Description Jack discovers that his knack for hypnosis is actually much more powerful than it should be. Naturally, he uses this to get the upper hand with his sexy jock brother, but that turns out to be a lot more complicated than he’d thought.
|Updated||28 Jul 2017|
I always admired Peter Parker. Not because he was Spider-Man—okay, not just because he was Spider-Man—but also because in the comic books he invented his web-spinning fluid using his dead dad’s research. (Of course, Sam Raimi was too chicken to show Peter being that awesome.)
My dead dad wasn't an expert on epoxy, though. He was an expert on mind-control.
Not that he would’ve put it that way. It wasn’t just mind-control—it was more than that.
I already knew about hypnosis. I had a knack for it. I’d somewhat desperately, but entirely successfully, hypnotized my jock older brother into not being a dick to me while I was still in middle school. He still laughed about that time I’d tried to hypnotize him, absolutely certain that nothing had happened, even as he tossed a friendly arm around my shoulders instead of pushing me down on the carpet, like he did constantly for the first three years after mom and dad were gone. I’d read up on it, and no one was supposed to be as good at hypnosis as I was—I’d gotten to be kind of reluctant to do it, I hadn’t done it in months, because it seemed to have no explanation.
But this was different—it was beyond hypnosis, and it was rock-solid science that could be explained, if you were smart enough to follow it. When I found dad’s research, still resting, dormant, in the exact same corner of the attic crawl space where my aunt had packed it away after the accident five years ago, and started poring through it, I quickly realized that dad had been very close to leveraging our minds’ latent ability not just to believe things about ourselves (that’s easy enough, up to a point, anyway), but to manage and control our entire being—our bodies, our totality as humans.
Dad’s notes were pretty elaborate and obscure, but I had a knack for making sense of complex things, too. After three weeks of spending all my after school time staring at the notes and making new ones of my own, until mine were as copious and obscure as his, I had a “eureka” moment. The mechanism for unleashing the mind’s inherent capacity to control the body via outside visual stimulus worked—or it would work if there were a delivery system that could manage the necessary speed of image processing, something like 2000 frames per second. The process had to be computer-controlled, and I suddenly realized, sitting there legs-folded on my bed in just my boxer-briefs, pencil suddenly arrested over the notebook resting on my right knee, surrounded by a mess of papers and notebooks full of dad’s scribblings and my own, that I was certain that all the team’s failures in their last round of testing traced not to conceptual problems but to insufficient processing power.
And thanks to Godwin’s Law—no, not Godwin’s Law, that’s about people bringing up the Nazis in forum arguments. Thanks to Moore’s Law, that problem would no longer be a problem for me, five years in my dad’s future, and today’s incredibly more advanced processors. I could do this.
And whereas dad had to jump through all kinds of hoops to get enough test subjects to conduct secret government trials, I had a test subject ready at hand. And three hundred more at school, when it came to that—the new semester started on Monday. I was excited, turned on even, by what I might be able to succeed in doing.
I mean, it’s not like I don’t like my brother, I reasoned with myself as I shifted from the bed to the computer and started setting up the first layer of code for my delivery app. But he did stop being a real asshole to me only because I kind of forced him to without him even knowing. So there was room for a little payback, even if it was just involving him in a bit of harmless research.
The app itself was devilishly difficult to construct. Nothing like it had ever been written before, and I still had to construct both the frames to flash the brain-rewiring inducements. I was in a fever to kick-start this project from paper to real life, but as I sat clattering away on my computer that Sunday, devising code, rewriting code, scrapping it and starting over, I started to realize I was exhausted. And hungry. Shit, it was 3 a.m., and I had school in the morning. Later in the morning.
Very reluctantly I saved my project and closed out. I looked at my bed, all inviting and waiting for me, and decided I needed a bite to eat first. I got up and stumped downstairs, not bothering to turn on any lights. I walked sleepily into the moonlit kitchen and walked straight into my brother’s broad, hard backside. He was just standing there in the middle of the kitchen like a statue, buck naked. And even weirder, he didn’t react when I walked into him.
We both just stood there, me stunned to see Charlie in this weird state, him totally zonked. I could sort of see his face in the big kitchen window right in front of me, faintly reflected in the glass. His eyes were closed. Sleep-walking? Charlie used to sleepwalk when he was in grade school, but I didn’t think he’d done it in a long time. Or had I just not been paying attention?
I realized I hadn’t stepped back. I was still right up against his naked back, my brief-clad junk against his round muscular ass (I was a couple inches short than him, but my legs were proportionately longer than his—in other words, I had long legs, he had a long torso). I wondered, objectively, why I hadn’t stood back, and then suddenly I was aware of a huge wave of horniness crashing over my mind and body. I suddenly, uncontrollably, wanted to touch him. I tried not to think about it most of the time, but the fact was that—when I allowed myself to think about it—I was totally aware of how hot my brother was. He was built like a champion gymnast (weird because his big obsession was soccer): tight all over with big pecs, shoulders, upper arms, and fantastic legs and ass. Even his wavy, jet-black hair was exciting—he was growing it out a bit lately, so he looked less severe, and it was thick enough to invite a hand to run through it. And here in the cool dim quiet of the night, here he was, nude, perfect, engaging a primal response somewhere deep in my pleasure-loving brain.
Without my totally wanting them to, but yet I was totally wanting them to, my arms moved up and around the torso in front of me. My arms wrapped around him, my hands and skin making contact with the warm, hard flesh of his thick, substantial pecs, and I shuddered. My big cock was suddenly completely hard, pressed against his bare crack through the soft cotton of my shorts.
He moaned, just audibly, and suddenly I jumped back, mortified at what I was doing. If Charlie realized I had just felt him up—!!
Charlie must have sensed my sudden action somehow, because he stirred a little, stretching his hands and shoulders in a way that was purely innocent, but in my mind seemed ominous. He opened his eyes some and seemed to see me reflected in the dark window in front of him. “Jack?” he murmured, still sounding asleep.
He turned and looked down at me, frowning. My eyes dropped down his perfect, pale jock bod, taking in his soft but still slightly plumped cock (which was average, in fact a bit smaller than mine), then rapidly returned my gaze up to his cute face. Fuck, I was still hard, and still horny. He was a couple inches away now, but I still felt his warmth in the cool, dark kitchen. “Jack—was that you?” he said thickly. “—Were you—?”
He seemed a little confused, but I was panicking—he was clambering his way back to consciousness. Quickly, my heart pounding as I fought to keep my voice perfectly steady, I started saying the soothing, calm words that I’d learned reduced anyone I’d tried it on to a deep hypnotic state. Fortunately speaking the words helped calm me, and within a minute Charlie was in a complete, open-eyed trance.
You know when you’re really tired and sluggish in the brain and you suddenly get a shock, and it seems like your mind is racing, like you’re thinking even faster than usual? The thing is, you’re thinking faster, but everything a horrible jumble, like you’ve had an earthquake in your head. That’s how I was feeling as I tried to figure out what to suggest. He watched me, patient in his trance. “Charlie,” I said, and then started again. “Charlie, I want you to understand that it’s okay if I touch you. Anywhere. In fact you like it.” Shit! Too far! “A little. You’re—you’re fine with me touching your—your body. Okay? Repeat that back to me, Charlie?”
“I like it when you touch me,” Charlie said softly.
Shit! Close enough? My mind was log jammed. I could not think. “Oh! And you want to help me with my new software project, any way you can. Okay?”
“I want to help you with your projects,” he confirmed.
“Um. All right. Charlie, on the count of three you’re going to wake up and not remember this conversation. Okay?”
“Okay. One…” I was suddenly aware that I was still boned, the very tip of my wide cock just emerging above the waistband of my shorts, and fought down a new wave of panic. There was nothing I could do about it. “…Two…” I swallowed. “…Three. Wake up, Charlie.”
His eyes fluttered, and he seemed to see me for the first time. His brow furrowed. “What—?”
“Dude, you were sleepwalking,” I said.
His handsome face clouded further, confirming my suspicion that it had been a long time since he’d been sleepwalking—at least, as far as he knew. “Really?” His attention shifted to his own nude state, and then to my condition of near undress, and his eyes rested on my boner.
A faint memory of the encounter we had before I hypnotized him seemed to flutter through his mind, and he looked at me a little shrewdly. “Were you groping me just now?” he asked, not so much accusing as to clarify his memory.
I held back a shudder of fear. I had to say yes—it was the only way to test whether the suggestion had worked. But the words wouldn’t come, so I just nodded, my eyes wide and fixed on his.
He cocked his mouth to one side. “Huh,” he said. “Well, I guess that’s okay. But it just seems a little weird that you were doing it while I was unconscious. Right? Or maybe not. I dunno.” He looked away, scratching himself idly between his thick hairless pecs.
“Um,” I said. I couldn’t figure out how to react to his equanimity, even if I’d planted it in him.
He looked back down at my boner with a practical eye. “You’d better go flog that thing so you can get some sleep,” he said. “Do you, um, need one more quick grope to help you—?” he added, nodding down at his body, sounding both genuinely interested in being helpful and a bit conflicted about offering it so overtly, as if it was one thing to allow me to feel him up, and another thing to make himself available for doing so.
It occurred to me in a flash that maybe his induced willingness to help me with my “projects” might be broad enough, the way he’d laid it down in his head, to include the project I was about to engage in—whacking off my painfully hard megaboner like nobody’s business.
I smiled weakly, not sure how to handle this strange moment. “Rain check?” I said. He smiled, smacked me hard but playfully on the arm, and padded out and was gone. I stood there for a moment just breathing, then turned and, having clean forgotten about my original sandwich plans, went back to my room in a bit of a daze and collapsed on my bed, so worn out from coding and the trauma of my downstairs encounter with Charlie that I went to sleep still boned, and woke up that way, too.
Once I was awake I switched off the alarm and crawled slowly out of bed. I pulled on jeans, struggling a little with the zipper thanks to my hard on, shrugged into a loose polo shirt and headed downstairs. Charlie was eating a bowl of cereal at the kitchen table—nothing unusual, but something was a little off. Maybe it was how he smiled when I came into the kitchen, like he was happy to see me. Maybe it was the dark blue tee shirt that must have been one of the smaller, and therefore tighter, shirts he owned. It was quite snug, hugging his upper body in exactly the way I wanted to.
He noticed me noticing his bod. I looked away, but his gaze had already dropped to my crotch. He laughed in amazement. “What, again? Or still?”
I was looking in the fridge for the milk, which was stupid—it was out, Charlie was eating cereal too. He was talking about my boner, how it was bad for me not to take care of it, but I was barely listening. Just how “helpful” with my “projects” had I made him? I slammed the fridge door and went to the cupboard for a bowl, but Charlie had jumped up and was standing in my way, arms outstretched. “You’ll have to reach around me,” he said matter-of-factly.
I rolled my eyes. “Fine,” I said, and reached past him with my right hand, making sure to brush his generous lats, while I steadied myself holding onto his waist with my left hand. My pulse was pounding a bit, and I felt myself getting flush, but Charlie was just standing there placidly, letting me touch him. We stood there like that a moment, and my left hand started to drift up his back.
“See? The more you touch this, the less you’ll need to touch that when you go shower,” he said. “You’ll blow your load in no time.”
I was staring into his pale blue eyes. “No time for a shower this morning,” I said distractedly. I set the bowl on the counter behind him, freeing up my right hand to—and I had to take a second to work up the nerve—press it against his round hard ass through his tight jeans.
Charlie didn’t bat an eye that I was groping his back, his fine ass. He was figuring out how to “help” me if there was no time to shower. He looked at me appraisingly for a moment, and seemed to shrug slightly, and then—shockingly and unexpectedly—dove in for a kiss. It was so hot—he was such an amazing kisser—that I came almost immediately, while his tongue was still introducing itself to mine. Because of the way my cock was positioned, straight up, it shot right up out of the slight gap between my jeans and my skin and up under my loose polo shirt, soaking my chest and abs and the inside of the shirt. I stepped back, panting, and whipped off the shirt to mop up my torso before my hot liquid cum could trickle down into my shorts. I laughed a little from the absurdity of it all.
Charlie, meanwhile, was smiling with satisfaction. “I thought that would do it,” he said, and turned to go back to his breakfast. I retrieved my bowl and followed him, shirtless, making him scootch over so I could sit on his right, which I did, and I ate my breakfast with my left hand on his thigh as I poured and ate with my right. We talked about how his team was doing, and much to my own amazement I promised I would go to the game on Friday. He seemed pleased. My hand was firmly caressing his hard-muscled thigh, but neither of us paid any heed to it.
All that day at school I was battling out what to think, what to do in my head. I still had a lot of resentment toward Charlie built up over those years he’d been mean to me, and for all I wanted to let that go because he gone from that to being nice, and now, well, “helpful,” I couldn’t because it wasn’t really him—I’d forced him to become nice to me. The real Charlie was the guy who used to literally push me around. And yet, for whatever reason, that guy no longer existed…
I realized at one point in the day that I’d been standing in front of my locker for several minutes running in circles in my mind, and that the halls were empty—the bell had already rung. I slammed my locker shut, cursing, realized I still needed a book from it and had to unlock it again, cursing more. I pulled the book out, nearly yanking my other books out of the locker and onto the floor, and slammed the locker shut. I started to half walk, half run toward my fifth period class, when I saw something strange in an unused classroom. I checked my walk and paused at the door.
It was a dark-haired, broad-shouldered boy my age doing push-ups, tirelessly, one after another, in the space between the chairs and the teacher’s desk—which, I now realized, was occupied after all: this was Mr. Weston’s room, and he was there, face behind a newspaper. My eyes drifted back to the boy, methodically going about his work in bare feet and jeans and undershirt, his button up shirt draped over a nearby chair, with socks and shoes on the seat. As I watched he switched to one-handed push-ups for a while, then back to standard. Of course, I knew who it was: Paolo. My very first hypnosis project.
A few years before, not long after the accident, I found myself suddenly fascinated by hypnosis. For some reason I couldn’t imagine, I was thinking about it all the time, and I’d never even been curious about it before. Around the same time my best friend was Paolo, and he was really self-conscious about being a little—not overweight, but flabby. I joked about how my asshole brother proved that having muscles turned you into a jerk, but Paolo was hung up about his body image. So I had this idea: I’d try hypnotizing him out of his funk. He went into a trace like a snap, and I knew I could help him. But how, exactly? I’d read somewhere that positives and actives work better than negatives and passives, so instead of telling him not to feel bad, I planted an idea: You really like doing push-ups. That was it.
Ever since then, Paolo—well, the simplest way to say it was that he did push-ups whenever he wasn’t otherwise engaged. It didn’t interfere with his schoolwork or family time or even his social life—I watched him anxiously at first, but Paolo just did push-ups when he would otherwise be wasting time. And he loved it.
“Hey, Paolo,” I said, and he looked up. He grinned when he saw me, and clambered to his feet, pulling out his earbuds. I whistled (he was considerably bigger than he’d been at the end of last year, before going away to his grandparents’ in Hawaii for the summer), and he looked down at where his pecs were stretching out his white undershirt and then tossed me another grin and quickly covered the space between us. He wrapped his arms around me—no, I did not induce him to like hugging me!!—and I felt the warmth and power in his shoulders and arms. As he stood back, I took note of how big his upper arms were—triceps grow easier than biceps, I’d heard, and push-ups are great for the triceps. His face was glowing—partly from his Hawaii tan, partly from all-around well-being.
We traded greetings happily, and he mentioned that he’d wangled a study hall for fifth period, and they’d let him do it alone with Weston in exchange for joining the swim team (Weston was the coach). His parents agreed as long as he kept up his grades, but if anything the rigor and discipline of this exercise thing I’d started him on had made him a more diligent student, too.
I took a hard look at him. “Paolo, are you happy?” I said.
He looked at me in surprise. “Fuck yeah!” he said, drawing his longish, silky black hair behind his ears with both hands, which had me watching the bulging movements of his upper arms. “I look good, I feel good, I’m doing well at school—and I may have a date with Sandra Balecki!” he added with an awed, confidential whisper.
“You dog,” I said smiling. He laughed.
“Son,” Mr. Weston called out suddenly—he’d been peering out from behind the paper at us, and was now staring at me—“shouldn’t you be in class?”
“Right,” I said. “See you later, Paolo!” And I dashed off. That decided it—I felt as though I could go ahead and use my brother as a guinea pig, as payback for the Charlie-then I still was harboring a lot of anger towards. It was okay, I told myself, as long as Charlie-now got a good deal out of it. It’s—well, it’s not really the most moral decision I’d ever made, but I didn’t want to think about it any more…
I started to get a hard-on on the bus ride home. By the time I got off the bus, I was all the way hard, and as I got up to hurry off the bus I had to shove it into its straight-up position with the heel of my palm in that surreptitious gesture all teenage boys learn early on.
Inside I heard some noises upstairs and headed up to find Charlie. He was in the spare bedroom we’d converted to a gym ages ago, working out—but he wasn’t using any of the equipment the room was crowded with at the moment. He was doing push-ups, weirdly enough. Just like Paolo, except Paolo had been wearing clothes. Charlie’s were tossed over the weight bench next to him.
He sensed my presence, standing at the doorway with my bookbag still over my left shoulder, staring at him, and he smiled and got up from the mat. My lower jaw dropped a little—his pecs looked big, like he’d gotten a good pump from a hard set of bench presses. His abs were tight and glistening, and just the slightest trail of hair led my eye down to his flaccid cock. He was looking at mine.
“Does that thing ever go down?” he said jovially.
I lifted my eyes up and met his. “It’s all your fault,” I said truthfully. He smiled, gratified at my praise of his sexiness. It was so weird—he wasn’t into me, he was still straight, and yet I could do things like what I was now doing, which was close the difference between us and firmly caress his hard, sweaty pecs. “Nice pump,” I said.
“Thanks,” he said, proud of his own hard work. “Anything interesting happen as school today?”
“Calculus is going to be a breeze,” I said, keeping my eyes on his face. My hands spread to his shoulders and upper arms—even more impressive than Paolo’s, not because they were a lot bigger but because they’d been so carefully built and shaped. I hadn’t really appreciated how much effort Charlie had put into his body until now, having the chance to appreciate it in detail, as it were. But I felt like I had to keep the conversation casual.
“It wasn’t for me,” Charlie admitted, moving a bit closer. “I ended up with a B, though, which totally blew me away.” His face was inches from mine. And when he said blew me my mind suddenly shifted gears, filling with images—me on my knees, Charlie’s hard cock in my mouth, my hands on his amazing ass—
I looked away, and my hands sort of froze where they were, groping Charlie’s thick upper arms. Charlie grinned crookedly at me and said, “You’re thinking about blowing me, aren’t you?”
I had to admit it—somehow Charlie had gotten a lot more perceptive lately. “Sorry, dude.”
“It’s okay. I mean, this—the body worship thing—that’s cool. I can even, you know——” And instead of saying it he moved his head forward, so that his lips were against mine, and gave me a brief, sweet, warm kiss.
He pulled his head back. “I can do that to help you get off. But I’m not sure I’m up for—”
“You don’t have to say any more,” I said. And I gave him a reassuring smile, though my mind was in turmoil. I let my hands start roaming his thick, hard upper arms again—it was soothing. “Besides, I got plenty of guys I can blow,” I added, quite untruthfully.
“Oh yeah?” he said playfully—he knew I was lying. “Like who?”
“So,” I said, artlessly changing the subject, “I have some coding to do, but later on you might be able to help me with this software project I’ve been working on.”
“‘Coding,’ huh?” Charlie said. “Sure, any time. Meanwhile I’ll jump in the shower and get a head start on my Spanish homework before dinner.”
“Great. Why don’t you finish it after dinner, and then pop your head in my room when you’re done with it.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Then, mischievously: “Here’s a little help with your ‘coding’.” And he leaned in for a deep, amazing kiss that lasted several heartbeats and nearly had me cumming in my pants—or rather, my shirt—like last night. He broke the kiss with a grin and a wink and, breaking free easily from my grip, moved around me to head for the shower. I managed a quick grope of his luscious ass before he was gone. I fled to my room and was naked and squirting all over my chest in no time at all. Then I went to work.
I half expected him to show up naked to dinner—and he did, in a recurring dream I started having that week—but of course he had to respect our Aunt Olive, mom’s corporate executive younger sister, who’d reluctantly moved into our house after the accident but seemed totally oblivious to the two teenage boys in her charge. She cooked dinner—she was good with various permutations of pasta and ground beef—and ate at the table with us, but not really with us, in that she was on her smart phone talking and texting the whole time, like usual.
Three-quarters of the way through the manicotti and meat sauce she looked up abruptly, as if there were a line item on her mental calendar to talk with us, set for right now. She looked at us both penetratingly, head cocked to one side. “How are you two getting along these days?” she asked.
I was, as usual, stunned into speechlessness—my left hand was at that moment resting on Charlie’s inner thigh, enjoying the feel of his muscle through the soft, worn old jeans he’d pulled on for dinner. But my always-glib brother, of course, was unfazed. “Great,” he said enthusiastically. “We’re closer then we’ve ever been.” Which was literally true, if nothing else—I was sitting right next to him, sharing a broad side of the table opposite Aunt Olive.
“Yeah,” I said, jumping in. “I’m even going to Charlie’s game this weekend.”
My aunt raised an eyebrow. “Really? You starting to think about going out for soccer too?”
“Maybe,” I said. Typical that she’d thought I was doing it out of self-interest, and not to support my brother—her measure for everything was self-interest. Still—fair enough, I’d never gone to one of his matches before. Well, I was doing it for selfish reasons, pretty much. Just not the ones she was figuring.
After dinner Olive, as usual, vanished into the home office for what she called her nightly marathon “paperwork shift,” even though it was all phone calls and spreadsheets and didn’t seem to involve much actual paper, and Charlie and I handled the cleaning up as usual.
Charlie now contrived to be in the way no matter what I was trying to do, standing there like a monolith with a goofy brother-teasing grin, and I pretended it was perfectly normal to have to wash dishes in the sink around his hot body while he dried, me pretty much unable to see what I was doing, or to reach around him to put the food stuff away in the fridge or the dried dishes in the cupboards. Just as we were finishing up I suddenly turned on him with the sprayer and he yelped happily as I soaked the old gray tee shirt he was wearing. It flattened wetly against him, picking out the lines and definition of every muscle.
I stopped and just stood there staring, the sprayer in my limp hand at my side. “Fuck,” I breathed.
He glanced down at himself, then grinned back at me. “Sorry, that’s out too,” he said wickedly. I tackled him in mock fury and tried to wrestle him to the ground, but he remained stiffly upright, imperturbable as a tree, and I just ended up with my arms and legs wrapped around him, my own clothes getting wet from his saturated tee shirt. As if to underline how ineffective I was at physical domination, he turned and simply walked out of the kitchen and started marching upstairs, with me clinging to him.
We ended up in my room. Charlie closed the door and tumbled us both onto my bed, but I jumped up immediately and pulled Charlie up with me. “I don’t want to get the sheets wet,” I said.
“Quite right,” Charlie said, and immediately shucked his soaking-wet shirt, and his pants, too, for good measure. I followed suit, so that we were now both in our relatively dry boxer-briefs. We looked like brothers—my navy boxer-briefs and his gray, otherwise naked and wet-haired, lightly hairy legs but sparsely hairy torsos, grinning from the fun of rough-housing. I noticed Charlie glancing at both our briefs quickly before snapping his eyes up to mine. Was he comparing? I knew I envied his junior-superhero-sized muscles—did he envy my bigger package?
“So,” he said, “are you ready for me?”
“What?” I said, startled. For some reason my anus twitched.
He smiled and nodded toward the computer. “The software thing you wanted help with.”
“Oh. Yeah. Um, just about.”
“Cool.” He dropped onto the bed, scootching back to sit up against the wall. My eyes drifted to his big bare feet. He smiled again, knowing how much it rattled me how hot he was, even his feet. This thing I’d done—making him like being touched by me—had only exposed how much power he had over me, because I liked touching him even more than he now liked being touched. I glared at him, and my cock, which had been chubbing a little, subsided. “Go on then,” he said, nodding toward the computer again. “Finish up so I can help.”
“Fine.” I turned and sat down in my wooden desk chair (actually an old spare dining room chair) a bit gruffly, torn in all sorts of directions. I shook my head and tried to take stock of where I was in the project. I’d done up all the delivery screens already, but I’d been stumped on the final subroutines—the ones that conditioned the subject about how to instigate and adjust his control of his body. The software would be useless if the subject could control his body but had no way of starting, stopping, or modulating the process—like a car without a steering wheel and foot pedals, or a nuclear reactor without control panels.
But then as I was sitting there, feeling Charlie’s mostly-nude body radiating hotness toward me from my left, where he sat watching me not so much patiently as coyly lying in wait for our next interaction, it suddenly occurred to me that I didn’t necessarily need to do it with software. If I wanted to, if only for this test run, I could create Charlie’s “control panel” separately using hypnosis. So much easier than coding software—I’d just have to speak a few words. “Shit!” I exclaimed to myself.
Charlie seemed amused. He slid forward to sit on the edge of the bed, hard, muscular bare legs within reach. “Was that a good ‘shit’ or—?” He glanced at the screen, obviously not understanding anything he saw.
“It was a good ‘shit’,” I said distractedly, not looking at him. My left hand was caressing his right leg without my having really willed it. Damn, he felt good. I tried typing the rest of the code I needed to square off the app with just my right hand, but after a minute of typing clumsy gibberish I reluctantly had to retrieve my left hand to type properly. As if in commiseration Charlie shifted his bare feet a little so they were only a few inches from my left foot, which drifted left a bit across the carpet and slowly onto his as I typed. I realized I was totally boned.
In five minutes I was just about done. Charlie, either just to fuck with me or because he was getting tired of my not giving him any attention above the ankle, started humming the Jeopardy! theme, but I valiantly ignored him and finished up the last module. It compiled quickly and launched. Where before, to a layman like Charlie, there was a riot of strange alphabetic mishmash, there was now only a dark blue field covering the expanse of the screen, with a single button in the middle labeled “Start.”
“Okay, sit here,” I said, jumping up, trying to ignore my raging hard-on.
Charlie dutifully slid into the chair, and I moved around behind him and started enthusiastically rubbing his gorgeously muscled shoulders. “Mmmm,” he said. “I so need that. Should I press ‘start’?”
“Yes. Wait!” I said. I scrunched my eyes shut—I didn’t want to be exposed to the screens, that was the whole point of using a guinea pig. I continued rubbing his shoulders with my eyes shut tight. “Okay—press ‘start’ and tell me when it says ‘end’. It’ll be about 60 seconds. Stare straight at the screen—don’t look away, whatever you do.”
“Okay.” I felt him move his arm to click on the mouse, and then over the next minute I felt his shoulders tighten in my hands, as if he were being buffeted with a stiff wind. He made small grunting noises. I dug my fingers into his shoulders a bit more. “Keep staring straight at it,” I said. To my own astonishment I was feeling a powerful temptation to look, to absorb the app along with Charlie, but I kept my eyes rigidly closed. Beta testing something like this was why I had an obnoxious big brother.
After more than a minute passed Charlie’s shoulders went from almost rigid to relaxed in my hands, almost in a slump, and his head seemed to loll backward onto my bare torso. I risked a quick peek and sure enough, there was a big window that said ‘END’ on the screen. “Charlie?” I said, opening my eyes, but he said nothing. Shit.
I quickly came around to kneel at his side. “Charlie?” I said, grabbing his head. He looked toward me unseeing, distantly, his eyes glazed. He was in a trance, deeper than the one I’d put him in yesterday. Thank god I hadn’t used the app on myself—I’d be stuck in a trance and Charlie and Olive would panic, and I’d live out my days stuck deep inside my own skull…
I realized that I had to convert his trance to a hypnotic state to bring him out. But I also had to finish the job I’d started. I said the words that normally introduced the hypnotic state, wondering if they would work, and Charlie seemed to shift from whatever profound depths he’d been in into the suggestible state I was used to. I blew out a sigh of relief.
“Charlie, say ‘yes’ if you can hear me and understand me,” I said.
“Okay.” I already knew what I was going to say next—I’d been mapping it out over and over in my head for the last half hour. I’d even taken a minute online while I was wrapping up the code to double-check the Latin I’d looked up last week. Why Latin? Well, I was kind of casting a spell, and anyway I needed a trigger word vocab that wouldn’t ever come up in conversation. “Charlie, I have something important to tell you. It won’t seem strange to you, but you’ll keep it a secret between you and me. Ready?”
I took a deep breath. “Okay, here it is. The size of your cock is not fixed anymore. It gets five percent bigger or smaller every time you cum. If you want your cock to grow every time you cum, grab your cock and say ‘Augê!’ If you want your cock to shrink every time you cum, grab your cock and say ‘Contrahêrê!’ Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Charlie intoned placidly, his detached gaze pointed at me but seeming to look past me. I realized my heard was pounding—if I got this wrong, well, it would be difficult to fix. I took another deep breath.
“Charlie, what happens when you cum?”
“My cock grows or shrinks by five percent.” Weird hearing it being flatly repeated back from a hypnotic state—almost as weird as saying it.
“Good. And what do you do to make your cock grow when you cum?”
“I grab my cock and say ‘Augê!’,” he said in a monotone.
“Good. And what do you do to make your cock shrink when you cum?”
“I grab my cock and say ‘Contrahêrê!’,” he said.
“Good.” I now realized that I wanted to include something to keep him from getting too obsessed with his cock size. I hadn’t planned anything, so I just extemporized, “Your cock size isn’t a big deal to you—it’s just something that you can change. Okay?”
“My cock size isn’t a big deal.”
“And—and you’re okay, very okay, with me helping you cum, with my hands, or, or, or with my mouth.” Fuck—did I actually say that?
Almost panicking, I wanted to take it back, but it was too late. Remorselessly, Charlie repeated the instruction. “I’m very okay with you helping me cum.”
Time to end this. Past time! Fuck fuck fuck. “All right. Charlie, on the count of three you’re going to wake up and not remember this conversation. Okay?”
“Okay. One… Two…” I closed my eyes and took one last deep breath, and opened them again, fixed on Charlie’s handsome face. “…Three. Wake up, Charlie.”
I watched Charlie’s pale blue eyes focus on me. They became bright, alert, and cocksure. He stood up slowly in front of me, resting a hand firmly on my head to keep me from rising too, and with his other hand pulled down his shorts enough for them to drop to his feet. His flaccid cock was in front of my face. I stared at it helplessly. It was already springing to life under my gaze.
He grabbed it with his free hand, and I looked up in time for him to lock eyes with me again and say a word, calmly and matter-of-factly, as if it were “Hello.”
But the word was—“Augê!”
Before I had a chance to react to his easy embrace of both his control over his cock size and wanting my help exploring that control, Charlie’s hand gently but firmly pulled my head forward, until my lips were against his thickening cock. I closed my eyes and opened my jaw, just enough to let his cock’s arousal shift it straight into my waiting mouth. Charlie’s hips shifted forward, and his thickening member was now completely inside, his tightening balls brushing against my sparsely stubbled chin. I wrapped my lips around the base and began moving my tongue along the swelling shaft. I’d accepted Charlie’s cock into me, something I’d only dreamed of a million times, and on an hourly basis in recent days. We both moaned together. It was the first cock I’d ever had in my mouth.
My own cock was brutally hard in my shorts. I wanted to touch it, but I wanted to grope Charlie’s hot jock musclebod even more, and my cock pumped and jerked agonizingly against the constraining cotton of my briefs as I raised my hands up and grasped Charlie’s muscle ass. He moaned softly again—his “liking” my fondling his muscles was, I guessed, intensified a bit by his state of arousal. But for me, the same was true, maybe even more so. My big boner writhed as I started slowly sucking Charlie’s now completely hard cock and us both being totally aroused somehow made the act of feeling up his strong, thick muscles as deeply stimulating for me as if I were receiving the blow job. Each stroke as I ran my hands across his hard round glutes was like stroking my own cock, or better. I realized that Charlie had become close to an obsession, and that my fantasies had metaphorically made him my cock.
And I needed to make him cum. I’d forgotten everything else—even what would happen when he came, even my own big, painfully hard boner thrashing rhythmically against my shorts. His throbbing, perfect boner in my hot, sucking mouth needed to cum. His body needed to cum. I needed for his body to cum.
Charlie’s hips were now thrusting just a bit, forward and back, his hand still resting on the back of my head, and I did everything I could think of with my tongue and my lips to stimulate him, to drive him toward the orgasm I needed. My arms slid upward—the small of his back was slightly damp, whether from the water I’d sprayed him with or from prickling droplets of sex sweat I wasn’t sure. He moaned in deep arousal as my brought my hands around his tight, narrow waist and slowly slipped them up his brick-hard eight-pack abs. He started pumping a bit harder, his cock so hard that I had to kneel a little straighter as its iron shafted wanted to point upward. Its friction along my upper palate felt intense—and I was sure I tasted the salty harbinger of his load in my eager mouth.
There was definitely sweat in the crevices of his abs. I wanted to lick them, but there was no way I was ever taking my mouth off of his super-hard cock. It was enough to grope him, and I realized as I sucked harder and he thrust faster and droplets of sweat ran down from my damp hairline across my fevered cheeks that my hands had slipped to the sides of his perfect torso and I was stroking the heated stone-sculpted torso as if it were a 30-inch-around cock.
Charlie was panting now. He was going to cum. I ran my hands firmly along his sweat-slick torso, my climactic grope taking in his amazing ass, his abs, even stretching up to fondle his awesome chest, as I sucked and mouthed his steel-hard swollen erection for all I was worth—and then—a strange moment of perfect stillness, as Charlie arched back, a still second that somehow stretched across all of space, my hands firmly grasping his ass, his cock filling my mouth. And then time started again and he blasted a massive gout of hot cum against my throat. I reflexively started to pull back, afraid of choking, but his hand held my head where it was and I found a way to swallow the mouthful of cum. It tasted unlike anything I’d ever tasted before, bitter and salty at the same time, but because it was Charlie’s I loved it and wanted more.
With the blast I had felt something unexpected and unreal: I felt his cock, even as it spasmed with cumming, swell just a bit—and stay swollen. I had clean forgotten that I’d rigged Charlie so his cock grew when he came, but even though later I wondered if I’d really felt it or just imagined I did (was five percent enough to really feel at this size?) in the moment there was no question, I knew that was what it was. I felt a huge surge of pride and relief that my project had really worked, though at a very unconscious level—most of my mind was flooded with the intense awesomeness of Charlie’s hard cumming cock growing inside my mouth.
Even as the thrill of this idea shuddered through my entire body he jerked back and, with a muffled grunt that sounded like it wanted to be a yell, gave me another blast. I gripped his muscle ass as he held my head and as he sprayed another mouthful of cum I felt it again—I felt it swell just a bit, and stay swollen!
And realizing that he was going to grow every time he came my own half-forgotten, insanely aroused cock exploded with cum, drenching my briefs and my hip with what felt like a gallon of spunk. I licked and mouthed his still hard cock longingly, wondering hopefully if he had a third eruption in him; but he’d stopped thrusting and was now rubbing the back of my head playfully. I heard him chuckling as he pulled out of me. I let it pop out of my mouth with reluctance, but I kept my hands on his ass.
“You like making it grow, don’t you,” he said, in a low voice like a growl.
I looked up at him. There was no point in denying the obvious. I nodded. I felt cum on my lips and chin and wanted to wipe it away, but I wasn’t ready to let go of his body. I started my hands gently caressing his ass.
“I’m glad, Jack,” he said. “I like you making it grow too.” And he smiled in a way that expressed both fondness for me, and—not arrogance or smugness exactly, but I saw in his eyes that there was a certain comfort for him in having something I wanted, and a small twinge of unease trickled through my mind-engulfing bliss.
Without another word he let me up, my hands slipping up his firm torso, and we stood there a moment, my arms around him. I was looking at him, and he was looking at me, but our eyes weren’t quite meeting. Then he gently broke free from my embrace and headed out of the room. After a moment I heard him start up the shower. I was still standing in the middle of the room, naked except for my cum-soaked boxer-briefs, our wet clothes strewn before me on the floor. I was marveling at what I’d done. It was equally amazing to me that my app had worked, and that Charlie had just let me blow him.
A moment later Charlie popped his head around the door. He was still dry—he hadn’t stepped in the shower yet. Just seeing his pretty face and hard, bulging traps and delts in isolation as he peered around the doorjamb gave me a little pump of arousal that seemed to originate in my throat of all places, which surprised me as I’d been certain I’d cleaned myself out of arousal for at least the night.
Charlie tossed me a winning smile. “You coming?”
