⋆ Mike is applying for a new job. Everything’s going great, his potential new boss is a dreamboat, he’s perfect for the position. There’s just one hitch: they need his CVNs. His confusion turns to shock when he finds out from a friend just what the “N” stands for…
Current employer. Mike gritted his teeth and typed KirkManus LLC.
The script thought for half a second and replied That employer is not a CVN subscriber. Continue? Of course they’re not, Mike thought. They barely subscribe to the human race. He clicked OK.
Position. His hard-on wanted him to type “versatile”, but he forced himself to be boring and dutifully entered the corpspeak on his business cards, Associate International Accounting Consultant. Tariff Guy would be clearer, but hey, why be clear?
Base image background. The radio-button options below that were Your current desk (cubicle) and Other, but Other was grayed out and there was a small link next to it that saids Upgrade for more options. Mike snorted. What was he saying about monetization? The desk/cubicle thing niggled at him—how did it know?—but he guessed that the website code had figured out that anyone working at KirkManus with his title would be parked in a cube, and it wasn’t wrong. At least he got a medium-sized one and all to himself. The analysts had those horrible conjoined ones where you got to hear, and smell, everything about your soon-to-be-hated cubemate. Your current desk (cubicle) was preselected, so he scrolled on.
General body type, base category. He expected to see something like endomorph, ectomorph, and mesomorph under a heading like that, but instead the options were Runner, Swimmer, Surfer, Gymnast, Basketballer, Offensive Tackle, Tank, Twink, Twunk, Otter, Bear, Lumberjack, Fitness Model, Aesthetic Bodybuilder, Heavyweight Bodybuilder. He blinked at the screen. Were those really the only options? Oh, but there was that grayed-out Other and the upgrade link again. That was a weird list, though. Even if they were only listing hotter kinds of dudes, there were plenty missing. He’d’ve at least expected to see “Dadbod” in there somewhere.
He looked down at himself. Well, Scrawny wasn’t one of the options, so he clicked on what seemed like the closest analogue out of what was offered, Runner. That felt a little like a cheat, as his legs weren’t any more toned or endurance-trained than the rest of him, but he started to scroll on anyway… then he stopped and went back. If he was cheating anyway, he might as well click on Gymnast. That was the kind of body he’d always wanted, so, hey.
He smirked a little to himself. It was a CV, after all. A little fudging was to be expected. He felt a little guilty, but he scrolled on. That was part of the fudging, after all.
Proportions, base category. The options here were Compact, Normal, Lanky, Extra-Lanky. He smiled. The extra-lanky sounded like it would have been what Cliff’s choice was, based on the picture he’d just seen. He must’ve jumped at the chance to click on that one. Mike clicked Normal… then changed it to Lanky, because why not.
Stand by while foundation image is prepared. One of those ouroboros tail-chasing wait circles appeared and cycled for a couple seconds. Mike held his breath, oddly nervous. What kind of “image” could it be preparing? It hadn’t taken any pictures of him—Mike had a bit of electrical tape over his built-in webcam thanks to a bout of scam paranoia a few years back, so there wasn’t even a way for it to see him, anyway. Was it just preparing a fake, approximated cubicle background, or was it building rough mock-ups of what his final pic might look like once a real snap of him was in the system, or—?
The screen cleared, and an image loaded onto the screen in place of the questions. Mike sat back stunned as it swiftly swam into high definition.
It was him. Naked. Butt propped on the edge of his always tidy cubicle desk, monitors arrayed behind him, hands gripping the edge loosely on either side. Pale but muscled to a point of ripped, like Paul Hamm or Jake Dalton—he half-expected to see a residue of gymnast’s chalk on the palms of his hands. Smiling unselfconsciously, despite lounging about at his cube butt-naked with someone else’s muscles—and someone else’s cock, apparently. Or, no, the thick, flaccid, circumcised phallus in the picture was definitely his cock; it just looked like it had been bumped at least a size or two up from the one he was currently trying to restrain himself from stroking through his trousers. He gaped at it, his churning balls feeling as thick as they looked in the pic, trying to understand what he was seeing and not be incredibly turned on but it. Maybe everyone got a dick upgrade? he mused in wonder. Had Cliff already been big down there, or had his picture ended up earning an extra bonus or two somehow?
