Description Quint, a high-end sex-line agent, likes to explore his callers’ secret fantasies with them. But things go a little differently after a lunch that happened to include a certain artifact of the universe.
|Updated||24 Aug 2019|
Quint clicked the cursor on his laptop and accepted the next call, swallowing the last bite of that surprisingly tasty sky-blue banana that had come with his Fruit ‘N’ Panini box lunch from Skinner’s on the corner. Good food, unexpected variety when it came to the fruit part, and a sexy delivery dude? He’d definitely be ordering from them again. He was so glad the service he worked for let their top-tier agents work from home. His friends constantly ribbed him about how he got to provide “phone support” in his boxers all day, and if they knew what kind of phone support he offered they’d laugh even harder. For Quint, though, the number one perk of working from home was that the take-out options in his neighborhood outstripped the call center’s by a country mile.
An audible beep sounded, alerting both parties the recorded warnings were over and the call was in play. This was where Quint normally offered a calm, intimate greeting to draw the client into the convo, but this time the caller jumped in first before he got the chance, maybe because the caller was eager, maybe because Quint was still swallowing that last bit of banana. “Hi! Um, i-is this… um, one of the Randy Guys?” the male voice stammered. It was a friendly voice, on the low end of the tenor range with just a hint of Texas, if Quint didn’t miss his guess—after a year at this job, he was pretty good at accents.
Quint smiled, reaching for the half-empty bottle of water on his desk. “Sure is,” he said amiably. He flipped the mic on his headset up for a second and took a quick, silent sip of water, then set the bottle aside and adjusted his mic back into position. He considered various play scenarios, wondering what the caller would be up for, but he needed a little more voice time to get a handle on his new friend. “My name’s Quint, what’s yours?”
“Um…” the caller hesitated.
“You can give any name you like,” Quint said reassuringly. Quint gave his own name, mostly because he liked it, and a lot of guys found it manly enough. It sure seemed less fake than some of the names his colleagues used, like “Brick” or “Shane”.
“Oh! Um, I’m… Rusty.”
“Rusty,” Quint repeated. “A sexy name. I can totally tell you’re a Rusty—all boy-next-door handsome and aw-shucks confidence. Plus a sexy voice, too. Does that sound like you, Rusty?”
There was a second’s pause, then Rusty answered with humble self-assurance, “You’re kind to say so.” His voice sounded kind of charming now in a low-key sort of way, the Texas edged up a bit, and somewhat usually Quint felt his cock responding in his boxer-briefs. He decided on a hunch Rusty would respond to Quint’s go-to plan, which involved talking through the client’s secret desires—the kinds of hidden erotic imagery they couldn’t discuss with anyone else.
“I thought so,” Quint said, loosely grabbing his junk through his soft cargo shorts and the briefs underneath. He didn’t actually work in just his underwear, but shorts and a tee shirt was plenty for this line of work. He especially liked having bare feet on the job, and he admired them splayed in front of him on the soft blue carpet of his extra bedroom whenever he wanted a fun reminder of why he liked not working in an office. “So here’s how this works,” he continued. He found the tiny rip in the worn seam behind his balls, over his taint, and briefly imagined breaking through the seam altogether and shoving his finger through, all the while keeping his focus on his caller. “We’re going to have a little fun as we get to know each other. You’re going to describe your fantasies, Rusty, and then we’ll explore them together.”
“Oh yeah? What if my fantasies are a little… unusual?” Rusty asked. Now that Rusty had found his footing his tone was more subtly suggestive than nervous and uncertain. He certainly sounded willing to throw out his innermost desires, however kinky, and it sounded like the main question seemed to be whether Quint was up for them.
Quint bit his lip, thinking that this could go to some strange places, but replied gamely, “That’s what I’m here for, Rusty. You’re going to shape me with your words and imagination into your most secret, treasured fantasies,” he told him. “And that’s something we’ll both enjoy very much.”
“Uh huh,” Rusty replied, sounding both amused and skeptical. “So… suppose my secret, treasured fantasy is that you’re an ogre. No—half-ogre, human on your mother’s side. Is that the kind of fantasy we’re talking about here?”
Not what he was expecting, Quint thought, but he could go with it. Maybe some of what his D&D-obsessed brother had talked about back in their high school years would come back to him. “If that’s your desire for me, that’s what I am,” he said, keeping his tone playful.
“Su-ure,” Rusty said, and the way he said it, with just a hint of a smirk in his voice, seemed to confirm this wasn’t his real fantasy—he was only testing Quint’s responsiveness. “Absolutely, then. You’re a good, old-fashioned ogre, but human on your mother’s side.”
Quint was about to thrust his lower jaw forward and pretend a low, raspy monster voice, only… he didn’t have to. His pronounced underbite, complete with sharp, girthy, flesh-rending tusks where his lower canines should have been, was already shoved well out ahead of his upper jaw. He looked down at himself, feeling an intense quivering in his stomach. He was huge, a massive, hairy, oversized creature half again the size of a man with heavy, stout muscles and leathery green-gray skin. A wide, heavy-duty wooden bench had replaced his office chair, his horny-skinned feet with nails almost like talons splayed out before him on the short, plush carpet. He was breathing loud and hot from two massive nostrils, and something about him smelled like sweat gone bad. He glanced up and saw that his head was nearly brushing the stuccoed ceiling—lucky he was only a half-ogre, then, he thought dazedly. Incongruously, he was still wearing ridiculously upsized renditions of his dark cargo shorts, tiny taint-rip and all, and his pale yellow, ironically kitch “TWINKIES RULE” tee shirt. Even more bizarrely, an extra-large version of his headset was still fitted over his rough, hairy, pointed ears.