Cleaning Charlie’s generously muscled jock bod got me hard again, but we both pretended my big boner wasn’t there. I was preoccupied, and so was Charlie. The steady sound of the shower spray seemed like an aid to meditation.
I was running through my head what I’d induced in my big brother. I told him not to care about his cock size one way or the other, which I guessed meant that he didn’t need it to be any particular size: he didn’t need to grow it. But he wouldn’t mind if it were big, or huge, or any other size. And I’d induced him not only to like being groped by me (I was squatting, rubbing soap on his thick, soccer-boy legs as I thought this) but to—how had I put it?—to be “very okay” with me helping him cum.
So (I thought as I stood to soap his beautiful ass, trying to ignore my own insistent boner) he enjoyed that blow job not because it resulted in his cock growing, but because he liked it when I felt him up and when I helped him cum. But there was something more, too, something I couldn’t put my finger on.
Charlie turned around in the shower, and I was suddenly soaping his flaccid cock and balls. I didn’t know if I could tell whether he was bigger while he was soft, but I guessed he must be. Hard I reckoned it was something like a half inch bigger now, and that had to be reflected in his flaccid state as well. Still, he’d always been a grower. I remembered the first time I’d seen it hard, when I walked in on his flogging it years ago. He’d screamed at me to get out, and later, the first time we saw each other alone after that, at breakfast the next morning, he’d punched me, hard, in the arm. He’d always used his physical power to dominate our relationship.
“I think it’s clean now,” Charlie murmured, and, grasping my wrists, moved my hands and the soap up onto his tight, incredible abs. I dutifully began soaping his eight-pack, moving up after a moment onto his thick, square pecs.
He’s still using his physical power to affect our relationship, I thought grimly. I looked up at him, but he was looking down at my hands, watching me soap his oversized pecs. I realized I’d been focusing on the things I’d gotten Charlie to like, but there were other things he’d always liked. Even though he was (so to speak) no longer a dick to me, he still liked to have power over me. And he had known instantly what I was only now realizing consciously—that the thing he loved most about my giving him a blow job was that his cumming, and growing, had literally made me blow my wad. My euphoric, orgasmic moment, the arousal so huge I blasted without touching myself, was the direct result of him pounding cum into my mouth. We both knew I couldn’t get that level of fuse-blowing ecstasy from my own solo endeavors. It was his to give—or not.
He took the soap from me. I thought for a fleeting moment he might reciprocate and soap me down, if only as a gesture of gratitude, but he set the soap in the dish, turned back around, and began rinsing himself. A moment later he was done and was already stepping out of the shower to towel off, leaving me to clean and rinse myself. I washed as quickly as I could, turned the water off, and pulled back the shower curtain. My hardon had pretty much ebbed away.
He was standing there, already dried, stark naked and beautiful, just standing there in the middle of the bathroom floor. He was looking at me with an unfathomable expression on his face.
I stared back at him defiantly, dripping. The bathroom was just slightly chilly now that the hot water wasn’t running. “You want to hand me that towel?” I said after a minute, gesturing to the small stack of clean bath towels on the tank behind the toilet. He grabbed one without looking and handed it to me. I started toweling myself, still feeling his eyes on me. It made me feel uncomfortable.
“Can you do it to anyone else?” he said.
I froze for a second in the act of drying my right leg, my foot on the side of the tub. I started the towel moving again and, without looking up, replied casually, “Do what?”
“Come on, Jack. Do you really think I’m that stupid?”
I still kept my eyes down. I switched feet and began toweling the other leg. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He took a step closer, nearer to me, bringing his flaccid cock into my field of vision. Did it look bigger? “This,” he said, sounding annoyed at my evasions. “I don’t remember what happened, but I know that you sat me down in front of your computer, and now I can control the size of my cock. And I know it’s a secret only you and I know.”
I was done with the leg, but as I set my foot back in the tub and started drying my torso I still wouldn’t look up. “Maybe it’s just something that was always—” But I could hear how false I sounded.
“Don’t bullshit me,” he said, cutting me off. He still sounded more annoyed than angry. “I can control my cock, and I know I couldn’t do that before tonight, an hour ago.”
He reached out and lifted up my chin, roughly, so I was looking at him. I knocked his hand away. His gaze was intent, but it wasn’t what I was afraid of exactly. In the last few seconds a spine-chilling fear had welled up in me that he was looking for more power, over his body, over others, and he’d figured out that I could give it to him—that he could force me to give it to him. But what showed on his face was consternation, as if he didn’t like having things happen to him he didn’t understand.
I returned his gaze, mechanically drying my chest and arms as I did so. “What do you want to know?” I said after a moment, trying to sound tough.
“You changed something about me. With that weird flashing-screen program you wrote.”
I didn’t say anything. I waited for an actual question.
“Can you do it to other people?”
It wasn’t the kind of question I was expecting—I’d expected harsher interrogation, demands for explanations, but it seemed he wasn’t that curious about what I’d done. At some level, I thought wish a sense of shock, he must trust me.
Nonetheless I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer this. I was still afraid this would all detour into a big power trip for him. Instead I said, “Why?”
“Just answer the question,” Charlie said, getting exasperated now.
“You first.” To affect some nonchalance I started drying my hair, the obstruction of the towel breaking our mutual stare.
“Jack—!” he growled. But I just kept on drying my hair. Finally, after a long moment, Charlie said, “Ugh. Look, you know my buddy Rick.”
I took the towel down and wrapped it around my neck, hanging onto the ends with both fists. I nodded. Naturally I knew Rick: he was Charlie’s best friend, he was over all the time. They were on the soccer team together. Physically he was essentially Charlie, a big-muscled gym-rat jock, but with longer, wavy surfer-blond hair. He also studied harder than Charlie and wore glasses.
“Well,” Charlie said, looking away uncomfortably, both reluctant to go further and mad at me for having to spell out something he was embarrassed to talk about, “no one knows this, see, but he’s kind of got a thing about how small he is. It’s why he started working out in the first place.”
“Natch,” I said.
He looked back up at me, glaring now. “Easy for you to be smug.” I was surprised—Charlie had never referred openly to my being hung—but I tried not to show it. “He’s a great guy, and it has nothing to do with the size of his cock. But it’s, I dunno, it undermines his confidence sometimes.”
I shrugged. “Sounds like he needs a therapist, dude,” I said bluffly, shifting my towel around my torso to dry my back.
Charlie was gritting his teeth. He was clearly regretting bringing all this up now. “Can you do it?” he snarled.
At some level I was impressed that Charlie was using his newfound, if dimly understood, knowledge—that I could somehow use my program to affect the relationship between mind and body—to try to help someone else. But still it felt like him exerting power over me, and I balked. “Why should I help your stupid friends?” I said mulishly.
Charlie played his ace with a grim smile. “Because you want this!” he said, pointing at his cock. Aha, I thought. There it is, out in the open. The power he thinks he has over me. How weak does he think I am? And yet—I could still sense it in my mouth. I could still taste his cum. I could still feel it swell, just that little bit, and stay swollen. I was a little weak when it came to his cock.
And yet this realization only stiffened my resolve (so to speak). I deliberately didn’t look down. I kept my eyes locked on his. “Not that badly,” I said.
Charlie’s face reddened. I could tell he wanted to hit me, but he wasn’t that guy anymore. “Fine,” he shouted. “You’re a selfish asshole, you know that?” He turned and started to leave the bathroom.
“Wait,” I said. His hand was on the doorknob, the door already partly open, but he stopped, waiting, without turning around. I tossed the towel over the shower curtain rod and we both stood there, completely naked.
I wanted to do this. He was just helping out a buddy—I was being an asshole. And I needed to do more testing subjects anyway, as a practical corner of my brain noted. But I couldn’t help feeling like he had all the leverage, and that didn’t seem fair. I was still thinking about how he let me soap him up, because he liked being touched by me, but he deliberately hadn’t returned the favor—not just because he was straight, but because it was part of his control over our dynamic.
“I’ll cut you a deal,” I said. “If you promise to give me a blow job when I ask, at the time of my choosing, then I will gladly hook your friends up however you like.”
Charlie half-turned, so he could look at me. “A blow job.”
“Just one,” I said. “And not now—when I ask.” His eyes glittered angrily. I tried to think of what would soften this demand, which would be all but intolerable even to an open-minded straight guy. Then I realized I might have given him an opening. “You like it when I touch you, right? Well, this will be me, you know, touching the inside of your mouth. With my cock.” I held his gaze steadily.
He seemed to consider this for a moment, frowning. Then he narrowed his eyes a bit. “You’re not going to ask for it in the middle of the soccer match, or in the locker room in front of the guys or something?”
I grinned. I hadn’t thought of that. “No. Geez. I won’t do it to embarrass you. It’ll be just us.”
He grimaced. “Fine.” And then he was gone, leaving the door wide open. The chill air of the hallway seeped into the bathroom and I shivered, suddenly unsure if I had won or lost.
That night I had a dream where I’d hypnotized Ryan Gosling into wanting, in fact needing, to make out with me, and it was great for a while. We spent entire days just lying on my bed fully clothed making out. But when I tried to break our kiss to suck him off he wouldn’t let me—all he wanted to do was make out. And then we were in a car and he was driving but, driven by an insatiable need for my mouth, he leaned over to put the mack on me and there was this sudden blaring of a horn and we got hit by a truck and we died—!
I snapped awake, startled and annoyed that I’d been having such a pointless dream. With some difficulty I got back to sleep, but I remembered no more dreams.
I woke up totally boned again, though, and I’d hit my snooze bar a couple times so I didn’t have time to deal with it and have breakfast. Eat or jerk off: the perennial problem of the teenager. I’d kept the alarm set forward fairly late because I didn’t need to shower again, so I only had fifteen minutes before the bus. I grumbled to myself and started pulling on random clothes, once again struggling to zip up over my boner, then headed downstairs.
Charlie was finishing up his breakfast. He glanced up at me and smiled, then his smile turned into a smirk as he checked out my obvious stiffy. I frowned at him, daring him to make a remark, be he just turned back to his cereal. The milk and everything was still out in front of him. I went and grabbed a bowl and spoon.
He was wearing tight clothes again, showing off his form in a russet tee shirt that was almost, but not quite, too small for him. I should have been glad that he was shifting away from his usual loose and sloppy wardrobe because it turned me on, but it felt like more of his jerking me around. Still, that didn’t stop me from running my free hand across his back as I sat down, with some difficulty, next to him.
“You still coming to the game Friday?” he said, holding his last spoonful poised in front of him.
“Of course.” I started to pour my cereal, but I glanced over as he slowly put his spoonful of Cheerios into his mouth, bringing his lips down deliberately around it. I watched, fascinated, as he carefully extracted the spoon from his strong lips.
I realized I’d poured all of the box onto my overflowing bowl. “Shit!” I said, scooping up Cheerios and shoving them back in the box as Charlie laughed. He helped, though, letting his forearms brush against mine as we cleared the mess.
Once I had a more sensible amount of cereal in my bowl I poured the milk and tried to ignore Charlie. He got up and took his bowl and spoon to the dishwasher. “So,” he said from behind me, “What about Rick? Do you think you can swing it before then?”
I dropped my spoon and turned to face him. Suddenly something I’d been aware of only unconsciously finally fell into place. “That’s what you meant about ‘confidence,’” I said accusingly. “You don’t want to make your buddy happy—you want to win your stupid game!”
Charlie shrugged. “Maybe I want both,” he said sensibly. He was standing there by the counter, and I was getting my first good look at his ample pecs this morning, the centerpiece of a perfect package (including his perfect package—was I imagining that it looked just a bit bigger?). My eyes drifted back up his torso.
I realized I knew this shirt but hadn’t seen it in a long time, not since Charlie had started getting big. Stretched across those pecs were emblazoned in faded and cracked white lettering the word Lover’s. Lover’s was, of course, the name of a big local department store and their inexpensive yet strong and durable tee shirts were always everywhere in town; but it was a regular local joke for people in relationships to wear the tee shirts for the secondary meaning. Charlie hadn’t worn this one for years. Was he sending me a message? Am I his lover, and those luscious melon pecs belong to me? Or is he taunting me again, making fun of me?
Of course, he’s taunting me, I thought.
“Look, Jack, he’s my friend, and this is my team. It’s a win-win. And anyway,” he added ominously, “you promised.”
I turned back to my cereal, vexed and unhappy. “And you called me selfish.”
Charlie, behind me, affected to ignore this. “I’m bringing him by tonight to watch that Jet Li movie,” he said doggedly. “Can you do it tonight or not?”
“I’ve got chorus,” I said around a mouthful of cereal.
I sighed. “Fine.” I swallowed my cereal and pondered darkly what else I might choose to do, in addition to what I’d promised.
As I hunched over my cereal I realized Charlie was right behind me—I could feel him standing a fraction of an inch away from me. I couldn’t help it. I leaned back, pressing my body against his warm torso. His hands clasped my shoulders firmly. I looked up and to the left, and his face was right there. He leaned in and, to my amazement, gave me a good, long smooch.
“What was that for?” I breathed when he broke away. I felt like his tongue was still exploring my mouth. I’d be feeling that kiss for hours.
He gave me a saucy wink. “You’re going to have to get rid of that thing eventually,” he said, nodding toward my tightly packed crotch. He even wiggled his eyebrows.
And then he turned and was snatching up his bookbag from the floor near the table and heading out of the kitchen. I heard the door slam and, minute later, as I was still staring open-mouthed after him, the more distant sound of Charlie’s buddies pulling up in Joey Nielsen’s loud, beat-up BMW. I was still in a daze as I heard it putt-putt away, only to suddenly realize my bus was only a minute or two away. I hurriedly scarfed down a couple more spoonfuls of cereal, hurriedly threw the jug of milk and the Cheerios box into the fridge without thinking, pounded up to my bedroom to grab my books, and then pelted out the door, almost forgetting to lock the deadbolt, and ran top speed to the bus stop.
The bus was late.
I stood there on the sidewalk, irritated that I’d run to meet the bus for nothing, and self-conscious because of my big, obvious boner. Fortunately my bus stop was in a part of our development where there weren’t a lot of kids my age in the neighborhood, so I didn’t have to contend with a crowd of people sniggering at me. Just a skinny, average-looking guy I barely knew from chorus named Eugene. But that was enough.
“Two days in a row, huh, McMillain?” Eugene said, highly amused. (It was true, yesterday Charlie had made me cum in the kitchen with that amazing kiss. But the way that had happened had been so fucking hot that my boner hadn’t gone away. In fact I’d had to frantically jerk off in a boy’s room stall between second and third period, and after that it was still half-hard most of the day.)
I ignored him, frustrated and embarrassed, but he persisted. “Wow, so does coming back to school turn you on that much, dude?” He laughed at his own joke.
My big problem—one of them, anyway—is that I don’t like not understanding things. Being confused makes me angry. Intensely angry. And right now, Charlie’s behavior had me seriously confused, especially as the thrill of his beautiful face, smiling, inches from mine, and another incredible kiss lingered in my memory. I could not figure out how he felt about me or what he really wanted.
“Or does that thing ever go away?” Eugene was saying, still laughing. “Does school give you a permanent hard-on?”
“No,” I said suddenly, turning on him, seething. “That’s you.” I advanced toward him, mouthing the words I always used without even thinking about them. And in a second his startled face had slackened into a trance. “You have a permanent boner, Eugene. It never goes away, even when you cum. And you cum every time a boy touches you.” Belatedly I realized this would involve him blasting cum over and over again in the halls—that would be too much. “On the mouth. With his lips.” Good grief, what a botch. “Understand?”
“Yes,” he said flatly.
“Eugene, what’s the deal with your cock?”
“My cock is always hard and I cum when a guy touches my lips with his.”
I was still angry, but I was already regretting this hypno-outburst. Unfortunately, the bus was finally coming, just making the turn onto our street. All I could do was tie it off. Shit. “All right,” I said rapidly. “Eugene, on the count of three you’re going to wake up and not remember this conversation. Okay?”
“Okay. One… Two… Three. Wake up, Eugene.”
He blinked rapidly, and then looked down. I was startled to see that his suddenly hard boner was even more obvious than mine—Eugene evidently had a whopper. It made a huge, wide bulge in his jeans as it snaked around his hip. He looked up at me in dismay and noticed how I was looking at it in surprised awe. I met his gaze. “Looks like we both have a certain problem,” I said quietly. He seemed both appalled and gratified at the same time that I was admiring his huge tool.
I turned away and stood, waiting patiently as the bus pulled up. Eugene hurriedly pulled his bookbag off his shoulders and held it anxiously in front of him.
That’ll teach him to fuck with me, I thought. But I already felt deeply ashamed of what I’d done. I resolved to fix the problem I’d given Eugene at the first opportunity.
When we got on the bus, though, Eugene instinctively isolated himself, taking a seat by himself in the back and using his bag to block the other half of the seat he’d taken. I sighed and plunked down next to some ninth grader listening to music on earbuds, wondering to myself if I was more or less of an asshole than my brother.
Throughout the morning I caught sight of Eugene a few times that day, furtively holding his bookbag in front of his hip-wrapping hard-on, but still getting a few glances from people who noticed. We had English together third period, and I noticed him sitting in the back, nervous, self-conscious, and jittery. Weirdly, he was glancing at me every so often. I turned away, wondering what to do and when I could do it.
At lunch I was sitting with Paolo, who was telling me about his summer in Hawaii and all the things he’d done with his family (apart, I supplied mentally, from doing push-ups), and we were laughing about his grandmother’s offer to make him a bra to help with the jiggling of his oversized pecs when Eugene suddenly dropped onto the bench next to me, dropping his tray on the table, his bag over his shoulder. “Hey,” he said. He then proceeded to very deliberately start opening up his bottle of apple juice and take a long swig.
“Hey,” I said cautiously, glancing at Paolo, who had raised his eyebrows. Eugene never hung out with me—as far as I knew he didn’t really hang out with anyone.
He turned at looked at me intensely, setting down the half-empty juice bottle. “You’re gay, right, McMillain?” he said.
“Uh…” I wasn’t sure what to say. I guess everyone who cared knew I was, but I hadn’t ever exactly shouted it over the P.A. during morning announcements. Paolo watched us with amazement.
Eugene suddenly seemed to realize he was being weird. He got up awkwardly, slipping his bag from his shoulder to hold in front of him—though not fast enough for Paolo not to notice what he was packing—and fled, leaving his lunch behind. But a moment later my phone buzzed. I pulled it out. It was a text from Eugene: “Meet me in 242B. Pls.”
“What the hell?” I muttered. Room 242B was the music supply room, which was pretty much guaranteed to be empty before 7th period and the after-school chorus rehearsal, especially since only a few people knew it existed, and where Mrs. Moran, who taught biology most of the day and only switched to music in late afternoon, hid the key (she hated carrying extra keys, so she left it under a ceramic frog near where the music supply room gave off the main rehearsal room).
“What is it?” Paolo asked.
“Uh, nothing.” But I was getting up too, and Paolo couldn’t help but notice that my crotch was fully packed as well (I hadn’t been able to get rid of my own boner yet—perhaps as a result of some kind of hypno-boner karma). I grabbed my bookbag and headed off, tossing a “catch you later” over my shoulder.
Sure enough, when I got upstairs and headed into the music room, the supply room door was ajar. With a glance over my shoulder, I slipped into the small darkened room. Someone shut it behind me, and it was completely dark.
It occurred to me, much too late, that Eugene might want to beat me up for what I’d done to him, even though he shouldn’t know I’d done anything at all. “Eugene?”
“Hey,” he said.
“Um, what am I—”
“I was hoping you could help me with a problem,” I heard him say. His voice sounded nervous and shaky.
“Eugene, let me turn on the light. I can help you. If the light’s on I can see you and I can fix—”
“No. Just shut up, okay. I—um—”
I realized there was no way that a straight teenage boy could start talking about his cock to another boy. “Is it about—” (I had a good idea where he was in front of me. I gently reached out my hand and, after a second, I found it: his monster hard-on. He’d opened his jeans to let it out and it was sticking out to the side, past his slim hips.) “—this?” I asked gently, as I wrapped my hand around it.
He sucked in his breath, but let me hold it. It was really thick, and warm, and throbbing. “Yeah,” he whispered. “It won’t go away. I know it won’t go away now. I tried whacking it in the bathroom between classes all morning. I missed fourth period trying to jerk it in here. But somehow I know there’s only one thing that will make me cum. And I really really have to cum, I can’t even think with all the cum and hormones and everything boiling up inside me—”
I didn’t say anything, but I stood there, a few inches away from him, stroking the end of his big wide cock with my hand.
“I know I can cum if a boy kisses me,” he whispered. “Will you—could you—”
“But what if your hard-on doesn’t go away? Even if you cum?” I said carefully.
“I don’t think it will,” he said very quietly. He was even closer now. “But I figured it out. I’m, like, hard all the time because of my hormones, and they’re building up cum, and that’s making it impossible to concentrate. So—” and he moved even closer, so that his face was right next to mine “—if I cum I’ll at least be able to think straight. For a while.”
“Eugene, I know I can make all this better if you just turn on the lights and we—”
But he cut me off. “Shut up and kiss me,” he said. And he closed the distance between our lips.
I felt him cumming as we made out, spraying large spurts of cum from the tool in my hand every time our lips parted and reconnected. I heard it splattering against something off to the side—had he put down plastic? What Eugene was thinking about I had no idea, but I was thinking about Charlie. Eugene wasn’t as good a kisser as Charlie, but he was eager, and his tongue was almost as talented.
After a few minutes of this he pulled back, seemingly reluctantly. “Thanks,” he said.
“Did that—help?” I asked. His cock was still like an iron pipe in my hand.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m definitely calmer. But, um, I think it will build up again by next period. Can you meet me in-between classes?”
“Every class? Eugene, why don’t you let me just—”
“Please,” he said. “I want to try this. I think it will work, and I know you like it too.” For the first time he reached out and touched my cock, which was sticking up out of my jeans. His sudden touch after several minutes of hot kissing and hotter thoughts about Charlie suddenly put me over the edge.
“Shit!” I said, and hurriedly unbuttoned and unzipped so I could control the orgasm with my hands. In less than a minute I was blowing a very big wad. I tried to aim where Eugene had, and heard the loud splats of cum on plastic.
I stood there panting for a moment, my cock still in both hands. “So you’ll do it,” I heard Eugene say hopefully.
I couldn’t think straight myself now. “Just for today. But we’ll have to think of someplace else after sixth period.”
“I know. We’ll talk about it next time, okay?”
We both closed up our pants, struggling with our cocks (mine was still half-hard), and slipped out of the supply room—to find Paolo, standing there waiting for us.
“Well, this is an interesting development!” he said.
I reacted without thinking, just like I always do. Of course, that’s what always gets me into trouble. But I keep doing it. My aunt says I’m “spontaneous” and that it’s what makes me adorable. I think it’s just that God forgot to install whatever it is that puts a moment or two of thought in between impulse and execution. What is that called again? Oh, right, a brain.
Anyway, here’s what happened. Put on the spot and with no story planned, I jumped straight to saying the trance words. To both of them.
My panic, which had been in low gear, immediately shifted into overdrive. What the fuck was I doing? I mean, fuck, I’d never done two subjects at once before. If they didn’t go under I had just exposed myself. And—holy donkey nuts, I had no plan! What was I going to say? “Forget the last five minutes?” Was I really going to start mind-wiping my schoolmates?
They were staring at me. Were they under? Or just appalled?
I realized I was feeling the telltale nausea and giddiness that came with all the blood draining out of your face. I needed to get a grip. I tried to keep my breathing slow and measured. What was I even freaking out about anyway? Paolo knew I was gay. Eugene certainly knew I was gay. I wasn’t exactly wearing a pink triangle around school, but really it wasn’t like it had been for me in middle school. Everyone I wanted to knew knew, and nobody was bugging me about it.
I leaned forward a bit, peering first into Paolo’s blank face, then Eugene’s. I was pretty sure they were both under. Huh. I could do two subjects at once. My eyes drifted down, past Paolo’s thick, bulging shoulders to his twin soccer-ball pecs. Speaking of two subjects…
I shook my head and took another deep breath, feeling calmer, as the boys waited placidly for me in the empty, half-lit music room. I frowned at them unhappily. Why had I freaked out? And what was I going to do to them now?
And then I realized, that was the whole thing. These were the two subjects, other than Charlie, that I had really changed with my freaky hypno abilities. I’d done a few odd things here and there—I’d pulled this baritone named Eric aside once after chorus and convinced him he liked showering more often than he did, which made both him and everyone else happy, especially me because I stood next to him. I’d gotten the editor of the school paper to start checking for your when it should be you’re and it’s when it should be its, the previous inattention to which had been driving me and probably at least a few other people nuts.
But these guys. I’d made Paolo obsessed with doing push-ups, to the point that for all I knew he probably factored it into his sexual fantasies. Poor Sandra Balecki. And, shit, Eugene—I turned to stare into his blank face—in a fit of pique I’d made him dependent on guy kisses to get him off several times a day!
I hadn’t just changed them. I’d fucked them up. Unexpectedly I felt a stinging at my eyes and I realized I was about to start crying.
No, no. I forced it all down. I was doing something about this. “Eugene,” I said, firmly. He blinked. Was he really in the right kind of trance? “Say ‘yes’ if you can hear me.”
“Yes,” both of them said at once.
Fuck. How do I do this? Maybe I should take somewhere separately—
The bell rang. Shit, shit, shit! Sixth period. I couldn’t miss calculus, we were almost certainly having a quiz today. I faced Eugene, flustered. I realized in a rush I couldn’t just back out of the complicated whammy I’d put in him, because all of it—always being hard, cumming not reducing his arousal, guys’ kisses the only thing that made him cum—was all interlaid with each other and mutually dependent. I couldn’t fix all that all at once—not within the five minutes and counting we hand for passing period. My head was stuck on guy kisses, and then my mind shifted away from my panic entirely and wrapped itself around the amazing kiss Charlie had given me that morning before school. My cock started thickening in my pants just from thinking about it, feeling his tongue exploring my mouth again—
I shoved the thought away ruthlessly, knowing there was no time; but my cock stayed half-hard. I stared at Eugene, willing myself to think of an instant fix for my fuck-up. “Okay,” I said. “It isn’t just a guy’s lips on yours that make you cum. Okay? You can also cum from, uh, uh,” I looked him over, prodding myself to think of something, and my eyes lit on his whopper of a hard cock, which was visibly outlined in his pants shoving toward his hip. “—from sucking yourself off,” I finished lamely.
This was insane, but I at least wanted to get Eugene to want to cum via this stupid Plan B instead of feeling dependent on me, so I soldiered on, “You like cumming that way even better than guy kisses. It’s really, um, satisfying.” I shook my head and sighed, feeling like a supreme idiot. I’d barely managed to keep my boat from sinking, but only by plugging the leaks with gum and tissue paper. I made eye contact with my entranced subject. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Paolo and Eugene said together. I whipped around to goggled at Paolo. Shit, what had I—?
“You guys seen Mrs. Moran?” barked the vice principal, from where he’d stick his head into the music room. I had to keep myself from yelping and just shook my head madly. He disappeared, and I clutched my chest, actually feeling the drumline pounding of my heart through the thin fabric of my tee shirt. I gasped a couple times, leaning over with my hands on my knees, and looked up at Paolo. I tried to think what to do to fix what I’d done but my brain felt like a big bowl of chunky salsa with everyone sticking their tortilla chips in it at once. The bell would ring again any second. I had no fix. I had to go. Fuck it. “Guys, on the count of three you’re going to wake up and not remember this conversation. Okay?”
“Okay. One… Two… Three. Wake up!” And before they could get their bearings, I bolted. I had to get to calculus. And I had to get away. And I had to scream, to howl at how my strongest power seemed to fucking everything the fuck up.
I tried to find Paolo in the next couple of passing periods, but I wasn’t sure what his schedule was this year and couldn’t find him—though I did see Eugene coming out of the men’s room with a smile on his face. Anyway, after seventh Paolo must have lit out for home because his bike was already gone from the racks in front of school when I got out there. By the time after-school choral practice came around I was a wreck. I dropped into my seat in the baritone section barely aware of my surroundings. I was obsessing, the same questions circling in my head like a tail-chasing dog. Had I really put a new whammy on Paolo? And if I had, what was it? I tried to remember my exact words. Had I made him able to cum from a guy’s kisses? No, that wasn’t it, and I knew it. It was a guy’s lips on his made him cum. Straight Paolo would now blow a load if a guy ever kissed him. Or if he sucked himself off. It was not just guy kisses, he could cum for, but also sucking himself off.
Could Paolo suck himself off?
What if he couldn’t? Were gay dude smooches now the only way that my poor buddy Paolo could get off?
I was barely aware of a male presence taking the seat to my left, until I caught the scent of soap. I glanced up at Eric. He was smiling at me and holding out my music folder, which I’d forgotten to get from the slots on the slide wall and which he had kindly picked up for me. I smiled distractedly as I took it, and then froze as I saw that his hair was wet. “Did you just—take a shower?” I asked, aware that I sounded ridiculous. A girl in the row ahead of me turned her head slightly, having caught the crazy question.
“Uh, yeah,” Eric said, brows knitted, as if I’d asked whether he had a belly button. At my stare he went on, as if feeling a need to explain belly buttons, “I have gym seventh?” The girl in front of us turned to her friend and tittered. I nodded at Eric and, flashing him a meaningless smile, took my music from him and tried to bury myself in it.
I was quite possibly going to actually make myself crazy, I realized. And if I did—who knew what I’d do?
I was so wound up about Paolo that I totally forgot about the Rick thing until I was halfway home. When I remembered I actually moaned aloud.
“You okay?” said the boy sitting next to me on the late bus. I looked up in surprise—it was Eugene. My head was so deep up my own ass I hadn’t even noticed someone sitting next to me on the bench, much less that it was Eugene. He seemed concerned. I was surprised and a little touched. Evidently making out in the music supply room had caused some bonding between us. I wondered what after-school activity he had that he was coming home on the late bus. Had I noticed him on it before?
Automatically my eyes dropped to his lap. Sure enough his huge boner was visible in crotch, pointing away from me toward the middle of the bus. When I glanced back up he was smirking a little. I smiled lamely. “I’m okay,” I said. “Are—are you okay?”
He nodded and smiled. He seemed glad I asked. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m very okay.” He glanced around quickly, then leaned toward me and confided, “I found another—solution to my problem.”
I just raised my eyebrows, and he went on, “Let’s just say, thank God I’m flexible.” And, kind of adorably, he actually wiggled his eyebrows.
I laughed. “And hung like a blue whale,” I said. He seemed glad I’d picked up on his hint and nodded. He seemed so content that I just had to probe him on the part of his life I had fucked up. “It must suck to be—?” I started to say, but suddenly remembering I was surrounded by other people I chickened out and just gestured toward his throbbing erection, barely hidden as it was by a few layers of denim and cotton. It felt like a presence with us, like he was carrying a snake in his lap.
“‘Hung like a blue whale’?” he said saucily.
I rolled my eyes in exasperation. “No, I mean—” Ridiculously, I lifted my forearm in front of me so it was a straight vertical and made a fist.
Eugene laughed. He really did seem a lot more serene than he had that morning. Blowing a few loads between classes probably helped. “You mean, being hard all the time,” he said, remembering to keep his voice low. He faced forward, but he’d moved a bit closer to me as we talked and our thighs and shoulders were now touching, and it occurred to be, very belatedly, that Eugene was kind of cute when he was happy, and though skinny he was fairly fit too. And hung like a blue whale. “I dunno,” he said, shrugging. “I’m getting used to this feeling of hormones boiling through me, like I’m this—this embodiment of sex or something. I kind of like that a lot,” he said a little dreamily. “Plus,” he added, leaning toward me again, eyes dancing, “Mac Ford has the locker next to mine and he’s been kind of picking on me? But today he saw my junk and he got this look on his face—” We grinned at each other.
“He was a little intimidated, was he?” I said shrewdly.
He nodded. “Oh yeah.” He fell back against the bench, his shoulder pressed firmly against mine. Was he flirting with me? Or just permanently horny? As if tracking my line of thinking he said, “I never thought much about guys,” he admitted. “But that—” he stopped short of saying “kiss”, and then approached it from a different direction. “—I mean, today in the music room—” He trailed off, then turned his head to face me, locking eyes with me. His lips were inches from mine, and when he spoke again, it was barely audible. “I know I talked you into it,” he said, “but—did you like it?”
I kept my gaze steady on his. “Yeah,” I said honestly. I felt like I had to be honest to him, after what had happened. What I’d done. “It sort of made me see you,” I said. My eyes fell to his lips. They looked sweet and full. “I kind of want to do it again,” I muttered, surprised to hear myself saying it, surprised to realize I was hard, too. “I’d do it right now if we weren’t on the bus,” I added, meeting his eyes again.
“And it wouldn’t make a big mess,” he murmured with a smile. His eyes were fixed on mine now. “Can I—come over?” he asked.
I blinked. It dawned on me that just because I’d made it so sucking himself off was a great way to cum, that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t want to make out with me for, er, the usual reasons. My boner throbbed in my jeans and I almost wished Eugene would put his hand on in, grasp it through the denim right there on the bus. “Yeah.” I breathed. Then I remembered. “Wait, no. Fuck.”
“What?” he said.
“My stupid brother,” I said, and glanced out the window. “Shit, this is our stop.” We scrambled up and bundled ourselves out of the bus, and a moment later we were standing there on the sidewalk with our bookbags over our shoulders, just like we were that morning—two skinny high school dudes with huge erections.
“What about your brother?” Eugene said uncertainly. He had to be trying to figure out whether I was blowing him off of not.
“You know what? Fuck it,” I said, and nudging his elbow with mine, started walking toward my house. He fell into step beside me, and I realized it felt kind of nice to be walking home with a friend. “My stupid brother is bringing his stupid best friend over, and I’m supposed to do this stupid thing for him. But we can hang out except for that.”
“What stupid thing?” Eugene said.
“I’m—not supposed to tell,” I said, aware of how evasive I sounded. I glanced over at him and he shrugged, letting it go for now. It occurred to me that, now that we were alone, I could take a few minutes and unwhammy him, right here and now. But should I? I asked myself as we walked. After all, he seemed to kind of like it. The way Paolo really seemed to like doing push-ups all the time and being big up top.
I sighed. I had no idea what the right thing to do was.
We rounded a corner and my house came into view, and, as if my thoughts had conjured him, there he was: Paolo, sitting on the porch steps of my house, listening to music on his MP3 player. His bike was cast on the lawn, and he looked a little sweaty, not just where his damp hair met his brow, but also across his beautiful, glistening chest. Damn, he was shirtless. Totally, gorgeously shirtless.
“Gee-zus, that is the hottest body I’ve ever seen on a guy,” Eugene murmured in my ear, and I wondered again how gay he’d been before today. As we came up to the porch steps Paolo snatched up his wet shirt from the porch beside him and stood and walked down to us, the shock of his footfalls reverberating through his ponderous pecs. We stared at him, rendered speechless by his unexpected presence and his thick-muscled beauty.
“Hey Jack,” he said. He glanced at Eugene briefly, then returned his troubled gaze to mine.
“Hey dude. What’s up?” I said. A bad feeling washed over me.
“I need you to do me a favor,” Paolo said. His expression was serious, but not aggrieved. He was coming to me for help, not to accuse me of fucking up his life, I told myself.
“What?” I said, my mouth dry.
He took a deep breath, and his expanding chest distracted me for a moment. Then our eyes met again. “I need you to hypnotize me,” he said soberly. My breath caught.
Then he added, “Again.”
I gaped at Paolo’s handsome face, completely thrown by what he’d said. Not just because I’d been called out for fucking around in people’s heads, but because it was Paolo—the most easy-going, conflict-allergic person I knew. Paolo, the guy who’d once neatly defused an increasingly heated lunchroom argument over creamy vs. crunchy (yes, really, you had to be there) with a calm discourse on why he liked both, depending on bread, jam, mood, and his recent sandwich history. Paolo was the one who didn’t confront, didn’t heat up, and didn’t rise to the bait, unlike everyone else in our emotionally volatile, hashtag-inflamed world. In all the years I’d known him I’d never before seen this face: stern, eyes dark with a still, reserved indignation, brows drawn together, nostrils wide. He’d keyed himself up for this, made himself do it. I gulped, and my stomach churned with the nauseous dread of the miscreant exposed.
I had no idea what the fuck to say. What should I do? Admit it? Deny it? Run inside and hide under the couch cushions and pretend the last five minutes hadn’t happened? The realization that Charlie was inside and for all I knew probably working out naked again made me both long for and shy away from the “running inside” option. My lips worked, but after a couple of heartbeats the only sound that had came out was “Whuh?”
