Threefer: Wes

by BRK   

Being around not one but two lovers transformed by the strange cock-growth drug DX3, Wes can’t but wonder what would happen if he took some, too.

Wes didn’t even know how he made it through the day anymore. Ever since he’d come face to face with sweet, sexy Quinn and his three beautiful, mouth-hungry cocks he’d been consumed with a deep-running, near-constant passion. He hungered for every waking moment to be spent kissing Quinn and sucking those rigid, pre-spurting cocks. And if he wasn’t doing that he wanted to be nuzzling him, holding him—he’d needed to feel Quinn’s physical presence, all day every day, since that very first moment. His own long, thick cock thickened and twitched whenever he thought about wanting to be close to him, which was most of the time. Fortunately he was a “shower,” with big balls to boot, so the prominent bulge his chubbed-up cock made wasn’t that visibly different from his usual hefty package.

He had a bigger “tell,” anyway, one that had given him a lot of grief in high school and these days had only gotten worse. His tongue, which was a lot longer than most guys expected it to be, tended to loll a bit out of his mouth when he was really turned on, sliding out between his lips like he couldn’t keep it totally contained. Mostly it was the guys in the local band he played drums for that teased him about it these days, lead guitarist Barry in particular, but some of the dudebros he worked with at the store had picked up on it too, and he still got the same red cheeks of abashment when he was called out on it now that he had back at Beckett High.

If it was just tall, lanky, smiling Quinn and trio of tasty cocks riding his libido it would be one thing. But then he’d met Diego, Quinn’s rakishly handsome model-hunk of a partner, and, fuck, Wes’s inner fire had started burning for him, too, practically the moment he’d crossed into Wes’s personal space and given him that trademark sexy smirk that told him he knew everything Wes wanted and would thoroughly enjoy giving it to him.

And then there was his brash, extroverted jock buddy Cam—the guy who’d gotten him the delivery gig with him at Augie’s, after the store Wes had been cashiering at had been sold and three quarters of the staff had been “consolidated out”. After the big first meeting/suck session with Quinn’s newly bloomed nipcocks, Wes and Cam had moved in with Quinn and Diego, the joke-slash-truth being that one mouth was obviously no longer enough to ensure Quinn’s ultimate pleasure, so he was cuddling with Cam every night. And then… after a couple of months Cam had started growing nipcocks, too, thanks to him sneaking doses of the same shady cock-growth drug that Quinn had taken (something called DX3 that he’d bought off some website—supposedly to help Quinn with a problem downstairs that he definitely did not have now).

But that wasn’t even the half of it! Even wilder, the DX3 had not only boosted Cam’s regular dick like crazy and made it so Cam started sprouting slowly emerging chest-dicks, it had also somehow plugged into Cam’s core obsession with his own body. The intoxicating result was that when Cam got turned on, it not only got his dicks hard—it gave his muscles a boner, too, swelling and thickening him in seconds all over in a way that was literally breathtaking to behold, and even hotter to feel against you.

Sleeping with Cam meant he got to experience this at the top of every single day, too, thanks to Cam’s leaky, clockwork morning wood. Wes always woke up close-cuddling a swollen, muscle-heavy version of Cam who desperately needed Wes suck his now-huge, extra-thick footlong crotch-boner while Cam greedily stroked off his own chest dicks in his fists. The whole time Cam would be grunting and grinning and offering him a steady stream of filthy encouragement as Wes brought him to his latest mind-blowing triple orgasm. At the same time, Wes’s untouched cock would start spurting helplessly all over Cam’s sexy legs, in perfect sync with Cam’s own copious eruptions. Wes had never imagined that starting the day could ever be that amazing every morning, and it was now more or less impossible for him to picture waking up any other way.

Not that it was just during morning sex with his buff-to-swole bedmate that Wes had to deal with the heart-stopping hotness of Cam’s muscle-hard-on and the manna of his gushing, high-pressure spunk. Cam was even more of a randy bastard than before (which was saying something). The main upshot of this was that several times a week while they were out delivering for Augie’s Megamart Wes would get an SOS text from Cam, and Wes would find himself rushing to meet him in some basement or fast-food bathroom, knowing as he sped in Cam’s direction that he’d soon be seeing his buddy’s arousal-bulked shoulders, pecs, lats, and upper arms straining mightily against his heavy-duty tees and those stretchy bike pants he wore now to work that it was warmer to help accommodate his growth. Cam always had a special, just-for-Wes cheeky grin when he spotted him, too, his now-fully-grown, urgent chest-boners already shoving through the otherwise-mysterious slits he’d cut in all his shirts even as he freed his massive crotch-cock for Wes to pleasure. Wes, somewhat to his chagrin, was aware that he had quickly become conditioned to expect and need these stolen workday moments where he was making Cam’s triple-orgasm happen.

So, between the clandestine quickies with Cam and the morning wake-up sex, the constant, daily lust-haze that filled Wes with urgent, unrelenting, gut-level craving was now even more intense, involving as it did all three of his remarkable, ball-churning roommates.

