The expedition would have been pointless had they not had access to Frankie’s flat, but when he’d moved out of the family home a couple years back, ostensibly so he could study hardy for his last two years of college, Frankie’s fierce grandmother, the iron-fisted ruler of the clan, had insisted that a set of keys go to his most responsible friend in case of calamity. Tony was thinking about the little key ring in his pocket and the possible prescience of Frank’s nonna as they pulled up against the curb in front of Frankie’s building.
Tony glanced in the rear view and found himself staring. Evidently Dreo and Gianni had given up their argument and were now making out, or “practicing” as he figured Gianni thought of it. Gianni’s eyes were closed, the more to immerse himself in the project, but Dreo’s eyes were fixed on Tony’s face in the rear view mirror, and when their eyes met Dreo seemed to stiffen slightly and moaned a little into his kiss. Gianni, unaware of the external stimulus, gladly accepted the encouragement and deepened the kiss, bringing a hand up to grasp Dreo’s developing pecs through his jacket. “Che diavolo,” Tony murmured, exactly the way his father had whenever he or his brother did something stupid or inexplicable, and he took a moment to marvel that he might one day turn into his father after all, even if he was “too fucking beautiful.”
Marco, who’d been lost in thought, looked over at Tony and then back over his shoulder at the boys in the back seat. He laughed. “Guys, you’re doing it wrong,” he called back to them, breaking their bubble and making them turn to look at Tony and Marco, both blushing a bit. Tony noticed that Gianni, his body still turned a bit toward Dreo, kept his hand on Dreo’s chest for the moment.
“Here’s how it’s really done,” Marco went on, and before Tony could protest he’d wrapped around Tony’s neck and pulled him into a deep and hungry kiss. Tony wanted to pull back, wanted to sputter that this was not the place or time, but Marco had already slid his long, hot tongue into Tony’s mouth, and Tony’s brain went into standby. At some point over the last six months or so Tony had started to realize that feeling Marco’s strong, eager tongue writhing against his had somehow become one of the chief joys of his life, flooding rich, warm feelings deep into every cavity and crevice and sparking every pleasure center in his body. Reciprocating felt good too, and Tony had a sudden fear that his cock, even as carefully bound up as it was, might rip through its confines straight to iron hardness. And God knew what Marco would do then.
But Marco was breaking the kiss, and, after a playful glance into Tony’s bright green-hazel eyes, turned to the guys in back. “And that’s how you do that,” Marco said cockily. Tony wanted to smack him up the back of his head.
Gianni was nodding fervently. “Fuck yeah,” he said, quietly but intensely. Dreo, however, was just staring at them open mouthed, breathing a little funny, and Tony thought he might be trying to keep himself from cumming in his jeans. Tony frowned sourly and just twisted away from them all to open the door and climb out of the Bronco. Marco, still grinning merrily at his jape, followed suit on his side, and then Gianni pushed Tony’s seat forward and hauled himself out of the car. Dreo followed more slowly, as if he had to restrict his movements to avoid further stimuli. Tony thought he might grab Dreo by the shoulders and shake him, but for all he knew that would drive his hormone-saturated teen stalker cousin straight over the edge. He sighed in exasperation and stomped up the steps to the sturdy old pre-war building, the sound of his boots ringing against the brick walls in the still night air. The others slammed the doors of the Bronco shut and followed silently, each with his own Tony-related preoccupation.
As they plodded through the postage-stamp lobby for the stairs that faced the front doors, Tony decided he liked the look of the place. It was old, but the kind of old that meant thick walls and solid, heavy-duty doors and fixtures. As he tromped up the stairs, the other three trailing behind quietly, he appreciated the well-worn serviceability of the wooden risers, the simple but durable banister. This place would probably be here in another hundred years. He had a weird yen creep over him, the first stirrings of an interest in living on his own, away from his family, in a place of his own he could count on. For the first time he started to understand why Frankie had moved out. As he rounded a landing and headed for the third floor, where Frankie’s flat was, Tony had half a mind to ask the others if they were feeling anything like this. But he knew better. For one thing, he knew that he, Tony, was a freak who thought about weird stuff at weird times. And anyway, he knew for sure that Dreo, at least was not looking at anything but what Tony was only too well aware was his own hard round ass. He sighed slightly. He could almost feel Dreo’s eyes boring through his thick, tight jeans into his troublesomely distracting thick. firm glutes. And, unless he missed his guess, it wasn’t just Dreo’s eyes he was feeling.