He shook his head, staring at the picture in admiring disbelief. He looked limber, like he could raise one of those legs to point straight up at the ceiling if asked. Handsome. Inviting. Kissable. Hell, even his short, neatly trimmed brownish-blond hair looked inexplicably interesting on the other side of this weird looking-glass, kind of lustrous for a change and like it might be fun to slowly run your fingers through it while your gaze focused more and more on those lips, and the space between you started to fall away…
Wait. Wait! Mike forced himself to focus, because something was very wrong here. How was this even happening? He glanced sharply up at his laptop webcam above to screen, but the electrical tape was still there. How the hell had this website formed (and then modified) an exact image of him, at his desk, and completely naked? What the hell? Was this aliens, or was it some kind of deep state universal surveillance thing where the government had a image database of every working-age man and woman in the country, or the world?
Or—was CVN the government? Or aliens? Or an alien government? What the hell was going on?
He squeezed his eyes shut and took a few short, deep breaths.
No rabbit holes, Mike. Organize what’s in front of you. That’s how you get ahead. Deal with what’s in front of you, in its simplicity and its totality.
When he opened his eyes again he noticed a button below the bottom right of the image that read Save Profile. He considered it warily for a long moment, weighing his options. This was what he had come here to do, after all. He just needed to create this profile and share it with his sun-god future boss. Just click on the save button, send it off, and then you can take care of that throbbing rod in your pants that’s trying to do your thinking for you and that you won’t be able to ignore much longer.
His eyes drifted up the picture, and his arousal intensified. Fuck, he was turning himself on. Something about the way he looked in this picture drew his gaze and his attention and his libido all at once. Even without the inexplicable body upgrades he looked… good. Like someone you could look forward to sharing your work and your time with in order to get things done and make real progress. And maybe like someone you could make out with a little once the day was over and you could find a quiet nook in a cozy bar or something to enjoy each other’s company a little more.
He was warm and prickly all over. He needed to get out of these clothes. He needed to pull himself off, soon, immediately, whether making out with himself was involved or not. His eyes dropped to the Save Profile button. He should just click on it. This picture wasn’t him, and it wasn’t technically honest, but if the website saw him this way, who was he to argue?
Or—maybe it was a test? Perhaps even now Bryson was sitting back on one of those couches with a smirk, waiting to see if he’d fall for the bait and expose himself as an immoral resume cheater…
Uncertain what to do, Mike looked over to the other side of the space under the picture and saw a series of tags there: KirkManus—employee, Alaston Solutions—prospect (huh? had Bryson already flagged him in the system? that was proactive of him), tariff consultant (hey, the code on this website really was smarter than his bosses at KirkManus), gymnast body type, lanky. Next to the tags for what he’d entered so far was a link that said Explore other categories and groupings. Not ready yet to commit to saving the profile he’d created, Mike procrastinated and clicked on the link, curious what other kinds of combinations of male hotness he might browse through while he made up his mind.
A new page came up titled Explore Categories, organized in loose topics like Hair color and Height. The first one was Skin tone, with tags ranging from Alabaster to Midnight blue-black. Mike’s gaze hit on one toward the middle that read Dusky tan and clicked. A page of images came up—and unlike the Alaston management page of shoulders-up heads hots these were all large, full-body pics like his own and Cliff’s.
Fuck. Every single one one of them made him want to jump into the picture and start languidly stroking abs, chests, and asses with his hands and lips and tongue.
Okay. He couldn’t hold back anymore. He’d just… he’d get himself off, then finish the profile. It didn’t really matter which order he did them in, right? Before he could second-guess himself again he jumped to his feet and stripped off his tie, shirt, belt, shoes, socks, and pants, tossing them successively onto his bed in a flurry of impatience. He dropped back in his chair, bare-ass naked (appropriate, he thought) and completely, utterly, rigidly hard. With his left hand he pulled his lube out of his desk drawer and slicked himself up. His right hand was already busy scrolling.