Even deeper than that, though, Wes was aware of another need, one he had never expected to have. The DX3 clearly wasn’t just a dick-enhancement drug. It grew your dick, sure, and it got you erupting gorgeous, mouthwatering nipdicks too, but even that wasn’t all. It clearly affected the people who took it differently, and according to the most essential and characteristic avatars of their arousal. For Quinn, the physical expression of his lust had been his dick, but Cam’s had been dick and muscles; and the DX3 had responded to both. What Wes had to find out was, how would the DX3 change him?

Just the question itself turned him on, and it had started surfacing in his head more and more.

He hadn’t really imagined nipcocks for himself… at first. Then, after a few weeks living with Quinn, Diego, and Cam, he’d started having dreams about nipcocks. They’d be smaller, red-tinged copies of his own big cock below, down to the wide, dark-red glans and the gentle upward curve of the slowly-emerging shafts. In his dreams he’d surprised himself by how good they looked pushing out of his dark, curly mat of chest hair. It was a novel look, Cam and Quinn being sparsely supplied with chest hair, especially compared the dark crop liberally smeared across Wes’s defined chest and trailing down his flat, slightly muscled belly. He’d gotten more and more used to the idea… just in times for the dreams to intensify once Cam’s nipcocks started to show. Wes’s own imagined chest-boners grew stronger and bigger then, as big as his generously sized-up crotch-dick, and he was spraying immense (and apparently inexhaustible) amounts of cum as he sucked Cam’s lower dick or worshipped one of Quinn’s fantastic pec-pricks. He pictured Quinn on his back with Wes ministering to one of Quinn’s nipdicks and Cam lovingly working the other one, all while Diego drilled deep into Quinn’s tight. hot ass. And then there started to be dreams where the guys were cock-worshipping him, ganging up on his three cocks to drive him toward the kind of compound, euphoric climax he’d only heard Quinn and Cam talking about like it was only something you understood when it happened to you.

All that had progressively turned Wes from a nipcock admirer into a desperate three-cocker wannabe. But what really drove him to his decision to take action, like Cam had, was his needing to know if getting nipcocks was all that would change about him. He had his daydreams about what the DX3 might zero in on if he took it himself, but lately he was increasingly hell-bent on making it real and finding out for sure. Not that he’d mentioned any of that to his three lovers when he’d broached the idea of joining the DX3 club a few days back. The others had been enthusiastic, especially Cam, who’d actually started bulking in his shirt just at the idea as he’d looked Wes over with a saucy grin, no doubt imagining what he’d look like triple-boned and dripping with pre, whimpering for all their mouths on his cocks…

Fuck, he was getting turned on himself just thinking about that moment. No sooner had he become aware of his growing arousal than he heard a low chuckle nearby, and he remembered where he was: behind his drum kit in Barry’s garage, after their Sunday-morning practice. He’d been caught fantasizing about dick, and not for the first time.

“Uh oh, looks like Wes is getting riled up again,” Barry said in a teasing voice. “You know the rules. Too bad the others have already gone… home…”

Barry trailed off as Wes looked up, fixated on Wes’s tongue. Technically, Wes didn’t need his flushed, heated state and quickening pulse to tell him how turned on he was getting—the feeling of warm air on his tongue told him all he needed to know. His extra-long mouth-muscle had slid well out of its usual space again, just like it always had when his libido was spiking. It was the thing his buddies had always razzed him about from puberty onward, and the band was no exception; in fact, Barry and the guys had escalated the mockery, claiming the look was so “irresistible” and so “sexy-distracting,” they had to formally impose a penalty of one french kiss for everyone present anytime his lust got his long, wayward tongue snaking past his lips. The rule had been in place (and rigorously enforced) for a year or so now, more or less since he’d officially joined Hard Rain as their full-time drummer, and the truth was that not only had Wes been enjoying those kisses rather a lot despite pretending otherwise, the guys in the band—especially Barry, who looked like a young Justin Timberlake with Mark Wahlberg’s body and sang like a dream—were also clearly so into it they had increasingly taken to trying to egg him into a physical reaction: walking around shirtless, trading notes about explicit sex scenes in movies and their own jerk-off experiences, that kind of thing. It had been pretty easy to get him going even before his sex drive had kicked into high gear over the last two-and-a-half nipcock-enhanced months, and lately he was such an easy mark there usually ended up being some kind of group make-out at every rehearsal and gig, one way or another, either before or after.

He knew his tongue was out—it almost felt like his internal warmth and arousal was focusing there, though at the moment his attention was focused on the unaccustomed feeling of his burgeoning nipcocks. They were still just nubs that looked and felt like cockheads, stiffening and increasing in sensitivity under the shirts he was wearing—he’d doubling his shirts that morning just in case of moments like this, not wanting his cocknubs to be obvious, though he knew it wouldn’t be long before there was no way to hide them… and he was in a constant state of excitement and nervousness about what that would be like, having them all the time, not just in dreams but in actual reality. At least his two proudly nipcocked lovers had already blazed the trail for him—he couldn’t imagine doing it alone.