By the time they were crowded round the door to the apartment as Tony fumbled with the keys in the long, beige, marginally lit corridor, he was starting to think he should have come alone. He was used to Marco and Gianni being horny all the time, and Dreo fucking redefined the word, but lately they were acting like their hormones had gone into nonstop overdrive.
Somebody was touching his ass. Tentatively at first, but as Tony switched keys to take another try unlocking the deadbolt, a finger turned into the back of a hand, then a palm, against his hard muscle ass. Tony felt himself flush with acute embarrassment at being like this, having this effect on his friends, so they were pushed to new levels of contact with him. Even Marco, who usually had one arm draped around his thick shoulders, and lately had the other hand pressed comfortably to Tony’s stone-cut abs—the configuration he was in now, actually—had been keeping things above the waist. And both his hands were accounted for, anyway, he thought wryly, as he flipped the keyring to try the third key. So either Gianni or Dreo was growing some balls. And if they were willing to grope below the waist while he was facing away from them—
Suddenly the third key drove in hard, deep into lock, and Tony was unnerved a bit at how sexualized it felt. He smiled at himself and twisted the deadbolt.
They pushed into the darkened apartment. Tony reached for the switches near the door and bright, warm light leapt up from white, frosted globes mounted in the ceilings at strategic points throughout the apartment. Everything looked very normal, as if Frankie were here somewhere, or had just stepped out to the gym. It felt a little eerie.
They stood there, looking around uneasily, Marco still wrapped around him. Someone was still gently groping his butt, and for some reason Tony wasn’t sure he wanted to know who. Instead of turning around he said, “Gianni, Dreo, go check out the bedroom,” cocking his head toward the doorway to their left, and without waiting for an answer he and Marco moved into the living room area that was more or less in front of them. After a beat the hand left his ass, and Tony was annoyed that his ass immediately missed the warm palm that had been pressing against it.
He remembered that Frankie’s grandmother had bought him an answering machine, which Frankie dutifully set up on his land line despite having voice mail on his cell phone. After all, he only gave his cell number to friends, not family. “Check the answering machine,” Tony suggested to Marco.
But Marco just laughed and told him to check it himself. Marco’s left arm was draped over Tony’s broad shoulders as usual, but Tony was aware that Marco’s left hand had started stroking the leftmost of Tony’s oversized pecs. His right hand was still pressed against his hard abs, too, running very slow circles against his tight eight-pack through his tee.
Tony sighed and they walked together over to the answering machine, which was on an end table next to the old sofa. “Are you, like, super horny or something?” he asked, not sure he wanted to know.
They looked down at he machine. There were three new messages, which seemed slightly ominous. “Kinda,” Marco breathed, his mouth unexpectedly near Tony’s ear, and he sounded like he was aware that he was responding to Tony even more tactilely than usual. He added after a moment, “It feels weird in here. Like there’s an excess supply of … “ He trailed off.
“Arousal?” Tony said quietly, pressing the “play messages” button on the machine. He felt Marco nod and tried to concentrate on the messages, which was hard to do with Marco breathing into his ear. The messages were not very helpful, though, in that they were more or less what Tony had expected: Frankie’s grandmother wondering where he was, Frankie’s brother, Frankie’s grandmother again. The last beep sounded, and the room was silent.