These guys… they were amazing. There was a mix of ages and body types, from college-age guys a few years younger than him to wrinkle-free silver-haired hotties, all looking very fine with head-to-toe dusky tan skin. There even seemed to be a mix of races: not just tanned Caucasian guys but other guys with the same approximate coloring, whether helped by the kiss of the sun or born that way. As he scrolled a tall, extremely handsome mixed-race-looking part-east-Asian guy came into view, built with an absolutely perfect Adonis body and a long, heavy uncut cock, and Mike started stroking himself in earnest, getting a rush just from how rock-hard and turned on he was.
He stared at the part-Asian Adonis guy for a while, drinking him in, marveling at how much this guy did it for him. He clicked on the image, hoping it would open up a profile page with more pictures, but instead the little red heart appeared on his cheek complete with the tiny animated streamers, just like it had on Cliff’s page, and a small window popped up exclaiming “You just sent some love to Calvin Park!” with “Mike Yarrow” underneath. Mike huffed a laugh. Well, this guy definitely deserved his virtual love and kisses. And his real ones, for that matter. That would be hot as fuck.
Deciding he would definitely need to come back to this page, Mike scanned the outlying links and icons around the image results and noticed the outline of a bookmark icon pinned to the top of the page. He clicked it and it filled in, bookmark saved. Excellent. Mike admired the Asian hottie a few more moments, stroking fast and hard, then went back to the categories page, eager to keep exploring.
Some of the ranges in each grouping were broader than he would have expected, at times reaching into the esoteric. Under Height was a range from Extra-short all the way up to Tall, Very tall, Extra-tall, and (Mike’s pulse skipped a beat) Ducks under doorways. Okay, he had to click on that one. Sure enough, every guy on the page looked like he was at least 6’7” or taller, again spread across full range of ages, body types and skin colors. Mike panted as he scrolled through the naked images, feeling himself shocked at just how turned on he was. Some of them were even posing next to doors, as if to prove they really were that tall compared to the mundane world around them, but most of the smiling super-tall hunks were leaning on or standing next to their usual workspaces—grocery checkout counters, cubicle desks, actual real-office executive desks, modeling studio backdrops, pizza ovens, sports lockers, factory assembly lines, parcel delivery trucks, fire engines, you name it. Mike stroked harder. He’d known he’d been into tall guys, but he hadn’t quite realized what a real hot-button extra-tall-and-hunky was for him. He bookmarked the page and went back, now in a fever to see what else he could discover.
Next to the height option was a smaller grouping titled Abs, and under this was Short, Medium, Long, and Extra-long. Fuck, for real? He clicked on extra-long. Geez! He’d had no idea this was a thing. The degree of cutness varied widely from guy to guy, from faint outlines of the ab-muscles like he’d seen on Cliff’s pic to deep-carved bricks, and the hairiness varied from none to furry, though most seemed to have at least a little bit of a trail—but what they all had in common was that every one of the guys on this page had looong abdominals that, on the ones you could count them, were at least ten-packs, or more. Holy Hannah, just seeing these guys pushed him most of the rest of the way toward the edge. He could cum anytime, just looking at all these abs and imagining himself stroking them, nuzzling them, licking them…
He bookmarked the page before he spit hot jizz all over himself and returned to the main categories page, anxious and expectant. If they were doing this stuff, and giving upgrades to all the foundation images, there had to be… his heart skittered. There it was, just sitting there three-quarters of the way down the page next to Hair—lushness like it was perfectly normal for there to be a category here that said Cock length. Next to it was Cock girth, but he’d get to that. No. He’d do that first. His face hot, Mike clicked on the bottom option, Extra-extra thick.
Okay, this was—no, he couldn’t even scroll through. These pictures—these cocks—they were so beautifully thick in all their various incarnations. His mouth watered, wanting to taste each and every one of them, and—nope. He’d cum buckets all over himself if he stayed on this page even a minute longer, and he had to see the other one before he blew his load. He hurriedly bookmarked the page—he had to try twice to click on the icon because he missed the first time, he was so rattled with arousal—and went back.
He found the other category and let it fill his vision. He barely saw the list of options except for the last few entries. Mid-thigh. Three-quarters thigh. Then: Knee.
Mike’s breathing failed him for a second. He clicked without even a conscious thought.
