2 parts
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Part 1

It was a great Halloween party, with all the guys looking fantastic in their imaginative costumes. Of course it was total pandemonium, amid party music, sensational costumes and disguises and the endless parade of laughing, flirting, ridiculously handsome, beautifully bodied guys.

It was hard to tell how much was real versus how much was artifice, but it hardly mattered, since the effect is the thing.

There were guys who came as bodybuilders, indistinguishable from the real thing, except perhaps for the glistening superabundance of muscle, enormous and almost overdrawn, beautifully gigantic orbs of muscle all over the shoulders, arms, butts and legs of the ridiculously built bodies, with beautiful chests, powerful necks, amazing swelling leg muscle and incredibly sculpted abs.

In the glittering, muscular crowd of awesome male bodies were other fantastic costumes, too real in appearance to seem like costumes, such as the enormous snake-bodied nagas sliding silently and majestically through the amazed crowd, gorgeous from the waist up with handsome, muscular torsos spangled with two pairs of beautifully muscled arms.

Other mythological themes included strikingly handsome centaurs, their muscular torsos resplendent atop their stallion bodies, sleek and towering in their human and equine glory.

The famous six-armed web-slinger was a fantastic and believably unbelievable real-life apparition of the comic book superhero, minus the actual character’s introspective self-doubt. And true to the comic books, the four extra arms were every bit as deliciously muscular as the original two, provocatively naked as they burst through the flanks of the costume fabric to bare their muscles and glorious foursome of beautiful, strong hands.

In humorous counterpoint was the oddly erotic six-legged version of the same character, in the same costume as the original in two-armed form, but ablaze from the waist down with six gloriously athletic legs, the front pair in costume except for where it ripped from the hind foursome bursting out in abundantly muscular beauty, bare-assed times two and barefoot times four.

I couldn’t help but notice how aroused he was, and who wouldn’t be, I thought to myself, with nowhere to hide the hind boners. One of the centaurs laughed when he caught me staring. “That’s probably why the comic book featured six arms instead of six legs,” he chuckled.

Part 2

It was then that the six-armed and six-legged superheroes both noticed me and waved, most impressively the six-armed character’s three right hands as they rose on their intimately sliding trio of muscular right arms, which boned me at the sight of so many beautifully muscled arms on each other as their three hands waved at me.

First the six-armed and then the six-legged costumed characters removed their head-covering masks, and wouldn’t you know it: there were the dimpled smiles of my four-legged friend, Ivan. I might have known he would have bilocated himself in different multilimbed forms.

“Where are your four legs, Ivan?” I laughed. “You’ve got two there and six here.”

Both Ivans laughed and started to speak, but they exchanged a look of agreement and six-legged Ivan answered.

“Actually, funny you should ask, because I think they’re at the bar, along with my eight legs. I know because I’m bilocated and I can feel what they feel, and from the buzz I’m getting, I am pretty sure that I’m having a couple drinks with myself, me with my four legs and me with eight legs. Care to join us?”

He nodded to the centaur as well, so off we went, wending our way among the nagas and satyrs and giant penises and two-headed twinks and enormous, gently rolling leg wheels and incredibly tall muscle nudes and their dangling and engorging clusters of genitals.

“Your eight legs?” I asked, the question finally emerging from my Ivan-dumbfounded brain.

“It was just so hard to decide,” I heard over my shoulder, as we squeezed through the throng of muscles, makeup, masks and limbs. It was six-armed Ivan now answering.

“Bilocating is no problem, and it’s no problem multiplying my arms or my legs or both, but I had to buy four of the costumes, all of which are ruined from ripping my extra limbs through them, since the costumes are simple store-bought Halloween costumes designed for two arms and two legs.”

As he answered, the massive muscles of his two costumed arms and four naked lower arms jumped as the six strong hands gestured unconsciously, the beautiful hands pointing or spreading or clasping each other while making this or that point. Suddenly, he reached two of his naked muscular arms up and tore the sleeves off of the costume, baring the spectacular delts, shoulders, muscles and beautiful big hands of his top arms. “If you are going to have six arms, you have to let them out, he laughed. I should have done this on all four costumes.”

“Four costumes?” I asked, and the centaur shared my quizzical look.

“Well, yes,” Ivan patiently explained, his phalanx of beautifully muscled ar ms holding various explanatory positions as he talked, almost completely distracting me from what he was saying.

“One costume to go six-armed,” he said, two of his six large, beautiful hands counting down the costumes on their fingers. “I had to punch two holes in each flank four the four extra arms.”

As he spoke while we squeezed through the noisy, beautiful party crowd, six-legged Ivan bumped along beside him, the sleek swell of the six muscular, athletic legs beautiful to watch as they ambled along, occasionally bumping each other as they began to feel the effects of Ivan drinking at the bar.

Six-armed Ivan was starting to feel the effects as well, but he managed for now to martial his thoughts as well as his six big, handsome arms.