After a couple loud-sounding heartbeats, Marco began in a whisper, “I need—” but faltered. Tony waited, keeping himself still as Marco held him. “Usually,” Marco trued again, in a voice soft enough to be barely audible, “usually I do it because it’s fun, you know. Because I want to. But right now—”
Tony knew exactly what he meant. “You need to,” he finished for him, and they were turning toward each other, their bodies pressed together, their faces close, and Tony had a second to wonder if he’d ever really looked into Marco’s eyes before they were kissing, deeply and passionately and not at all as if it were a game or a joke or all the things they’d been telling themselves. Right here, right now, Tony wanted Marco, needed Marco, and for the first time he wondered if he could make love to a guy. If he would fit. If—
“Guys, you gotta fucking see this!” Dreo shouted from the other room. In the quiet room, after their quiet words and universe-quelling kiss, it sounded as loud and brash as an air raid siren. And as unwelcome.
They broke the kiss, Tony realizing his strong arms were around Marco’s tight, lanky body even as Marco’s hands drifted across Tony’s wide back, a sensation Tony realized he liked a lot. Marco was pulling his face back, getting ready to revert to their usual dynamic, and Tony’s heart broke at the resignation and regret on his face. He had to give something to Marco, and all he could think to do was lean forward and give him one more deep, sweet kiss. All of their kisses, he knew, everything erotic about their relationship had been initiated by Marco, even if it had been under the pretext of jokes and palling around. By kissing him now, Tony was saying, “It’s not just you.”
Their eyes met as Tony pulled back, and Marco’s were shining. They smiled at each other.
“GUYS!!” Dreo shouted again, and now they both grinned at the irrepressibility of Tony’s kid-brother-esque cousin.
A moment later they were coming into the bedroom, Marco draped around Tony more or less as usual. Tony was kind of worried about his perceptive and horny cousin picking up on something having happened—there was no reason to worry about Gianni noticing anything—but both boys were transfixed by something on the bed. Something shockingly familiar.
“We were in here and we were gonna, well, we felt like trying out the bed,” Gianni said, increasingly abashed. Tony noticed that he had shucked his thin leather jacket in the warm apartment and so his tightly muscled bod was naked from the waist up. In fact Tony found himself unaccountably wanted to follow suit and get half-naked as well, a weird feeling after years of trying to minimize the arresting beauty of his godly physique with dark, loose clothes. Well, it was hot in here. Gianni and Dreo both seemed to be radiating heat, and sex. Them, and Marco too.
But Tony shoved all that back into a box in his head. He was having trouble processing what he was staring at. “But?” he prompted.
“But we sort of—sensed?—there was something in there under the covers,” continued Dreo. Tony looked at him and blinked. When did Dreo shuck his jacket and tee shirt?
Gianni jumped in, “So we pulled them back and—” But he just pointed at what was on the bed.
It was a cock. Not just any cock, though. It was flaccid, curled on itself a little, eight inches or so from the looks of it and thick as a Coke can. At one end was a scrotum, with balls the size of plums, and at the other a short wide head partly nestled in dark foreskin. Tony gaped at it, not just because there was a free-range cock in Frankie’s bed. He gaped because he knew that cock. He recognized it.
It was his cock.
“Is it a—a dildo?” Dreo asked, hesitantly, as if he knew he were wrong but couldn't think of another explanation.
“Whoever heard of a flaccid dildo?” Gianni scoffed.
Tony wasn’t listening. He knew it was real, and not just because he could feel it sending out waves of raw, erotic sex. He had a sudden, almost irresistible urge to grab his own dick through his jeans and make sure it was still there, that it had not been magically translated to Frankie’s bed from his crotch, leaving it bereft and sexless. When had he seen it last? He thought in ludicrous panic. But he could still feel it, a little chubbed from the kiss and pushing against its confines a little, his pulse pounding through it, wanting to inflate it from its more-or-less concealable soft state to its usual colossal erection.
And the cock on the bed started to get hard.