There weren’t many images on the page, not surprisingly, but there were enough. The first guy was a boyishly handsome, curly-haired brunet jock with a swimmer’s build leaning against the side of an overnight package delivery truck, arms folded over his impressive chest. His warm-coral-toned body was muscled but not rigorously cut, like he was one of those guy who was just naturally built and didn’t try for obsessive levels of definition. And there, between his long, sculpted legs, was a thick hose of an uncut cock that seemed to want to kiss his left knee. Mike almost wanted to see him in pants, just to watch that endless bulk shifting around in the guy’s pant leg as he walked around and went about his business.
This was insane, but Mike’s mind was gone. Panting now and stroking feverishly, he turned his avid gaze to the next one. A cop, if the patrol car his butt was parked against was any indication: pale and stocky though reasonably narrow-waisted, head shaved, looking out from under dark eyebrows with mesmerizing blue eyes, and with a cock twice as thick as the delivery guy’s and almost longer than knee-length.
Mike could barely hold himself back, but there was one more thing he wanted to see. These cocks were a fantasy, but they were too long for another, competing fantasy—namely, they were too big for these guys to be able to suck themselves once they got hard. He wanted that idea to be what took him over the edge. He went back to the category page and clicked on Three-quarters thigh.
Yes. Yes. His mind was a blur. He was so close. He just saw the cocks. Thick, thin, extra-thick, cut and uncut, smooth and veiny. All past half-way down the thigh. All, in Mike’s vivid imagination, the perfect length once erect to slide into those luscious, inviting mouths… He found the bookmark icon and clicked it hard, then dropped back in his chair and gave himself over to fantasizing over these extra-long beautiful cocks getting crazy hard and thick and ready to go right into their owners’ eager, cum-loving mouths.
Before Mike knew it he was cumming hard, spitting huge quantities of spank all over his face and chest like he hadn’t blown a load in months. The jizz just kept coming, too, load after load spraying him with hot release. Mike was gasping with utter euphoria, soaring with an unparalleled climax.
He squinted at the screen on his laptop. There was some kind of dialog box, and Mike realized dimly that he’d automatically quit the browser again when he’d started cumming, like he’d trained himself to do as a teenager; only this time he hadn’t been able to completely close out. His mind in a haze, he read, Save profile before quitting? with OK and Cancel under it. He clicked OK reflexively. Of course, save, whatever. The box cleared, to be briefly replaced with another that just said All marked tags saved to profile and below that Profile saved, then the browser closed at last and his screen showed only the desktop.
Brainlessly, still riding the buzz of his orgasm, Mike shoved the clothes and shoes off his bed that he’d just tossed there a little while before and climbed bonelessly in. He should clean up and… there was other stuff. Other stuff he had to do.
Nap first. Just a little nap, and then he’d be ablznf… His tenuous thoughts unraveled, and Mike sank into a deep, comforting abyss.
The bed was too small.
That was weird.
No, he’d just slid down it somehow in the night, for some reason, and now his legs were off the bed and his feet were on the floor. Like he’d sat on the end of the bed and then… fallen back. And… gone to sleep that way? Maybe he had. He didn’t quite remember actually going to bed. Fuck, that was one hell of an orgasm. Shit, his chest and abs were still… sticky… and his face… why did he feel weird?
A sharp rapping came on the door, followed by Percy sticking his spiky blond head in. “Hey, Giant, you going to get up at all?” he asked. “We gotta head in to work soon.” He was already dressed, his tie loose around his neck, ready to tighten once they got to the KirkManus corporate salt mines.
Mike blinked, trying to get his brain in gear. Giant? It wasn’t nice to tease someone so early in the morning. “Uh, sorry, Perce,” he said groggily. “Forgot to set my alarm.”
Percy hmphed, scanning him up and down. “I keep telling you, they make beds for people your size,” he said, frowning. “They might be pricy but you’ll sleep better, I promise.” Mike squinted at him, and he shrugged. “Maybe with your first paycheck at the new place. ‘Course, you’ll need a second one just for that dick of yours…” Chuckling at his own joke, Percy turned and left, closing the door behind him again.