Paolo went on, speaking a little less aggressively now, probably because I had amply demonstrated that I was in fact going to be a pussy about this. “I know you hypnotized me once before,” he said. “And I need you to do it again.”
But more than anything I was consumed with curiosity over how Paolo knew. I think that was what was written all over my face, because when he said, “You want to know how I figured it out?”, I just nodded. A simple movement of the head, down once and up again, equivalent to a signed confession.
Eugene was following all this very closely. We had drawn together slightly into a small circle on my front walk, the warm September afternoon gently cooling around us as the sun dipped behind the woods at the end of the block, beyond the cul-de-sac.
My mouth found its footing, as it were, as I abruptly realized I’d invited Paolo to elaborate in detail on what I’d done to him. “Maybe, um, we should talk about this another time,” I said, flicking my eyes toward Eugene.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Eugene said immediately. “I want to hear this.”
“You should,” the muscle boy push-up king said seriously, turning his chin to look at him directly. “Maybe he’s done it to you.” He looked back at me, and his stern look told me I was in one of my least favorite nightmares: busted by my friends. I could feel myself swearing, and not because of the warm late afternoon sun.
“Done what?” I said weakly. I couldn’t deny it, but I couldn’t admit to it either. Not yet. “How do you even—I mean, what makes you think I—?”
“I remember,” Paolo said simply.
I couldn’t say anything. We stared at each other a second before Eugene put in, “Remember what?”
Paolo turned his chin slightly and explained to Eugene, but kept his eyes on me the whole time. “A few years ago, in middle school,” he said, “Jack here asked me if he could try hypnotizing me. So I said ‘Sure, why not?’ Well, nothing came of it—I always figured Jack had given up on the idea. But then that night I was getting ready for bed and I felt this really strong urge to do some push-ups, you know?” He paused, as if to get a reaction from me. He was still looking right at me, even as he told Eugene the story. I swallowed and said nothing. “So I got down next to my bed and started doing push-ups, and it felt so good I kind of got off on it. And I haven’t stopped. Even now, I kinda want to get down on this grass and do as many push-ups as I can. The guys on the swim team thought I was weird when I joined up. Though they couldn’t argue with the results.”
“Let me guess,” Eugene said. “You didn’t exercise before.”
Paolo shook his head. “And I don’t now,” he said, still watching me. “I work out, but doing push-ups is the only thing that I really love doing.”
“Sort of like,” Eugene said slowly, turning to face me, “how my cock hasn’t gone down since this morning and doesn’t feel like it ever will.”
Paolo crossed his arms over his huge bare pecs, and Eugene copied him, crossing his arms over his skinny nothing, still fully clothed chest. It would have been comical if it weren’t the end of my life.
Yeah, I knew I was a goner. My only hope was to get some concessions. “But—but—” I sputtered desperately, “aren’t you guys, you know, happy?”
“Sure,” Paolo said. “And so’s a guy who’s had Prozac dropped in his apple juice.”
I bit my lower lip. I ceded the moral high ground, as if I’d really convinced myself that their being happy justified everything. “So why confront me today, all of a sudden?” I said, shifting away from the ethical aspects of brain-fucking.
Paolo cocked his head slightly. “Something’s different today,” he said, eyeing me closely. “You did something else to me.”
I drew my brows together. I almost said, “How do you know?”, but, chickening out of further self-incrimination, I said instead, “What do you mean?”
But Paolo saw right through me. “You know exactly what I mean,” he said sternly. The normally happy Paolo all clouded over like this was disconcerting, even if he wasn’t shouting or even evincing any level of real anger. As if reacting to my discomfort and wanting instinctively to placate it he dropped his crossed-arm Superman pose, letting his arms drop to his sides—revealing, incidentally, the true extent of his V-shape, since his flaring lats and tiny waist left a gap between his arms and his torso, not from being musclebound but just from being big up top and tight as fuck in the middle. What was I thinking about, fantasizing about Charlie? Paolo had the best body ever. Eugene, judging from the intensity of his gaze as it roved over Paolo’s torso, seemed to think so too.
Paolo was explaining his latest epiphany to Eugene while looking at me again, his tone back to being calm and matter-of-fact. He habitually carded a hand through his long, loose black hair, and I again watched the muscles of his upper arm bunch and flex. “I met up with Sandra Balecki after last period,” he said, and I remembered his glee yesterday at having finally gotten in good with her. “Only she was with her twin brother Shaun, right? And so Sandra and I are talking about our date Friday, and I’m thinking all kinds of sexy thoughts about her, only Shaun is checking me out like usual, right? More than Sandra even. And I’m standing there, all riled up about getting it on with Sandra, and I keep looking over at Shaun thinking, if I kissed Shaun that would totally get me off, right here, right now. Fuck, he was eating me with his eyes, I almost did it just to blow my wad, man.” He shook his head. “Fuck, I’m still hard just thinking about it.”
My cheeks were warm as I listened to this, and it had nothing to do with the now-vanished late-summer sun. When he got the part about blasting jizz just from kissing a guy I made the fatal mistake of slanting my eyes at Eugene just for a second. I looked away immediately, but it was too late. “You—!” he started to say, amazed, then turned to Paolo, eyes bugging. “He did that to me, too!” Then they both looked at me, their eyes reproving but also—beseeching.
“Look, guys,” I said, “I can totally fix—”
“But can we trust you?” Eugene broke in. Strangely enough, it seemed less an recrimination than a genuine question. I realized the questions, the confrontation, and the beseeching eyes were all pleas for me to prove I was still a good person, still their friend.
“Did you—you messed with us just for kicks,” said Paolo calmly, and that definitely felt like an accusation. He was hurt at my betrayal, as much as anything else. I felt like shit.
“I know,” I said, hanging my head. “I’m sorry. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll fix it, I swear.” I looked up at Paolo’s face, then Eugene’s. They both looked reluctant, but not unreachable. “And if you don’t trust me, I dunno—” I grasped at a solution, and my mind randomly hit on the Cold War stuff we’d been studying in Mr. Grayson’s class. “We’ll do mutual verification,” I said more confidently. “Each of you observes while I do the other one. How’s that?” I asked, looking from one face to another.
Eugene seemed to defer to Paolo, who had brought all of this up and had known me longer as well. Paolo looked at me for a long moment and then, much to my relief, smiled. “I got a better idea. You normally make us forget, right?” I hesitated, then nodded. There was no holding back now. “Okay,” Paolo resumed. “Can you do it without that?”
“Not make you forget?” I said. When he nodded, I said hesitantly, “Yeah, sure, I guess.” I was kind of reluctant, not because I wanted to trick them, and not because I hadn’t ever tried it that way (though that was a factor in my unease), but because, I realized in that moment, the hypnotizing I did felt weirdly private. The fact that I was doing it to someone and yet it still felt intensely personal to me gave me, in that moment, a new insight into myself that I didn’t exactly relish.
“Then we’ll do a little trial run, right here, right now,” Paolo said, heedless of my emotional gymnastics. “We’ll do the verification thing later, and ‘fix everything’ like you said, but for now I want you to hypnotize us both and do something simple… and make sure you let us remember.” He left unsaid the painfully obvious: that this was a test, which, if I failed, I probably wouldn’t be able to recover from.
I still couldn’t quite believe I was having this conversation. I goggled at them. “Right here in the yard?” I’d never exactly done my thing on command before.
“Yup.” This was a critical moment, and Paolo, at least, had decided, in his straightforward manner, that there was one way past it.
I glanced at Eugene, who was rapidly shifting from reluctant to intrigued. “What do you want the suggestion to be?” I asked them slowly. I tried to make it sound meek. I didn’t want to lose them—Eugene, oddly enough, as much as Paolo, even though, or perhaps because, I’d only made friends with him today.
Paolo shrugged his browned, brawny shoulders. There were a smattering of dark freckles on them, I noticed for the first time. He wasn’t the sort to habitually doff his shirt, at least not here—though the pics from his summers in Hawaii had told another story. “We’ll do the real fix later. This is just for fun, so—” He turned to Eugene inquiringly.
Eugene’s mouth opened, but it was a beat before any sound came out. When he spoke it seemed not to be to either of us but just in general, into the little world we’d circled around us, standing there in impromptu congress on my sun-baked sidewalk. “Um, I think it needs to be—that Paolo and I can kiss without cumming,” Eugene blurted.
I raised my eyebrows at Paolo. It occurred to me, with an inward smile, that after what had happened with Shaun Balecki he was probably feeling an urgent need to kiss one of us, probably giving an edge to the infatuated Eugene. Paolo glanced sidelong at him, then, fundamentally even-tempered as he was, he shrugged his beefy bare shoulders and said, “Okay.”
“Okay,” I repeated, suddenly feeling rather awkward as they both gazed at me expectantly. Awkward, and a little ruffled that I was being put in this position. Of course it was all my own fault, but who likes being ganged up on? I was sorely tempted to slip something in and find a way to hide it, but if I did it would come out and I’d lose their trust completely. Instead, and against my own usual instincts, I brought it up openly, just to see what would happen in this new environment of candid discussion of my gifts and what I had done with them. “Can I put in something about you staying shirtless like this?” I asked Paolo coyly. “I think a lot of people would appreciate that, including me. And Shaun,” I added, needling him a little.
“And me!” Eugene piped up. Okay, this boy was totally embracing the gay. Was that because I had loosened something in him, or had I actually shoved him into a higher Kinsey bracket?
“Um, I guess,” Paolo stammered, glancing between us, a little overwhelmed. I wondered if he realized how hot he really was. Certainly he was aware that his body had caught Sandra’s attention. And her brother’s—
Before there could be any further discussion, I took a deep breath and said the trance words, and, each of them having already been mesmerands for me before, they were both under instantly.
“Paolo, Eugene,” I said. “Say ‘yes’ if you can hear me.”
“Yes,” they both said together.
“Good,” I said. I thought about what I wanted to say. One thing I had concluded fairly early on is that suggestions needed to be strong and clear, or they’d get twisted and lost in the subject’s psyche. Mild or tentative suggestions did more harm than good—that was why I’d told Paolo he really enjoyed push-ups in the first place: if he’d just kinda liked them, the suggestion would’ve gotten swamped in all the other things he kinda liked doing, and it would’ve either been buried or gone astray somehow. Now that I was on probation with my friends, in a manner of speaking, I didn’t want anything to go wrong with this whammy. And that meant selling it hard.
“First thing,” I said: “Paolo and Eugene, you like kissing each other. A lot. It’s comfortable and exciting and a thrill for both of you and you both look forward to it and enjoy it completely while you’re doing it. Because kissing each other is special and important, you don’t cum when you kiss as long as you’re wearing clothes.” That was important too: conditionals had to be as stark as the suggestion. I had to make sure there was a reason for their kissing to be different from the general rule about always cumming when you kissed a guy. And if I just told them they could cum if they wanted to when they kissed each other—well, they might end up always wanting to. But this way, they could make out right here on my lawn and not cum.
I had thought about all of this a lot over the last few years.
Time to wrap up the first suggestion. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” they said again.
God, looking at their blank stares, at Paolo’s hot musclebod and Eugene’s plainly visible enormous boner, I was so sorely tempted to fuck with them. I guess I was fucking with them, a little bit, though I was still at least in the general vicinity of what they’d asked for. But if I truly went off the reservation, there’d be hell to pay afterwards from both of them. And not down the road someday—hell would have to be paid in full starting in about five minutes. Even beyond that—I wanted to be good. Well, didn’t I always? It wasn’t my fault of sometimes veered away from what was supposed to happen. Right?
I guess I’d just have to enjoy the things they’d asked for, I thought to myself, feeling a crooked smile on my lips. “Second thing,” I said. I had to consider my phrasing again—the wrong wording would make Eugene want to be shirtless too, and that wasn’t what we had in mind. After a moment I said, “Paolo should be shirtless whenever possible. It’s Paolo’s natural condition, his comfort zone, and you both think it looks strange for Paolo to be wearing a shirt. If Paolo is wearing a shirt, both of you will want to take it off him. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Paolo and Eugene both said together. Paolo, coincidentally or not, raised a hand to scratch between his pecs.
I still felt a little nauseated from the whole thing. I’ll admit I felt a last flicker of temptation to do more, or deny them the memory of this, but the temptation was faint and died quickly as I reminded myself of how much more important their friendship and trust was to me. I drew in a long, deep breath and said, “Guys, on the count of three you’re going to wake up and you will remember this conversation. Okay?”
“Okay. One… Two… Three. Wake up!”
They both blinked and wobbled very slightly. I watched as Eugene turned toward Paolo, his eyes lighting up as they hit his beautiful, open face. Paolo, in turn, looked at Eugene, took a surprised breath, and then tilted his head to look at me forlornly. “Dude, you made me gay for him,” he whined.
I shrugged. “If you don’t like it,” I said reasonably, “we can undo it later.”
Paolo rolled his eyes. His hands were already cupping Eugene’s jaw as he turned away from me, moving into what was clearly going to be a deep and passionate kiss. “Of course I’m going to like it,” he murmured exasperatedly. They both closed their eyes as their lips met, tentatively for a second or two, then, emphatically, exuberantly, Eugene’s pale arms wrapping around Paolo’s wide tanned torso, his long hands roaming the thick muscle and bulging bare shoulders back there. They both moaned as they dove deeper into the kiss, and once again I wondered I’d created a monster. Maybe creating nice monsters was okay, I mused to myself wryly, adjusting my own thick boner. As long as Tokyo was safe, why shouldn’t we all get something out of my seemingly uncanny abilities?
They were really going at it, though, and when I noticed the youngest Hutcherson kid from down the block zooming by on his skateboard, casting a curious stare at the happy couple, I turned back to them and cleared my throat. “Okay, guys,” I said. “Get a room.”
“Good idea,” Paolo panted, between kisses. “I need to get naked.”
I was still gaping at Paolo saying this—Paolo—when Eugene chimed in, “Me too.” And they were both actually reaching for each other’s belts!
“Okay guys, seriously,” I said, “break it up.” But to no avail. They weren’t listening to me. If anything they were getting more enthusiastic about their tongue-sucking, mouth-mashing kiss. Frantically I looked around and spotted the garden hose coiled up on the ground with the sprinkler arm attached. I rushed over to the faucet, turned it on, and running back to the sprinkler picked it up and aimed it at the two horndog teenagers, dousing them in a sheet of cold water.
“Hey!” they sputtered, pulling apart from each other and wiping water from their surprised faces.
“What did you—?” Eugene started to grouse, but then, suddenly, he broke into delirious laughter, and a beat later Paolo was laughing too. I went and turned off the water, then came back to stand next to them.
“You actually,” Eugene gasped, still laughing as he put a wet hand on my shoulder, “you actually had to turn the hose on us!”
Paolo was shaking his head, the smile on his kiss-swollen lips huge and self-deprecatingly chagrined. Then his eyes lit on Eugene’s enormous permaboner, which was now completely visible from balls to head under the clinging wet shirt and soaked pants. His mouth fell open a little and he looked like he wanted to say something about it, but he just stared at it as Eugene wound up his laughter.
“Yeah, we might have to tone that one down,” I said.
“Over my dead body!” Eugene said, flushed, wet, and grinning.
Still hard from watching them but worried about what I’d unleashed I was definitely of two minds about the whole thing, but I let it go for now. “Let’s go inside and grab some food. There’s lots of sandwich stuff in the kitchen. You ready to chow down, Paolo?” I added, keeping my tone innocent.
Paolo, still staring at his makeout-buddy’s monster appendage, snapped his gaze up to meet mine. “What?”
“Food,” I said patiently. “Let’s go in and get some food.”
“Good idea,” Eugene said. “I’m starving. And maybe we can borrow some clothes, since it’s your fault it looks like the rain gods decided to piss on the two of us and no one else?”
“Totally,” I said.
Paolo seemed to shake himself into normality, though he seemed to be thinking about everything that had just happened. “Food and clothes, sounds good,” he said, surfacing from his reverie. “And maybe,” he added to me with a cocked eyebrow, “you can teach us your tricks and we can hypnotize you for a change.”
My look of dismay as I stood there rooted to the spot must have been pretty funny, because they were still laughing as they went into the house ahead of me, while I stayed behind a moment or two, momentarily stunned into immobility by the very idea. I recovered a second or two later and was heading up the steps to the porch after them when I heard a very unexpected sound: sarcastic clapping.
I stumbled a bit on the next to last step, my heart similarly faltering. Up on the porch a second later I beheld, with a new sickening lurch of my long-suffering stomach, the source of the derisive applause: my hot and hunky brother, sitting in the porch’s darkened recess on one of the sturdy, teak-stained Adirondack chairs we had out there for the enjoyment of mild summer afternoons like this one. He’d been here the whole time! He must have been out here waiting for Rick, and while he’d waited, he’d heard—he’d seen—! I actually quailed, breathless, as I realized I had just exposed to him everything about what I could do, and took a step back, though the stairs were right behind me. My two friends confronting me had been traumatic enough, and now, my formerly abusive and still devious brother was staring at me with bright, knowing eyes.
I tried to stave off panic as he stood, his muscular form looming even larger in the porch’s charcoal dimness. I told myself he’d already guessed some of it—he knew I could affect him using the computer program, and that the gap in his memory must have suggested I’d hypnotized him somehow to make that happen. That by itself had been enough to extort concessions from me for his under-endowed buddy. But now as he advanced on me with a cunning smile I knew that piecing together part of what I’d done to him was light-years short of having the heavy iron master key to all my secrets drop with a flat slap into his waiting palm.
He had come more into the rapidly fading light. The more I could see of him, the more unreal he looked. “You want me shirtless all the time too?” he asked in a deep, dark, sarcastic voice. Immediately he reached with crossed arms for the hems of his skin-tight tee shirt (the same worn old Lover’s shirt he’d been wearing that morning) and started pulling it up, saying as he did so, “Here, I’ll give you that one for free.” With a sudden, swift move that almost made me jump—I was popping and crackling with nerves—he whipped the shirt off as he closed the remaining distance between us, so that he was standing there, huge and hulking and yet beautifully sculpted, thick and hard and exquisite all across his shoulders and chest and lats and upper arms. A symphony of muscle; and in the middle of it all, his sweetly beautiful face. “You don’t even have to make me,” he purred in that dark voice. His words struck me almost physically, and I knew they were both hard accusation and affectionate conciliation in strange and equal measure.
His eyes were sharp and riveted on mine, his full lips parted just a millimeter, and it suddenly occurred to me, with the force of a truck hitting a brick wall, that maybe, just maybe, Charlie’s sheer magnetism and heart-thumping beauty gifted him with abilities not that dissimilar from my own. I was hard, hard for him, and my yearning to touch those shoulders, those pecs, that cheek now seemed to have nothing to do with my own erotic greed, as it had a few days before, and everything to do with his lusts, his desire for appreciation and control.
“Ch-charlie,” I stammered, but my vocabulary beyond that deserted me. Unable to help myself I reached for his golden form. He flexed his biceps and triceps gently under my coasting hand. I looked down, and gasped. In the dimming light of what was now early evening I saw, emerging hard and raging from Charlie’s jeans, a fat, flexing cock bigger than any I’d ever seen. Bigger than mine, bigger even than Eugene’s, this was a cock that had forced its way out of my most fervent and cum-filled dreams and onto my brother’s godly body. My mouth was as dry as the Sahara. I wanted to exclaim, to chide him for making it so huge, but I could not form the words. Some rational corner of my mind was impressed and slightly disturbed by how busy he must he must have been all day (or maybe he’d gained more control over how much bigger he could make it each time?). But the vast majority of my mind was swamped with the simplest idea: how perfect it was on him, aesthetically, conceptually, in every way. All I could do was stare at it as it writhed against the right side of Charlie’s deep-carved abs, leaving a skittering trail of wet precum as it squirmed with profound and visible need.
A waft of his musky, Axe-tinged scent filled my nostrils. “Touch it,” Charlie whispered, his lips unexpectedly near my ear. I knew that despite the gloaming of approaching nightfall we were still out on our porch, where anyone with decent night vision could see exactly what was going on. Paolo and Eugene might come back out looking for me any second. Rick might drive up and catch his best buddy being groped by his own brother. It didn’t matter. I literally could not resist curling my hand around his too-thick, too-big cock, and when he hissed with pleasure, his monster surging in my hand, my heart began pounding in earnest—not from fear or chagrin this time but from the joy of experiencing a pure, sensual, toe-curling pleasure that was shared and mutual and fucking amazing.
That isolated corner of my brain, nervous about what I couldn’t help myself from doing, wondered why Paolo and Eugene hadn’t doubled back to check on me when I hadn’t followed them in. Were they really that hungry? But with a mental face-palm I realized I already knew why. Yeah, they were hungry, but not for sandwiches. I shook my head slightly and instantly forgot about them as I wrapped a firm grip around Charlie’s amazing tool.
As I squeezed I felt the side of my hand dampen with precum, and Charlie moaned softly against my cheek. I ran my free hand up his side, cupping his flaring lats under his arm, and to my surprise he reciprocated, sliding his big right hand across my back. “Unh, I’m close,” Charlie said, and my heart started slamming against my chest at that. But what he said next was even wilder. “It feels like I’m always close now,” he murmured, and suddenly, as if his words really did have power over me, I was ridiculously close too.
I retrieved my other hand and was fumbling to expose at least the head of my cock when he said, “Quick, suck it,” Charlie said urgently. “I’m going to—Jack, bro, suck it, suck it now.” Then he growled a slow, fevered command: “Make me grow.”
Without conscious thought my mouth was around the beautiful, precum-soaked, luscious monster. It was fat but not too big for the head and several inches of shaft to fit in my mouth, filling it with iron-hard cockflesh, and the feel and taste of it was so enthralling that I was cumming hard, rocketing streams of hot cum god knew where, and I barely cared. In that second all there was for me was that perfect cock in my mouth. And those three words, those cum-making words. Make—me—grow “
Almost from the moment my mouth was wrapped around it he began cumming too, and while I knew he must have been cumming all day—it would have taken at least ten blasts since the whammy last night to have gotten this big—it felt like the kind of gusher you only get when a guy hasn’t blown his wad all week. As I swallowed eagerly, still shuddering with unrelenting orgasm, my circuit breakers all tripping one after another, one sensation out of all the other amazing things that were happening loomed up and took over my mind and senses. With my mouth—my lips, my tongue, my palate—I could feel it stretch, expand, grow. Charlie’s cock growing, swelling in my mouth. It felt like most of an inch, and thicker, and it was rapturous to feel it inside my own mouth, for me to have done it, for Charlie to have shared it with me.
“Duuude,” Charlie groaned quietly, and he was panting hard. “That—was the best—one.”
I snickered, thinking that, well, yeah, of course a b.j. from me was gonna be better than hourly wanks in the men’s room at school, but then I heard the grumbling roar of a motorcycle turning onto our quiet street. I knew from experience that this had to be Rick, arriving for the Jet Li fest and secret cock ritual. Hurriedly I straightened up, fastening up my jeans, and stepped back from Charlie to look him over, thinking he might not be fit for company. Sure enough there was cum on his abs (mine, clearly, since I had managed somehow to swallow all of Charlie’s), not to mention the huge exposed boner. I slapped away the cum as best I could and said, “Okay, put on your shirt.”
“No.” My eyes jumped up to his. He was only a couple inches taller than I was, but it still felt like he was smiling down at me.
“What?!” The motorcycle was getting closer—he’d be in front of the house in seconds.
“I meant what I said about giving you the no-shirts thing,” he said calmly. I stared back at him. He had? That wasn’t just cruel taunting? This didn’t slot anywhere in my brain, and I didn’t know what to do with it at all.
The motorcycle was upon us. I yanked my foot out of one of my shoes with the help of the toes of my other foot and hauled off my sweat sock. A second later I was shoving the sock down over Charlie’s exposed dick. “There,” I said, regarding the ad hoc arrangement critically. It looked—well, it looked damn ridiculous, and also kinda hot (the flare of the upper middle of his erection almost filled out the stretchy white tube sock). But at least he wasn’t flashing his erection to all and sundry. “If you won’t wear shirts,” I said, as if we both really believed this was now his invariable custom (and, Jesus, was it?), “wear this at least so you don’t freak people out as much or get arrested or anything.”
Charlie seemed vastly amused, but I caught a glint of fondness in his eyes. “My new look?” he asked cheekily. My lips quirked but I said nothing.
The motorcycle was now directly behind me down on the street. The engine cut off suddenly, and the night returned to its soft, dim quiescence. At least, until Rick called up to us, “Hey, losers!”
I rolled my eyes. Charlie smiled at my reaction and moved around me to the porch’s wide wooden balustrade, leaning on it with both hands. “Hey, c’mon up,” he said.
I watched my latest future mesmerand as he set his helmet on the seat and jogged up the walk to meet us, pounding up the steps when he got to them as if he doing one of those stadium workouts. He was a couple inches shorter than me but big and tough all over, with a compact, hard-muscled body that made him look like a brute. Still, I thought as he came to stand before us, he wasn’t bad looking: he had a long straight nose, high cheekbones, alert brown eyes behind oval steel-rimmed specs, bristly blond stubble, and shoulder-length, wavy surfer-blond hair that collectively made him look more like a male model than anything else.
“Hey Chuckie,” he said, slapping my brother’s bare shoulder. He spared me a glance. “Dweeb,” he greeted, but it was good-natured. He didn’t really hold me contempt or anything; I was just his best bud’s kid bro, and the word for that was “dweeb.”
I nodded back at him. “Dick,” I said, in the same spirit. He was a dick, I figured, and the word for that was “dick.” A year or so ago when Rick first came into the outer orbits of my life he might have corrected me, wrongly thinking I’d guessed the wrong nickname for “Richard”, but now it just slipped off him. Belatedly it occurred to me to wonder if my breath was redolent of Charlie’s powerful, delicious cum. I bent my head, breathing through my nose.
Rick, meanwhile, had caught sight of Charlie’s sock-clad tool and frowned. “What’s this?” he asked with what sounded like a forced levity of tine. “You wearing sex toys around as a fashion statement now?”
“It’s not a toy,” I wanted to say, but I held my tongue. I felt momentarily bad for Rick. Given what Charlie had said regarding Rick’s self-consciousness in that department, I figured he was liable to take it badly whether the obscene protrusion from Charlie’s jeans was real or fake.
“I’ll explain later,” Charlie said smoothly with a warm smile, and something about his tone forced Rick’s eyes up to meet his. Here it was, the charm I’d realized Charlie was quite capable of wielding, now turned on full force to squelch the seeds of Rick’s embarrassed anger before it could ripen into anything real. As their eyes met Charlie said, “Why don’t you go in and get the popcorn started. I have to finish talking to Jack here.” Rick’s eyebrows raised fractionally, but before he could inquire Charlie explained, “My little brother got himself into some trouble today, and I need to set him straight.”
Rick nodded, his earlier pique already forgotten, and immediately turned and headed inside. Once the screen door had slammed we were suddenly bathed in bright amber light: Rick, a frequent visitor, had thoughtfully stopped by the front door and flicked on the porch light on his way into the house. I noticed the crickets in the woods had started up, but there was little other sound out here.
I smiled at my brother. “So,” I said, keeping my voice low, “are you going to ‘straighten me out’ now?” Unable to help it glanced at his sock-clad raging boner, barely holding back from licking my lips in anticipation of another go. It flexed against his stone-carved eight-pack, and a shiver of desire ran up my spine.
Charlie took a step closer and, by way of answer, bent down and kissed me, long and soft and sweet. “God no,” he whispered. “I like it when you touch me.”
I drew in a sharp breath at the echo of what I had done to him. “Charlie—” I started to say, upset, but he cut me off with another quick kiss.
“I don’t care,” he said against my lips, almost inaudibly. He took me into his arms and I gratefully hugged him back, feeling a massive rush from the feeling of his hard muscles and harder cock pressed against me as if they were for me to enjoy.
“I want you to do something for me,” I heard him say into my ear. I felt a flurry of dismay in my stomach at that, knowing that whatever he asked for now, I would have to do—not because he had me over a barrel but because—well, I didn’t know why, exactly, but I knew it was true. Anything, for Charlie.
“I want you to do it,” he said, still holding me, as if he were deliberately trying to squeeze more pleasure into me than I could get from simple full-body contact with his thick, perfectly muscled form.
I waited for him to explain, but he said nothing. “Do what?” I asked gently into his ear, feeling the brush of his stubble against my cheek.
He pulled back from his embrace and smiled at me, wanting, I reckoned, to see my reaction. “What you did to me,” he said. “What you’re doing to Rick. I want you to do it to yourself.” He leaned in and stole one more kiss. “I want you to grow for me,” he whispered.
A moment later he was gone, the screen door slamming after him, and soon I heard the sound of laughter and jovial conversation as Charlie and Rick got ready for their movie. It was a long time before I was able to even move my feet and slowly follow Charlie into the house, dazed, confused, and as hard and aroused as I had ever been in my entire life.
I entered the house in a daze, after I didn’t know how many minutes spent standing on the porch, brain spinning and feet fettered to where I stood. Everything that had happened that day was starting to hit me like brick walls collapsing onto me one after another. All my mindfucks had boomeranged to fuck me back, one after another like a gang of rowdy bar patrons triggered into an orgy of wild, cathartic violence by the one guy throwing that first punch. Something about today was cursed. Was it Tuesdays that Arthur Dent couldn’t get the hang of? I wondered stupidly as I paused to pull off my other sock and, lacking anyplace better, stuff it in the back pocket of my jeans.
The foyer, or entrance hall, was sort of the nexus of this part of the house: if the front door was behind me, I could go straight, through the archway directly in front of me at the end of the hall that led to the more or less formal living room and, through that, to the more casual family room; I could turn right and head up the wide, carpeted stairs to the four bedrooms on the second floor (one of which was now the gym where Charlie worked out naked, apparently); or I could go left into the kitchen, beyond which was the dining room. Rick and Charlie could be heard having fun in the family room, and though they weren’t so audible I knew that Paolo and Eugene had to be upstairs testing out their new clothed/unclothed whammy. I elected to detour toward the kitchen, away from the testosterone-fest in the family room and the more literal hormone indulgence that was going on upstairs.
I walked slowly, stewing on my upended situation. I knew what had set everything in motion too. It was when I’d literally run into Charlie after working all Sunday night on the app. I’d groped him because I couldn’t help it, and I was starting to worry that there was more to the way I’d been acting toward my brother than his unbearably arousing, perfectly sculpted body.
The kitchen was not the sanctuary I needed it to be. Eugene was there, rummaging noisily in the fridge, apparently asking it where it was hiding the cans of diet soda. All I could see of him behind the open fridge door was his ass and a bit of his naked lower back as he bent over, and a pair of unexpectedly large, bare feet emerging from the battered cuffs of his jeans. The small of his back, though, was what caught my attention. The skin I could see was very pale and damp with sweat under the bright, unforgiving overhead light, and I had little doubt that that sweat had been earned in energetic activity requiring the presence of another, similarly horny dude.
“It’s all on the door, man,” I said in a flat voice. I was suddenly all out of patience with my mesmerands and the way they wanted to hold me accountable for cavalierly fucking with their brains whenever I felt like it. Okay, and I guess I was a bit cross with myself, too. Mostly because I seemed to have the impulse control of a chocolate lab.
Eugene’s head popped up from behind the door, and he smiled at me winningly. His short, shaggy ash-blond hair was just a bit damp, too. He straightened up immediately and came out from behind the door, revealing his crypt-white, skinny but defined torso—and the insolent upper bit of his fat, footlong whale of a boner erupting out of his jeans, leering at a crooked angle like a thick, drunken lamppost. Then he moved quickly toward me and, to my utter amazement, opened up his arms and gave me a huge bear hug. I was stunned speechless, and for a moment or two, as he squeezed me (he was surprisingly strong), the only sounds around us were the fridge door slowly shutting itself and a sudden giggle, probably Rick, from the family room on the other side of the house.
Eugene pulled back, still grasping me by the arms, and looked at me with his brown eyes dancing, lit by more than just the harsh light fixture above. “Thank you,” he said, and I had never heard the words said with more brio.
I cocked an eyebrow at him and felt my lips quirking—a sardonic double-play. “Enjoying ourselves, are we?”
“Fuck yeah,” he enthused. He leaned closer and went on confidentially, “I dunno what you did to us with the kiss-and-cum thing, but it seems like there’s no limit to how much we can cum, dude. We’ve been blowing each other’s wads over and over upstairs like we’re fucking cum-fountains!”
My eyebrows wandered away from their sarcasm configuration toward something more confused. “What? That’s not supposed to happen,” I said. Without the app I’d used on Charlie, my hypno-whammy couldn’t have changed their biology, just their minds. What the fuck was going on.
Eugene shrugged, his eyes wide and round. We were so close—he was still grasping my triceps—that I could see flecks of green or amber in his brown eyes. “I dunno, dude,” he said. “All I know is, the last time we kissed we were cumming like we were that fountain at the start of Married With Children.” He shook his head. “Finally we got thirsty, so I volunteered to put on pants and come find some sodas.” This remark seemed to remind him that he’d been interrupted in the middle of his mission, and his eyebrows shot up as he turned back to the refrigerator. Opening the door he spotted the cans of Diet Dr. Pepper on the door, as promised, and grinned manically. He snagged two cans in each hand and headed back to me, still beaming.
“Dude, I cannot tell you how grateful we are,” he said earnestly. He seemed to want to hug me again to demonstrate said gratitude, but, realizing his hands were both occupied with the sodas, he elected to dive in for a deep, sloppy kiss of deeply felt appreciation. Unfortunately we had both forgotten my whammy from the morning, and by the time we realized he was cumming fiercely from the kiss there was nothing to do but ride it out. He fell against me for a second, panting, then pulled back and gave me a rueful look.
I looked down and muttered a curse. He had apparently just cum a whole week’s worth of jizz thanks to our kiss, and part of my brain registered that he really should not be able to do this after however long he and Paolo had been spending spraying each other upstairs as they made out (and whatever else). But mostly I was focused on he’d managed not only to cum over his own tight, pale torso, but to soak the front of my thin cotton tee shirt as well, the thick wetness looking black as a pool of blood in a noir flick against the eggplant of my tee. “Jesus,” I groused. At some deep and cynical level I knew that this dousing would have ramifications of some kind, probably, though not necessarily, involving my crafty brother. It was just the way my week was going. I cast Eugene a baleful glance from under lowered brows.
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Um—gotta go!” And with that he danced around me and was gone. A second later I heard his feet pounding up the stairs.
I was just about to head up after him, intent on retrieving a fresh tee from my bureau, when I suddenly clued in on the fact that, dollars to donuts, Eugene and Paolo were having their pearl-jam-boree in my room and that I really didn’t want to interrupt them. I was trying to figure out whether anything useful was likely to by lying around in the laundry room when the doorbell rang. Jiminy Crickets. This day was nonstop, everything happening on top of everything else. It was like something was determined to upend every damn thing in my life, like a tornado with OCD.
“I’ll get it,” I called out pointlessly, rolling my eyes at myself in exasperation. Charlie might answer the door, or the house phone, if it was one of his friends, but otherwise he considered such work fit only for the servile classes: i.e., the kid brother. Charlie really was a fucker. I’d been all glad he had stopped pushing me around, but I was starting to realize I’d been fatally naive about that. He was still pushing me around. And it was getting so weird to even be around him, both of us expecting my touch, my gropes—my hand, my—mouth—Fuck, why did he have to be so—so Charlie?
I had walked back around to the front door and, peering through the screen door, was now surprised to see a tall, good-looking, lanky boy with a mop of straight but unruly bright blond hair shining under the porch light.
“Hi, Shaun,” I said, slowing to a stop in the foyer. “Uh, c’mon in.”
He opened the screen door and stepped inside, giving me a chance to notice the soft, bright-white linen button-down shirt he was wearing, the dark chestnut twill pants, and the ridiculously comfortable-looking low-rise Japanese army boots he always wore that I’d been admiring for ages. He had a brown bracelet of braided leather with a silver clasp and a couple of small silver star-shaped charms, which I hadn’t noticed before—maybe it was a recent gift?—and which I thought was pretty damn sexy. Actually everything about him was sexy. He and his twin sister were mostly Swedish, both of them managing to combine the most beautiful features of their Polish and Nordic ancestries. He was long and languorous and damn pretty, and I was kind of glad to see him, if perplexed by his sudden arrival (I tried to remember if he’d ever been to my house before—he’d always been the friend of a friend sort of thing), just because he was a nice-looking distraction from the roiling, unbalanced thought-mêlée going on inside the confines of my skull. His bright blond hair was distracting me too—he’d been growing it out for some reason, and instead of getting the well-conditioned smooth waves of shoulder-tickling locks that Rick was sporting these days, he just looked like he had a gonzo amount of sun-baked, starkly highlighted hair pouring out of his head, all but hiding his eyes but smoothly lopped off in back, so that his kissable neck was exposed.