Unconsciously they moved closer until they were around the bed, Tony and Marco on one side, Dreo and Gianni on the other, Gianni draped around Dreo in replication of Marco and Tony. It was beautiful and intense. Dreo and Gianni both looked as if they wanted to wrap their lips around it, feel it get hard in their mouths. Marco was panting very slightly. Tony could almost feel his friend’s pounding pulse as Marco stood next to him, pressed against him side to side, holding him. An erotic undertow seemed to saturate the air, as if the room itself were becoming aroused. We four young horndogs don’t stand a chance, Tony thought amusedly.
“Shit,” Dreo said suddenly as he shoved a hand into his jeans, pulling what must have been a sorely bent cock into a straight, vertical position. It was a club, not as big as Tony’s by any means but still as thick as Dreo’s palm, and with three or four inches of wide iron-hard shaft showing above the waistband of his jeans. The wide head of Dreo’s cock was a ringer for the mystery cock’s head on the mattress. It was already weeping copious quantities of precum onto his bare torso and down the shaft into his groin.
Tony realized the others had followed suit, straightening out their instant boners: Gianni’s was a visible bulge pushing sideways in his pants, and Marco’s, while out of sight thanks to the way they were standing and the size of Tony’s pecs, was sure to be as tall and well-shaped as Marco himself. They watched, riled up and fascinated, as the cock on the bed thickened and straightened to what Tony would have thought was a truly ridiculous size, if he didn’t know of a cock that grew to identical proportions. That very organ was straining against its tight confines now, struggling to get hard, and he knew—he could feel, somehow—that there was a connection, but he was having trouble putting his finger on it. It was eluding him, but only because any moment now his thoughts and sensations would align in such a way that it would all become clear.
“Imagine having a cock like this,” Dreo said in wonder, and before Tony could stop him, and he wasn’t sure why he had the impulse to stop him, he reached down and grabbed it with both hands. His fingers didn’t even come close to meeting his thumb on either hand as he grasped it and lifted it aloft. “It’s warm!” Dreo breathed, and he gripped it with his left hand and started sliding his right fist slowly up, and then down, the immense shaft.
Tony gasped. He could feel Dreo’s hand stroking the strange monstercock as if he were stroking the boner Tony was somehow holding back. He could feel Marco glancing at him, but Tony’s eyes were fixed on the cock. It was sliding into place in his head, and he couldn’t believe what was lining up. That cock—his cock—and Frankie. Tony forgot all the others, stunned by what was happening in his head. His cock, and Frankie. Frankie, the one friend who’d ever seen Tony totally hard, the one person who (and Tony had no idea how the thought came into his head, or from where), if asked, out of all the cocks he’d ever seen, what cock he wanted to—have?—or—be?—would have instantly said, “Tony’s.”
“Frankie,” Tony breathed into the silence.
“What?” said Marco in his ear, startled.
Dreo didn’t hear him. He was totally consumed by what he was doing, which was sliding the base and the expanded, orange-sized balls down into his pants, so that in a moment it looked as though the boner were his second, enormous cock. It brushed Dreo’s chin even with seven inches buried out of sight in Dreo’s crotch, and was half-again as wide as Dreo’s own abnormally wide boner. Tony stared at it, some part of his brain noting idly that the cock actually looked bigger on Dreo: thanks to Tony’s addition few inches in height, his own cock, the identical original of the monster Dreo had appropriated, topped out at just under his clavicle.
Gianni, to judge by the rapt way he was watching Dreo’s every move, hadn’t heard either. Tony wondered which of them was going to move to wrap his mouth around it, because clearly the time that was left to elapse before that cock got sucked by one or both of them could be measured in nanoseconds.
Marco whispered, “You think that’s—Frankie? That he got turned into your—?”
