowed and reached for the light switch. “I'm going to turn on the lights,” he said softly.
“Don't,” said a sweet, deep voice—Ken, the college kid he'd just hired.
Dave hesitated only a second. “It'll be O.K.,” he said. He flicked the switch.
The first thing he saw was Ken's handsome face contorted in fear that was melting quickly into naked awe. The second thing he saw was what had happened to him.
Ken was sitting naked on a small box in the corner, his tanned and lanky body glimmering in the harsh fluorescent light thanks to a faint sheen of sweat that seemed to cover him head to toe. He seemed bigger than usual, a more massive presence even withdrawn in a corner; maybe that had something to do with his six beefy arms, which he'd wrapped around his torso in a self-comforting hug. Maybe it was his three legs, lined up and bent high at the knee like a gangly teen in a cramped back seat. Two shoes lay nearby abandoned, near a pile of clothes; they looked impossibly small next to the three massive feet that were huddling together in front of him. Or maybe it was what was between those legs—he couldn't quite see between the legs and the arms all of what was down there, but he could see massive erections crowding both of his crotches.
“I was about to go and—and I found this box by the stockroom door,” Ken said quietly, almost whispering, still staring back at Dave. “It was addressed to me. I thought it was corporate stuff, new employee stuff—uniforms or something. I opened it and I—I went nuts. Everything that was in the box, I did it. I stuck it on, took it, drank it, whatever. It was such a rush and I couldn't stop. And now—“ He couldn't say any more, but there was a glimmer in his eye.
Dave's mouth was dry. He licked his lips. He was quivering very slightly, like the hum of an electric can opener. His cocks were stiffening in their sleeves, inflating irresistibly and drawing too much blood from the rest of his body. He felt just a little light-headed.
“Stand up,” he said, his voice cracking.
Ken stared at him, obviously turned on but still scared. He shook his head slowly.
Dave unbuttoned his shirt with his front hands, never breaking the gaze he'd locked with Ken. He shucked the shirt and took a step forward. He stood before Ken, four-armed, altered. Akin. “Stand up,” he said gently.
Slowly Ken rose, unfolding himself. It took some time, because Ken was now startlingly tall. By the time he was finished his head was brushing the ceiling of the little stockroom. He looked impossibly lanky, like a government-bred college hoops star. Dave found himself staring at Ken's slabs of pectoral muscle.
Dave's cocks were straining frantically in their sleeves. They'd gotten too big, too thick for their gentle silk wrappings; he had to get out of these slacks, now, before he ripped them open. Urgently he unbuttoned the trousers, pulled down the zipper, and eased the fabric off of his cocks. Once they were free they snapped to full iron-hard erection, sticking straight up and jostling each other, precum oozing freely off the broad cockheads and down the wrist-thick shafts. The slacks dropped to the floor, already forgotten.
Ken drank it all in and was deeply moved. “Shit,” he said.
Dave took a step forward. Ken did too.
Dave was aware, purely from their radiant heat, of several enormous cocks thrusting toward him, their wet, pulsing cockheads only inches away, two clusters of gigantic erections obscuring Ken's taut, narrow waist and pleasure-trailed abs. He only had to bend over a little to take each one into his mouth, wrapping all four hands around each pole as he moved methodically from one to the other. Each head, which nearly filled his mouth, elicited a new gasp of ecstatic pleasure from the overstimulated Ken.
Dave was feeling overstimulated too. He felt his mind sliding away, as if it were felling inexorably into a black hole. Soon there was nothing put warm sultry pleasure as Dave and Ken melted like smelted steel, arms and legs intertwining, bodies pressed and folded and twisted together as they frantically sought to merge into one soul of white-hot passion. A moment of lucidity washed fleetingly over Dave/Ken—he/they sensed that Dave was somehow sucking all of Ken's quivering erections—then it was gone, and they spun out of control together until they both exploded in mindless ecstasy so powerful it felt like the Big Bang.
As Dave came to he saw first Ken's beautiful body, literally covered in cum and sweat and prone on the floor, his curls plastered to his forehead, drooping half-erections lolling all over each other. Dave was resting his head, not on Ken's chest, but on a chest that looked a great deal like his own.
Dave sat slowly up, and so did nine other Daves. They were all pressed tightly together in the tiny room, so they sat up with some difficulty, jostling multi-armed shoulders and long hard legs. He realized his mind could shift to any one of them, that he was in all of them at once. Gently, slowly, he leaned each body back onto the naked, glistening torso of the Dave behind it, wrapping each one in its fellow-Dave four muscular arms. Amidst the pleasure of this sensation he knew that the vial of whatever he'd taken had done this; he guessed he'd propagated enough bodies to match Ken's forest of cocks. He relaxed in his own multiple arms for a long time, a smile of peace and joy on all his faces as he waited patiently for his lover to awaken and join him in their new life.