Still through the mop you could see the glint of his bright eyes, and I became powerfully aware as his gaze stayed locked on my shirt that his long-limbed, loose and lanky proportions were the only other kind of physique besides Charlie’s glowing, Michelangelo-chiseled perfection that could stir my balls and make me hard all over.
But once he had turned back from carefully closing the screen door shut behind him, we had a problem: Shaun’s eyes lit on the huge wet stain on the shirt clinging to my torso, long thick spots of wetness across my chest and abs, and he froze, staring at it. I had a sinking feeling that it looked exactly like what it was. Plus I realized I could smell it, pretty powerfully, and wondered if he could, too, from where he was rooted in the foyer’s charcoal wall-to-wall, two or three feet away from me. I bet he probably could.
“Oh,” I said, suddenly humiliated. Ridiculously, I added, “It’s not mine.”
His bright, liquid eyes jumped up to meet mine, smacking me across my now-warm cheeks with how shockingly blue they were. Shaun was arresting even when caught staring dumbfounded at a cum-covered classmate. He seemed not to know how to deal what I’d said—that I was covered in cum, but it was someone else’s—and I dove out of the predicament the only way I could think to: I shucked the incriminating shirt, grabbing the back and hauling it right over my head so that I was left standing there half-naked in the wide entrance hallway, cool in the deepening September night. In fact I was a little chilled, since the front of my torso was a bit damp for reasons that should be fairly obvious.
I’d meant to cast the shirt brusquely away, but somehow I couldn’t do that here in the middle of the immaculate foyer of what I still thought of five years later as my mother’s house. So I just clung to the wadded shirt, holding it impotently in my fist.
Shaun’s eyes had already dropped from my eyes back to my torso, and I had a moment of silent thanks that, while of course not nearly as muscled as my superjock brother or the similarly Neanderthal specimen sitting next to him on our couch at that moment reveling in the punishment inflicted by Jet Li’s feet of fury, I was at least considerably more naturally buff than Eugene, not to mention being a couple shades darker than my chorus-mate’s surreally milk-white pallor, or for that matter Shaun’s healthier-looking warm buttermilk coloring. Then I realized that Shaun’s eyes had fixated again, and it wasn’t on any of the things I was just thinking about.
I’d figured out that the extent to which Eugene was bigger than I was, both length an girth, was maybe about an inch and a half—and this was the kind of difference in size that made Eugene look huge compared to me looking merely pretty damn big, even though I was streets ahead of most guys I’d seen outside of porn (by which I mean, the danglers I had seen via stolen glances in the locker room after phys. ed.). Eugene’s, as I’d just had occasion to notice, listed to one side when hard, which of course was now all the time (damn, I should really fix that); but mine tended to stand straight up like a guard at Buckingham Palace.
The upshot of this was that my cock, despite being a bit shorter, was nonetheless thrusting right up out of my jeans just as rudely as Eugene’s whopper had been, and Shaun was staring at it like he was desperately famished and he was on an all-cock diet. I remembered Paolo talking about Shaun looking like he wanted to eat him up, and smiled a bit. This, however, made me finally understand why Shaun was here: He was here for Paolo, who must have told his parents he was heading here after school. My smile faded.
I decided to ignore both the fact that my cock was as exposed as a blown spy in the middle of the bad guy’s casino and the way Shaun’s eyes were riveted to it like it was the holy grail and he was Sir Percival. I felt a surge of fervent emotion I couldn’t quite identify. I sure didn’t really want him here if he’d come panting after Paolo. Was I jealous? I wasn’t actually into Paolo, apart from admiring, okay, intensely admiring, his thick pecs and brawny shoulders, but something vexed me powerfully about this situation. Fuck, I couldn’t figure out where half my thoughts were coming from tonight. “So,” I said, a little more coolly than I intended, “what are you doing here, Shaun?”
“What?” the boy said. He seemed to come at least partially to his senses, and he looked up, his expression abashed. A few stray locks shifted on his forehead, partially hiding one of his bright blue eyes. “Sorry. Um—” And his eyes darted down for another look, then met mine again. He seemed shaken by the flagrancy of my exposed cockhead.
“You want me to put it away?” I taunted him. “Go ahead, ask me.”
He licked his lips and then broke into a grin. “Why would I do that?” he said. His canines looked a bit long and pointy, making his smile distinctly wolfish.
“Good,” I said firmly, taking one step toward him. I dropped the shirt, finally. Something in me was churning, shouldering aside the boy whose manipulations had all rebounded on him. I was tired of that boy, that Jack. “Good,” I said, my gaze boring into his. My voice was low and growly. “Because you like my cock. My cock, my body, my ass, my face, my lips.” I was now seething somehow as if I’d been charged up with some kind of hot, fizzing energy. I had no idea why I was losing control or what the fuck I was doing. “Not Paolo, not anyone. You crave my chest, my shoulders, my smile, my kiss, my tongue, my cum. You get hard for me.” I’d taken another step, so that we were a foot apart, close enough that I was looking up at his 6’2” height, tilting my eyes up at his. At some level I was very aware that his beautiful face had slackened and that I was actually hypnotizing him by sheer will-power, without the words, without the structure and form I’d taken refuge in. The old me was terrified, but I didn’t care about the old me anymore.
Shaun nodded, his face blank and his eyes fixed, and suddenly the new me was a little scared, too.
I had no idea how to break the spell without the usual phrases, so, as much to snap him out of it as for any other reason, I reached around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss, stretching up onto the balls of my feet as I did so. I didn’t want him to have to cover the whole four inches between us when we kissed, from now on. I knew, as his warm lips sank into mine, his long, hotter tongue probing at first hesitantly and then with a brash eagerness, that we’d been kissing a lot and even as my cock surged at how hot this kiss was, how hot all of them would be, my heart twisted in my chest a bit as the cold though brushed against the bottom of my brain: I was cheating on Charlie. The thought was absurd, and yet—
I tried to dive harder into the kiss, but he broke it, the blue of his eyes seeming almost to glow as he held my gaze. His hands were both on my cheeks, his face inches from mine. He smelled subtly like spice for some reason—the slightest hint of warm cinnamon, maybe, or nutmeg, as if it were sparsely imbued in a few choice spots on his long, creamy neck. Had he been baking before impulsively coming over? Or did he always smell like that?
He seemed to be hesitating. At first I thought he’d somehow sensed my troubled thoughts about my brother, but then he whispered, “Can I taste it?” I admired how he was asking boldly even as he deferred to me about what was allowed.
It didn’t take much thought to figure out what “it” was. I nodded, and he sank smoothly to his knees. His hands embraced my hips, and I thought he was going to pull my jeans down or go for the button and fly. Instead, he wrapped his mouth around the head as it poked up past my waistband, and my body flushed with new arousal at the unexpected sensation: my cock, trapped, subjected to Shaun’s ardent (and seemingly adept) ministrations.
I was so awash in the novel experience of being blown in the front hall with just the bit of cock I had exposed above my waistband that I didn’t hear someone sneaking up behind me until Charlie’s voice whispered in my ear, “Who’s this?”
I started, and Charlie’s body was against my back, hard pecs pressing into my shoulder blades, an even harder cock pressed against my lower back, muffled though it was by a stretched and slightly damp sock. I was panting even harder now. He teasingly licked my earlobe, and my whole body shuddered. “Th-this is Shaun,” I stammered.
Charlie snaked a hand around to hold my bare chest, pushing his thick pecs even harder against my back. I felt intoxicated by his touch, and his smell was like a drug. “Hi, Shaun,” Charlie said. Shaun, far from stopping what he was doing, merely waved a hand in greeting as he not only continued sucking on my increasingly sensitive upper cock but started fumbling with his free hand, finally, for the button that would begin my release—probably in more ways than one.
As the button popped and the zipper peeled down Shaun was taking more and more of my oversized cock with every bob. Meanwhile, Charlie had now enfolded me in his other thickly muscled arm and was very slowly grinding against my ass and back even as he mouthed and tongued that gloriously sensitive spot where the neck meets the shoulder. My brain was short-circuiting from the pleasure Shaun and Charlie, but even through the wave of intense and wonderful stimulation it nagged at me that Charlie’s behavior didn’t make sense. I had to know. “Ch-charlie—? Wh-why—?”
He kissed the side of my neck hard, his hand groping my torso as the same moment Shaun took me all the way in. I almost lost it. Charlie’s hot breath caressed my ear as he said, “I like—” (kiss) “—helping you—” (kiss) “—with your projects,” he said, and then he tugged my chin around just enough that he could lay a deep and heart-wrenching kiss on me while Shaun sucked and tongued the whole length and breadth of my cock. I did lose it then, suddenly riding out a pounding, blistering orgasm that seemed to be not just about my dick but my whole, writhing, strokable body. Unexpectedly Charlie started backing against my back, and started growling into my mouth. He was cumming too! And so was Shaun, by the sound of it—it felt and sounded like he’d freed his own cock and was wanking it feverishly even as he moaned around my own geysering tool.
As soon as we were all done cumming Shaun rose to his feet, standing tall over me, and curling a finger under my chin turned my face out of Charlie’s kiss so that Shaun could kiss me instead, his long tongue spreading the taste of my cum inside my own mouth, and it was so nice I felt my still-hard cock twitch as the pleasure of it. But Charlie’s voice was in my ear again, and he whispered, “You just made me grow again.” I shuddered hard, thrilling at the very thought even as a deeper level of my mind recognized he’d had more motive than “helping me with my projects” for making me a sex sandwich. Shaun, innocent of my troubled thoughts about my intoxicatingly sexy brother, wrapped an arm around me and pulled me close to him as he kissed me, hard and deep and with palpable and profound longing.
As we continued making out, my cock quickly surging back to full hardness, Charlie unwrapped his arms from around me. After a moment I felt him pull the extra sock out of my pocket, which he must have seen sticking out as he crept up me, and I knew he was exchanging a sock full of cum for the relatively clean one. I wondered what he would do with the first sock, but I heard it drop onto the soft cushion of my own discarded, cum-soaked shirt. There was enough cum in this house tonight to fill a reservoir, I thought with no small amount of awe.
Charlie now came around to stand close to me as Shaun and I kissed. I became aware of this and turned out of the kiss to look at him, and Shaun did too. Charlie raised his hand to belatedly return Shaun’s earlier greeting, looking up at the beautiful Swedish Pole with dancing eyes. I almost did a double-take. Shaun should have only been a couple inches taller than Charlie’s six-foot even, but the discrepancy looked more like four or five inches, maybe more. I glanced down, past his long but not too thick flute-like boner thrusting out from his opened fly, my gaze going all the way down to his feet. To my amazement I saw that the cuffs of Shaun’s chestnut slacks were no longer resting on the laces of his boots and were now dangling higher, within an inch of clearing the boots altogether. I gazed up at Shaun in consternation laced with a bit of awe. This had to be something I had done, but what?
The whole angry spell rang embarrassingly in my ears, unfortunately, but I heard myself say “You get hard for me.” Had I somehow made it so that Shaun got hard for me, not just his cock but his whole body? That’s so not freaking possible, I told myself, and yet my stomach fluttered with excitement at the idea of so inexplicable and erotic a phenomenon. To test my theory I watched myself slowly wrap an arm around Shaun’s long, flat torso and rub him a bit with my forearm and hands through his soft white linen shirt, and he moaned a little bit, squeezing me with the hand he had wrapped around me. Fuck, I though. Fuck and fuck. How was I doing this without the app? Not knowing the answer to this would drive me fucking nuts.
“You seem really good at that,” Charlie said, nodding at my dick, and I could tell he was putting the full force of his charm into trying to get Shaun’s attention. I knew instantly what my conniving big brother was doing. He was testing my powers, the fucker. Shaun stared at him, his own blue eyes shining, and I wondered what was going to happen.
Then Charlie nodded down at his own tool, a 16-by-9-inch monster with a not-quite-new white tube sock stretched over it, the wide head shoved against the toe of the sock. A touch of dampness showed there, and I licked my lips, a sudden urge to taste him coursing through me like an electric surge. I wanted to run my wide wet tongue all over that cock, and the slightly sweat-damp muscle-hard torso looming bare and beautiful behind it, worse than anything. My brother, however, was smiling at the thick-haired boy whose lower torso I was still gently stroking. “I’m Charlie, by the way. And I’d love it if you wanted to try your luck with a real cock,” he said.
I narrowed my eyes at him, equally peeved, I think, by his trying to poach Shaun and the offer of that beautiful tool to someone other than me. But Shaun held tight to me and said proudly, “No thanks. You’re—hot, and fucking huge. But… Jack is everything I want.”
I was surprised by this, and rewarded Shaun with a slightly more sensual rub, eliciting a barely suppressed moan and a violent spasm from Shaun’s long, exposed cock. At the same time I gave Charlie a cocky grin.
He nodded at me, as if he were a teacher giving his approval. “Nice work,” he said. I just let that roll off of me and kept smiling cheekily at him.
“By the way,” Charlie went on casually, as if he was happy with the results of the previous exchange, “When are you going to bring down your laptop and hook it up to the TV?” As I registered bafflement he added, “You had that thing you wanted to show everybody, right?”
I drew my brows together, frowning at him. Everybody? “I thought that was just Rick,” I said cautiously.
“And—the person we talked about on the porch,” Charlie said immediately. Shit, that was me. I heard his soft, intense words in my head again. Charlie, telling me he wanted me to grow for him. “But hey, I thought it would be fun if we all saw it, don’t you think?” He looked up at Shaun, cocking his head slightly as if to better see through his thick, scruffy bangs. “I already saw it, and I know you’ll love it.” Shaun shrugged, not knowing what the fuck we were talking about. Fortunately he didn’t seem to care much that we were talking around him as long as I kept absently stroking his bonerbod, I thought wryly as I tried to sort through Charlie’s new twisting of our previous deals.
There was one major roadblock to Charlie’s plans, inherent to my brother’s hopes for me. It seemed like a dealbreaker. “But how will I—?” I trailed off, not wanting to talk about spells in front of Shaun yet.
“You write down the words, and I’ll say them,” Charlie said reasonably. “That will work, right?”
I bit my lower lip. I tried to sort out the truth of it rationally, looking for valid objections, since just whining or refusing would only make him more determined to pull this over on me. The app itself would put anyone watching it into the trance, as I’d already seen with Charlie himself. I honestly wasn’t sure whether someone with the mesmerizing talent, like me, was necessary to actually making the spell work once the subject was under. Probably not. And if some talent was necessary, Charlie seemed to be becoming more and more aware, as I was, that he had some natural ability in that area himself. “I’m not sure,” I said, hedging weakly. “I might work. But—”
“Good,” Charlie broke in, as if I’d given him an unreserved thumbs-up. “You go get your laptop and write something up,” he said, taking a step back, “and I’ll round up the others.” He winked in a way that seemed frankly alarming, and then was off, heading up the stairs.
After a few beats trying to make sense of what had just happened I gave up and disentangled myself from Shaun, who let me go reluctantly. “I’ll, uh, meet you in the family room,” I said, and turned to head for the stairs—only to see that the archway at the end of the foyer, the one that led to the living room and beyond that to the family room, wasn’t empty.
“What the fuck is going on?” Rick barked.
Shaun, startled, vanished almost instantly through the open entryway to the kitchen, hurriedly zipping up and stowing his cock as he did so. A heartbeat had passed and it was just me and Rick in the hallway. But Shaun seems not to have registered with Rick in any event. “What the fuck, man?” he repeated.
Shit, I did not want to deal with this. Embarrassed, I quickly closed up my own fly and buttoned my jeans, but as I looked down the sight of the end of my big trouble-maker of a boner emerging from the waistband reminded me of how Shaun had attacked my so hungrily. Shaun wanted cock before I’d whammied him, I told myself. And mine wasn’t such a bad one to be made to want, right? He’d have been happy if I’d asked him, right?
Rick had taken a step closer and jolted me out of wayward thoughts. “Are you—are you fucking him?” he demanded. “Are you fucking Charlie?”
I stared at him. For all his veneer of being the studious jock out of Charlie’s posse, Rick, I realized, was beyond upset and seemed to be working himself up to a snit that might open up into a full-blown, fist-deploying rage. “What did you do to my friend?” he shouted, sounding, had I the lack of panic to fully appreciate it, fiercely protective. The overhead light flashed on his steel-rimmed glasses as I took a few quick steps toward him, hands raised in a calm-the-fuck-down-please gesture. I was trying not to think that I was putting myself in range. He had some stubble, I noticed now, as if he hadn’t shaved in a couple days, though it was hard to see the blond hairs against his lightly tanned skin. It was unlike him. Actually being so easily riled wasn’t like him, either. Maybe Charlie getting cockier lately, and literally cockier tonight, was throwing him off balance like it was me.
“Rick—” I began placatingly, trying furiously to map out a palatable explanation for what he must have seen. As you might guess this left me stumped and silent for the few crucial seconds’ grace he’d allotted me, and he growled “What did you do to him?” again, and this time it sounded like an indictment. He didn’t think Charlie was gay, and he was right—Charlie had never shown any inclination, I thought, before I got him to let me touch him. Rick was no idiot, and he knew I was very smart and very charming, like unlike my brother. It wasn’t a stretch to think I’d seduced him, or even that he’d fallen victim to something darker like blackmail, and now Rick was increasingly pissed as fuck at anything like that being done to a best friend that was practically a brother. His fury at this betrayal was ramping up, and I was terrified he’d lose control. Knowing I was guilty, that I’d deserve it if he pounded me for what I’d done to our brother, did not help my panic. He reached for me, teeth bared, face hot. If I’d been wearing a shirt he’d have snatched up some of that in his fist. As it was I could only frantically guess his paw was headed straight for my throat.
My brain was so fevered I couldn’t think of a way out except to whammy him, even though I’d been swearing to myself all day I’d never emergency-whammy anyone again. I had to do it—now! Do it now! Fuck. Not trusting the untested new ability to whammy without them I had somehow used on Shaun, I blurted out the words, wondering if it would even work when I was in such a state of agitated alarm and my reason was out to lunch.
I needn’t have worried. His face slackened almost comically, as if he’d just forgotten he was building up toward a rhino level of enraged. Even when I was impaired my abilities were just too strong, and, I worried, getting stronger.
I panted, racking my brains for what to do now. I didn’t have the slightest idea of what to actually cast.
“Rick,” I said, stalling for time, “can you hear me?”
“Yes,” he said flatly.
My heart was pounding. I wasn’t calm enough to do this right. “Rick, I want you to listen carefully,” I said, trying to force myself to level out. “Me and Charlie—you’re totally fine with us being intimate. It’s okay that we kiss and grope each other and suck each other and even fuck, and all that kind of stuff. You’re okay with it because we both want it. And brothers do that sometimes, right?” I went on, realizing I needed a broader foundation for Rick’s spell than just me and Charlie. “Brothers do that sometimes, and it’s okay as long as they both want it. Do you understand?”
“Brothers make love sometimes, and it’s okay,” Rick murmured. I raised my eyebrows at him, surprised he’d turned my “fuck” into “make love.” Was Rick a closet romantic? Or did he think me and Charlie looked like we were doing more than just getting off? Suddenly it occurred to me that Rick, an only child who’d bonded really strongly with his teammate Charlie since their first meeting years ago, sort of thought of Charlie as a brother. And by extension that made me sort of Rick’s brother too. But—naw, I couldn’t worry about that.
Something else had been niggling at me, and I decided to take this opportunity to do something about it. Charlie might catch some heat for his new permanent shirtlessness, even more than Paolo because the soccer team had a higher profile. “Also, Rick, you really love being shirtless, and you want to do something about it now. You’re not going to want to wear a shirt anymore, and you especially feel you have to not wear a shirt if Charlie is not wearing a shirt. Got it?”
“No shirts, especially when I’m with Charlie,” Rick said.
Not quite, but close enough. I really wanted him to calm down about this, about all of this. “You’re just—you’re just really relaxed about guys and their bodies,” I said, a little more urgently, “about muscles and cocks and kissing, and how sexy and—fuck.” I was babbling. I was way off the reservation. I was disgusted and a little afraid of what I was doing without thinking about it.
Never, ever whammy someone when you’re panicked, I told myself. Fuck, I even already knew that, and had already had it blow back on me. God fucking damn it. Hell, I needed rules. A list of unshakable nevers and alwayses. That was what good guys did, and it was starting to dawn on my I needed to be more than just a kid, I needed to be a good guy. And good guys had rules. Big rules, important rules. That was what I needed, my own rules. Jack’s Rules. The Mandates of Mesmer. The Code of Hypnurabi.
I realized I was still staring into Rick’s blank, fully entranced face and shook my head hard. Time to shut this down. “Okay, on the count of three you’re going to wake up and not remember this conversation. Okay?”
“Okay. One … two … three. Wake up, Rick.” Rick blinked, staggering very slightly, but his eyes quickly found mine again. He was still riled up, but no longer knew why. I stared back at him steadily. He glanced down at my still-exposed boner, then back up at me.
He gave me a small nod. “So,” he said, his tone softer than before but still intense, “what now?”
I blinked. “What do you mean?” I said, thrown. “You were the one—”
“Are you gonna make a move on me? Like you did on our brother?” He asked it calmly, as if he just wanted to know either way. It was pretty hard to miss the new and more emphatic link with Charlie, and the fact that he’s shared it with me just as emphatically. He might not have remembered my spell, but he knew it was okay for brothers to take care of each other, and there was a light in his eyes that told me he was open to being taken care of.
His thickly built jock body, tense with fury before, was not quite relaxed, more at the ready—not keyed up, just poised. I considered him with intense interest, trying to map out what had been rearranged in his mind. He ran the narrow fingers of his left hand through the long blond hair tumbling onto his neck on that side, a gesture I always enjoyed because it showed off his bulging upper arms very nicely. He must have been pumped from an earlier workout, because tonight his shirt was straining against the flex of his biceps. My seemingly indefatigable cock thrummed against my groin muscles, squeezing in then shoving out against my waistband. I was such a pathetic sucker for hot, well-built guys I’d mindfucked into submission.
As much to test the edges of his whammy as anything else, I said slowly, “Do you … want me to?”
For an answer he grabbed behind himself and hauled off his shirt, keeping his eyes on me the whole time apart from the second it took to pull the think over his head and completely off. He tossed it negligently aside, as if he had no further use for such things.
My mouth was open slightly in a purely physical response to the studious jock’s carefully built muscles, and I was actually moving my hands toward him as he stood there, alert but ready, when I caught myself almost literally, as if I had actually physically grabbed my own wrists with my brain. My memory raced backwards through the last hour. Think about Shaun, I told myself, then mentally kicked myself. Think about Charlie, for fuck’s sake. How big a whore are you?
I licked my lips and shoved my hands in my back pockets, out of trouble. “Rick, I gotta pop upstairs,” I said. I drew in a deep breath through my nose. “I’ll, uh, meet you in the family room, okay?” I repeated. For the mass cock-growth spell ritual, I did not add. He just nodded, still watching me as if he wanted to be sure he was ready for anything I threw at him. I turned and hurried up the stairs, trying not to make it seem like I was fleeing.
I pushed open the door to my room to find it blessedly empty, but as I sat down in front of my laptop, trying to figure out why I was actually going through with this insane plan of Charlie’s, I realized I was hearing music from the bathroom across the hall from my room. Music, and an undertow of soft moaning. The door was ajar, making the sounds inescapable, but I had resolved to block it all out when I head Eugene’s gentle, reedy voice saying, “Yeah, Charlie, cum with us!”
Without thinking I jumped up and was across the hallway in nanoseconds. I burst into the bathroom, and there, standing in the tub, were Paolo, Eugene, and Charlie, all of them buck naked and immersed in a sloppy three-way kiss, their hands fondling each other’s asses. They were all cumming, Paolo and Eugene slowly and steadily as if they’d been cumming constantly for hours, Charlie more explosively, his enormous cock shooting gouts of cum onto the other two boys. Eugene broke the kiss again to say in the same gentle voice, “Fuck yeah, Charlie, cum on us, add to our cum!” before diving back into the luxuriously sensual and incredibly hot triple kiss between the brawny and cute thick-chested push-up king, the pale, fit boy next door with the footlong whalecock, and my god-bodied gorgeous brother and his chest-high monster pole.
We had a waterproof mp3 player in that bathroom, because Charlie and I both happened to like listening to music sometimes while we showered, and it was currently setting the mood with “Always on My Mind” by the Pet Shop Boys (though the part of me that was feeling put upon would have preferred “What Have I Done to Deserve This?”). They were swaying very slightly to the music as they kissed in a way that was not a little seductive, and after a while I found myself taking a long moment to compare Paolo’s and Charlie’s asses, both of which were more or less facing me and shifting rhythmically along with the music. They were both high and round and hard, and my cock was telling me urgently it wanted to push into either of them, finding the hot hole deep between their muscle cheeks. But Paolo’s was naturally thick, beautiful and pale, whereas Charlie’s seemed to have been designed as if to evoke the Platonic ideal of the hunkiest possible ass. And somehow, amazingly, there were no tan lines. Admiring those asses while the three of them arced white cascades of hot jizz on each other accompanied by Neil Tennant’s steady crooning was surreal and powerful, and I realized I was being brought pretty close to my own orgasm.
Trying to derail myself from blowing my wad just from looking at three hot hunks making out, I pushed down my visceral reactions and forced myself to speak. “I thought you were bringing these guys downstairs,” I said, a little archly, though my own fat 10½ incher longed to join in and was flexing uncontrollably against my waistband. Paolo and Eugene started at my intrusion, looking chagrined, not to mention flushed and sweaty. As they broke their kiss the constant high-arching pulsing fountain of cum they’d both been producing tailed off to a dribble and then stopped.
Abruptly discarding my comment to Charlie I asked the boys, “Have you been in here the whole time?”
Eugene looked sheepish. Paolo was nervous too at being discovered like this, but seemed to feel the need to explain. “We, um, we kept orgasming as long as we kissed,” he said, a layer of awe in his voice. “Figuring that out was intense, and then, well, fuck, we just, you know, wanted to see how long we could keep it up.”
“So to speak,” Eugene snickered abruptly.
Ignoring Eugene, Paolo got out the rest of his explanation: “We didn’t want to ruin your blankets or your carpet or anything, so—”
I stepped toward them and peered into the tub. They must have stopped the drain because the three of them were standing in a layer of cum that had to be nearly an inch thick. I goggled at it. “You made all this?” I said, realizing as I said so that it was a pretty dumb question—what, had they found some jugs of jizz under the counter and poured it all in the tub just to stand in it? Had they found a sack of dehydrated jizz and decided to try making an extra large batch?
I looked up finally to see Paolo shrugging his thick shoulders, making his traps bounce against the ends of his longish black hair. I gaped at him, then at Eugene. “How are your balls not squeezed into singularities?”
“I dunno, Jack,” Eugene put in. He seemed to consider the question, or maybe he already had been. “You made it so we cum when we kiss a guy,” he said slowly, “and so I guess that’s what our bodies can do now. You tell us how that works,” he added, as if he knew that I had no fucking idea. And fuck, I sure didn’t, but I did know that the smell of sex was going straight to my already straining cock and increasingly eager balls.
I faced Charlie. Now that I had stepped closer I was unexpectedly close to him, and with me outside the tub and him in it he towered a good four inches over me. That meant I was looking at his sweet, kiss-swollen mouth. I swallowed, noticing that my throat was a little dry. It needed slaking. “And you?” I asked him, trying to keep the quaver of arousal out of my voice. I tried for “stern,” even comically folding my arms over my bare chest. “What explains you?”
Charlie’s answer was just a little saucy, like he was delivering lines in a sex comedy. “They refused to come down, so I got in to try to convince them,” he said.
I squinted at him. “After taking off your pants,” I said. “And your—sock.” I turned briefly, noting the carefully folded jeans and lone sock sitting on the closed toilet, and then faced him again.
Charlie shrugged, emphasizing his thickly built shoulders just as emphatically at Paolo’s shrug had. “I like those jeans,” Charlie said, his eyes alight. “I’m trying not to get cum on them.”
Tough job tonight, I thought morosely. I was getting really, really distracted by the sweat and cum on his bulging, tanned, chiseled torso. There was a glob along his collarbone, and I felt myself becoming fixated on it. Without turning away I said distractedly, “Guys, pay attention to each other for a second.” They didn’t need much encouragement: under the song that was now coming from the mp3 player, a track I recognized as Madonna’s “Into the Groove,” I soon heard not only the smacks and little hums of the two of them kissing, but, now and then, even the splats and spatters of their steady cum hitting each other and falling to the pool of jizz they were standing in.
They might still be watching as they kissed, I thought, but fuck it. I have to do this. As I moved toward his chest Charlie, reading my mind, was already shifting toward me, and in a heartbeat I was licking that spray of cum off his collarbone. Slowly and deliberately, to the sounds and moans of Paolo and Eugene’s constant orgasm, I licked the salty tang of Charlie’s sweat from his hard, fat pecs in a long stripe down from his collarbone to his nipple, which was hard and pebbled under my tongue. Charlie groaned, and his cock throbbed, brushing my cheek and smearing it with cum. I moved over to the massive shaft, mouthing the side of it, loving the salty, bitter taste of his seed. As moved up to the head I wrapped my hands around it, reveling in how its magnified size seemed to have enhanced how beautiful it was to hold and feel.
Even without looking at it it was physically gorgeous, and I imagined myself being able to take its impossible into me. I licked and mouthed the leaking head before taking its hugeness into my mouth. He brought both hands to the sides of my head, and his fingers pushed through my hair, not pushing me, just holding me. I sucked on him as much as I could and massaged the shift, dreaming about that incredible thought, taking it into me. I saw it in my mind, watching from above as I lay back on my most comfortable sheets, the red ones with the cobalt blue pinstripes, naked and hard, and having Charlie kneel over me, his broad back receiving the strokes of my hands, and I stared into my own increasingly blissful face as he slid his enormous and beautiful tool slowly and firmly all the way inside me—
Whatever I was holding back broke, and I started spraying cum, straight up out of my exposed cockhead, and I could feel it smacking onto my hands as I stroked Charlie hard, and only Charlie’s cock too, and as I sucked him fervently, licking around under his head, and suddenly Charlie was crying out, “Yeah, bro, you’re making me cum again, fuck”, and he was blasting hot cum in my mouth in the kind of gusher that suggested long abstention, not two big orgasms in the last hour. I swallowed some but knew I couldn’t keep up, so I just it fill my mouth and drain out, pouring past my lips and back down his cock into the tub. I had almost forgotten my own orgasm, so involved was I in feeling Charlie’s, but I recognized he sensation of Charlie’s cock expanding just a bit in my mouth and in my cum-covered hands, and I shot again, adding my cum to his, and my whole body flushed with unbelievable pleasure—a pleasure that was as much about what Charlie’s cock had just done as about my own heart-pounding orgasm.
I did want to grow for him, too, damn it. In some weird token of this I licked my tongue all the way around Charlie’s pulsing, swollen cockhead before pulling off it, my flexed lips squeezing around it as I did so. It released with a wet pop and a grunt from Charlie.
“Unnnhhh, bro—what you do to me,” he rumbled in deep satisfaction, his voice sounding—smug? appreciative? tender? Tender had to be wrong. Intimate, yes, but tender was in my head. I was projecting, maybe, I thought.
“Jesus, that was hot,” I heard Eugene whisper. I started very slightly, having forgotten we had an audience, and glanced up and saw both of them were watching us, flushed and panting from their own exertions but with naked wonder on their faces, their own makeout session abandoned. I smiled crookedly at them, but this only reminded me that my lips and half my face were covered in jizz. Embarrassed, I turned away to grab a towel and hurriedly cleaned by face off. When I came out of the towel, moving it down to clean off my torso, all three of them were watching me: Paolo and Eugene still looking impressed, Charlie looking at me with an expression that seemed to be pretty much fond and affectionate—a heart-thuddingly amazing look to see on that man, that particular perfectly sculpted muscle god with a beautiful face and a wide, hard monster cock tapping against his thick, heavy pecs. There was a still, lingering moment as the mp3 player transitioned into George Michael’s “Careless Whisper.” As we stood there watching each other the sax intro wound around us, and I smiled very slightly, thinking about all the careless whispers I’d perpetrated, then and now. Paolo and Eugene seemed to be just caught in the moment, but Charlie was weighing me, I thought, trying to suss out for himself what I would do if he pushed things further between us.
As George started singing about feeling unsure, I stirred and made a tiny throat-clearing noise. “I–I need to go, um, get my computer ready,” I said softly, jerking my thumb behind me toward my bedroom. A slow smile bloomed on Charlie’s face as he recognized the small shift I’d undergone—that I now wanted what he’d asked me for. I wanted more than that, though. I wanted the bond I could sense was growing between us. From the look he was giving me I thought it might just be possible he felt it too, but I was scared I was imagining it.
“Ready for what?” Paolo asked, an eyebrow lifting.
I tore my eyes away from Charlie and gave my friend a playful smile. “You’ll see,” I said, and headed back to my bedroom, half-naked, mostly hard, and still aroused as fuck, but with a warm ember glowing somehow right in the center of my chest.
My laptop was still starting up from the reboot I’d induced—always good to start a resource-hungry app in a new session with fresh memory, I thought—when I heard the shower starting up, and I guessed that the three naked jizzmasters were happily showering off the residue of their encounters. Conflicting feelings about what was about to happen were tearing around in my brain like ghosts on cocaine. I was excited, giddy even, and that very anticipation had me shouting at myself that I needed to back out now.
I licked my lips, the phrase “back out” having prompted a new thought. I rolled up the code for my carefully structured app, all of its components carefully ordered, organized, and labeled for fast reference. After a few more minutes’ lip chewing I started keying in a new submodule that would provide a back door—a way to abort the current effect that was triggered by a simple voice command. I typed methodically, scratching at my chest where a stray bit of cum had started to dry on my skin.
The shower stopped and I typed faster. I was pretty sure I had the right idea, but I wasn’t totally certain it would work, and there was no way to test it. I was a good programmer, but there was always a very real chance that you missed something inconspicuous to you but critical to the execution of the software. Charlie poked his head around my door, his damp hair still mussed and uncombed, and I started guiltily. He raised eyebrows at me, silently asking if I was about ready.
“Be down in a sec,” I affirmed, and he was gone. I swallowed and glanced over the new submodule, checking for obvious typos and flaws in the logic. Twisting my mouth sideways, I compiled to code. It compiled without error. I shrugged. For all I knew I’d just built kryptonite into the damn thing, but I had to go with it. I slapped the laptop shut and, grabbing the video cord I’d need to hook up to the TV from a drawer in my desk in one hand and the computer in the other, I hurried downstairs.
I found Rick and Shaun in the family room energetically playing Minecraft on the PS3. They were both distracted by my presence as I came into their line of sight, and that gave me a weird thrill. “Hey guys, you want to save that?” I asked, nodding at the game. “I need to hook up the computer for a minute.” My stomach fluttered as I realized, This is it. We’re actually going to do this. I’m actually going to do this.
Shaun was staring at me, mouth open a bit and smiling just slightly, and as if out of the corner of my eye—even though I was looking right at him—it seemed like his shirt shifted and his feet pushed forward very subtly. I blinked at him and looked at Rick, who just nodded and did as I asked. Now that I was down here in the family room I realized that we might have a basic logistical problem in terms of seating: there were five of us, not counting our guest host Charlie, and our super-comfy but not-very enormous old couch was the only piece of furniture that faced the big wall-mounted flat screen. But I realized it was a nonproblem. We could squeeze, and if it came to that Eugene would gladly sit in Paolo’s lap. And Shaun, after what had happened in the foyer—okay, what I had done to him in the foyer—would probably be just as happy to sit in mine. My unflagging boner, which had been thinking all the thoughts about what we were about to do that I wouldn’t let myself think, twitched at the thought of feeling him sitting in my lap, holding him, caressing his fit, hard bonerbod, and I shivered slightly and turned to sort out the A/V club mundanities necessary to get us ready. Charlie and the boys appeared just as my computer desktop appeared on the big flat screen.
“Excellent,” Charlie said. I noticed he had on new jeans and a new sock, a thick warm blue one that stretched over his huge thickness and left an inch of shaft bare between the sock and his waistband. I wanted to grab it and yank it off and do crazy things to the flesh underneath, so I just turned away from him to watch the boys.