The hell? What was that all about? Well, if Percy was already dressed, he needed to get going now. He went to sit up—and stabbed himself hard in the eye with the damp, blunt end of his morning wood. It was like someone jamming the butt of a baseball bat in his eye, and Mike gasped with the pain. Ooooowwwwwww!
Mike opened what was, for the moment, his good eye—and stared. Right in his face and trying to fill his vision was the huge, fat, damp-slitted cockhead of a cock so towering and colossal it actually put baseball bats to shame. His warm breath gusted over it and he shivered with the pleasure. His other eye opened and he struggled to focus on what he was seeing.
Suddenly he was acutely aware of his hot, practiced, greedy mouth, so close to this vision before him… and of exactly how well cocks and mouths went together. Except, his wonderfully in-your-face mega-boner looked girthier than he was used to, and might pose a bit of a challenge. Not that he wasn’t up for challenges like that.
Shouldn’t have bookmarked Extra-thick to your profile, then, came a stray thought from one of the more awake recesses of his analytical mind.
Mike froze. That was what had happened. Right?
He reached behind the impossibly huge erection that seemed to threaten world domination any moment and drew his fingers across… a thick, muscular chest, sporting the kind of impressive, luscious, and immensely powerful pecs of a top-level gymnast. Dried jizz stuck to his sparse chest hair, and he scratched idly before skuttering his fingertips down to check what lay below the pectoral mounds. His touch found tight, cut abs—a lot of them. Row upon row.
Beyond the cock filling his vision he could see his legs. They were long, tanned, sleekly muscled, and also very, very long.
Fuck. A rush of heat flooded through him, and his mighty dick squeezed hard, a fat pearl of precum emerging from the slit. Inches from his yearning lips.
“Giant!” Percy shouted from the kitchen area. “You coming or what?”
“Not yet,” Mike called back without thinking. His eyes were still fixed on that drop of pre. He kind of needed to taste it, on top of everything else his mouth and cock wanted and needed in that moment.
“I walked into that one,” Percy said, and Mike could almost hear him rolling his eyes. “But c’mon! We’re going to be late!”
Mike sighed, and the whoosh of breath over his sensitive cockhead and upper shaft almost made him lose focus again. He glanced over at the desk and saw his phone, plugged into its charger, and the laptop, the source of his current… situation, sitting there looking innocent and benign. He unplugged his phone and picked it up.
Huh. A text from Bryson Jones. Good news. I got your profile link last night and it looks good. You’re all set! Report to work on Monday and I’ll introduce you around. I’ve even ordered an extra-tall standing desk for you—should be in by the time you show up. Looking forward to working with you!—Bry.
Mike grinned. Quickly he got up—careful to be aware of exactly where his cockhead was, this time—and, stepping over last night’s clothes where he’d uncharacteristically tossed them on the floor he hurried across the dresser, meaning to pull on the sweats he kept folded on top for quick denakeding. Of course, they weren’t going to fit him now that he was… the way he was, except, huh, they did fit him now. Okay. Whatever. He hauled on a random (and really ridiculously long-looking) tee from the top drawer, thinking to put his neck-high boner inside it and at least try to be considerate of his roommate; but the skyscraper erection he now possessed pushed out the tee in a really ludicrous way, like he was trying to shoplift a fencepost he’d stuck in his pants. So he rucked the shirt all the way up again and dropped it behind his cock. Well, Percy had obviously already seen it often enough to make jokes about it. He went out of his bedroom, remembering only just in time to duck under the doorway, and headed for the kitchen.
“I don’t think I’m going in today, Perce,” he said, dropping into one of the kitchen chairs. He was handing in his resignation, and in his field, with all the trade secrets, there was no notice to give—if he went in he’d just be escorted out again anyway. Might as well do it by email and spend the morning… acclimating to his new reality. If it was a reality. He might be a brain in a jar at this point and all of this impossibility was just a computation matrix. Right now Mike was pretty much fine with that.
Percy paused in the act of smearing peanut butter on a slice of thick white bread—he hated spending money on lunch and usually brought in PBJs and apples for his midday repast—and looked over at him. His eyes narrowed, but his lips curled in an affectionate smile, and he shook his head a little. “That thing is very distracting,” he said, adjusting his own crotch as he very deliberately turned back to his task. “I really don’t know how you get anything done.”