Barry was still staring at Wes’s tongue, drawing Wes’s attention back to the sensations he was experiencing from that part of his anatomy. Actually, it felt different—like his tongue was throbbing, somehow. He pressed his lips around it, and was surprised at how firm it felt… and how much pleasure the contact gave him. Almost like—almost like—

“Y-you know the price,” Barry repeated, stammering a little. He’d said those words dozens of times as prelude to Wes’s supposed forfeit of a deep-throat kiss every time his tongue was exposed, but now it sounded like he was saying it for the first time, and with real urgency.

Wes stood, trying to smile sheepishly around his strangely rigid tongue. He was distracted by the brush of fabric over his cocknubs as he straightened, and his bigger-than-ever crotch-boner straightening along his hip, the curve matching the curve of his body. The nubs must have shown slightly under his shirts, because Barry’s eyes darted very briefly that way before jumping up to fixate on his tongue again. Feeling strangely self-conscious as he closed the distance with the shirtless young rock god, Wes watched as Barry’s hazel eyes seemed to darken more for every inch that vanished between them.

Then Barry was wrapping his mouth around Wes’s tongue, and as their lips mashed together Wes made a sound of deep need in the back of his throat he had never heard himself make before. Pleasure exploded through him, bright, sizzling fireworks flashing up and down his spine and through every part of him. They folded their arms around each other and the kiss deepened, expanding his pleasure exponentially. His stiff, protruding tongue shoving deep, deep into Barry’s talented mouth felt so amazing his sense of reason and self eroded completely, and for this moment he was nothing but hot, swirling, mindless joy.

He couldn’t take much more. His big cock had pushed past his waistband, and Barry had found it with one of his capable guitar-god hands. He was stroking the copiously pre-slicked head and upper shaft firmly, like he was demanding Wes’s orgasm, and Wes was ready to deliver—and not just from there. He felt orgasms swirling in him, building, compounding, and then suddenly he exploded, unable to resist another second. He came hard, spurting crazy amount of cum from his massive crotch-cock… and his two cocknubs, soaking his hairy chest under his shirts… and, strangest of all, he was absolutely certain he was cumming right into Barry’s mouth as well!

He pulled back so that they were both panting, sweaty foreheads pressed lightly against each other, his tongue still resting gently in Barry’s mouth, both their lips wrapped loosely around its sensitive shaft… and that was when he heard the applause.

Startled, Wes pulled back further, freeing his tongue from Barry’s mouth so that he could turn and look for the source of the noise—not that he couldn’t guess who it was. Sure enough, Cam stood in the open garage doorway, clapping loudly with a big grin on his face. He was obviously very turned on: his muscles were so big they were testing the seams of his white tee shirt, and his nipcocks were huge, erect, and proudly exposed through the slits in his tee.

He’d forgotten Cam had agreed to pick him up. He wanted to tell him to knock it off, but he know he wouldn’t be able to make himself intelligible at the moment… so he just glared.

Next to him were Diego and Quinn, also obviously aroused—which meant that Cam wasn’t the only one with big, exposed nipcocks. Barry stared in awe at all the bonerflesh, a hand in his damp blond curls as the three hunks walked over to join them. Barry had met them all before at a couple of the band’s gigs, but he sure hadn’t seen them fully aroused and hard like this before.

“We thought we’d come along to check on your progress,” Cam explained to Wes. “But we didn’t expect…”

Everyone was looking at his tongue. It had softened some, though it still felt thick and turgid. Experimentally, he tried pulling its length into his mouth. It was tough to get it to fit, and the pleasure of drawing it past his lips almost made him moan. As he closed his mouth at last he was aware of the taste of his own cum on the tip, and a bit more even pushed out of a slit on the tip that hadn’t been there before.

“Wow,” Quinn breathed, sounding like he needed to get off soon himself. “That’s… so hot.”

There were murmurs of general agreement. Wes was starting get excited again—four crazy-sexy guys staring at him with raw lust in their eyes was way more than he could bear. He realized Barry still had a hand resting on his ass—would his lovers mind? He’d told them about the kissing “penalty,” but…

Shit, he was definitely getting turned on again.

Diego, ever the practical thinker of the group, turned to Wes’s bandmate. “Barry, right?” he said, looking the topless, hard-muscled singer over appraisingly. “Do you mind if we… borrow you?”

Barry tore his eyes away from Quinn’s weeping chestboners to stare at Diego. “Borrow?” he repeated dazedly.

“Well, it looks like our Wes here now has four cocks to take care of,” Diego said calmly, “and seeing as there are only three of us…”

Barry caught on, grinning brightly. “Gotcha,” he agreed. He nodded toward the interior door leading into the house. “I got lotsa comfy space in there,” he said.

No one objected, and so they all trooped into the house, touching and caressing each other as they went in. Cam grinned up at Wes as they trailed the others. “You just had to outdo me, didn’t you?” he chided playfully.

Wes glanced down at his lover’s arousal-swollen muscles and rigid, red, glistening eight-inch nipcocks and said nothing, instead letting the thick, growing, soon-to-be-extra-long boner he had pushing past his lips do all the talking.

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