Paolo and Eugene were, like Charlie (and me), both shirtless and barefoot, as they were wearing just their pants, Eugene’s thick footlong permaboner tucked into his pants but nonetheless very obvious (and Paolo’s was not much less so). As I’d guessed they took in the one available seat between Rick and Shaun and sat down with Eugene in Paolo’s lap, happily cradled in his strong, thickly muscled arms. I smiled at them. Rick was shirtless too, but still had his shoes on, making Shaun look like the anomaly for being fully dressed, even down to that sexy braided bracelet on his left wrist.
Charlie was standing close to me. “Did you write anything?” he asked.
My heart lurched. “Shit, no,” I said. “Wait, just give me a minute,” I added, looking around the big cluttered room for pen and paper.
Charlie put a warm hand on my bare shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said. “I got this.”
I looked back at him, brows drawn together. “You do?”
He nodded. “I know what I’m doing.”
I regarded him narrowly. “That’s the most disturbing thing you ever said,” I murmured, adding a smile at the end to make seem like a brotherly jibe.
He looked at me searchingly. I thought he might kiss me, which he and I both knew had a good chance of getting me to do whatever he wanted. Instead he said seriously, “Jack, do you trust me?”
His question surprised me, and as we stared at each other I realized that I did, but I also didn’t trust that I did. There was a very real possibility that I trusted him because of the way he made me feel, and not because he was actually worth trusting. Then it occurred to me that maybe I wouldn’t feel the way I did about him if I didn’t really, truly, deeply trust him. But awareness of that possibility only confused me more. “I guess I have to?” I said at last.
My answer seemed pathetic and I was embarrassed, but Charlie smiled a small smile. “Then start it up,” he said.
I nodded. I turned to the computer and made ready to launch the app. I thought Charlie would make a speech, some lie about how I’d found the perfect cat video to show them all or something, but all he said was, “Okay, guys, watch the screen.” I glanced up at him, surprised, but my eyes dropped momentarily to his chest as I caught his dick twitch in its cozy sheath. My own cock did the same, both of us anticipating something—transformative. I looked hastily up to his face, and he just nodded. I nodded in return and launched the app, turning quickly to return to the couch.
I had a couple seconds’ lead time to get situated before the app started running. I thought Shaun might get up so he could sit in my lap, but instead he patted his own lap. Uh, okay. With no time to think about it I got into Shaun’s lap, his long arms immediately wrapping around my torso possessively. I felt his hard cock flex against my ass, and it occurred to me to regret that Shaun was wearing any clothes at all. I glanced guiltily to Charlie, but he repeated, “Watch the screen, guys!”
And, heart pounding hard in my chest, I did.
I felt as though I were falling into some infinite space, not a void but a place filled with whipping strings of energy that coursed through me as if I were a mere phantasm. I fell deeper, deeper, until the energy infinity was all I knew and all there was, and the flashes of the strands and sparks hurtling through me energized me and infected me with their power. Was it like this when I entranced someone, or was this just the kind of deep trance the app caused? Or was this my own personal universe of energy and power, the place someone with my abilities found in a moment like this?
I saw nothing but dark, deep colors swirling and tearing in sudden, fierce arcs close at hand and filling the infinity at all distances, but after a moment I heard a voice, as if from an impossible distance but all around me, an oracle, irresistible. Charlie.
“Can you hear me?” it said. It was a dumb question: of course I could hear him. He was all around me, in me, surging through me like the fiery energy strands. I said yes, and I was dimly aware that there were other voices too, also saying yes. I wondered who they were and where they might be.
“Okay,” said the voice, and I felt a bit of gladness that it was okay. The voice seemed to reverberate in my heart, my soul, and the power of my universe at my command was something his words would shape. “I’m going to tell you how things are going to be for you from now on.” Good, I thought. Tell me.
“From now on, whenever I touch you with both hands on your bare skin, you’ll become hard and very aroused,” said the voice calmly. I felt amusement. That was true anyway, I thought, but I kept it to myself. “You’ll want to cum, you’ll want very much to orgasm, but you won’t be able to—not until I say the words: ‘Grow for me’.”
Oh, he’s good, I thought. The power strands surged through me, faster now, stirred by my arousal and by Charlie’s spell.
“Whenever I say ‘grow for me’ you will grow by five percent,” Charlie said. “You may choose whether to grow your cock, or your muscles, or your height, but you must grow one of those by five percent when I say ‘grow for me’.” Charlie’s throbbing voice paused, then said, “Only when you have grown for me will you cum. Do you understand?”
It was a yes or no question. I said yes, and the other voices did too. I wanted Charlie to touch me and make me need to grow and cum for him. God, what would I grow for him?
“You’re going to be okay with this growth,” his voice added suddenly, as if he’d just thought of a part of the spell he needed to make sure was included. “You won’t worry or think about how or why you can grow. And after you grow—” There was a pause. The rational part of me, which seemed as distant as those other voices, became uneasy. Making up spells on the fly always blows back on you, I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t speak unless I was answering his question. “After you grow,” resumed the voice, “you won’t remember growing and you’ll think you were always the size you have just become. Got it?”
I got it, and so did the other voices, but I didn’t like it. I had a weird feeling, but I couldn’t quite peg where it was coming from.
“One more thing,” said Charlie’s all-present voice. The fire strands twitched, circling and zipping around and through me at a fevered pace. “Jack will have these same effects on you as me,” he said, and I shuddered my phantasm body, feeling shocked at the spell’s unexpected inclusion of me. “Him touching you with both hands will have the same effect as if I did it. Him saying ‘grow for me’ will have the same effect as if I did it. Do you understand?”
I said yes along with the other voices, but my mind was spinning. I could grow other people? Like Charlie? Fuck, that was intense. I’d never dreamed that Charlie would—
“When I count to three, you’re going to wake up and not remember this conversation. Okay?”
No, not okay, I thought frantically as I heard the other voices agree. Remember remember remember
“Okay. One … two … three.” There was a snick—Charlie had closed the laptop, and the flat screen was black.
I shifted my eyes to Charlie. He was beaming at all of us on the couch with unconcealed glee. Had I made a huge mistake? What kind of power had I given over to him? What the fuck have I done?
Then I noticed his eyes had fixed on my hands. I looked down and saw that both of my hands were clasping Shaun’s as he held me. His long hard cock was thrusting urgently against my ass, as if it could force its way through two layers of clothing and take me. Shaun’s whole body was warm and hard and seemed to writhe around me as arousal consumed him. I glanced back up at Charlie, whose eyes were dancing. He needed me to do this, to make this happen. He wanted to see it, to know it was true. He wanted it to be me first, his teacher, his brother.
I twisted around to look at Shaun’s face, keeping my hands clasped around his. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were dark with need. His mouth was open slightly, and I moved in for a kiss that he reciprocated hungrily.
When we broke the kiss I looked him right in his eyes, my mouth only an inch or two from his. I couldn’t wait any longer. I spoke in a low, soft voice the words that Shaun needed to hear.
“Grow for me,” I commanded.
Shaun moaned loudly as he came, an amazing lowing of pure pleasure that seemed to emanate from the deepest recesses of his infinite soul. His moan was so delicious that I had no choice but to kiss him, inviting his sound into me, demanding he vocalize his pleasure straight into me as we kissed, hard and urgent, his hands groping my bare chest as I twisted in his lap to kiss him, his hips bucking against my ass as if he were actually fucking me and this was the climax of a fervent lovemaking we’d been hungry for since forever. His stunning blue eyes stayed open as we kissed, fixed on mine, and I fell into them. They were darker than Charlie’s shining sky blue eyes, more like a sunlit lake at the height of summer, and as he came I stared into them, as close as we were, kissing, making love with our clothes on, and he was growing—for—me— After an unknown number of loud, pounding heartbeats—the only thing I could hear over the rushing in my ears and the hums of ecstatic pleasure Shaun was making into my mouth as we kissed and the mind-filling light in his eyes—Shaun’s orgasm relented and then, and then we were just kissing, languidly, our eyes finally drifting closed as he caressed my tight body. I was touching him, too: my further hand was cupping his cheek, and I’d gotten the arm closer to him around his shoulders. Slowly I was aware of sounds again as I resurfaced back into the world.
I realized, to my shock, that Shaun, deeply craving my cock just as I had taught him to, had found the exposed portion of my shuddering, fat, precum-slick boner at some point with his left hand, and that both his hand and my still-hard dick were sticky with huge gobs of my own cum. I basked in the sensations I was feeling, not just his caresses but with the tendrils, too, of a postorgasmic afterglow sliding through the nooks and crannies of psyche, chased by a long slip of warm astonishment. I couldn’t remember ever having cum without realizing it before, but it didn’t seem that strange as I carried on kissing Shaun, more slowly now but just as deeply and firmly, and with my cock more hard than ever in his cum-covered hand. There was something intoxicating about this boy, about what he did to me and what I did to him.
As we kissed I was aware of Paolo and Eugene going at it next to us—in fact Paolo’s brawny bare shoulder was overlapping with Shaun’s. Eugene broke their kiss to whisper in Paolo’s ear. “We should get naked,” he breathed.
“Tub?” I heard Paolo respond, his voice rough and thick with desire.
“Fuck the tub,” was Eugene’s response. “We need an empty swimming pool.” I smiled into my kiss and Shaun smiled back, even as his slid his long tongue deeper into my mouth. My turn to moan. I wanted to wonder just how much of the whole Paolo/Eugene thing Shaun had picked up on, but my lizard brain was swamped with pleasure and my fuses were very close to being blown.
“Abandoned silver mine,” Paolo said softly. “A huge crater.”
“Fuuuuck.” I couldn’t blame Paolo for his visceral reaction. The idea of the two of them making out and cumming tons of hot jizz day after day until they filled the fucking Grand Canyon was eerily hot.
“Tub for now,” Paolo said suddenly, and within the space of a second or two they were on their feet and gone, the echoes of their pounding feet on the stairs settling in the quiet.
With the extra-wide Paolo and his equally horny lover gone I clambered deftly around to sit properly in Shaun’s lap, facing him, never once breaking our kiss. We wrapped our arms around each other, heedless of our wet pants and trapped and aching cocks, and buried ourselves in the decadence of an endless, soul-warming kiss. But even in the midst of my pleasure I realized with an absurd, gut-churning delight that, even sitting in Shaun’s lap, I was leaning up to kiss him.
He was taller. He was really, honest-to-god, no-fucking-around taller! Shit, I was cumming again. He wasn’t even stroking me, just holding my thick hardness, and I was spurting out another load all over his hand and already wet shirt. Fuck, oh god, I was loving this a little too much.
I broke the kiss so that I could mouth along his sandpapery jawline—one of my favorite things about going for dudes—and as he followed suit I brought my mouth close to his ear. “Shaun,” I whispered, “tell me how tall you are.”
“Mmm,” Shaun hummed, liking my voice in his ear. “Ummm. Six foot six, I think. Just under.”
Uhhnnnn. I felt a surge of hot excitement course through my whole body. It seemed to get trapped in my big fat cock. God, he was taller. He was taller. Six foot six, and he didn’t even remember that he’d grown for me. Charlie’s off-the-cuff whammy had worked. He was just 6’6”. Even more with the body hardon, I thought with an internal moan. Right now he was probably 6’9” or something amazing like that. Six foot nine.
“Why?” he was muttering playfully in my ear. He gave the lobe a light nip between his front teeth, and with everything going on in my head as our bodies pressed together I almost came again in his warm, firm grip. “Do you like that I’m tall, Jack?” Shaun whispered.
In my overstimulated state hearing him whisper my name in my ear sent a massive shiver down my spine. I held him tighter. “Fuck yeah.” I growled softly.
“Good,” Shaun breathed. “I like that you like it. I love being tall for you.”
Tall. Not just tall. Taller. I had made him taller! I mashed my lips back against his, hard, as I gripped him in my arms, and he responded with equal fervor, kissing me back with a will. He was taller, but he had also always been this tall—that’s what his memories told him.
As his arms moved against my naked back I became aware that there was something strange about the sensations I was feeling. I slowed out kiss as I tried to make sense of them, tried to parse what some warning light had been trying to tell me, blinking away under layer after layer of ecstasy. Then it hit me, with a small cold twist of my stomach. The cuffs of his long-sleeve shirt were a few inches away from his hands. He was still wearing the clothes that fit his 6’4” size!
I kept hissing him, my mind trying to shift into action mode, but it was too swamped with pleasure and excitement. I became very aware of all the sensations I was experiencing—everywhere our bodies touched, the hardness of my big cock, my muscles tingling with life, my chest against his, my hands groping his back against the soft leather of the huge old couch. We were alone on it, now, and if I wanted I could pull Shaun down onto me and take advantage of its full length. I could feel Shaun lying on top of me, his uber-sexy lengthened form pressing down on mine. But first I had to figure it out. I had to figure it out—
In my fevered state I finally became of a murmuring rhythm behind me on the other side of the room, where my brother had been standing, telling us how it would be from now on. It took me a second, as we gently made out, to make sense of what I was hearing. It was kissing… a few words… a long, deep groan of pure pleasure… a few heartbeats of just kissing again… and then the same thing. I listened to it for more than a minute before I let myself hear it properly and knew it for what it was.
“grow for me”
“grow for me”
Holy fuck. I couldn’t see them, but I knew with a weird excited dread exactly what was happening. Charlie was growing his best “bro” Rick. Growing him over… and over… again. A couple or three times a minute, at least. And thanks to my earlier whammy, Rick was totally on board with the idea of getting off with Charlie, who was not only his “bro” but someone he truly thought of as a brother. I had unknowingly completely primed him for exactly what Charlie was doing to him right now. The only anomaly was just how into cocks and making out with guys my straight jock brother was getting these days.
I shoved the sounds and the enigmas of Charlie’s strange and methodical undertaking behind me brutally aside in my mind. I pulled back from Shaun. This was what I had to fix. Charlie had created the problem—amateur, I sneered in my head. But I could fix it, and in a flash of inspiration I knew what to do.
Shaun was lolling against the high-backed couch cushion, eyes still closed, his lips so red from kissing that they seemed to blaze against his pale face. He looked blissed out. “Look at me,” I ordered in a low voice, not wanting to intrude into, or think about, whatever was happening behind me across the room. “Shaun!” I hissed softly, and his deep blue eyes opened. I drilled my gaze into them, moving my head just a bit closer to his.
“Listen to me,” I said in a firm, hard voice, and his eyes seemed to still. Even without the trace-words, he was under. I blinked at him, my feelings profoundly confused. Was Shaun just an unusually adept subject—the perfect mesmerand? Or—was I getting stronger? And which did I want to be true?
I shook my head. There was no time to figure any of this out. Unless I was totally missing my guess about how this was going to work, Shaun would realize his clothes were inexplicably small any minute now. “Shaun, take off your shirt,” I commanded. He grinned, glad in his entranced state to obey me, and quickly began unbuttoning and pulling off his shirt at record speed. His lanky chest was pale, hard and well-defined, and entirely hairless. Fuck, you really are like a six-foot-tall cock, I thought.
Closer to seven feet, now.
“grow for me”
Shaun chucked the shirt away, not breaking his eye contact with me for a fraction of a second. I smiled at him to reinforce our connection, and then, leaning forward a tiny bit more, I said intently, “No more shirts for you, understand? No more shirts for any of us.” Might as well make a virtue of necessity. Now there would be a whole knot of guys around Charlie for whom shirtlessness was the norm and the necessity. Myself included. I felt a little chagrined at the thought. Charlie’s jock buddies, Paolo the uberpecs boy, and me. Maybe Charlie would grow my muscles? I was defined, very nearly buff, but still—
Shaun’s eyes were still glassy. I pushed aside my tangential thoughts again. I wasn’t done. “You won’t notice or care that your old clothes are too small,” I informed him. “From now on you wear just shorts and shoes. Any kind of shorts—board shorts, jams, basketball shorts, Bermuda shorts, anything you like—nothing below the knees. You love wearing shorts and shoes and nothing else.” Abruptly I remembered his leather bracelet and added hastily, “Except for bracelets and that kind of thing. Do you understand?”
Shaun nodded slowly, his glassy eyes unwavering from mind. “Good,” I said. I kept my stare locked on his. He was the most unusual subject I’d ever had, I thought—not that I’d had millions of them, and I was still trying to make sense of how I’d given him the body hardon thing without using the app. Somehow I’d changed his body just with pure hypnosis!
I had to figure it out—no, I had to do more than that. I had to test it.
“Shaun,” I said, my gaze still boring into his, “listen to me very closely. When I say ‘grow for me’ and make you cum and you get taller, something else is going to happen, okay?” I paused, hesitating just long enough to tell myself I had to do this. No chickening out partway through a spell. I licked my lips and pushed on. “Your cock is going to get taller too. Do you understand? Answer whether you understand.”
Immediately Shaun answered in a low, flat voice, “I understand.”
“Good,” I said. My heart was pounding. This was—unnerving. Amazing, and exciting, and very unnerving. I swallowed and licked my lips, keeping our eyes locked. “I’m going to kiss you now. When I next break our kiss, you’ll become fully aware again and you’ll have no memory of this conversation, okay?”
Shaun, even in his trance, smiled a little at the thought of kissing me. “Okay,” he said in his monotone, though there was an edge of eagerness to it.
I smiled back at him. “Okay.” And then we were making out again, our moans mixing with Rick’s in the background of my awareness. I tried to cleanse my mind and sink into the sheer pleasure of our hard bodies and our hot mouths as we fell to relentlessly stimulating each other toward a new—
A brash chirping broke through the low, deep sounds of pleasure that twisted languidly about the room. A text on Charlie’s phone, I knew. Shaun and I went on with what we were doing, but a second later Charlie’s smartphone landed on the couch cushion beside up with a plop.
“See what that is,” Charlie ordered, before going back to what he’d been doing.
I broke my kiss with Shaun reluctantly. “It’s your phone,” I shot back. But he didn’t respond, so I grudgingly leaned over to snatch up the phone. Shaun allowed himself a tiny whimper, and I tossed him an apologetic smile before I checked the text.
It was from Joey Nielsen, Charlie’s dumb future-fratboy buddy with the noisiest car this side of Daytona. I read it, frowning, then clambered off of Shaun (earning myself a disappointed “Hey!” from body-boner-boy as he was forced to relinquish my cock) and turned to face Charlie and Rick, who were quite a sight to behold.
The two hunks were both shirtless, Charlie, the taller of the two by four inches, seeming to loom over the equally muscular long-haired blond as they made out with a surprising intensity. Rick was running his rough hands slowly up and down Charlie’s sides, from narrow waist to flaring lats and back; but Charlie was cradling Rick’s blond-stubbled face as they kissed, as if to concentrate and focus his passion on pleasuring Rick’s mouth, lips, and tongue. They were both drenched with cum: their hard torsos, even their necks and shoulders, were wet with jizz, and their jeans were drowned and oozing with spunk. Even Charlie’s sock was sodden with thick cum, and there was no way to tell whether any of it was Charlie’s. The carpet at their feet looked soaked, too, like a tiny cum-swamp.
But what I couldn’t look away from was the enormous, naked tool thrusting urgently up from Rick’s cum-saturated jeans. It was massive, easily 13 inches of twitching, throbbing cock in a state of a desperate arousal. But it wasn’t just long. Rick’s cock, for all its original shortcomings, must have been proportionately big in the girth department, because what I was looking at was a quivering, cum-slick club that had to be as big around as it was long! My ass twitched just looking at it.
I’d been proud of how fat my cock was, and I’d craved Charlie’s heavy tool even before he’d grown it all the way up to his ponderous pecs. But even Charlie’s 18x10 leviathan of a cock seemed to pale in sheer awesomeness to Rick’s new 13x13 slab of monster cock. I longed to wrap my hand around it, to shove it up my virgin ass, and knowing I couldn’t do the former and probably couldn’t manage the latter either made me want it all the more. It was pointed up but curved very slightly away from the vertical—toward me, I thought, hungrily—so it wasn’t pushing against Charlie’s tool but was just brushing lightly against it as it flexed and throbbed. I experienced at some unconscious level a sudden, brief longing to be Charlie’s cock, just to feel Rick’s superfat club of a cock rubbing up against me.
Charlie was watching Rick through his eyelashes, his eyes glittering in the warm light of the family room, but Rick’s eyes stayed closed as if he were deep inside his own piled up sensual experiences. I moved closer, drawn to them, so that I was only inches away and basking in the heat that seemed to radiate from them when Charlie suddenly pulled his lips off Rick’s and said in a husky, sensual voice, “Grow for me.” Instantly Rick was suffused with unspeakable pleasure as his enormous cock started shooting jets of thick, white-clear cum all over both of them—and as I stared, Rick’s majestic tool grew. It swelled visibly in both length and girth, adding what had to be a good half inch in both directions. I nearly came watching it, but Charlie was already back to work, tilting Rick’s mouth back to meet his. He looked for all the world like he’d keep this up until Rick’s cock literally stood between them.
I swatted Charlie’s arm. “Hey,” I said. My brother managed to give me a look even as he kept up kissing Rick. “Don’t you think you’ve accomplished your objective?” I asked pointedly, nodding toward Rick’s magnificent erection. It was inches from me and seemed to have its own heat, leaving its own impression in my mind to rival the monster foot-and-a-half incrediboner of my brother’s that I was constantly aware of.
Charlie broke the kiss but kept his hands cupping Rick’s handsome face as he directed his own gaze downward. His eyebrows shot up, but he quickly schooled his features and tried to pretend he wasn’t surprised. “I guess that’ll do,” he said in a nearly creditable attempt at casualness.
“Ya think?” I said caustically.
He pulled his hands gently away from Rick’s face. This turned out to be a mistake, since Rick was in a dazed enough condition that Charlie’s hands had actually been helping to hold him steady. He began to wobble and seemed about to fall toward me, and I grabbed him instinctively. Charlie had started forward too, hands half-raised, but now he dropped them and was smiling pointedly at where I was steadying Rick, at his shoulder and in the middle of his naked back. With, I realized with a shock, both hands.
“Heh,” Charlie said. “You have to get him off now.” Insanely, I wondered if that had somehow been part of the plan. But Charlie wasn’t that convoluted a chessmaster. No, it was just dumb luck.
“His dick is big enough,” I grumbled, as I got Rick firmly planted on his own two feet again. I spared a glance at the heroic organ in question. It was jumping and throbbing with need, precum spurting into the layers of warm jizz covering his cock and everything around it. Even the muscles where I was touching him on the shoulder and back seemed to be quivering with suppressed orgasm—an orgasm that now could not be achieved without my help.
“Still needs to get off,” Charlie said matter-of-factly.
I sighed. I shifted closer, so that I was facing Rick, with Charlie right behind me, watching over my left shoulder. The position brought the encounter in the hallway with me sandwiched between Shaun and Charlie uncomfortably to mind, and no sooner had I been reminded of the complicated feelings that scenario had conjured than I felt a few of Charlie’s best assets—his monstrosity of a boner and his thick, hard pecs—pressing against my bare torso. Now I was wet with Rick’s jizz, too, and it made me feel uncomfortably complicit in what Charlie had done to Rick. And, I asked myself wryly, why would I feel at all responsible for any of this madness?
It embarrasses me to explain what happened next. Suffice to say that I got Rick’s attention only to put him under with the trance words, telling him that whenever I said “grow for me” to him, I wanted him to go for more height or more muscles—more anything as long as it wasn’t a bigger cock.
As soon as he was out of the trance I looked him in the eyes and, with a very strange sense of foreboding, said to my brother’s best friend and cock-growing project what Charlie had converted into actual magic words: “Grow for me.” The second I said them I dropped my hands from his naked, hard-muscled torso and waited for the effect.
It was because I was afraid my spell hadn’t worked, in the face of eight minutes of intense Charlie-whammy, that I was looking down at his cock—that, and how uncanny his cock was to look at, especially from this angle. So I had a front-row seat when Rick’s cock shuddered and began shooting an impossible amount of cum right at my face. I sputtered as it kept coming, keeping my eyes closed until I felt the barrage of hot mancream subside. I was bust wiping the cum away enough for me to open my eyes when I heard Charlie swear from just over my left shoulder. “Fuck, Jack, what did you do??”
“What did I do?” I objected, ptahing out the bittersweet jizz that dripped into my mouth as soon as I opened it. A second later I had my eyes cleared, though, and I saw. I was staring down at Rick’s massive, cum-covered, 13½ by 13½ inch cocks—both of them.
My hands itched to grab them. What a way to touch him with both hands, I thought perversely. I heard Charlie swallow. Rick, meanwhile, seemed to surface somewhat from his daze, at least enough to notice that Charlie and I were both covered in cum and staring down at his impossible equipment. He looked up to meet our gazes. “I guess I cum a lot, sorry,” he said with a crooked, chagrined smile. Then, more seriously, “Does it weird you out I’ve got two of these fuckers?”
Charlie and I shook our heads in unison.
“What did you guys just do?” said a familiar voice behind me. I turned to see Shaun standing over me, his body at full arousal at at least 6’9”, looking down at me with confusion. “Jack?” he asked. I could tell when he caught sight, from his superior vantage, of Rick’s new twin towers, because his eyes widened and his mouth fell open in a way that would have been almost comical had I not felt so stressed in that moment.
Rick was becoming increasingly lucid, it seemed—anyway his eyes were wandering up Shaun’s extended chassis, his expression increasingly perplexed. “Hey,” Rick said, eyebrows knitting, “were you this tall before?”
Shaun met his eyes, looking equally perplexed. “Huh?”
“Jack—!” Charlie started to say in an ominous, big brother undertone.
But before he could get any further I growled back at him from between clenched teeth, “This was all your stupid idea!”
There was a single second of perfect, silent consternation among the four of us. Then the doorbell rang.
Charlie’s head snapped in the direction of the front door. He looked as panicked as I had ever seen him. “Who’s that?” he asked, as if we might clairvoyantly know who was standing on our front porch.
Except, I did know. “Kitchen,” I said. “Now.” To the other two I said, “You guys wait here. And,” I added desperately, “no talking!”
I grabbed Charlie by the elbow and hustled him into the kitchen via the dining room, which fortunately meant we didn’t have to go through the front hall where we’d be seen. When we got to the kitchen I noticed distractedly that there was a small pool of cum from where Eugene had blown his wad of gratitude all over me. It felt like ages ago.
I turned Charlie to face me. “That’s Joey and Sun,” I explained. “that was the text. They got bored playing Call of Duty or whatever and decided to come over and crash your Jet Li party!”
“Shit, Jack,” Charlie said. His eyes flicked around the room as if possible solutions might be packed away in the cupboards. He looked shaken, and I was startled to realize how shocking it was for me to experience Charlie not being together and knowing exactly what he wanted. The Charlie that had loomed up in the shadows of the front porch earlier that night seemed like an alternate universe Charlie from the one in front of me, brows furrowed, pale under the kitchen’s bright fluorescents.
I wanted the other Charlie back. He had to be in charge. Without Charlie everything would spin out of control in all directions. Fuck, it already was. I grabbed his upper arms and said, with all the urgency I felt, “Charlie, bro, you have to get it together!”
The doorbell rang again. Any second one of the four body-altered, cum-soaked men in the house would decide that, even if the boys of the house were ignoring it, doorbells can’t go unanswered, consarn it.
“You deal with them,” he said suddenly. He was focused now, looking right at me. The shift in intensity was unnerving. “Use your, whatdya call ‘em, hypno powers. “
I boggled at him. “You’re telling me to whammy them?”
He had traction now. He was coming back to full form. “Why not?” he said aggressively. “You’ve whammied everyone in this house. Me, Rick, Shaun, Paolo, Eugene… you control all of us, Jack.”
This made even less sense than being told to whammy whoever rang our doorbell. “I control everyone?” I repeated incredulously. “You’re the one giving orders.”
Charlie gave me quick, knowing look. “You can change what I want in a heartbeat and you know it.”
I quailed, my hands dropping from his bare arms. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not? You can. You have. I know you have.” He swallowed. “I used to hit you. I didn’t forget, Jack!”
“Jack, get a grip,” Charlie said, his expression utterly serious. “It’s all you. We all belong to you now, and that means you have to take care of us and protect us. You know that, right?”
I backed away from him. When I reached the entranceway into the room, I turned and stumbled the short distance to the front door, realizing as I did so that my hands were tingling—I had touched Charlie with both hands. Not just Charlie, Shaun too. Shaun and Charlie both. They were waiting for me to let them cum now. To cum, and grow. I wanted to burst out the front door and run down the steps and keep running, past the last houses on our street, deep into the dark and redolent woods beyond. Maybe I could find some sanctuary there—at least the trees were safe from me and my catastrophic “hypno powers.” I couldn’t whammy a tree after all. I was pretty sure, anyway.
Instead, I slowed and stopped before the front door, which, to my surprise, was closed. I laid my hand on the brass door latch, preparing to slide down into yet a further circle of my own private hypno hell.
I rested my hand on the door handle and paused, fervently hoping that if I stopped to take a breath, gentling the frenzied molecules of my mind and body, somehow the whole, spinning-out-of-control universe would calm and settle right along with me.
Perfectly balanced needs warred within me. I needed to “deal with” Joey and Sun. That was my charge, my mission, and I understood its importance. In my head, and I knew in Charlie’s too, the two goofballs currently standing on the other side of this door had assumed the role of the newly discovered faulty valve on the nuclear reactor. They were the design flaw that would release our radioactive weirdness into the world with uncontrollable, possibly terrifying consequences.
We’d gotten out of control, way out of control, and at the moment things were just too strange in this house for us to safely interface with the mundane reality of our bucolic, humdrum little bedroom community and its workaday inhabitants. Most of them, after all, had never seen or even imagined such a posse of hugely hung, cum-covered muscleboys as I had somehow managed to gather about me. Charlie and I had to make a game plan to reacclimate us and our buddies to the real world outside our humble abode.
And now was a crucial moment. If Joey and Sun ran screaming from our door I could easily imagine us being descended upon posthaste by mobs of alarmed, pitchfork-wielding townspeople. Or at least by assault squads of ninja psychologists, possibly also wielding pitchforks.
But what would I “do” with Joey and Sun? Send them away with a whammy that made them not want to come back here? Introducing a giant McMillain-house-shaped-hole into their lives seemed extremely likely to backfire. Or, I could go out with them, and distract them by doing something else, just the three of us? That might work, but it totally got in the way of the other need I was feeling very strongly in that moment: The need to be here, with Charlie, Rick, Shaun, Paolo, and Eugene. To fix things, and make everything workable again after the chaos I’d caused—because even if Charlie had put the big whammy on all of us, that was ultimately on me, too.
Like a stressed-out soap opera ingénue I found myself having an audio flashback: deep inside my head I heard clearly the voice of my brother, repeating the words that had shocked and changed me only a few minutes before. It’s all you. We all belong to you now, and that means you have to take care of us and protect us. You know that, right?
I took a deep breath and opened the door.
I knew I looked amazing, doused in cum from hair to feet, bare-chested, jeans soaked in spunk, the head of my fat, ten-and-a-half-inch boner shoving rudely up from the oversaturated waistband. There was dried cum in my treasure trail and it itched. I should have been embarrassed and acutely self-conscious, but at that moment I was counting on the shock value to stun my quarry and get the jump on them, and it worked like a charm. The apparition that was revealed to them when I opened the door was clearly startling: their eyes widened and their greetings froze in their mouths. Before their surprised stares could even leave my face I had already said the trance words and held them, riveted, in my thrall.
My stomach twisted, but I soldiered on. “Joey, Sun,” I said carefully, keeping my voice calm and clear with a real effort. “Say ‘yes’ if you can hear me.”
“Yes,” they both said in unison.
I paused a moment and took stock of them as they stood on my porch, a foot away from me, basking in my trance and the smell of jizz I was probably giving off, competing with the redolence of the juniper bushes that flanked the porch steps. Joey was on my left, keeping the screen door open with his knuckles. He was a big, pale ginger, strong and good-looking but not ripped like Charlie and Rick. I’d used to think he was nothing more than a future frat boy, but lately in his senior year he’d been studious, and had started to act kind of shy around Charlie and me for some reason. He was wearing a ribbed, white wife-beater under a thick denim jacket and dark black jeans, a combination that emphasized his wide shoulders and trim waist. He’d recently started shearing his wiry red hair pretty close, putting the small gold stud in his left ear on display. I knew he had some tattoos on his arms, but I couldn’t remember exactly what or where.
On my right was Sun, Joey’s foster-brother. His real name was Haru, but we called him Sun because (a) the note found with him when he’d been abandoned at the fire station said, “his name means ‘sun’,” according to the story that Joey always told, and (b) he was, in my experience, always happy and smiling. Even now he was smiling in his trance, and I had to admit I found it endearing. Sun was a couple years younger than Joey and his complement in every way: dusky skin instead of alabaster white; my height, around 5’10”, as opposed to Joey’s 6’2”; and his body, instead of being big and thick, was lithe and incredibly defined, like see-every-muscle defined. There’d been times I’d watched him playing football or soccer shirtless where I’d just been fascinated watching his muscles jump and shift under his skin as he ran and threw and dove, a perfect athletic machine.
They were two beautiful, sweet guys who’d walked right up onto this porch having no way of expecting what was in store for them. And I had “take care of them”. The wording was sour in my head. Was that in the way a mobster took care of someone? Or like a master taking care of his pets? I shuddered. I wanted to back out, but they were already under. It was too late.
I took a deep breath. I just needed to keep them occupied and safe, preferably where I could keep an eye on them.
“Guys,” I started to say, but hearing a slight nervous quaver in my voice I paused, gathering my wits. I was aware I was extemporizing, which seemed to get me into trouble pretty much without fail. Why did I never plan these things out beforehand? I swallowed and started over. “Guys, I’m going to tell you something important.” I went for broke, just laying it out. “It doesn’t really matter to you what’s happening with other guys’ bodies, or how huge they dicks are, or any growth or transformations or, or anything like that, or, um, whether they’re naked or fucking or making out or whatever. You’re totally—” I started to say “oblivious”, but I caught myself just in time—that was a word that had to be dangerous, a definite backfire word. I doubled back and rephrased. “You totally don’t care about all that stuff. Understand?”
“Yes,” Joey and Sun said easily. They were, of course, perfectly happy to do as I said.
I also knew that a negative whammy by itself was asking for trouble. I needed to replace the hole with something else. Hurriedly, I carried on. “Instead, what you do care about is—” But what? My fevered mind hit upon the wonder twins, Paolo and Eugene, who at this moment were making gallons of fresh cum as they kissed their way through a constant, unending mutual orgasm. “What you do care about is each other,” I said quickly. “You pay attention to each other all the time. You arouse each other and you want to get close, always holding each other, always kissing each other if you can. You turn each other on so much that you have to be holding, touching, caressing, kissing each other.”
Suddenly I started thinking about ramifications of such behavior and amended himself. “You concentrate great on schoolwork,” I threw in hurriedly. “You’re both great with academics and you behave yourself in class, and, and, and when you need to study or eat or, um, take care of necessities. But the rest of the time your dicks are hard for each other and you love to just look at each other and hold each other and kiss each other like you could do it forever.” I frowned at myself. Well, that was an awkward patch, but it should work.
I remembered that I wanted to keep an eye on them. “And you like doing it when I’m nearby,” I added uncertainly. “If—if I’m around, it makes you comfortable, and you’re happier if you’re doing it near me. Okay?”
“Okay,” Joey and Sun said.
I had a funny feeling I had gotten this one wrong somehow, but, fuck it. Just fuck it. This would take care of the immediate problem, and I could always fine-tune it later, right? Or would those be my famous last words? I bit down on my self-psych-out. Time to end this. “Okay, on the count of three you’re going to wake up and not remember this conversation. Okay?”
“Okay.” I shook my head. I had screwed all this up, again, but it would do for now. “One … two … three. Wake up, guys.” They blinked, and I watched, fascinated, as their new reality set in, phasing them from one world to another, like the embers of sunset falling swiftly into twilight that I’d experienced only a little while ago. Their tracelike blank faces shifted, not back into the shocked expressions they’d started showing when I’d hypno-jumped them, but into a mutual glance that became comfortable smiles and, almost immediately, a side-by-side embrace—arms tight around each other’s backs, their legs and shoulders pressed hard together. Most endearingly of all, Joey had his hand pressed flat on Sun’s chest as if hearing his heartbeat made him feel good—as if touching him were as natural as wind whiffling the trees, or the bend in your arm. Something big and heavy was moving in Joey’s jeans, too, and my eyebrows lifted a little. They glanced at me, seeming a little abashed. I guessed they were slightly confused about what they were doing here. At least they clearly no longer cared at all that I looked like the guest-of-honor at a weeklong bukkake party.