Mike decided to tease back. “You could help if you asked nicely,” he said with a smirk.
Percy grabbed his crotch again. “Ugh, so mean,” he said with mock bitterness. “I don’t think your boyfriend would appreciate that.”
Huh? Boyfriend? Before Mike could ask about that, though, Percy turned bask to him. “Wait, are you not going in because—?” He lifted his eyebrows.
Mike grinned. “I got the job!”
Percy’s face bloomed with genuine excitement. He held his arms out, and Mike instantly jumped up and let himself get bear-hugged. “Yay! Mike, that’s so awesome, dude,” Percy said, squeezing him hard. “So happy for you. And jealous.”
Mike squeezed back. “Thanks, Perce.” He tried not to be aware of the fact that he now had a good eight or nine inches on the well-built and handsome Teutonic roomie currently in his arms, which, apart from unexpectedly pressing some buttons he didn’t know he had, very firmly, just happened to position Percy’s face against the business end of his new impossible cock.
Percy stepped back, grinning, then wiped at his face in a show of pretend disgust. “Geez, now I’ve got Giant-prespunk all over my face.”
“Oh, sorry,” Mike said, bending down a little. “Here, let me lick that off for you.”
“Sto-o-op,” said Percy, returning the affectionate banter like he was used to it. He leaned back out of reach of Mike’s probably extra-large tongue and grabbed a dish towel. As he rubbed his face he said, “Instead of that you can put in a good word at Alaston.”
Percy peeked out from the towel. “You mean it?”
Mike sat down again. He wondered if he ate more than before. Probably, judging by the industrial-size boxes of Cheerios perched atop the fridge. “Absolutely.” He grinned. “You’ll have to get your CVNs,” he sing-songed.
Percy tossed the towel aside and started packing up his lunch in a large oblong Tupperware box. “Already taken care of,” he said, stuffing the container in his bag on the seat opposite Mike. “They’re not as impressive as yours, of course,” he went on, “but I think they turned out pretty well.” He straightened up and exhibited himself to Mike with a smile, palms out, as if to say, “See? I’m not the only hottie in this apartment.”
Mike looked him over and had to admit he had a point. His roomie was very handsome, very fit, and the half-hard-on he’d evidently given him made for a serious bulge in his dark navy work trousers. He looked the way he’d always looked, Mike thought, but now he was sure this was the new and improved CVNed Percy. So had Percy’s new form been written retroactively into Mike’s memories—the way his new mega-form had been mapped into Percy’s? It had to be. Cliff, too, had always been like he was now, the new and improved hung ‘n’ lanky version. Cliff, though, had acted as though the pictures were just pictures. Did Cliff remember being different? Did Percy? He didn’t think so. But if that was true, the fact that Mike remembered his old, unimpressive body from what was already starting to feel like his old life—that meant he was different somehow, unless the old memories went away at some point. He hoped they didn’t.
Mike gave Percy another up-and-down assessment. “I’m sure they turned out amazing,” Mike said honestly.
“Okay, you get a kiss for that,” Percy said happily. To Mike’s surprise Percy then actually bent down and gave him a brief but serious smooch, right on the lips. There was even a quick brush of tongue before he pulled back. Percy winked and said, “Make sure to tell Calvin that was purely platonic.”
The name triggered something in Mike’s memories. A perfectly muscled, dusky-tanned Adonis with a heart-melting smile. Affection welled up in him from nowhere, like ink seeping into clear ocean water from a gap between universes, and Mike found himself wanting to call his man and tell him he loved him, in case he’d forgotten. Also, to arrange a marathon fuckfest as soon as he was done at the bakery. Thank god even hot-as-fuck A-list pastry chefs worked early and had their afternoons free.
Percy was at the open door, bag over his shoulder. “I’m going to head out before you change your mind about that good word thing,” he said from the doorway. “Drinks tonight to celebrate?”
“Uh, you bet,” Mike answered.
Percy smiled and closed the door behind him with a thunk and a click, leaving Mike alone, bemused, transformed, and incredibly horny in the silent, empty apartment. As he sat there he considered the strange new life stretching out before him unasked-for… and grinned like a loon.