Tony fought an urge to panic. How did Marco know just how huge Tony was down there? Marco had never seen it hard, never even let his usual playful groping drift below the waist. He started to turn his head a little, enough to meet Marco’s bright eyes. But in that moment Dreo gallantly pulled his head back from his chin-high guest monster cock, allowing Gianni to do the honors. Gianni meeting Dreo’s warm eyes for a brief second, still with his arm around Dreo’s muscular, bare shoulder, bent just enough to take the head of the beast into his hot, wide mouth. Tony gasped loudly. He could feel it as if it were happening to him. And—another mouth besides his own on his cock felt amazing. Gianni managed to get a few inches of shaft into his mouth—and then, without warning, the enormous cock shuddered and convulsed and started to spew into Gianni’s mouth. Gianni eagerly started gulping it and was already unable to keep up, cum streaming past Gianni’s lips even as he tried to guzzle the thick, warm cum. Dreo was moaning as if he were actually cumming, and then he was cumming, his own huge cock spraying cum upward, and Marco and Gianni were cumming too, and Tony—Tony’s cock was painfully trapped and couldn’t cum, but he was cumming, he was orgasming, though the mystery doppelganger cock. Marco’s mouth was trying to find his, and then they’d moved their heads toward each other enough that they could kiss madly and deeply, as they all kept cumming, as if they’d somehow tapped into some unfathomable source of orgasm, a bottomless undersea ocean of cum and ecstasy.
Tony wasn’t sure how long it was before they came up for air, but when Gianni and Dreo swam into focus he could see their hard muscled torsos and handsome faces and even their hair was drenched with cum. But what made Tony swear out a series of barely conscious fucks in profound wonder was what the cum was drenching.
He was pretty sure they were both several inches taller—anyway Gianni, the shortest of them all, was looking him in the eyes now, and Dreo still had a half a head on Gianni. And Gianni—he looked like all that frustrating time in the gym the last five years had actually been spent growing thick, hard muscle as easily as Tony did. On top of his new superhero physique Gianni now sported a club of a cock exactly like Dreo’s, as if it were a wish he’d gotten for Christmas. Or rather, exactly like Dreo’s used to be, because Dreo’s cock was now identical in size, shape, and beauty to the mystery cock Dreo had shoved in his jeans alongside it. And then Tony noticed that the mystery cock must have grown even more than Dreo had, because despite Dreo being taller, both his half-again-as-wide-as-too-wide still-hard cocks now topped out right in front of Dreo’s panting mouth. Dreo and Gianni were turning toward each other, both of them eyeing the twin monsters as if they were silently wrestling over which one to claim to.
Tony wondered incongruously if he’d grown too, and suddenly the spell that had kept him from needing to be hard, needing to cum not virtually or second-hand but for real, snapped and he was dashing for the bathroom, leaving a startled Marco behind. He slammed the door and locked it, hastily yanking down his jeans and undoing the elastic bandages that compressed and imprisoned his package. His dick sprang free, hardening in seconds, and Tony wheezed out a pained breath as his cock sprang to an almost instant and, for the first couple of seconds, genuinely painful erection. An erection that was right in front of his mouth.
His mind blank, all awareness and decisions swamped and flooded by deep arousal, he acted instinctively. He took the head in his mouth, wrapping his strong hands around the more-than-ankle-thick shaft, and within seconds was cumming at least as much as the mystery cock, the Frankie-cock, had. The orgasm, coming on top of the one he’d just experienced, was intense enough that Tony’s senses plunged into oblivion, and when he resurfaced he was leaning forward, fists pressed on the marble on either side of the sink, staring into the big mirror that covered most of that wall. As he panted he took in that he was clearly taller than before. And bigger, all over. Including his still-hard cock, which was now topping out right in front of his eyes and was, impossibly, even thicker than before.
There was a tentative knock on the bathroom door. Tony thought of trying to stall, but there was no point. There was no mistaking how much he’d grown, and there was no hiding this cock anymore, especially since it was showing no sign of going down, or of even having had its hunger the least bit slaked.
But most of all because they needed to stop dicking around and find the guy that had turned Frankie into what he was sure Dreo was already thinking of as his wonderfully huge second cock.