“Okay then,” I said. “C’mon in, guys.” I stood aside and gestured behind me, and they followed me into the house. I shut the door and then took the lead, letting them trail after me. I was very much wanting to find Shaun, and then Charlie. I knew Shaun had been hugely aroused and aching to cum all this time, and he needed me to do it. I kind of wanted to forget about Joey and Sun now that I had “taken care of them,” but they were right behind me, stealing kisses as they walked and whispering to each other.
“I never noticed what a great ass Jack has before,” commented Joey, his deeper voice not quite so sotto voce as to be inaudible to me.
“I did,” Sun replied happily, his silky tenor pitched likewise just a notch below conversational tones. They clearly didn’t care if I heard. Or maybe it just didn’t matter to them if I was there. After a beat, I heard Sun add teasingly, “Is it hotter than mine?”
“I don’t care about other guys’ asses,” Joey said matter-of-factly. “But don’t you feel like—”
“It would be fun to play with him,” Sun finished. There was not doubt in his tone that he meant something like, “It would be fun to have him around when we’re fucking around with each other,” but I was imagining them groping me while they made out or something, a premonition that was intensified when I stopped at the entraceway from the unused living room into the family room, startled by what I encountered there, and they stopped right up against me and started, one cheek to a customer, cupping my ass while they audibly made out with each other. My cock bucked in instinctive response against my cold, wet waistband, but my (upper) cheeks reddened, responding instantly to my embarrassment. Funny how after all the strange and awkward moments I’d created tonight—including the scenario playing out before me right now on the sprawling family room couch—it was Joey and Sun groping me as an incidental part of their own foreplay that made be blush.
And what was happening on the couch? There were two occupants at the moment, both with their backs to me, heads and bare shoulders visible over the back of the couch only a foot and a half in front of me—the very length, a stray thought perversely jumped up to inform me, of my brother’s dick. I swallowed and set that aside for later, though I had to promise myself in rather a binding vow that there would be such a “later”, and tried to concentrate on what was directly before me.
On the left was Shaun, who had been, up until five minutes ago, the latest target of my apparent addiction to conditioning hot guys to get off on me. He was more or less where I’d left him, and he was watching gay porn on the big TV and trying to get off—without success, the noises he was making would have told me even if I hadn’t known the nature of the spell that was affecting him. His mop of bright blond hair looked tousled and damp.
On the right, easily identifiable by his wavy, surfer-boy locks, a warmer blond than Shaun’s and streaked with highlights, and his broad, bulging traps and delts, was Rick. To my surprise he was watching the gay porn just as avidly as Shaun—in fact it was clear from the sounds I could hear from that side of the couch and the movements of his shoulders that he was jerking off too, with both hands. He was also having a better time of it than Shaun, his grunts giving out that he was building toward an imminent orgasm. I imagined his twin cocks pounding out waves of jizz all over his beautiful, sculpted torso, and my dick kicked out a big dose of precum onto my waistband and the sticky skin of my lower abs.
At the same moment, Joey and Sun’s arms traveled in sync around my torso from either side and wrapped around me, hands more or less on my pecs, as they carried on making out. Having a couple of guys kissing passionately right behind you, their hips pushing against your ass while they touched you distractedly, was definitely a weird and new experience for me. I reckoned had to revise my self-mocking about whammying people into being into me, though, because I got the sense that Joey and Sun were not, actually, into me, per se. I was only there to heighten their already intense mutual arousal, not for any interest I provided. Geez, I thought in droll bemusement, I’m a damn sex toy.
But I let them fondle me for the moment as I drank in the scene on the couch. Why not? Their hands were warm and it felt good, and the kissing going on right behind me felt like I was listening to sex inside my skull, on headphones. It was kind of hot all of the way around, a sort of peripheral sexual experience. My cock flexed again as if agreeing with me, spurting out another burble of warm precum.
A moan from Rick made it clear that his volcanoes, at least, were close to eruption. I took a closer look at the tanned, naked young California hunks fucking on wrestling mats, their torn singlets already cast aside near where a third young-looking gym-rat, still only partly out of his, was eagerly watching and whacking off to the sight of them. (Another stray thought: I was watching while two guys watched as this muscle-twink watched while the two heroes went at it.) Something about the setup seemed familiar. Then the guy getting fucked got a close-up of his O-face and the coin dropped. Quickly I checked the shelf below the flatscreen, and sure enough, my laptop was still there, displaying the same movie—a porn movie from my laptop about two brothers who couldn’t ignore how into each other they were. It was a movie that had, well, struck home for me, long before the strangeness of recent events—before Charlie had started enjoying “helping” me with my “projects.”
The story of what had happened in the family room over the last fifteen minutes while I was away now seemed obvious. Primed for aching arousal and urgently needing orgasm thanks to my bare hands on his bare skin triggering Charlie’s spell, Shaun had needed to get off badly and had raided my laptop for hot dude-fucking-dude porn. Rick, naturally horned up thanks to his having recently (at least, I knew it was recently, even if he didn’t) developed twin unstoppable monster dorks that looked like they could fuck through brick walls, but ostensibly straight apart from the whole brother-on-brother thing, had agreed to gay porn as long as it was obviously fraternal in nature. This being my laptop we were talking about Shaun must have had no trouble finding plenty of material occupying the overlapping center of their porno Venn diagram.
Shaun, aware of Rick’s approaching climax(es) mere inches to his right, was making sounds that betrayed his considerable frustration. I had to put him out of his misery. I stepped forward, slowly, closing the distance to the couch, bringing the new guys with me as I did so, their hands still mindlessly groping my perfectly-decent-but-not-Charlie-or-Rick-sized pecs as they made out endlessly against my back. I leaned over the couch a little and rested my hands on Shaun’s nicely toned shoulders, and, even as he gasped in delight and relief at my touch, I gasped myself at the tool Shaun was flogging.
Shaun, too, was using both hands, not because he had two colossal fucktools like his now-loudly-moaning couchmate, but because he could easily wrap both of his lithe, flying fists around a long, hard, precum-wet cock that had to be at least 12 inches. I stared at Shaun’s long, ample tool, and for a moment I thought I could almost feel my mouth wrapped around it. I was caught by surprise how much I wanted that cock, and how hot it was that it had grown more than it should have—and fuck the reason why. It was lovely, it was hot, and it was a good three or four inches longer than the last time I’d seen it.
Shaun reacted instantly to my touch, my presence. “Unh, god, Jack,” Shaun groaned pitifully, snapping me out my momentary cockdream. “Please! Please let me cum!”
I let my hands trail down and caress his pale chest, stroking his body hardon to ensure that my actual attentions had at least something to do with his orgasm. Then, unable to prolong the exquisite agony, I said in a low, urgent voice, “Grow for me.”
I was concentrating on Shaun, willing through the touch of my hands for the orgasm he was about to let loose to be truly amazing, but my words must have helped Rick over the edge, too, because he started cumming in unison with Shaun, both of them blasting wad after wad of thick cum all over their chests and abs, even hitting their faces as their orgasms seemed to actually escalate—Rick’s was hitting both sides of his face, while Shaun was almost screaming, letting the cum fly across his mouth and land on his long, wide tongue. Suddenly I was being grabbed harder and more hungrily by the couple that had attached themselves to me, and from the groans and grunts it sounded like they were cumming, but I lost track of them and how they were manhandling my body because then in that moment Shaun—started—to grow. His torso was pushing up into my hands, and I grabbed his tight shoulders hard and made his body shove relentlessly up against me, and fuck, I was cumming, I was fucking exploding. Huge fat jets of cum were shooting straight up from my cock, rocking my balls, shaking my entire body to its foundations. I was cumming impossible amounts of cum all over my chest, my face, my hair, and all over Shaun’s twisting, writhing head and sweaty shoulders and the expanse of beautiful, creamy back newly exposed above the back of the couch as well.
I was fucking Old Faithful and it wasn’t even stopping. Joey and Sun’s hands and forearms were coated with cum now as they smeared my still spurting jizz all over my chest and abs. I was still cumming when I realized with an electric thrill that whipped through my soul that Charlie’s warm, deliciously muscled body was right there, shoving against my left arm as I held onto Shaun’s hard shoulders for dear life. And as I instinctively turned my head to look at Charlie I caught only the fleetingest flash of his blazing blue eyes before he wrapped his strong right hand around the nape of my neck, pushing his fingers through my long damp hair as he drew me right down onto his bared, enormous, chest-high erection. My mouth could barely encompass the head and a few inches of shaft, but all the while my heart flipped and pounded painfully against the walls of my chest as I tasted his salty precum, and then—and then!—he was blasting into me, and somehow I started cumming harder too. The world spun and shook and splintered like a house torn apart in a tempest, and we were all cumming harder and longer and with more jizz than anyone had ever cum ever.
I must have kind of blacked out for a few moments, because the next thing I knew I was emerging out of an inky black haze, feeling initially weak enough I was half expecting to find myself crumpled in a heap on the family room’s cum-drenched shag rug. But I was being held up on all sides by grinning, handsome, mind-bendingly attractive men: not only my new acolytes, Joey and Sun behind me, who still had their arms wrapped around me and were alternating between kissing my neck and kissing each other, but Shaun too, who had turned around and was kneeling on the couch, massaging my shoulders now and grinning tiredly at me, a picture of cum and sweat and post-orgasmic euphoria. Rick had come around too to stand at my right, his twin behemoths still rock hard, looking for all the world as if they never went down. They were throbbing now against tight ten-pack abs with thick white spunk filling in all the crevices, and he was grinning, too, as he stroked my slick biceps with both hands. It was like we were at some kind of semen-themed spa and it was everyone’s job to rub all the cum into me.
Actually it turned out everyone was still achingly hard, even me, especially me—and especially Charlie, standing very close to me on my left, my arm stroking his back, and his 19-inch monster was nuzzling my armpit as it flexed, straining, seemingly aware that it only had to stretch a couple more inches to reach Charlie’s clavicle. His whole body was warm, especially his cock, and his breath on the left side of my neck, and… his bare hands—touching my abs with his left hand, and, shoving with proprietary familiarity between me and the pair of makeout kings behind me, the small of my bare back with his right.
I met his eyes. They were still blazing, but more than that, they were hungry. Ravenous. They filled my vision so that I only heard him say the words I needed to hear:
“Grow for me, Jack.” His tone was urgent, commanding, needy. “Grow for me!” he shouted again. “Grow for me!!”
And I came like I hadn’t even cum before, like I hadn’t cum in weeks, and I grew, and I grew, and I grew.
When I came to again I was in a lazy three-way embrace with Charlie on my left and Shaun on my right, our bodies pressing together, arms loosely around each other. I thought muzzily that this was absolutely the best way possible to hold my lovers close to me without anyone needing to be told to grow, a solution I could happily dedicate my every waking moment to. In between opportunities to make each other grow again, that is. I moaned happily and tightened my embrace, letting myself belatedly realize that I had finally accepted something important: that both Charlie and Shaun had to be mine, that I wanted and needed both of them. I basked in this thought a second or two before letting it sink easily back into the drifting eddies of my mind. I registered that Joey and Sun were no longer at my back, though I doubted they’d gone far—probably not farther than the couch, if I interpreted the soft making-out sounds I was hearing aright.
“There he is,” murmured Charlie indulgently as I lifted my head and opened my half-unwilling eyes. I let my gaze meet his, and realized with a warm stirring in my guts that something had changed. A small smile stole onto my lips, and when his lips responded with a quirk of their own I broke into a broad grin.
“I’m taller than you now,” I said, my tone soft and sultry. His eyes glinted.
“Fuck yeah,” Charlie growled, his grin almost as wide as mine and salacious as a wolf’s. He was actually looking up at me a little—I had to be a couple inches taller than Charlie, and the thought was intoxicating. I could tell we both understood that the “don’t realize you’ve grown” thing hadn’t worked on me, and we were each very, very glad about that. I wasn’t sure exactly why it hadn’t stuck—”no forgetting” was in fact a part of the intent of the back door I’d built into the software, but I hadn’t been sure it would work. I also remembered resisting Charlie’s hypnotic command to forget. Maybe my abilities gave me a free pass on how whammies applied to me? It didn’t matter. I wanted to know I’d grown, and Charlie clearly thought it was hot as fuck that I knew what he’d done to me.
We looked up together to see Shaun smiling pacifically down on us. With his persistent body hardon he had to be over seven feet tall now, hot and lanky and altogether awesome. “You’re both munchkins to me,” he informed us. I laughed and looked down into the space between our closely pressed bodies.
Charlie’s cock—it must be 20 inches long by now, I guessed, and a good 11 inches around—was the dominant presence in our little cluster. It was radiating heat onto us, its wide head spitting periodic gouts of precum that rolled away to slide the long journey down its impossibly long, fat shaft—a journey my tongue needed to take very soon. But it was hard not to notice Shaun’s erection pushing rudely against it, as if the two cocks were young, inexhaustible wrestlers, totally shot through with unbounded energy. And Shaun’s had definitely gone up a weight class or two. I goggled at it. Before, it had gone from nine to over 12 inches, and now, it was standing tall and proud at, I guessed at it kept relentlessly pushing against Charlie’s, all of 16, maybe 16 and a half inches. Standing tall—that was the key, I understood in a flash: I’d told him his cock would “get taller” when he got taller, and that’s what his body was faithfully making happen. His cock got taller by the same amount he did!
Then my eyes dropped to my own body. My cock had gotten bigger too, I could see. It was definitely pushing up another inch or so out of my cum-sodden jeans. My gaze drifted off my fat, enlarged cock onto my buff, jizz-covered torso, and I saw that there, too, there had been improvements. Judging from my pecs and the feel of my arms and the tightness of my wet jeans around my thighs I reckoned I’d probably gained a good fifteen pounds of muscle. I’d grown three ways, not just one, maybe more than the five percent increment we were all supposed to be tied to, and it was awesome. I didn’t even care, in that moment, what had triggered the triple growth—whether it was Charlie saying the words three times, or because it was me and I could fucking do what I wanted. I just loved that Charlie had made me grow. Fuck, Charlie had made me grow. I realized Charlie was watching me take inventory and when I looked up from admiring myself and smiled into his eyes he moved in for a friendly kiss. With my right hand I reached up and drew Shaun down into the kiss too, and we made out like that for quite a while.
“Unh, guys,” I heard Rick’s voice say after a while from the vicinity of the entryway. We all looked at him. He was just walking into the room, freshly showered—presumably having used the other shower, the one that wasn’t filled with Paolo and Eugene and the man-made reservoir known as Lake Whiteseed. He stood there, towel around his waist that currently showed off his rapidly growing double bulge. He looked half amused and half genuinely distressed. “You gotta lay off the hotness,” he whined. When the three of us chuckled at him he laughed too, but his tone was still pleading as he said, “Seriously! I never knew I could be this turned on. I came twice in the shower and it barely took the edge off! Fuck, guys, if you guys make me cum again just from watching you make out I’m pretty sure my balls’ll explode!”
We all laughed happily, and Charlie, Shaun and I reluctantly disengaged, Charlie moving around to the side of the couch and Shaun stepping back to rest his butt against its back. It felt, strangely, like we were separating again into three people, and I found myself mulling that sensation, unsure what to make of it. Charlie said, “Okay, I think we should eat.”
Rick perked up at this. “Pizza time!” he crowed. He was almost all the way hard again, tenting out his towel, and it was making him look like he had a double boner for thin-crust pepperoni.
I was becoming distracted by this exhibition when I heard Charlie say, “Sounds like a great idea!” with alarming enthusiasm. My eyes jumped to Charlie’s. He was already looking right at me, biting his lower lip provocatively. His expression looked positively wicked.
“No!” I said, trying to sound preemptive. “No pizza boys!”
“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” Charlie wheedled, taking a step toward me. I backed away a step, not wanting him to start using two-handed insta-arousal to get me to do things his way. Inadvertently I found I’d backed into Shaun, and he reached around to hold me casually. Charlie, reading me correctly, obediently held his position, but he carried on, still eager to convince me. “I think Davey is the delivery guy at Moe’s tonight,” he said suggestively.
“Ooo, he’s hot,” Shaun immediately jumped in from above and behind me.
“I know him,” Rick said approvingly. “He’s that sophomore on the lacrosse team that’s always staring at my junk.”
This was crazy, I thought, my anxiety ramping up in record time. I glanced at the time on the cable box and did a double take. Ten o’clock? How long had we been doing our group cum thing? How long was I blissed out in between orgasms? I rallied and addressed my hunky, colossally cocked horndog of a brother. “What the hell, Charlie?” I said, trying to sound stern and reasonable and totally failing. “Forty minutes ago you were scared to expose Joey and Sun to all of this!”
“And you took care of it beautifully,” Charlie said proudly, glancing at the checked-out lovebirds necking on the couch. “My worries are officially laid to rest.”
“What about tomorrow?” I said hectically. Charlie could be as reckless as he wanted about everything, but he was the one that said it was my job to take care of them now. My mind was racing. The future seemed full of nothing but consequences. “What about—?” I sputtered. Aunt Olive was staying overnight at her brother’s in Cincinnati, as she did every Tuesday, but I couldn’t even manage to say her name. School—the house—everyone else’s families—“What about, what about—?!”
“Relaaaax.” Charlie said, using that tone of voice he had that cut through my bullshit like a hot knife through cream cheese. “Relax,” he repeated, and, weirdly, I felt myself calming. “Tomorrow is tomorrow.”
“It’s just pizza, dude,” came Shaun’s contented voice from behind me. He was using his big hands to slowly caress my newly buffed-up torso, apparently not minding how sticky it was. It felt amazing to be touched like that, so offhand and spontaneous, as if my natural condition was really to be touched and stroked by these godly men.
I took a deep breath and, with some effort, let my anxieties slide back into my mental pool, or quagmire, as the case might be. Just pizza. I tried schooling my mind in that direction, tried with as much mental force as I could manage. Just pizza. Okay. Tomorrow was tomorrow. I wondered if I could whammy myself into being the cool, calm, and confident person that I wanted to be and so totally was not, that Charlie seemed to always be. Well, not always. I remembered his momentary freak-out in the kitchen. It was, oddly, reassuring. Charlie could be a little confident and a little messed up—well, so could I. Neither of us had to be all good all the time. We could both be a mix of twisted-up and cucumber-cool. Weirdly, this made my mind dig up Donnie and Marie, complete with the song (“I’m a little bit fucked up.” “And I’m a little bit arrogant dick!”), and I actually laughed to myself at the absurdity of it all.
Rick, meanwhile, was not waiting for me to get my shit together. He had found his phone from somewhere and was already browsing contacts. “I’m dialing,” he said firmly, as if that ended the matter. He moved over to stand behind the couch on my other side. “Yo! Smooch brothers! You want pizza?” Joey and Sun, who were lying side-by-side on the couch all intertwined with each other, looked up with interest. They nodded enthusiastic assent, Sun adding his characteristic grin. He looked happier than ever, and Joey was clearly right there on cloud nine with him.
“What’s going on?” Paolo said, coming into the room at that moment. He was hand-in-hand with Eugene, and they, too, looked freshly showered, though they were wearing pants instead of towels—borrowed jeans from either me or Charlie, from the looks of it, since theirs had of course gotten soaked with cum in their bathtub excursion. (Had they drained the tub of their endless gallons of jizz, or had they jumped into the master bath after Rick was done?) My eyes caught on Paolo’s huge, beautiful pecs, ruddy from the hot shower under Paolo’s tan skin, and I lost track for a second of what he’d asked and, in fact, of what was going on.
Fortunately there were others around to answer Paolo’s query. “Pizza,” Rick informed them. “You guys in?”
“Totally,” Eugene said, and Paolo agreed. They, too, were still hard—well, Eugene was always hard now, his footlong whopper erupting proudly from his borrowed jeans, but Paolo, by no means meagerly hung himself, seemed to have acquired the condition as well in sympathy with his lover. “I want sausage,” Eugene added innocently, then blushed when we all laughed.
“Yeah,” Charlie chimed in mischievously, “lots of sausage.”
In the end eight of sat down around the big table in the dining room to devour twelve whole pizzas and almost as many two-liters of Coke. Alleviating a worry I’d been back-burnering without realizing it, Joey and Sun turned out to be perfectly capable of diving into their food and taking part in all the chatter and gossip around the table without seeming to feel compelled to make out, though I noticed they did sit close to me on my left.
Paolo and Eugene seemed a little bemused by the changed dynamic between me, Charlie, Shaun, and Rick, but we all had a blast running down what secrets we thought all the other jocks at school were harboring—not forgetting Davey Wabash, our delivery boy and once and future visitor to the madhouse. I’d been persuaded by Charlie (without too much difficulty, I must admit, after I saw him at the door and remembered how fitness-model-hot he was, with the dark eyebrows, dimpled grin and all) into “convincing” him to stay just for a slice, and to come back later after his deliveries were done. He’d departed with one last longing glance at Rick’s boners as they stood majestically out of the jeans that Rick, following Paolo and Eugene’s example, had pilfered from Charlie’s closet, and as I’d closed the door on our hot lacrosse-playing pizza dude I’d had an impressive vision of Davey struggling valiantly to go down on one of Rick’s cocks as the other smeared precum all over his ear and cheek.
Now, as I happily sat amidst my boys, Charlie across from me making a big show of priming his towering cock with pizza grease and wiggling his eyebrows at me, Shaun’s hand resting reassuringly on my thigh, Rick across from him smiling at the three of us, the other couples eating and laughing and sharing loving glances, I realized that I didn’t want to let any of them go, not even to sleep. I pondered the logistics of bringing Charlie’s queen-sized bed into my room to lay alongside my full-sized mattress—and maybe, if we swapped out my desk and dresser, we could squeeze in the Charlie’s old twin-size bed from the guest room as well? I felt another warm rush of anticipated pleasure about the eight of us—no, nine of us, once Davey came back—spending the night in the comfort of each others’ arms and bodies; and my big fat dick, now, thanks to my brother, even bigger and fatter than I’d always known and treasured, gave a kick of keen, intense approval.
Most people are scared of things that it makes sense to be scared of. Rabid dogs … the imminent heat death of the universe … news of Sharknado sequels … that kind of thing. That night, even once I got to sleep my mind churned with anxiety about how people would deal with my brother’s enormous dick.
I had bundled all my boys off to bed, and none of them seemed to have a care in the world, all happy to leave the worrying to me. I’d finally discarded the tempting idea of putting together an enormous bed for all nine of us—for Davey, the supercute pizza dude with a crush on hunky jock-nerd Rick and his indomitable twin cannons, had indeed returned after his delivery rounds, adorably hesitant and hopeful. We seemed to be pairing off anyway, thanks mostly to my hypno-matchmaking skills. So Paolo and Eugene were ensconced in my room; and since I strongly suspected they would make out nonstop even in their sleep, I made them promise to wear pajamas the whole night so as not to saturate my bed and everything else in the room with their infinite hot jizz. Rick and Davey were on the couch in the family room when the party broke up, Davey on his knees in front of Rick’s hard naked body and demonstrating remarkable control over his gag reflex as he made a go at swallowing the leftmost of Rick’s massive 13½ by 13½ monumental dicks. The Smooch Brothers, Joey and Sun, got tucked away in the guest room, which seemed like it was close enough to where I’d be for them to relax.
And where would I be? Well, I’d be in Charlie’s bed—with Shaun. By the end of the evening, after I’d managed to supplement my pizza and Coke with a Sam Adams that Charlie had pressed me into drinking, plus a second one that had taken rather less persuasion for me to accept, I was coming to terms with the fact that while I had a houseful of very, very hot dudes that were kind of bound to me and toward which I had a singular responsibility, those bonds were not all equal. I had come out of a day—which, mind you, had started with me literally groping my way toward a stronger relationship with my once-abusive brother—with two devoted boyfriends: Shaun and my brother Charlie. I was damn lucky to have so much affection, not to mention erotic passion: they were both flushed with want and apparently constantly boned for me, and they both had gorgeous superdicks that surpassed my most extreme fantasies from even a day ago, and as everyone had shed their clothes at some point in the evening, even cock-covering socks, there was nothing to hide Charlie’s thick, 20-inch majesty or the elegance of Shaun’s long, flat 16-incher. As the three of us jogged up the stairs and, after checking on the hot, kiss-hungry couples in the adjacent rooms, headed into Charlie’s room (the décor of which, of course, was distinguished mainly by posters of World Cup soccer stars and clothes flung everywhere except at the hamper), the thought of curling up in between them made my own newly grown, very happy nearly-12-inch monstercock judder and drool with anticipation.
It also made my reason centers kick in, as they tended to do at the wrong time. All night, in my subconscious at least (as if my brain had asynchronous background tasking), I’d been trying to solve the problem of how to deal with everybody being confronted with all my hot, shirtless friends suddenly being inches taller, muscled like gods, and impossibly hung; but all I’d managed to actually accomplish was to duck out of the party long enough to phone my aunt at her brothers in Cincinnati and “convince” her to stay there a while longer. She probably would have been fine with it anyway, since her office at the Hundtson Industries world HQ was halfway between us and Cinci and she had never really cottoned to the maternal role that circumstances had forced her into; but I still felt shitty about it, and on top of that it didn’t really deal with my real problem. And now, walking into Charlie’s sweat-scented room (erotic or gross? erotic or gross? I couldn’t decide), I now realized we were about to snuggle in the same bed, if not fuck, and that meant hands on skin.
Would Charlie and I really have to wear gloves to bed? That was fucking absurd, but I couldn’t see any of us getting much sleep if we urgently needed to cum. Even if we said the words, the whole thing would start up again seconds later. No thanks. Maybe Charlie wouldn’t even mind a night like that, even if he ended up with a three-foot cock (after all, I had ensured that the size of his cock isn’t an issue for him!), but it wasn’t fair to Shaun, if nothing else.
I turned to my tall, lanky blond beauty of a boyfriend, and looked up at him—he was over 7 feet now, thanks to his body hardon, though even if he weren’t “body boned” I suspected he’d still be several inches taller even than my new height of (I reckoned) somewhere around 6’5”. His bright blue eyes met mine immediately, and I drew in a breath at what I saw—they were happy, lustful, and … compliant. He was ready to be suggestible for me. I swallowed, suddenly nervous.
“Shaun, I need to tell you something,” I said. Charlie, who was pulling stray dirty sweats and shorts off the bed onto the floor, turned to watch with interest. He stepped closer, fascinated as always to watch me do my thing. “You, too, actually.” Charlie raised an eyebrow, but before he could object I said the trance words and they were both under. I might not have needed them for Shaun, but I had to do them both.
“Charlie, Shaun, can you hear me?”
“Yes,” they answered.
“Okay. So, when the three of us are in bed,” I began, and realized abruptly that I was doing something I had vowed not to do and yet was doing more and more frequently—extemporizing a spell. I hurriedly tried to put my thoughts in order. “When we’re in bed together, if either Charlie or I touches you with both hands—so that you want to cum but can’t until we say the words …” I paused, trying to think if I had a better way to do this. As usual, I didn’t so, again as usual, I shrugged and went with it. “You’ll be able to go to sleep when you want and you sleep soundly and comfortably anyway. In fact, your need to be made to cum will be all postponed until we all wake up together in the morning.” I thought a second, deciding “morning” was too vague. “We’ll sleep all the way to, um, seven o’clock,” I said, thinking this would be enough time to take care of each other, shower, and get ready for school and still make it by first bell at 8:25. “You won’t need to be made to cum until we wake up at seven.”
I frowned. That seemed okay, but I thought I needed to nail down the “good sleep” thing. Temptation tugged at me to do more, though, and I hesitated, staring at my charges. Shaun and Charlie just stared back at me impassively. I tried fighting the impulse to embroider this simple, necessary Band-Aid of a whammy, but my two beautiful dream guys were filling my mind with lust, and something more than lust. They were so different and yet so alluring. Charlie, with his handsome face and his lightly tanned and perfect jock body, looking like he had been lovingly hewn from supple, golden stone. His fence post of a cock was tapping rhythmically against his thick, heavy left pec, leaving lots of sticky precum behind to roll down the round, hard surface to drip onto the floor, one drop of heady elixir at a time, making a little wet spot in the khaki-colored carpet next to Charlie’s big, slightly hairy left foot. Beside him was the towering, limber, pale Nordic beauty of Shaun, with his long, gracefully muscled arms and legs and his endless tight abs bridging naturally generous pecs and the base of a cock that became more elegantly beautiful the longer it got. Unlike Charlie’s colossus it stood a little away from Shaun’s drawn-out, lickable torso at maybe 30 degrees from the vertical, so that closing the little distance between them would mean pushing Shaun’s 16-inch tool against me, sliding its precum-slick shaft along my own eager, newly buff torso as we moved to embrace. But there was one attribute both of these erections shared: in the slight chill of the room I could feel the heat coming off both of them, as if the two boys’ ratcheted-up arousal was manifesting in radiant energy. My own cock felt as huge and hard as any cock ever, despite the visible evidence of my boyfriends’ even larger cocktowers. I swallowed and had to consciously remind myself I was in the middle of a spell, and I was still half in a trance of my own when I started talking again.
“You both sleep really well when we’re together,” I murmured. My eyes were a little unfocused, maybe because I was trying to drink them both in at once, maybe because I was a little drunk with the swelling of powerful feelings I was having, not least in my dick. “You have dreams, great dreams. Erotic dreams, about the three of us, and it feels real and wonderful. In your dreams your body is the way you fantasize that it should be. In the dream all our bodies become the way you want them to be, and even sleeping our dream bodies make love all … night … long.” I was practically panting as I rasped out my own fantasy. “We’ll fuck gently as we sleep and dream, too. Our sleeping bodies fit together so perfectly, like we’re made to fit into each other … fucking slowly and sweetly all through the night … and—”
I trailed off, abruptly becoming aware that I had driven way past my exit. My cock was aching. “And—that’s all.” I finished lamely. “Charlie, Shaun, do you understand?”
“Yes,” they said together.
I huffed a breath, wondering if I’d ever be able to control myself. “All right. Charlie, Shaun, on the count—I mean, when I kiss you,” I corrected myself, figuring I might as well stick with the upgrade to my process, “you’re going to wake up and not remember this conversation. Okay?”
“Okay,” they both said together. Their voices sounded much calmer than mine.
On an instinct I decided to kiss Charlie first. This turned out to be a good thing. Yes, because he’s a great kisser, as I was reminded when he started coming out of his trance and responding to the kiss, returning it with equal heat and fervor. But when we pulled apart a little he murmured softly, “What was the whammy for?”
I searched his eyes as he looked up at me, but there was no anger, no reproach. He trusted me. I said, “So we can sleep and hold each other without having to cum, at least until morning.”
He nodded. “Good thinking,” he said. His brows knit slightly. “What about you?”
I shrugged shoulders that felt a bit broader than I was used to. “I’ll be okay?”
His eyes narrowed a bit. “Really?” he asked dubiously. He cocked his head a little to one side. “Maybe there’s something I can do?”
I held his look for a long minute. “Maybe,” I said finally. I bit my lip, and then admitted something I was afraid for him to know. “If you tell me to believe something, and we’re looking in each other’s eyes like this,” I said reluctantly, “I think I’ll believe it.” I was really going to regret this—not that he didn’t know it already. Maybe we trusted each other, but he was my big brother and he would jump at the chance to pull something over on me.
Charlie nodded slightly. “You will believe it.”
I sighed. “Yeah.”
Charlie’s lips twitched. “Okay,” he said, gazing up at me steadily. “You ready?” I nodded. Then in a very serious voice, low but intense, he said, “Everything you just told us in our trances will be true for you, too.” I felt a strange, queasy thrill run through me. He leaned forward, just a couple millimeters. “Everything,” he emphasized.
I swallowed. “Thanks,” I said, and was about to turn toward Shaun when Charlie added, “Also?” I couldn’t quite tear my gaze away. I waited for what he had to say. “Also,” Charlie said, even more confidently than before, “you really want me to fuck you.”
I would have rolled my eyes if I could look away. “Charlie—” I said, exasperated. I did really want him to fuck me, of course, though I was a little apprehensive of his immense equipment.
Charlie seemed to stare even more intensely. “You can take me,” he said. “You know you can take me.”
“That’s not how it—”
“You want it bad,” he insisted. “You want it bad and you can take it, and it will feel so good in your hot, tight ass. You—”
I kissed him to shut him up. When I broke free he was grinning from ear to ear. “You’re insane,” I said, but he just kept grinning inanely at me, which made him look even sexier. I shook my head and turned to kiss Shaun, this time having to tilt up, using my right hand to bring the still-entranced boy down so his lips could meet mine.
His kiss was sweet and warm when he started kissing back. A moment later he was blinking down at me and smiling. I jerked my head toward Charlie’s big bed, which my brother was already crawling into. “C’mon,” I said, smiling up at him as we moved to join him. “You’re ‘little spoon’.”
I woke from the most erotic dreams I had ever had to find that none of it held a candle to reality. I must have made the association of bed and sleep pretty strong because we’d all slipped away into unconsciousness within minutes of curling up together, Charlie behind me, his thick arms wrapped cozily around me, and Shaun curled up against me. We were still in the same positions now, except—Jesus. My footlong cock was shoved deep inside Shaun’s hot, incredibly tight ass, as if in slumber our bodies had reverted to this as our natural, default configuration. But even hotter, even more exquisitely incendiary, was the feeling of my tight insides being pushed apart by Charlie’s enormous cock. All 20 fat inches of it were slowly, rhythmically pounding me as if my entire torso were the sheath for his impossible tool, and my body was responding, squeezing hard against his immense, hot cockpillar, holding him tight inside me even as he hugged me hard from behind.
The dreams had been so amazing, but this—this was a multiplicity of sensation that could never be imagined. I was feeling too much. Charlie’s pecs pressed hard against my shoulder blades, his stubbly chin brushing my neck. His cock was titanium-hard, and yet I could feel the velvet smoothness of his head and shaft. I could feel every inch of him, not just his length and girth but every vein, every movement of the lip around his crown, every dousing of my insides with his heated, copious pre. I felt like I had super-intense pleasure receptors that were kept secret way inside me, out of reach of ordinary cocks, there only for Charlie to find with his enormous, magnificent, rock-hard fencepost of a cock. Charlie. Only Charlie could fuck me. Only Charlie would fuck me. And not just because he had the most amazing, magnificent cock in the world, ten times better to feel inside me than to see it in its stunning beauty, even hidden snugly away inside a stretchy white athletic sock. Charlie belonged in me. Him, in me. Us.
I panted, feeling overheated, even though cool air from the partly open window slid over us as we clung to each other, stimulating the little beads of sweat dotting our bare arms and shoulders. Shaun was making little whimpering, moaning sounds, and as my hands stopped the gentle surfing of his tight abs and torso and wrapped his long fuckpole in both fists his moans became louder and more pleading. He shoved harder against my chest and ass, giving himself to me. He needed to cum, but we both knew that I could stroke his long erection all day and he wouldn’t cum unless I let him. Which was hot, but Charlie, kissing my neck and groping my arms, was reminding me I was in the same boat. I was fucking, but I was also being fucked, and knowing that I was topping Shaun and Charlie was topping me—that I was the on with all the power, but Charlie, my beautiful, incredi-cocked, golden god-muscled, Charlie, had a hold over me—was somehow the most erotic condition possible. My sexual pleasure rocketed past 10 out of 10, shooting for triple and quadruple digits. Our fucking intensified. Charlie was thrusting so deep I half expected to feel the head of my cock shoving up through my throat. The friction of our three sexy bodies was almost unendurable. I wanted to cum in Shaun’s ass as badly as Shaun wanted to blow his own load, but I had to wait for Charlie to make me cum and—fuck it, Shaun would have to wait too if I did. I started pumping Shaun’s ass harder, too, getting into a rhythm with Charlie, and Shaun was vocalizing the intensity of his pleasure with such exuberance that seemed to feed back into our own exhilaration, so that everything each of us was feeling seemed to become the cumulative pleasure we were all feeling. The only sound was us, the three of us panting, and the strident drumbeat of my own heart.
Just as I was sure I couldn’t take much more Charlie gripped my arm hard and stilled, then suddenly he was unleashing gouts of cum deep inside me. I had thought it was amazing before to see it grow when he came, even feel it grow, but having Charlie’s monster cock groooooow inside me from one—two—three! rounds of massive ejaculation was what truly drove me over the edge. I absolutely had to cum right now, so it was with huge relief that I head Charlie grunt “Grow for me!” in my ear as he came, hard, as deep inside me as it was possible to be, that third and last time. I started cumming uncontrollably, and I quickly leaned forward and hissed the same words into Shaun’s ear as I stoked him off, wishing I could hold his torso tight in my arms and stroke him, too. I’d had a dream like that, I knew, but this moment was so far beyond any dream, any experience ever.