“One costume to go six-legged,” he said, looking over at the six legs of six-legged Ivan and smoothing his hands over them as they walked, graceful but sometimes clumsy, the four handsome bare feet sometimes stumbling on each other as well as on the front feet still in their costume dancer’s shoes. For some reason I nearly creamed watching all the strong hands so gentle and caressing on all the exquisitely muscular, beautifully ambulating hindquarters and athlete’s legs.

“Where am I?” he asked, the many muscular arms relaxing against each other in his forgetfulness, several of their big hands dangling but then perking up as he remembered his train of thought in the increasingly alcoholic fog caused by Ivan at the bar.

“Okay, one costume for my four legs, with only two rips in the flanks of the costume fabric for two more arms.”

“Two more arms?” asked the centaur.

“Well, spiders can have six legs or eight legs,” Ivan said, “so I wanted a version with eight limbs, so I would need two more arms to have four arms to go with my four legs.”

“And that’s who’s at the bar,” said the centaur, seeking clarification.

“Yes, that plus me with eight legs, since a spider can have eight legs, even if I still have my two arms,” Ivan explained, again smoothing his many hands along the naked hind legs of the six-legged Ivan swaying along beside him.

I think that made the centaur almost cream as well as me, and it sure boned the six-legged Ivan, for all to see, his hind penises dangling and engorging within the crowded confines of the beautifully muscled, stumbling legs, the six clumsy, beautiful feet bare, as Ivan’s stumbling had somehow lost the dancers shoes that had been on his front feet.

Six-armed Ivan then re-summarized what he had been saying, his beautiful lips slightly numb and his beautiful white teeth and his slow, shiny tongue not quite coordinated, and his six big muscular arms and hands randomly pointing at each other and touching each other, or dangling forgetfully in mid-air.

“So I got one costume for me four-armed and four-legged, one costume for me six-armed and two legged, one costume for me two-armed and six-legged and one costume for me two-armed and eight-legged,” he said, his six big muscular arms in a confused tangle-hug, big hands dangling everywhere.

“And here we are,” he said with a hiccup, one of the big, lazy hands trying to cover his mouth but giving up and letting its beautiful heavy form fall limp on top of the other beautiful, drunken muscles of his many handsome hands and arms.

Here we were indeed, finally at the bar, crowded with spectacular four-armed nagas and their wondrous coils of snake beneath their beautiful torsos, a few giant, drunken penises barely staying on their barstools, their huge balls draping down nearly to the floor, the music deafening as the muscled glitterati pulsed and swayed to it, and eight-legged Ivan, shirtless and seated on the bar itself on a towering, warm and gorgeous stack of four folded pairs of beautiful, sleekly muscular naked legs, with multiple sleek, naked Ivan-feet hanging down drunkenly from within their folded mounds of swelling, spectacular leg muscle.

“I think Ivan took off his costume,” the centaur smirked, nodding towards the truly naked eight-legged Ivan cross-legged on the bar, tossing down shots at the encouragement of the rowdy, exotically handsome crowds.

“There you are!” came Ivan’s voice from the other side of the centaur, and in the dense crowd he ducked under the centaur to get to me, his four arms and four legs tangling with a heavy, dangling line of enormous multiple centaur penises suddenly ejaculating as the centaur yelped and bucked with pleasure, careful not to hit Ivan with his hind legs.

I found myself in a warm, steaming and gooey embrace with Ivan’s four arms, and I came mightily as his tongue filled my mouth and became a giant, firm cock, nearly choking me as it spurted massive pulses of come that I couldn’t keep from exploding out from my mouth, soaking us both along with the fresh, hot oozing centaur come all over him.

“Good to see you!” I said when I recovered, still reeling in his four-armed embrace as he swayed, nearly taking me down with him. “You’re the party, Ivan!”

So, all the Ivans decided to have a drink with each other at the bar. The centaur offered to walk me around see the sights, and it was a great way to do it. I held his broad shoulders as I rode his horse back, and it was cool when he would occasionally meet, amid the throngs, another centaur. And it’s certainly something to be astride a centaur who is in a deep embrace with another centaur, and it was great that the centaurs we met would be happy to come back and give me an equally deep embrace, generally ending with warm jets of come splattering all over me from their giant frontal centaur sex organs.

By the time we finally returned to the bar, all of the beautiful, drunken Ivans were one big long-limbed pile of way too many arms and legs, asleep on top of it. Six-armed Ivan was interlaced with six-legged Ivan, his beautiful and muscular arms splayed happily among the gorgeous sets of legs of six-legged Ivan, who was asleep in the arms of four armed and four-legged Ivan, who in turn was comfortably surrounded by the eight beautiful legs of eight legged Ivan. Their spectacular multi-limbed bodies glistened with come in their sleep, their multitude of aroused, enormous penises exploding here and there with load after load as they dreamed of mating, their long-muscled bodies heavy with their excess of gorgeous limbs in their drunken slumber, their big drunken penises shooting come everywhere in endless rounds of ejaculations.

“There’s one happy guy,” laughed the centaur. “That’s all one guy, right?”

“I guess,” I said, laughing with him.

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