Shaun and I started growing together as we came, and fuck, growing and cumming, it was mind-blowingly amazing. I was a universe of pleasure, expending and filled with an infinity of orgasms, stars and galaxies exploding and sending sheets of energy all though my endless expanse. I was a universe and I was enfolded in universes, every sensation slipping far off the scale as I writhed in incomprehensible ecstasy. I felt Shaun’s pleasure and Charlie’s too, both thrilled to feel me experiencing this orgasm on an unprecedented scale.
It took ages to come down from that high. We lay there, enjoying the hundredfold afterglow, luxuriating in the feel of each other’s hard, cum and sweat covered muscles as we relaxed against each other. I laughed, softly, at nothing at all, and Charlie huffed warm breath in my ear, glad I was happy.
When I became more focused I was looking into Shaun’s bright, dancing eyes as he twisted around to smile at me. My hands were still wrapped around his pole, lazily stroking the middle of the cum-slick shaft. I kissed his pale shoulder. “Go shower,” I said, “we’ll catch up with you in a minute.”
Shaun nodded and stood up. And up, and up. I goggled at him. He’d gained another four inches or so in height and cock, from what I could see, and looked like the definition of extreme lankiness. His pale blond hair was longer too, brushing his defined shoulders now, and I wondered if it had grown before, too. The whole package was incredibly hot and I leered up at him, letting him watch me check him from head to toes. He smiled back at me, cocky and bashful at the same time, and then turned to saunter out, ducking under the doorframe as he headed out naked into the hall. I took another moment to admire his butt, which was firm and tight—inside and out. Fuck, I was still rock-hard.
So was Charlie. And he was still inside me. Woof. After briefly contemplating us going about our day with me impaled on him like this (we had different classes, I decided, so it wouldn’t really work), I reluctantly pulled off him. As he was in no hurry to not be in me, either, and therefore wasn’t really helping, it took a little doing. Once I was free I was kneeling awkwardly close to the edge of the bed, so I climbed out to my feet and stood by the side of the bed, looking down at my brother. It was my turn now to be stared at appreciatively, and I was not feeling quite used to it. I felt bigger. My shoulders felt wider, my longer hair tickling my neck and bulging traps just like Shaun’s had, and my pecs felt ponderous and huge on my chest. I was bigger, and taller. I could sense that I was heavier, from having grown and from the extra muscle. I was stronger, too. Vitality coursed through me. And yet, at the same time, for all that I could feel that I was bigger and stronger all over, I also felt literally very empty, so empty it kind of scared me. Needing Charlie to make love to me could become an obsession.
The shower turned on in the hall bathroom. I heard another shower, either the master bath or downstairs. Murmurs and the clinking of dishes drifted up from the kitchen. The day was beginning. A new day, in which everything would be different.
Charlie was stroking himself with both hands as he gazed up at this taller, more muscular, better hung version of his kid brother, his eyes a little unfocused. I told myself that I had to get something straight between us—then snickered at my own internal choice of words. “Charlie,” I said, getting his attention. His eyes seemed to sharpen and he looked up at me, stilling his hands on his ginormous boner. Fuck, I thought—how much of that fondness had I forced onto him? I knew he felt something for me, and not just as my brother—but how much of what he felt for me had I made him feel?
I closed my eyes and looked down. “I’m not going to do this as a spell,” I said.
“Do what?” Charlie asked. I had a feeling he already knew but wanted to push me, as he always did.
“No one else but me,” I said, talking down as if I was telling it to my own chest.
He waited. I knew he was gazing steadily at me, wanting me to say it, maybe even needing me to say it.
My stomach fluttered. Why had I not done this as a whammy? He was going to laugh. But—I had to say it. I had to ask it of him, even if it came out as a demand. “Me,” I said again. “You don’t fuck anyone but me.”
I felt him get out of bed to stand next to me, but I kept my head down. “Kiss me,” he growled. Letting my eyes drift open I looked at him as intensely as he was looking at me. I grabbed his neck and traps and stooped from my new height to kiss him, long and thorough. Then we embraced, our warm bodies pressed hard together, though he was careful to keep one hand at his side. His soft stubble brushed my jaw as I heard him whisper into my ear.
“Only you,” he said.
“Attention all students, faculty, and staff,” I said, speaking slowly and distinctly into the P.A. microphone.
My heart was thudding, though not with the same ecstatic urgency as it had been this morning. In a repeat of the shared pizzafest we’d had last night we’d all had breakfast together, the Smooch Brothers revealing a talent for pancake-making as I looked on, realizing that a major grocery run would have to be made after school. Then the nine of us pulled on pants but no shirts, socks and shoes, and extra socks for our cocks (even the ones whose boners were not tall enough yet to protrude from the seclusion of their jeans), and then walked the ten blocks from my house to school as a mass of hot, hung teenagers, our unity ameliorating most of our individual anxiety. When we’d gotten to the high school, though, I’d told the boys to wait outside. Then I’d strode right into the office and “convinced” Malachi, the very cute junior from the baseball team who normally did the announcements thanks to his vice-president position on the student council and an uncommonly mellifluous voice, to let me do an announcement first. He was Charlie’s height, about six feet even, and I had noticed I was towering a good ten inches over him, meaning I was now a whole foot taller than I’d been yesterday.
Now I paused, my finger on the button of the P.A. mic. Letting the sound of my voice echo briefly off the tile walls and metal lockers and then vanish into the silence that blanketed the entire school, I tried to form a picture in my mind of all the school, the rooms, the corridors, the gym, the grounds outside, everything within the sound of my voice. Hundreds of students, all waiting, all listening, all poised on the brink of my command. I clicked the mic back on and slowly, distinctly, said the trance words.
Another wash of fast echoes, another silence. I consulted my own feelings and realized with some surprise that I was ready to do this. I had never whammied three people at once before, let alone 873 students plus teachers, administrators, janitors and the rest, but the thing was, I was eerily confident.
Not so confident that I didn’t think myself incapable of fucking this up if I didn’t focus, though. I concentrated on my words. “From now on you may notice that some of us are changing. Some of us are growing.” I paused, letting the idea sink in. I knew it was best not to name names, as I had already noticed we had a tendency to adopt new members into our group (as the newly bare-chested and giddily happy Davey Wabash, our most recent recruit, could attest).
“You are cool with that,” I said firmly. “You are very, very cool with that.” Simple and clear. That was what worked.
Another pause, then I went on with the second point of the spell. “You may notice that some of us are shirtless and showing off just how much we’ve grown—and where we’ve grown.” I looked down at my own sock-clad 13-incher, thrusting hard and impertinent up out of the waistband of my favorite jeans. The tip of the sock was already damp, making me wonder about the condition of the much more overtaxed sock my brother was wearing. My own cock looked pretty amazing, though, and I felt a sudden urge to see how easily I could bend over and suck myself off.
Later, I told myself. Geez, every time I do a whammy I get totally distracted. “You’re all totally cool with that, too,” I told my school full of mesmerands. “Totally … cool.” I had a sudden spasm of worry—what if some overly literal person started feeling like he was freezing when he saw us and ended up giving himself pneumonia or hypothermia? I shook my head. Everyone knows what “cool” means, I told myself impatiently.
I should have ended the spell. But I was so used to pushing the edge of what I was doing that it actually felt incomplete now to do just what I had intended. I glanced to my left, where Malachi was watching me, still literally entranced but also smiling as if I were a rock star and he was the president of my fan club. I grinned cockily to myself and turned my attention back to the P.A.
“You like touching us,” I said, calmly and clearly, glancing sidelong at Malachi but keeping most of my visualization on the school. “You like us touching you. You like kissing us, too. You want that because it always feels so amazing. But you don’t touch us or kiss us without permission. You wait for us to touch you. You wait for us to kiss you. In the meantime, looking at us is really nice, too.”
I shook my head at myself in amusement. I’d definitely gone more overboard than that, and my boys would be happy to get appreciation in place of people flipping out. It suddenly dawned on me I’d made all the adults in school want to touch us, too, so thank god I put in that thing about permission.
All right, envelope pushed. Time to wrap it up. “Everyone, listen closely. On the count of three,” I said, amused at having to go back to the old form, since I couldn’t kiss the whole student body at once, “you’re going to wake up and not remember this conversation. One … two … three.”
To my left I felt Malachi stir, even as the whole school seemed to come to life with voices and other sounds cascading normally up and down the halls. I turned to my new friend. He was beaming at me, shifting between scoping me up and down and grinning hopefully up at me. A baseball star’s muscles filled out his cornflower-blue broadcloth, button-down shirt in all the right places, and a respectable cock was already hard in his dressy chinos. He licked his lips.
I smiled at him and, mentally shrugging, closed the distance between us and wrapped my larger hands around his thick upper arms, caressing his biceps with my thumbs. His head fell back in a sudden rush of blissful ecstasy, and I had to check to see that he hadn’t blown his wad right there in his pants. His sweet brown eyes almost closed, but I could still see them glitter under his lashed as he reveled in the simple sensation.
“Please kiss me?” he begged, his smooth baritone voice tight with desire. What the hell, I thought. Sliding my right hand up behind his neck, I bent to give him the most amazing kiss of his life. And this time? He did cum.
I broke the kiss with Malachi and idly stared deep into his lust-filled eyes, feeling a wash of warm, almost complacent confidence seep through my newly enlarged, half-clad body. As the happy jock beamed up at me, delighted at the kiss and at being able to touch what was now, to him, my almost irresistible body, I couldn’t help but think that things were now finally taking a turn for the better.
The last few days had been crazy-go-nuts, veering wildly between stomach-churning anxieties and transports of unimaginable pleasures. But as I bent to lay one more sweet kiss on the eager Malachi’s delicious lips, his arms stealing around my tight, narrow waist as I let my own hands coast over his impressively round and firm ass, I found myself entertaining a giddy hope that the craziness had dissipated, and that we’d managed to establish a new, stable paradigm—one that, sure, involved an unusual number of uncannily attractive shirtless hunks with huge, impatient cocks roaming the halls of Lincoln West High School and stirring up the student body; but who could complain about that?
My newfound serenity didn’t even last long enough for me to break that second kiss, thanks to the arrival, as if I’d conjured him with that fate-baiting internal dialog, of one person who would complain about that.
“Hey! Asshole!” came a voice from behind me. I lifted my lips from Malachi’s and, without otherwise moving from our loose embrace, tilted my head toward the intruder. Kenton Saunders, the student council president, was standing in the doorway that led out into the main hallway, eyes blazing. Two thoughts occurred to me in rapid succession. The first was that you were really putting your hand in the rabid tiger’s mouth if you were going around picking fights with someone with the kind of abilities I had. The second was that if I was actually even thinking things like that, I really was an asshole. A latent thought that had crept into the back of my brain days ago and had made itself at home there flared again for a moment in the midst of all my mental turbulence: that I really should consider—that I really had a moral duty, even—to look myself in the mirror and whammy away every shred of my abilities, now, today, before I really did become a monster.
Abashed and conflicted, I straightened up, separating from Malachi, and turned to face Kenton.
His dark eyes were barely visible thanks to his thick, wavy jet-black hair, which he wore long enough to hide his eyebrows in front and brush his shoulders in back, but they were still burning holes in me as I took him in, trying to sort out what had set him off. Despite his classy-sounding name (and a matching upbringing in one of the oversized but well-built mini-mansions in the sprawling posh neighborhoods in the north end of town), Kenton had won the vote for council presidency at the end of the spring semester with an appealingly aggressive iconoclasm that really worked well for him. It was reflected in his appearance as well as his demeanor. He affected an unruly look, with old and frayed (but un-holey) jeans, scuffed boots, a beat-up satchel over his shoulder instead of a book-bag, and dark-colored tee shirts ironically emblazoned with obscure ‘90s boy bands. Today he was wearing a brick-red tee celebrating a trio of apparently French pretty boys (judging by the Gallic-flavored text and tour dates) called 2 Be 3. Though Kenton was well-proportioned, if not buff like Malachi, the shirt was deliberately a size too large and loose around the collar, allowing the appearance of a few dark chest hairs against his tan skin.
I wondered if that French boy band had had any songs about tousle-haired firebrands who stood defiant against nearly-seven-foot-tall sex fiends with reality-warping hypno powers. I figured no, probably not.
“Hey, Kent,” Malachi said at this point, and I realized he sounded kind of sheepish. Kenton’s burning gaze flicked away from me and lighted on Malachi for a moment, taking on an edge of tender, proprietary protectiveness without losing any of its ferocity, before snapping back up to me. Of course, the coin dropped immediately. I may be clueless—sometimes—but I’m not a complete dolt. Not generally, anyway.
“I just need a few words with McMillain here,” Kenton said in a dangerously calm voice, eyes now fixed back on mine.
“Of–of course,” Malachi said. After a second he cleared his throat and added, “I’ll, um, meet you at your locker before second?” He said it in a way that made me think it might be a regular routine for them, and that Malachi was tentatively seeking reassurance that no bridges had yet been burned. Kenton, still not taking his eyes off me, gave a small, tight nod, and a second later Malachi was gone, exiting the office suite from the side door to the east hall.
I came around the desk and moved to stand before Kenton. As I stepped closer I could actually see the effect of my presence kindling an escalating, intensifying physical response in him. Malachi’s reaction to me before, during and after my announcement, had already clued me in at some level to the fact that my school-wide whammy—you know, the one where I’d infused a want and desire for our bodies, our touch, and our kisses—had been a little more potent than I’d expected. The powerful and well-used rationalization engines in my brain had already gotten a head start blaming Malachi’s eight-cylinder ardor on him being actually there in the room with me, only a foot or two away, while I’d laid down the whammy. But here was Kenton, who hadn’t been anywhere nearby, staring at me with undisguised and rapidly increasing lust stealing through his fury. He’d been one of the 873 students who’d gotten my commands through the P.A., the whammy pushed through a schoolwide diaspora of speakers purely by the sound of my voice and the force of my will. And if Kenton was like this, flooded with lust for me even as he was confronting me with anger, how deeply would the rest of the school succumb to a burning need for my guys? How fared my hard, hot, horny boys in the sea of hormone-addled young men craving their raw, animal beauty?
I shook my head mentally, pushing aside for the moment my usual high-consequence lack of finesse, and forced myself to focus on the problem that was literally in front of me. Kenton wasn’t short by any means—he had to be about 6’1” or so—but I was 6’10” now and that meant he had to strain to look up at me as I towered over him. As if to give his neck a breather he allowed his gaze to drop slowly down, deliberately taking in my wayward mouth, my broader-than-yesterday shoulders, my thick pecs, and my more-defined-than-I’d-realized eight-pack abs, before stalling on the massive, sweatsock-clad erection thrusting rudely up out of my waistband. It felt his punishing stare almost like a caress, flexing involuntarily in response, and I managed to suppress an intake of breath. As if by an effort of will he then drove his gaze, slowly, back up my body and again latched his eyes unshakably onto mine.
My mind raced as I considered how to handle this new and entirely unforeseen kind of situation I’d gotten myself into. Actually I’d not only gotten myself in trouble, but also the unwitting Malachi as well. He’d done nothing but lust for me—and that had been more or less at my hypno-command. As I looked down into Kenton’s dark-brown eyes, still a cauldron of mingled anger and want, I knew that Kenton understood that what he was now feeling, the glamor of my body (in the original sense of something that was magically mind-fucking), was exactly what Malachi had felt before.
Maybe the key was to emphasize that, I thought—to put Kenton in the same place that Malachi had been. Well, that was easy to arrange. Thanks to my schoolwide whammy of only moments before, I had only to speak a few words.
“You can touch me,” I told him, my voice low and calm. “If you want.”
His eyes narrowed very slightly, whether in suspicion or contempt I couldn’t have said, but at the same time he let out the edge of a ragged breath, as if I had released something within him. He swallowed and, still staring up hard into my eyes, he raised his hands. I expected him to reach for my quivering cock, since his gaze had lingered there. But instead he reached higher, letting his hands spread across the cool, bare skin of my heavy, newly thickened pecs. He let his hands caress downward, warm fingers trailing across the dense, powerful muscles in a way that sent shivers of pleasure up my spine.
“I can’t blame him,” he said, his breathing rough but steady. My heart thumped at the overt stimulation. I wondered about his cock, though I couldn’t see it. From his reactions he had to be hard, and he struck me as someone who’d know what to do with his equipment—and with his lover’s equipment, and the rest of him besides. I felt a sudden realization that although I was gifted with an ability to control others, there was something in me that wanted to … surrender, to place myself in the hands of someone whose power and command I trusted. Someone like Kenton—no, not Kenton. Someone like Charlie. My heart pounded harder, fluttering at the same time, as I thought of my swaggering, beautiful, intoxicating brother. Fuck, he had a hold on me. And the way he looked at me … Charlie had stared into me like Kenton was now, intense and smoldering, but with Charlie it was so much more, infinitely more. With Kenton, I could see that his fierce love was for someone else. With Charlie? That fierce love, the flame that lit the burning stare he gave me, the one that bore down into my soul, was for me alone.
I shivered, and this time it had nothing to do with Kenton’s touch.
The sore inside of my ass twitched and tingled as it had been doing all morning, yearning again for Charlie’s impossible cock; but just as desperately I wanted to feel him wrapped up around me, the way we’d been when we’d woken up that morning. I needed Charlie. I needed him in me, around me, kissing me, being groped be me and held by me. I had feelings for Shaun, yeah, and I genuinely looked forward to fucking around with him a lot; and I also felt responsible for him, ironically kind of like a brother, the way I was starting to realize I felt responsible for all my guys, just as Charlie had told me I was in the kitchen the night before. But—all the stuff in that morning’s mass schoolwide spell about wanting to look and be looked at, wanting to touch and be touched, wanting to kiss and be kissed—that was all me, that was all me and my hard-all-over, hot-as-fuck, uncannily gorgeous, soul-binding Charlie. He was my want, my touch, my need. And the smug fucker probably knew it.
Kenton’s gaze still hadn’t wavered from mine as his fingers slid little by little down my impressive chest. “You are almost impossible to resist,” he murmured, almost to himself, his voice dark and slightly raspy. His fingertips now reached the bottoms of my round pecs, brushing my sensitive, almost downward-pointing nipples, but before I could react to the flash of pleasure from his initial touch he suddenly reached up and grabbed them between thumb and forefinger and twisted them both, hard.
“Fuck!” I yelped. Involuntarily I hunched, trying to reduce the tension on my screaming nips, but the bastard held tight and twisted harder.
His lips twisted almost into a snarl. “So guess what, dick-for-brains,” he said as he leaned in, staring into my saucer-wide eyes. “If you really are fucking irresistible,” he growled, cold and controlled, twisting a little more with every word he emphasized, “that means it’s fucking up to you to do the right thing. And that means not fucking with someone else’s guy.” He twisted again, harder, and I gasped. “Got it?”
“Fuck!” I said again. His eyes narrowed a little bit more, so I hurried to answer before he could twist my nips completely off. “Yes! Fuck! I get it! Christ!”
He let go, and then patted the middle of my protruding chest with one hand. “Good boy,” he said, and then turned away and headed into the hallway. He was gone just as the bell sounded for the end of home room, and a second later the hall outside was teeming with currents and eddies of babbling students, oblivious to the drama they’d just missed. Some of them might have looked my way as they passed, catching a glimpse of the towering hottie sophomore just on the other side of the office doorway, but in that moment I was aware only of two overwhelming sensations, one new, one old.
The new one was the feeling of my nips being fucking on fire. I’d never experienced anything like that before, ever. Even in his abusive days Charlie had never tried that on me, though as the pain shaded into pure, raw stimulation, I was becoming unsteadily aware that Kenton may have awakened in me something that I now would need to … look into further at some point. And though I had newfound respect for the unexpectedly fierce Kenton, enough that I already had made a mental note to try to get him on our side, preferably without whammies, because he’d now shown me that he was exactly the kind of guy who’d be useful in a pinch (and a problem if turned in opposition), there were no doubts in my mind that that any future exploration of the dark pleasures I was feeling right now would need to be with Charlie, and only Charlie.
And I had no doubt he’d be willing. He liked to help me with my projects, after all. And I was pretty sure he loved me the way he liked to fuck me—hard, and deep.
The other sensation was distressingly familiar: the haunting recognition that I had not thought through the expanding ramifications of my reckless spellcasting, again. Sure, I hadn’t known Malachi and Kenton were a thing—I’d barely known either of them beyond saying “hey” in the halls, and following Kenton’s low-key election campaign at the end of the previous semester (and yes, I’d voted for him, and yes, it was because I’d thought he was cuter than his opponent, Alyce Fuentes). But my mass bewitchment over the P.A. that morning had also incontrovertibly undermined Malachi’s ability to control his desire for me. Now, as if I could feel them all as extensions of myself, I was uncomfortably aware that I had a whole posse of incredibly attractive men, “attractive” in an almost literal sense, sifting through a roiling, sex-hungry studentry whose capacity to resist their bodies and their wiles, or not according to their circumstances, had been unexpectedly impaired by me, and my dick-ruled brain.
Nips still burning from Kenton’s very effective nipple blitzkrieg, I shook my head and picked up my book-bag from where I’d dropped it by the entrance. Slinging it easily over a brawny bare shoulder I headed out of the office, already ducking almost habitually under the doorframe, and made for my locker in the west hall to retrieve my textbooks for my morning classes. My first three periods, starting with English 2 and running through Spanish 2 and elementary calculus, were all stuff I was solid with right now. I wouldn’t really have to pay much attention in class this morning, which was good, because I had a lot of thinking to do.
Even before third period came around we’d already acquired a nickname. It was—wait for it—the “Sock Brothers”. I shook my head as Paolo, unable to hold back a huge grin, told me all about it. We were at his locker, where I’d gone to check on him between second and third, and we were trading news about the seismic but so far manageable reaction the presence of our posse had caused in the school. Eugene, now officially inseparable from his new lover, was all but wrapped around him, one arm draped over Paolo’s bulging, lightly freckled shoulder so his fingers could idly stroke his enormous pecs, the other reaching around to rest flat against Paolo’s nicely defined but not-too-crazy six-pack. (Paolo did sit-ups and crunches, too, but mostly for variety, and not in the fervent, devoted way he did the push-ups I’d taught him to love.) Both of Eugene’s hands were in constant, minute motion, and it occurred to me for the first time to wonder whether the need-to-touch thing had intensified things even for my guys, with each other, and not just for the ordinary members of the student body.
I kind of wanted to touch Paolo’s oversized pecs myself right now.
As he told me about the “Sock Brothers” nickname Paolo’s eyes dropped naturally, and with obvious interest, to the sock-clad boner protruding from my own jeans. It hadn’t really subsided at all the whole morning, and I was starting to wonder if it anything could make it go down—it seemed to have an almost eldritch level of potency. Eugene followed Paolo’s lead, and as he regarded my obscenely hard tool he actually licked his lips. Paolo’s own dick wasn’t as big as mine, or even Eugene’s massive foot-long slab-o’-cock, which was plainly visible in its own damp sock encasement as it shoved up toward Eugene’s navel; but it was big enough that a hint of damp white sock was visible behind the waistband of Paolo’s dark, admittedly low-slung jeans.
Still, the sock-related moniker felt unfair in a way to the guys who didn’t have ridiculously huge, impossible-to-hide erections like me, or Charlie, or the now doubly over-endowed Rick. (I’d been able to see everyone’s junk by the end of the previous night’s festivities, and had discovered to my surprise that even the least huge of us, the new pizza-boy recruit Davey, was hung a good eight and a half inches. I knew this was not really the result to be expected given the law of averages, and some part of my brain wondered if I’d somehow tweaked everyone without even realizing it, but that was the kind of thing I filed away very firmly in the “Do Not Think About” drawer in the darkest, most spider-webbed corner of my brain.)
“It’s a dumb name,” I said. I stood there smiling ruefully down at Paolo and Eugene (or Paolo-and-Eugene, as I might as well start thinking about them), and tried to come up with a more useful unifying characteristic for our admittedly diverse group. All I could think of was our rejection of clothing above the waist. “We’re all shirtless,” I said, exasperated. “We should be, like, the Shirtless Bros or something.” And we’re going to regret not living someplace warmer than southern Ohio pretty soon because of it, I thought, not for the first time. I’d have to figure out something about that, too.
“I dunno,” Eugene said, carrying on his subtle stroking of his man’s delicious torso. “I think the shirtless thing is spreading.” His eyes moved to the shifting crowd behind me as I stood in the hallway in front of them, and then his nodded with his chin toward something over my left shoulder. I turned and, looking over the accumulated three-deep ring of admiring students we had collected (god bless being extra tall), caught sight of a knot of cute guys I recognized as being most of the male half of the drama club. They were moving past in animated discussion, and each and every one of them was both buff and shirtless, only the straps of their bookbags interrupting the sight of their defined shoulders and chests. As they passed they glanced up at me with a joint look of hungry arousal, and then they were gone, back into the sea of students.
“That’s … weird,” I said, staring after them with a frown.
“We’ve been seeing a few groups like that,” Paolo said, following my gaze. I turned to face him, and he looked up at me, his expression amused and intrigued at the same time. “In second period social studies there was a group of four guys in the back who were coming into class pulling their shirts off like it was totally normal. And they put ‘em away in their bags and never put them on again,” he added.
“Oh yeah, I saw them,” Eugene said. “Hey, wasn’t one of them Korey Hess?”
“Rick’s brother?” I asked. An instant suspicion was forming in my mind. Rick was a junior like Charlie and their buds Joey and Sun (as well as Shaun and Davey), but Korey, a downsized surfer-dude clone of his jock older brother, was a sophomore like me, Paolo, and Eugene.
“Yeah,” Paolo said. “He was looking kinda built, too, like he’s been working out.”
“Nothing like you, though,” Eugene said, laying a kiss on Paolo’s brawny shoulder.
Paolo grinned at him. “No one’s built like me,” he said, flexing his enormous pecs just to get a laugh out of Eugene.
The bell rang and I distractedly told the guys I’d see them at lunch before I turned and hustled for calculus, which fortunately was nearby. My mind was spinning. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the shirtless virus had infiltrated a new subgroup directly linked to my posse. And as I ducked into my classroom, ignoring the eager eyes turning to me as I sought my usual seat near the back, I remembered that there was a connection to the drama club too—Joey had been in it last year, though he’d had to drop it because of some family scheduling conflict, and he was still tight with all of them.
It’s as if some part of what we are is spreading, I thought as I swung my bag to the floor and dropped into my seat, slumping a little in deference to the people behind me. I pulled out my notebook and a pen, deep in thought. It was almost like it was … contagious somehow. But I knew that couldn’t be right. Our shirtlessness could be “going viral” only in the metaphorical, social media sense. It might just be admiration and emulation—except if that were the case the incidents would be random, scattered through the student population as guys decided to be like us. And that wasn’t the case, because I had a very clear idea in my head of who “us” was, and it was “us” that was the group that was shirtless and sock-cocked, and it was “us”—the fucking “Sock Brothers” (geez)—that were delineated from the ordinary student body by our attractiveness and their desire. No one could be an “us” unless I consciously included them as one of my guys, as I’d done with Davey the night before but not Malachi or Kenton this morning, and certainly not Korey Hess and his buddies or the frickin’ drama club.
Unfortunately, that meant there had to be some other reason why the shirtless bug had spread to groups directly adjacent to my guys. I had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before I discovered exactly what the connection was—and that I wouldn’t be happy about it.
I realized that the class hadn’t started yet for some reason, and that the room was dead quiet. I surfaced from my thoughts to find that the freshly hired math teacher, a young-looking thirty-something guy named Mr. Martinez who favored bright solid-colored dress shirts and cute, crazy ties, was just … standing there at his desk, staring right at me. His hands were hanging stiffly at his sides, one of them gripping a stick of chalk, like it was taking a little effort to keep them from roaming up his own body.
The guys around me were not so restrained. It was a smallish room, the result of a larger lecture-size room being dividing in two during some long-forgotten renovation, and they guys around me—somehow it was most guys who were sitting close to me, today, in all of my classes—were all watching me with covetous eyes, their hands roving their shirts or, if they were bolder, slowly groping their own groins. A breath shuddered out of me involuntarily. The room felt like the very air was saturated with sex, with male erotic need—with the urgent desirability of me. The other classes that morning had had an undercurrent of this as well, but the businesslike demeanor of my first two teachers of the day had deflected anything this intense. But Mr. Martinez—he wanted me as much as his not-too-much-younger students did. My exposed, sock-clad cock flexed with all the attention, and as if they could all feel it, a soft susurrus of staggered, intaken breath passed rapidly around the room before subsiding into the silence.
Fuck, if I was getting this kind of treatment, what must the real hunks like Charlie and Rick be getting? And yet, even as I asked myself this question, a new thought occurred to me: Charlie might be bigger and hotter, and altogether more amazingly wantable, but it was quite possible that I was getting the overdrive-level attention because I was the one making all this happen. I was at the center, the posse was mine, and at some level every fucker in the school knew it.
My eyes met Mr. Martinez’s. “Should … should I leave?” I asked finally.
His eyebrows shot up. “No!” he said immediately, and there were grunts of matching dissent from the rest of the room around me. But he still kept on staring as seconds ticked by on the big clock over the door.
I glanced to my left at Darius Peterson, the even-tempered honors student who sat next to me. He was dark-skinned and very handsome, and he was also, I was certain (thanks to the reports of his ex-girlfriend Elisa, who last semester had taken to gossiping with her friends in very loud whispers in the row behind me in homeroom), very straight. Except … his eyes were riveted on my throbbing cock, even has he subtly stroked his own beast in his lap through the thick denim of his jeans. We were sitting so close, a mere couple of inches separating my arm from his thanks to the tightness of the room, that I could feel the warmth of his skin even though his thin, three-quarter-sleeved baseball tee. As he felt me looking at him he glanced up from my dick, and I could see the want in his eyes, though he was proud enough and confident enough not to beg or plead for the touch he wanted, even with a look. I licked my lips nervously, wanting a drink suddenly, and watched as his eyes flitted down to my mouth and followed my tongue as it moved left, then right, then disappeared. His eyes met mine again. I forced myself to look away, but I shifted my left arm outward slightly, just enough that it was brushing Darius’s through his tee. Instantly his arm was pressed hard against mine, and I felt him breathe out with a grateful shudder.
As I looked back to the front of the room I instinctively did the same with Steve Chandler, the J.V. swim team co-captain sitting on my right, and got the same result from his nicely thick upper arms pressing against mine. My cock strained, wanting release, but we would just have to deal. I stared hard at Mr. Martinez, trying to impress that very idea on him with a single look, and a heartbeat later he stirred and finally passed his gaze over the rest of the students in the room.
Perhaps the universality of the reaction to me emboldened him to joke openly about it. “Okay, folks, this is going to be … hard,” he said, and a smattering of chuckles passed around the room. A couple of girls behind me shared an amused hmph in mock outrage, but I knew they were feeling it too. Mr. Martinez walked around and stood beside his desk, deliberately flipping open the textbook that sat there. He paged to the right section and then looked back up at the class. His eyes were bright and his cheeks red, but he looked determined. “We’re here for a reason, though,” he said. “So everybody put your hormones on the back burner—that includes me, by the way—” This earned him a few more appreciative chuckles. “—and let’s talk some more about functions, okay?” There were a few groans, but they were the kind that normally accompanied an invitation to explore mathematical functions, and I smiled.
I caught Darius’s eye and he returned the smile, deliberately flexing his biceps against mine as he reluctantly pulled his right hand out of his lap so that he could start taking notes. I flexed back and turned my eyes back to the front, ready to take notes myself. The class proceeded, not quite normally, but with everyone pretending they didn’t want to jump me; though Darius, now having received tacit permission to touch, spent most of the period reaching across himself with his left hand to brazenly stroke my thick, bare biceps where his arm was still pressed against mine, interspersed with periodic adjustments of his junk. Steve Chandler, catching sight of this, quickly followed suit, though he was handicapped by needing his right hand, aka his groping hand (as it was his left arm that was pressed against mine), to take his own notes.
The stimulation of my naked, touch-sensitive muscles went straight to my dick and large, roiling balls, and I spent the whole period in an agony of need, my huge hard cock desperately needing to be gripped and violently jacked off—whether it was my hand that did it or Darius’s or Steve’s or the entire fucking sophomore class. But all things considered, I knew I could have had it a lot worse than an hour of tantalizing muscle-worship, especially if I could manage to find a way to do something about it once the bell rang and the class was dismissed.
When the bell did ring, everyone stood up and gathered their things, but while the girls filed quickly out, talking quietly and giggling amongst themselves, none of the guys seemed to want to leave. Mr. Martinez looked right at me and said, “There’s no class in here fourth period.” Everyone’s eyes shifted to me, but I kept my gaze on him, frowning. “Just throwing that out there,” he said. He shrugged, then, dropping his laptop, papers, and books into his soft-sided briefcase, he moved to the door, turning back to offer a lopsided grin. “They’re going to follow you anyway,” he added, nodding at my two new friends, and then disappeared into the milling crowed.
I glanced down at Darius and Steve and they were grinning in confirmation, so I rolled my eyes and dropped my bookbag, watching them do the same. I smiled back down at them, trying to ignore the audience of wide-eyed, grinning, and very horny guys who not only hadn’t left when the bell rang, but had actually gathered around us and were watching the three of us with keen interest, some of them with very obvious erections in their pants. They kept a respectful distance, making a circle amid the chairs a few feet out from where Steve and Darius were already escalating their sensual groping of my half-naked physique, stroking my arms and shoulders and chest and abs with both hands, occasionally grazing my bulging muscles with a kiss or a lick. My cock was going to explode in seconds if they kept this up, but I really, really wanted that explosion to come from direct touch and not this amazing but maddening tantric body-love. I sat back slightly against the back of a chair, bringing myself slightly closer to their height, and prepared to be tortured into either death or ecstasy before a crowd of randy, rock-hard fellow students. Darius moved directly in front of me, and Steve climbed into the chair I was leaning against so he was kneeling behind me, and they both went to work with hands and mouths, both of them exhibiting a dizzying level of deliberate unhurriedness.
In my haze of arousal I became aware that someone very tall and very beautiful had pushed through the ring of admirers and was grinning down at me from a height even loftier than mine. “Here you are,” Shaun said, as if he’d been looking for me all over. His shockingly blue eyes bored lustfully into mine, and somehow my cock got even harder at the sight of his amazingly elongated, perfectly defined, arousal-stretched body. His ridiculously long and sexy fuckpole of a cock, standing straight and majestic out of his board shorts with roughly the same proportions as its owner’s incredibly extended body, was now a startling twenty inches long and only partly covered by the long, snug sweatsock he was wearing; but despite its abnormal length it still only topped out at the middle of his nicely built chest, thanks to Shaun’s stunning, body-hardon-enhanced height of nearly seven and a half feet. He looked amazing and delicious and, as he took a position directly to Darius’s left and bent for a kiss, I gratefully wrapped my arms around his shoulders, realizing too late that both of my hands were happily roaming the bare flesh of his tapering back even as his long, sweet tongue met mine. I doused the momentary panic in a flood of need. So what if I’d have to get him off? So what if I’d have to grow him? At the moment that sounded awesome as fuck.
Even as I thought these words my brain started to melt and no further mental coherence was possible. While Steve stroked and licked my hard, bulging shoulders, his lips finding the ultra-sensitive spot where my traps met my neck, Darius had screwed his nerves to the sticking point and dared to slowly tug the damp, stretched sock off my fat, aching erection, at the same time nimbly disassembling the mechanism of belt, button, and fly that conspired with the sock to keep my dick wrapped and imprisoned. Shaun’s kiss deepened, so that every breaker on my brain was tripped, leaving nothing but raw emotion with which to respond to the rapidly succeeding sensations of my cock being unbound, then exposed and free in the cool, open air of the room, and then suddenly, dramatically, engulfed in Darius’s hot, wet mouth. I moaned as Shaun kissed me harder in the same world-spinning moment, my arousal twisted to dizzying heights. I could feel the heat of Shaun’s enormous quivering cock and quickly worked to pull his sock off as well, never breaking our incredible kiss as I reached to stroke him with one hand and grab his shorts-covered ass with the other, in that moment almost wishing I had more hands so I could do a proper job on his monstrous wang and still grope his sexy, extra-long body.
Darius was sucking me off with an amateur’s enthusiasm, and his instincts—using mouth, lips, tongue, and hand together to bring home for me the maximum amount of pleasure—were so spot on that I was hurtling toward climax like a runaway train toward a stupendous cliff. Shaun grunted into our kiss, himself also already close to orgasm, though thanks to Charlie’s app-induced spell he couldn’t actually come until I gave the word. I wanted us to come together, and that was seconds away. Shaun and I kissed ferociously as I used both hands on his cum-slick cock, while Darius drove me insane with the best first blow-job a man had ever given or gotten. Steve was methodically groping and mouth-mauling every bulge and sensitive crease of my upper body—then, suddenly, his roving fingers found my nipples and, like Darius emboldened to take a risk, he tried a gentle, tentative tweak. In that same moment Darius managed to get a shocking amount of my fat, 4XL tool into his amazing mouth, and I flew. I practically shouted into my deep kiss with Shaun at the combined flood of sensation and then, unable to hold back any more, I started shooting hard, spraying high-pressure cum from a dick and a body driven beyond erotic endurance. Darius tried to keep up, but after a couple seconds he was coughing and pulling off me, grinning with awe as I drenched his face and neck with huge gouts of hot cum. Our kiss broken, Shaun and I were panting into each others’ open mouths, our sweat-damp foreheads touching. We let our gazes meet and I could see the pleading in his beautiful blue eyes. I smiled and, shifting to long, two-handed strokes on his warm, towering, cum-slick pole, I shifted my lips to the side of his head and whispered three little words in his ear, the words I owed him for letting myself touch his bewitching, beautiful form.
“Grow for me,” I breathed.
Instantly, Shaun started shooting a prodigious load as he gasped with the vehemence of his orgasm. Moans and growls wrenched from his luscious lips as he came and came. I leaned back just enough to see, my own orgasm still trailing off, and watched in fascination as Shaun’s orgasmic growth forced his lithe, lovely, elongated body to grow even longer, stretching him out another five whole inches while doing the same to his colossal cock. He remained there, bent forward, hands on his knees and panting hard, his face red, as his still chest-high dick kept on impossibly kept shooting jizz. I stared at him, agape. He looked so unbelievably, deliciously tall that I wasn’t sure he wouldn’t knock his head against the ceiling when he straightened up; but when he did I saw he still had plenty of clearance—for now.
A sudden nervous turn of my stomach intruded on my orgasmic bliss, and I looked around, first at Darius, whose cum-covered face didn’t prevent him from staring up at Shaun with naked awe, then Steve, whose expression was identical to Darius’s. I looked around at the ring of admirers, many of whom had broken down and started jacking themselves and each other off during our little show, and saw that they, too, were all staring at Shaun in wonder, the soft whirring of the air conditioning now again the only sound in the room. It suddenly occurred to me that, thanks to the fucked-up way Charlie and I had whammied him in rapid succession last night, Shaun was probably the only person present who didn’t realize he’d just grown five whole inches taller, with a matching jump in cock size to boot. Shaun even seemed oblivious to the awestruck stares, bending calmly to pick up his discarded sock and fitting back over his newly grown, more than two-foot-long incredi-wang. He beamed down at me and winked. “See you at lunch,” he said, and then, with a quick, cheeky wave to the rest of the guys in the room, he was out the door and gone.
With Shaun departed, the eyes of the crowd all homed in on me. I looked down to see that Darius had pulled off his baseball tee, an action that seemed faintly ominous to me now, and was using it to clean off his face. When he pulled it away, he, too, was staring at me. “You–you can do that?” he said into the silent room.
He was asking me if I could magically make Shaun grow like he had, if I had made him do that. And I had no idea how to respond—other than an awareness that trying to cover things with any kind of lie was certain to backfire. I bit my lip and shrugged. “I—guess?” I said. I looked around at the staring classmates, then back at Darius. “It’s no big deal,” I said lamely. Actually, that was kind of a lie, too, but Darius nodded as if I’d explained everything, or maybe like he was content to let it rest for now. The others started tucking themselves away and zipping up and were already grabbing their gear and filtering out of the room.
I felt bad about having gotten off while Darius hadn’t, but then I saw that I needn’t have worried: at some point he’d freed his impressive, uncut cock and had managed to cum spectacularly all over the tiles at my feet. Checking over my shoulder, I saw that not only had Steve done the same, freeing his own wide erection, but the warm wetness I realized I was feeling between my shoulder blades and down my spine told me that he had apparently cum all over my back! I raised an incredulous eyebrow at the J.V. swim star, and he smiled sheepishly and looked down, his cheeks coloring. “Sorry,” he said, but he didn’t sound very sorry.
“Just for that, you’re going to help me clean up this ocean of spooge so the janitor doesn’t have to,” I told him. The smell was pretty powerful, now that I noticed it, but the dankness was outweighed by the insanity of our just having had a kind of low-level orgy right there in the calculus classroom.
Steve grinned but tried to look contrite. “I’ll go borrow a mop and stuff,” he said, as if he did such things all the time, and turned and headed for the door. As he passed into the empty hallway I saw with a flicker of alarm that it wasn’t quite empty after all. Kenton stood there, lounging against the doorframe as Steve slipped past him, observing me thoughtfully from under his loose, wavy bangs. Our eyes met and his lips curved, and … I had no fucking idea what that meant. His face was unreadable, at least to me, as I didn’t know him very well, or at all really. Charlie I could read like a book, and I was able to figure out Paolo or even Rick no problem, but Kenton—I had no idea what he was thinking, or what those thoughts portended for me and my guys. How long had he been standing there? What had he seen, and what did he think about it? Was he friend or foe … or something else?
I lifted my chin to him in silent greeting. He did the same, acknowledging me without giving anything away, then rolled around off the doorframe and stalked off. I listened to the clack of his boots on the well-polished floor as they receded down the hall, until the door to the main wing opened and closed, and all was quiet again but for the distant murmurs of mundane happenings in classrooms that weren’t this one.
In my brain I hurriedly tracked down the mental note I’d made that morning to figure out how Kenton fit into all this, and circled it a few times in bright red marker before tacking it back up right next to the other high-priority item on my to-do list: sorting out what was happening with these satellite clusters of wannabes that Paolo-and-Eugene had alerted me to. Whatever was going on with them, I was sure it was something I needed to know.
I turned back to see Darius was now up and on his feet in front of me, looking the same as he’d been before … apart from the lack of a shirt, the baseball tee in his hand now having been devolved into a cum rag. He was looking past me, peering out the door where Kenton had been just as I had done, and there was a small crease between his brows as if he, too, were worried about the man; but when he looked back at me his expression cleared.
“I should find you something to wear,” I sighed, eyeing his surprisingly well-defined torso with approval.
“Naw,” he said. He met my gaze boldly and leaned toward me, just a little, but enough for me to notice. “No more shirts for any of us,” he said. He said it like he meant it, like he knew they were arc words, and then he just stood there, still and silent, waiting for my response.
I held his gaze for a moment, then nodded, favoring him with a warm smile that seemed to come out of someplace altogether unexpected. I wasn’t sure if I’d inducted him or he’d muscled his way in, but I knew that Darius was now definitely “us”.
My smile turned crooked. “You’re going to need a sock,” I said, arching a brow at him. Darius grinned.
Fourth period was already half over, so I decided to write it off as a loss and do some digging. I wanted to find out more about these clusters of hot shirtless boys cropping up all over school like dandelions springing from the lawn, and I had an idea where to start.
I retrieved my damp and sticky sock from where Darius had carefully set it aside, making yet another mental note to arrange bring a pack or two of white sweatsocks into school tomorrow as I tugged it over my absolutely indomitable 13-by-9-inch wang. It wasn’t just massive, it was a force of nature, elemental and sublime, and I could feel the pull it exerted on everyone around me, myself included. Weirdly, the sock seemed to slightly mute its siren call, but only the way the sheerest, most gossamer-thin tee shirt sought hopelessly to hide the majesty of a sculpted, thickly corded, god-muscled body like Charlie’s, or Rick’s—or, lately, my own.
As soon as my left hand was freed from this almost pointless task Darius took it and laced his fingers with mine, as if simple contact with me was the highlight of his day. I looked over at him and saw a look of pure lust in his eyes that made me worried for my own ego. Fortunately I fucked up often enough that it would be impossible to carry around a big head for any significant amount of time. I tossed him a smile, and even that made his chest swell and his nostrils flare. “You busy?” I asked. We started walking and headed out into the corridor, still hand in hand. The corridors were shiny and completely deserted. I didn’t see any sign of Steve—had he gotten lost on the way back from the janitor’s closet, or had some uptight teacher buttonholed him and rained detention slips down on him for walking around school with cum in his hair and an embarrassed grin? I’d have to check in on him later.
“Not right now,” he replied. He bit his lower lip as his gaze dropped to my newly re-encased erection, and I could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he planned out what he could do with it, his own well-above-average making a thick, angled bulge toward his hip against the tight denim of his jeans. An honors student with a cock obsession is a dangerous thing.
“I promise you’ll get another crack at it,” I said, hoping to appease him for the moment. He looked up with a slight curve of disappointment to his very kissable lips, but then I could tell he was owning the postponement, shelving his plans so that he could improve on them later. I drew in a deep breath, feeling my cheeks flush with new arousal as I considered the explosive combination of ardor plus a head start. He looked at me expectantly and I said, “Want to hang out for a while? I have some things I want to check out.”
He smiled. “I’m all yours,” he said.
My brows drew together instantly. “Don’t… say things like that, okay?”
He blinked at me, confused. “What do you mean?” he said. He looked up at a nearby clock, then back at me. “Anyway, I have until First Lunch. I told El I’d meet up with her and talk about her civics project.” He seemed sheepish about telling me he had other things to do, but it was important to him to make sure I knew I couldn’t do whatever I wanted with his time. I suspected his body was a separate proposition, but we’d explore that later.
I nodded, relieved that I hadn’t actually deprived him of independent volition, then I caught myself up short. My nipples suddenly remembered the violent twisting they’d gotten from Kenton this morning, and why. “You and Elisa, you’re broken up, right?” I said. “I’m pretty sure that was on the P.A. announcements last week.” As Darius grinned, I added, “Or maybe it was on the school Facebook page, I don’t remember.”
“I think El had them put it on the sign in front of the school,” he said, shaking his head in amused chagrin as we turned into the south wing of the school. “Yeah, we weren’t right for each other, but we’re cool. I think she was looking for someone less into dick.”
This comment, delivered with Shaun’s trademark deadpan casualness, was so unexpected I almost choked on my laughter. “For real?” I said when I could speak again, grinning down at him. “You were with her, and you realized you wanted sausage instead?”
Darius nodded smugly. He gave my sock-clad monster a sidelong look and said, “I think I made the right choice.”
For that I had to stop us both, right there in the middle of the empty hallway, and stopped to give Darius a deep, congratulatory kiss. To his credit Darius maintained control of his hands, for all I could tell they itched to do some serious grasping and stroking. And he only thrust his own erection against the base of mine gently, in the politest manner possible.
As we resumed walking, our hands linked once again, Darius continued our conversation as if nothing had happened to interrupt it. “Now, Steve Chandler, on the other hand,” he said, letting the words dangle.
“Oh?” I said. “Is he seeing someone?” I wondered if Steve’s self-perceived unavailability was the factor that made the difference between Darius becoming an “us” and Steve not.
Darius nodded. “Liam Donovan.”
It took a second for the name to register. “Wait—Liam Donovan? Eugene’s big brother?” Darius nodded. We walked in silence for a moment as I pondered this. I had clean forgotten that Eugene had even had a brother. He was a senior, skinny like his brother, with shoulder-length ash-blond hair and a reputation for being a bit of a stoner. I wondered what a guy as clean-cut and straight-arrow as Steve Chandler was doing with a guy like Liam, but then I realized that wasn’t fair. For all I knew Steve was kinky as shit, and Liam was the one that was vanilla as the day is long. Instead I let myself ponder whether Liam was gifted as generously as his brother, who’d owned his present footlong slab-o-cock before I’d even met him. Maybe he was even bigger…
Darius cleared his throat. “So, are we just out for a stroll, or are we headed somewhere?” Darius said.
“Huh? Oh, right.” I looked up to try to get my bearings. “Oh, we’re here.” Were right outside Mr. Z’s sophomore economics class, which I knew Korey Hess had fourth period, since that was technically where I was supposed to be right then myself. But when I ducked down and peered in through the little square window, Korey was nowhere to be found. In fact the entire back row was vacant, causing me to suspect that Korey and his whole squad of shirtless wannabe posse boys were skipping economics. I didn’t blame them—Mr. Zahoran was handsome and funny, but he wasn’t very good at making economics interesting most of the time. Most over the faces I could see were slack and the eyes glassy, except—ooops, Cap Reinert had spotted me in the window, and he looked like he was considering prying himself free of Mr. Z’s lecture and stampeding out of the room to grab onto me, like a shipwreck victim on a raft spotting a passing cruise liner. I quickly ducked away out of sight.
“That’s… weird,” I said, leaning myself up against the wall. I noticed idly that I was considerably taller than the door and had already conditioned myself to duck under doorjambs without even thinking about it. Maybe that was what I should be thinking is weird, I thought, but it seemed I’d conditioned myself to thinking that being this tall and this muscled and this hung was … cool.
Totally … cool.
Fuck. Had I fucking whammied myself?
“What’s weird?” Darius asked.
I turned to face him and tried to clear my expression. “Nothing,” I said. “I was looking for someone, but he’s not where I expected to find him.”
As I spoke, Darius’s eyes suddenly widened slightly, and his attention shifted to something behind me. Or rather, someone. I could feel him standing there, and not just from his warmth as he moved as close to me as he could without touching.
“Hello,” said Charlie from behind me. “Is it me you’re looking for?”
I groaned. “Please don’t make me associate hot sex with Lionel Ritchie,” I said. I turned to face him and sucked in an involuntary breath. My god, he was magnificent. Everything about him—every curve of his exquisitely sculpted muscles, every plane of his handsome, heroic face, every flex and pulse of his magnetic sex-beacon of a 23-inch phone pole of an erection, barely hidden by a straining sock that clung to its prodigious circumference and leaked the sweet nectar of his constantly churning balls—his whole being ratcheted up my arousal to stratospheres beyond reach. I had always wanted to touch him, I think, but now, when I saw him, it was beyond want. It verged on desperation. I couldn’t touch him, not here, because I would want to touch him with both hands, and that would require me to make him cum, and—god, I couldn’t do that, not here, not now.
I watched Darius moving around me, as compelled as I was to touch him and able to do so where I was not. He kept to the outside of the charged space between us, his hands, the one that wasn’t laced with mine, sliding uncontrollably across the surface of his round, bowling-ball delts, back and down along the broad expanse of his back, though his eyes stayed on mine, oddly, as if his worship of Charlie’s body were somehow an extension of the attentions he gave me.
They were of a height, him and Charlie, but from my elevated vantage point their heights read completely differently to me. It struck me that I was used to thinking of Charlie as being bigger than I was, and even though I was now a good nine inches taller than both him and Darius I still felt every inch the little brother. It wasn’t just his muscles and cock, which were indeed bigger than mine, but beautiful, like he’d been sculpted from generous supplies of living stone by a master craftsman who loved his work too much and became passionately entranced with his own superior creation. But it wasn’t just Charlie’s size or beauty that twisted my guts around him. It was the glinting eyes and the crooked smile he aimed up at me… as he laid both of his hands on the bare flesh of my long, tightly defined forearms.
I gasped at him. “What are—what are you doing?” I stammered, as my arousal spiked beyond endurance, and my whole body shuddered with the need to cum.
“I just realized,” Charlie said, still aiming that wicked grin up at me, “that you might need my help with things.” My breaths were deep and shaky and my whole body felt like a cock about to explode, so I barely noticed how cryptic he was being. I did watch, though, as Charlie, his grip still firmly on my lower arms as if to keep my from trying to use them to touch myself, casually turned to Darius and asked him to help me deal with one particular article of clothing. Darius knew exactly which bit of covering he meant—he was an honors student after all—and, disengaging from both me and Charlie, diverted both his hands to the removal of the sock that was presently covering my dick.
Just as Darius got it off, exposing the sensitized, tingling flesh of my 13-inch godcock to the cool air of the south wing corridor, the end-of-period bell rang, and as one the classroom doors around us sprung open, disgorging hundreds of students into the wide, milling hallway.
“Charlie—” I huffed, my voice almost a whine, but I wasn’t sure he could even hear me over the swelling tumult. He held tighter still onto my forearms, but there was no need. I was frozen, rooted to the spot.
One at a time, in small groups and clusters, they noticed me. The guys, all the guys in the school, it seemed. It was impossible not to. I was 6 foot 10, shirtless, built like a I’d been engineered to grow hard, sweet muscle like it was taking a piss, and sporting a raging, sky-reaching erection that was bigger than any four of theirs put together. My body, my face, my cock, my being was calling out to them so loudly, so irresistibly, that it was like a siren’s song on some kind of throbbing, sub-audible band of sensation. They gravitated toward me like iron filings around a magnet, coalescing around me. Me, not Charlie, who was bigger and harder and who was standing there dominating me for all to see just by keeping a steady grip on my thick, striated forearms. They were watching me, drawn to me, hushed with murmuring excitement as they waited with delicious, agonizing anticipation for me to rain cum down on them.
It was what I was waiting for too. The audience intensified my need, compounding it. I needed to cum like a detonated bomb needed to explode, and I could not. I was frozen there, held back, teetering on an eternal brink.
Charlie whispered something in Darius’s ear, and Darius, with the serious hint of a smile you’d associate with a violinist called on to perform a difficult piece he knew he had utterly mastered, raised both his hands to my cock and began, with infinite slowness and the faintest of caresses, to drive me beyond any level of stimulation I had ever experienced. I couldn’t help it. I cried out. The sound of my yell rippled through the crowd around me. My face was cast upward now and my eyes pushed firmly shut, so I couldn’t see what was happening in the mob of students drawn in a tightly packed crowd around me, but I could feel it. I could feel their soaring arousal. I could feel their proud erections, push beyond any hardness the were used to. I could sense the way they were all pressed together, flesh against flesh, hardons against jeans-clad backsides. Hands freeing nearby cocks from their zippered and buttoned prisons. A shifting, fleshly maelstrom of arousal and accelerating, crescendoing, panting lust and want. I was their axis, their fulcrum, their urgent need churning faster and deeper around me, until we became a hurricane of agonizing proximity to an orgasm that would shatter us into speeding atoms, breaking open the vaults of the fucking universe.
I don’t know what drove me to it. Maybe I was a little insane, in that one, last moment before Charlie released me, released us. All I know is that as I was approaching the apex of endurance, I did something I never would have thought I would do. Before all these impossibly aroused men, passed beyond my sight but bound to me like the elements of a cyclone, I spoke the trance words. And then, even as Charlie spoke the three words that would release me, I spoke words, unbidden, that seemed to come from someplace inside me I did not know. Charlie’s harsh, guttural command—”Grow for me!”—came as the same moment as my own command:
“GROW WITH ME!”
I roared then as I came, jets of hot spend rocketing straight up into the air like fireworks bursting over us, over and over again. Inside me I was feeling my own explosion on top of the percussive release of all the men around me, as the euphoria of massive orgasm was swollen tenfold by the unaccustomed joy of growth.
I grew, they grew. We. Grew.
And it wasn’t just that they grew. They grew with me. They grew like me. I had recognized, somehow, that the whammy Charlie had given me along with Paolo, Nick, Eugene, and Shaun with the app—the “grow for me” whammy—had somehow mutated when applied to me. The others had a choice of growing cock, muscle, or height, though each seemed to have a decided preference. Somehow, I grew all three. When I’d first been released with that three-word command, I’d grown bigger in cock, height, and muscle, and I was aware of it even as the suggestion from the whammy tried to hide it from me. That’s what happened now. On top of my still-erupting orgasm, I was growing bigger. Height. Cock. Muscle. And all the orgasming males around me were doing the same.
As I came to my senses I saw what I had wrought. All around me were scores and scores of guys. A couple hundred, maybe. Guys I didn’t know, and guys I recognized. My guys—my posse—were all there, drawn from wherever they had been, and each and every one of them was taller, more muscled, and more hung. Other guys I knew were in the writhing crowd as it slid slowly down from the dizzying high of release. Not just Davie Wabash, but his twin brother, Derek. Korey Hess, proudly shirtless and built like a damn fitness model, his brother Rick behind him, both arms wrapped around Korey’s hard, defined torso. Shaun, still taller than I was, his body hardon taking him beyond eight feet. The Smooch brothers, Joey and Sun, were seeding a wave of snogging that passed all through the crowd, until all of them were kissing, passionate yet languid, sweaty and flushed as they came down from their orgasm. There were a few teachers mixed into the crowd, too—I definitely saw Mr. Martinez in there, with the equally handsome (and now equally grown) Mr. Z behind him. Steve Chandler was there with his lover Liam, and there, on the edge of the crowd, were Malachi and Kenton. Kenton was holding Malachi protectively, but in an inversion of the beginning of this strange event where everyone had been gazing raptly up at me, now Kenton’s bright eyes were the only ones fixed on me.
I looked away, finding my brother and Darius. Everyone had grown several inches taller, myself and Charlie included, so I was still taller than him by nine inches or so, but the increase in height and weight—everyone in the crowd had put on something like twenty pounds of hard muscle, and Charlie, because it was proportional, had piled on closer to forty—made him look massive despite my now-towering height. Darius, though, was a special case. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he had been stroking my enormous erection as the changes hit—as he was still doing, in fact, ministering to my still-hard cock despite the moment of release having passed—or maybe it was something about him, but the growth had hit him almost as though he were a cock, making his body longer in the place that it was most like a male erection—his midsection. The result was that the six inches of growth he’d been hit with had centered mostly in his mid-section, with the result that he now had a cut and impressively defined twelve-pack between the increased bulk of his heavier pecs, flaring lats, and expanded shoulders and arms, and the now-footlong tool protruding from his now-snug jeans. The whole transformation looked perfect on him.
I met Darius’s eyes, and I saw with some dismay that they were blank, entranced. Charlie’s were, too. I raked my gaze over the crowd, and though they were mostly engaged in kissing each other, or holding one or two other guys in a passionate embrace, they were doing so in an almost zombielike way. So many guys. So …many. They were all linked to me, their sensations twisted around mine. I was so intensely, painfully aware of them. Every body. Every single pumping heart. Every single raging erection. All those moving and shifting legs, brushing against each other, pressing against each other. All those strong arms and shoulders and roving hands, sliding and weaving around hard torsos and round asses and cocks hard enough to fuck a brick wall into submission. I could feel life energies coursing through every one of them, snaking outward at the edges. Tendrils of two hundred guys diffusing into each other, becoming intertwined. I sensed this with astonishment verging on revelation. I had thought it was the connection to me that that bound out group together, but it was more than that. Sharing this trance was joining them all together. It was delicate and fragile, but it was gaining strength even as I took in what no one else could see.
Or maybe not no one else. Kenton understood something about what was going on, too. Only his eyes were clear, and sudden understanding came to me on that score as well. Kenton had grown with the others. He wasn’t immune to the effects of my hypnotic transformations. But he never went into the trance. He alone was alert while all the others still floundered in my still unended spell-state.
And he was glaring at me as if I were the biggest tool on Earth.
I was taken aback by what he saw in his eyes, and I looked away again, uncertain of myself. What had I done, to earn that look? I tried looking at it from his point of view, and then things became clearer. He’d been angry that morning about Malachi, because Malachi was special to him, but it wasn’t just about Malachi. I’d whammied the whole school. I’d built up my own attractiveness and that of my guys through spells and who knew what unconscious nudges and shoves toward uncanny animal magnetism before we’d even set foot on the grounds this morning. And then I’d gotten on the P.A. and deliberately spelled the whole school into wanting us, wanting to be near us, wanting to touch us.
What the fuck was wrong with me? Well, okay, maybe nothing. Anybody would do it if they could, I was pretty sure of that. But that didn’t mean it was okay, or that if you fucked with people like that—people who already had their own relationships and desires and sexual identities—it was at all kosher for you to go ahead and leave them like that.
I met Kenton’s gaze at last, firmly and unwaveringly, as one man apart from the trance to another. He seemed to take whatever he saw in my eyes as—what, a plea for help? Asking for input from an objective eye? I wasn’t sure. Either way, he didn’t hesitate. “Free them,” he urged me, slowly and distinctly, as if what I had to do was the most obvious thing in the world. It wasn’t a command, and he said it more gently than I’d have guessed he would, especially given the dark ferocity I could see in his half-hidden eyes. He was simply giving voice to what we both knew was the best practical answer to what I’d been increasingly afraid of at some unconscious level throughout the day, building up to this moment. Not to mention, the right thing to do. I didn’t know if I could trust Kenton’s morality or ethics, but I’d been telling myself for days that I needed to trust my own.
This was my chance.
I nodded, and swallowed. I felt like I was stepping up to the microphone after being asked to make a momentous speech on a moment’s notice. Later, of course, I realized that Kenton must simply have meant that I should free them from their mass, collective trance, but I took the words more to heart than maybe he intended. Or maybe not—maybe he had meant for me to do what I did. Maybe he had meant for me to do even more than that, though perhaps I lacked the courage.
I looked out at them from my new height, which would later be measured at 7 foot 4. I was taller than everyone but Shaun, and considerably taller than almost everyone by anything from half a foot to a full twelve inches. With my newly muscle-packed shoulders—I’d put on forty pounds at least—felt like I had stood up in a pool, my broad shoulders broaching the surface as if to show them off, only instead of water the pool was full of horny men, the smell I was awash in not chlorine and sunscreen but sweat and musk and the sweet, sharp smell of spunk. The pool idea struck me as funny and I had to choke back a laugh, but I could still feel Kenton’s stare beating on me like a sun. It occurred to me that I had never had someone present who was able to listen to what I actually said as I spoke my hypnotic commands, and I suddenly felt shame for all the ridiculous things that had stumbled out of my mouth, and all the messy, un-thought-through spells I’d made. Some of them, only this morning.
I looked around at them, trying to put my thoughts in order. My hair had grown again, too; it tickled against my traps as I turned my head to look at all the guys I’d entranced in a moment of madness, and oddly enough the simple sensation helped ground me a little.
“You’re all free,” I said to them. My voice sounded hoarse, as if was long unused, and I cleared my throat, wishing I had a cold bottle of water. I tried again, and my voice was a little clear again. “You’re all free,” I repeated, looking out over them as they raised their glassy eyes to me, one or two at a time. “Free from being attracted to me and my guys whether you want to be or not. Free to choose whether you want to touch us or not. Free to decide whether you want to be turned on or not, hard or not, shirtless or not.” I swallowed. I was consciously not looking in Kenton’s direction. Was that enough to do what I wanted? I felt like I couldn’t leave it at that. I should at least try to deal, a little, with the immediate consequences of what we’d just done. “You… don’t need to question that we all just got off together, or that there’s all this cum, because it was just a thing that happened, and it won’t happen again. Just … um, enjoy being young, and healthy, and strong and hot, and … try to be good to each other. And yourselves.” I shook my head at my own ridiculousness. When would I learn not to try to ad-lib spells on the fly? If I ever wrote a whammy down, and delivered it the way it was written, someone would probably show up and give me a medal.
I took a deep, steadying breath. “On the count of three,” I announced, “you’re all going to wake up and not remember this… um, talk we just had. Okay?”
The entire assembly, now all arrested from their various amatory activities and looking up at me, spoke the word “okay” with one voice, and a cold chill truckled up my spine. “Okay,” I said in a shaky voice. “One… two… three. You can wake up now.”
I watched at the crowd slowly came to its senses, transforming from a single mass driven by one shared need and revolving around a single axis—me—into natural clusters of twos and threes, as well as free-floating individuals. Discarded bookbags were picked up, conversations resumed. As directed, no one seemed to be concerned with the mass orgasm that had just happened, or all the jizz and undone flies. Some of the guys took off their shirts, used them to clean themselves up, and then passed them through the crowd, and a couple of the jocks had towels or shirts in their bags, so that within a few minutes everyone had at least wiped themselves down as much as they could. Many of them were talking animatedly with each other as they did so, about school or sports or TV shows or other mundane things, but a lot of them were making out instead, engaging in sweet, casual kisses as if it were as normal as conversation. The shirtless guys, both those who’d started out our little impromptu assembly that way (like Korey) and those who’d just now given up their shirts for the larger post-orgasmic good, seemed to be the center of this phenomenon, the casual embrace of thickly muscled arms wrapped around shirtless torsos and deep, relaxed kisses seemingly becoming a new baseline normal of interaction for them; but the same idea filtered through the rest of the mob, and somehow I sensed with fascination that a passionate kiss and a moment of manual muscle-worship of shoulders, or arms, or protruding pecs had already replaced the slap on the shoulder, the fist-bump, and every other form of off-hand greeting in this high school. Some went further, and even as the crowd started to break up, all the guys filtering away in all directions as if those iron filings had lost their magnetism and been scattered in a stiff wind, I could see that a friendly grope of a buddy’s hard, round ass or a drag of knuckles along his thick, obvious erection was going to be a not uncommon thing among friends at this school.
I tried to find Kenton, a little abashed at the need I felt in that moment to know whether he approved of what I’d done or not, but he and Malachi had already disappeared. Just as well. I still wasn’t sure I understood the full story with him, or why he was so much at right angled to everything that had been happening to me. I needed to spend some time with him alone, just me and him, and get to the heart of what was going on with him and me. There was something about him that spoke to me in a way I just didn't understand. That could wait, but I didn’t want to wait too long.
The bell rang, and within a few moments the only ones left around me were the members of my posse. I looked around at them, sensing something new. My mass-whammy hadn’t just relaxed the grip of compulsive attraction toward me and my friends among the rank and file, the extras in my so-called life. I had shifted the dynamic in my own group, too. I’d have to pay close attention to how our dynamic settled out over the rest of the day, but I could already tell that our connections, too, were more relaxed. They were all still linked to me, interlaced with me, but they weren’t all so bound to me as they were before. I was still responsible for them, I knew that, but it wasn’t quite the same crushing burden I’d been afraid of last night. I was just… in charge of a group of supremely hot guys, who were generous with their hands and their bodies and cocks and their passionate affection.
I was cool with that. Very, very, totally cool with that.
The thing I felt most responsible for was making sure they were happy. I could tell they were, but I looked them all over, each in turn. Paolo-and-Eugene were beaming up at me, intertwined as usual. Paolo’s sun-browned skin and long, loose hair was damp with sweat, tiny droplets standing out on his oversized pecs like he’d just come from swimming. Eugene had his arms draped around his shoulders, Paolo’s around Eugene’s bare, pale torso, and I could see the inches of height they’d just gained looked impressive on them, improving their proportions to the point of Greek statuary, though I’d never seen a Greek hero with pecs like that, or cocks as big even as Paolo’s, much less Eugene’s. Their cocks were visible, the obfuscatory socks long discarded like most of the guys’ were, and I could see that Eugene’s whale of a cock was now close to being as big as mine, though it still curved toward his hip more than my ramrod-straight monster tool ever would; but as they turned from me toward each other, gazing into each other’s shining eyes, what had happened to their muscles and cocks seemed like the least important thing about them.
Behind them were Rick and Korey, the younger Hess brother having now evidently been inducted into the lodge. The two of them seemed just as inseparable as Paolo-and-Eugene, though in their case it was all the more remarkable as they both looked like blond surfer boys, if with a lot more muscle in Rick’s case than was usually seen in Malibu. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised: I had planted the idea in Rick that brothers made love sometimes, and those kinds of spells, I’d noticed, tended to spread toward the people that were relevant to it. Besides, even beyond Korey getting the second-hand whammy about brothers making love, if he was half the cockhound I’d heard he was he would have needed to know more about his brother’s recently enlarged and doubled equipment.
The Smooch brothers were close by, and were, of course, busy living up to their name, and I wasn’t the only one finding it intoxicating to watch. Joey still looked like a future frat boy, but now he’s shot up to NBA-star heights, very close to the 6’10” I’d been only a while ago, before the mass transform I’d been at the center of … though it was Sun who looked super-tall, despite being a few inches short, thanks to still being the skinniest guy around. He’d gotten defined, and with his shirt off he had a tight, killer bod, but his proportions made it look almost like he was the tallest guy here apart from the unstoppable height machine that was Shaun Balicki.
I looked around for Steve and Liam, but they hadn’t joined up, it seemed. I felt kind of good about that, actually. Affirmation of free will, and all that. Fuck, I should totally pick up a philosophy book at some point. Maybe that would confuse things, though. It occurred to me to sit down and have a talk to Paolo’s uncle, him being a priest and all, but the fact that Paolo had been my very first guinea pig before I’d even known what I was doing made me freak out a little just at the thought of talking to him. Plus, Riccardo Russo was hot as fuck, maybe even a few shades hotter than Paolo, and I did not want to lead myself into temptation with a sexy-as-fuck man of the cloth at this particular juncture. I could just picture it. I’d tell him I could make things happen with my cool hypno powers, and he’d be politely disbelieving, and I’d insist it was what I could do and why I got myself in so much trouble all the time, and he’d politely ask for a demonstration of these supposed hypno powers, and then I’d be fucked. Possibly literally. Christ. No, wait, not Christ. Jesus. Shit. Why was it impossible to curse without making things even more fucked up?
I shook my head and went back to taking note of the current state of my posse. Our boyish, lacrosse-loving pizza guy Davey Wabash did have his equally model-handsome twin brother with him, but they’d already divided their attentions. Davey was focusing his dimpled attentions on the newly extra-abbed Darius, while Derek’s green eyes had homed in on Shaun, now a giddy, eight-foot beanpole who seemed like arousal personified. I felt a pang at that, but I couldn’t keep all that sky-scraping beauty to myself. I loved Shaun, and we were still tightly bound together by a primeval attraction, more so than the rest of the gang. But I knew deep down in my balls that Charlie meant more to me than anyone else in the world.
I had wanted to touch him since forever, to feel his muscles and smooth skin and jutting cock under my worshipful hands. His incomparable body belonged under my hands, and my lips and tongue, too. And yet, it was Charlie’s touch that was branded on every surface inside me. The moment that had changed me wasn’t when I’d tricked Charlie into letting me grope him with a few hypnotic suggestions. It was the first time he touched me. The first time he kissed me. The first time he held me the way I yearned to be held. The world around me, the context of my beating heart, was narrowing and focusing, like the lighting on a stage contracting to show fewer and fewer actors. Only moments ago it had been a churning mass of two hundred aroused and growing guys, and then just my guys, my group. Now… now my world was me, and Charlie. The sight of him, the smell of him, and soon, the taste of him.
I was clumsy, stupid in love with him. And that meant that there was really only one thing that mattered: that light in his eye, that glint, that told me, without my ever having to ask, that he loved me, too, in exactly the same way, and with the same passion—the same bottomless, primordial, carnal desperation—that I felt for him.
I stared down at my gorgeous brother, and he up at me. He seemed to shine with something inside him, something only I saw. Very deliberately, I pushed my left hand deep into the pocket of my damp jeans, and Charlie did the same.
“Was that what you had in mind?” I asked him, as I lifted my free hand to stroke his boulder-like shoulders. He used his own free hand to start caressing my flank, up and down the side of my torso, deliberately steering well clear of my exposed, 14-and-a-half-inch colossus. It felt huge and heavy, way more than I’d been aware of before, though it was a far cry from the gargantuan tree-limb that Charlie was sporting. He must have passed two feet long by now, and it looked big enough around to be a skinny guy’s leg. I wanted to touch it, lick it, hold it. Make it spurt gouts and geysers of hot, endless cum. Soon. Not now, but very, very soon.
Charlie shook his head. “Not even close,” he said. “I just wanted to make you blow your huge wad in front of everyone.”
“Just to fuck with me?” I asked, smiling a little.
He shrugged, delts and traps bunching with the motion. I slid my hand around the nape of his thick neck, observing that Charlie’s wavy black hair had grown out some too, though not as much as mine. “I like fucking with you,” Charlie said. The words were joking, the double meaning obvious, but then he added more seriously, “I like pushing the edges with you.”
I eyed him thoughtfully as I stroked his neck, and he let his hand drift up to my heavy pecs, now well on their way to being the kind of shelf that Charlie had been sporting for days. “Why is that?” I asked. “Why do you like pushing me?”
Charlie grinned up at me. Very deliberately, he reached up and tweaked my right nipple, with a very different feel and intent from the way Kenton had done it. A crackle of sensation and arousal skittered through me, and I hissed in a breath. “Because,” he said, leaning in to kiss my slightly bruised nipple better, “it makes you better. You need to be pushed. You need to know what you’re capable of.”
“What about what you’re capable of?” I asked. I was grinning, because I already knew his answer.
“Oh, I know what I’m capable of,” Charlie said with a wicked grin, and grabbing the back of my neck he pulled me down into a deep, heart-melting kiss that seemed to last for days and days and days.