More than everything else, he was strong. Ungodly strength quivered in every thew and sinew from his foot-wide neck to his lizard-like toes. No, more than that, he was hungry. Very hungry. He thought of the cute delivery guy and licked his thick lips with a wide, heavy tongue that was pointed like a spade, then he recoiled at his own instinctive pressure to eat the good-looking man.
“Are you there, Half-Ogre?” Rusty teased.
Quint shook his head slightly, trying to find his bearings. “What have you done to me?” he asked, bewildered, and he startled to hear the rough, sepulchral, mostly inhuman voice he heard coming out of his own bull-sized chest and massive throat. A shiver of fear slithered down his spine and curled in his guts. He felt like he almost understood. It was like some invisible, cosmic force had… had given Rusty the power to change him, seamlessly altering the universe in this one impossible respect. All Quint could see were the effects of Rusty’s new ability—and Quint was sure Rusty didn’t even know he now possessed this power, and probably he would never believe it in a million years. Rusty had control over Quint’s very being, and he didn’t even know it.
Even as he thought this, he became aware of something else. A stirring in his libido, answered by an interested swelling in Quint’s thick-skinned, gargantuan ogre-cock. Something deep inside him liked being remolded into Rusty’s innermost desires. And that something was in his balls, apparently, because Quint was getting majorly turned on. Only… this wasn’t what Rusty truly wanted. Knowing that the real fantasy was still to come made Quint yearn for it so hard he almost whimpered.
Somehow he knew that being shaped into what Rusty actually craved for him to be would be so much more pleasurable than this. And it was coming. Quint almost couldn’t wait. What he couldn’t tell was whether the hot ogre blood pumping hard through his veins was stoking his need, or if he’d have felt this impatient even if he weren’t a ferocious, flesh-eating monster.
Rusty was laughing loudly. “Very good,” he drawled at last, still chuckling. “Very convincing. You’d make a great half-ogre, Quint!”
Quint’s ogre-cock was thickening rapidly. “Tell me your real fantasy,” he rasped, his frustration making it almost like a menacing, angry-bear growl.
Rusty laughed again. “Dude, that’s awesome,” he said. “You’re really good at turning me on. Okay, you’re human again,” he said, like it was a concession. Quint was barely done letting out a sigh of relief and was just starting to lean back in the chair he’d gotten back when Rusty added, “Only—more.”
Quint felt his body almost quivering with the half-formed idea. He suddenly realized how much power Rusty had over him without even knowing it, and felt a crazy thrill of adrenaline course through him. His human-again dick, he noticed, was still swollen and half-hard in his regular-again cargo shorts, and… was it still kind of ogre-sized?
Focus. “Tell me,” Quint urged, like a good sex-line agent. His training, at this point, just happened to overlap with the sudden incursion of the supernatural into his usually very mundane life. “Describe me,” he said—and wasn’t that an invitation to someone who could turn you into a half-ogre just by saying, “You’re a half-ogre”. Quint swallowed and said, “Describe everything about how you imagine me.”
“Oh yeah?” Rusty said. “You want to hear it? My deepest fantasies?”
Quint didn’t know how he’d thought Rusty would be one of the nervous, hesitant ones. Some callers really warmed to the idea of phone intimacy. “You bet I do,” Quint said. “You’re really turning me on here.”
“I can tell,” Rusty said. “You’re completely hard—harder than you’ve been in weeks. Am I right?”
Fuck, he was. Rusty was right. Quint didn’t always get stiffies from the mostly routine dirty talk he engaged in while he was working, but Rusty was a hell of an exception. “How’d you know,” Quint laughed. He silently unzipped his shorts and pulled out his tool, much relieved now that it wasn’t painfully bent to one side by his briefs and shorts, and let it fall rigidly against his waistband and the top of his placket. “You make guys hard all the time, right? That must be it.”
“I do all right,” Rusty said modestly. “Is your dick out, Quint?”
“It sure is, Rusty. Hard as fuck, like you said.” This was a new kind of sex-talk, Quint thought—no exaggeration necessary!
“You ever tried sucking yourself, Quint?”
Quint smiled and looked down at his wide, just-above-average uncut boner where it lay rick-hard and leaking against his dusky-olive shorts. “I’m not that lucky, I’m afraid,” he said. Maybe he should have fibbed this time, but Rusty seemed to want the real Quint for this one.
“Sure you are,” Rusty said. “Your cock is so long and hard and beautiful, you can reach your mouth down and suck it whenever you want. In fact its natural position when it’s hard is to shove right into your waiting mouth. Isn’t that right?”
“Mmm-hmmmm,” Quint said, around an unexpected mouthful of hard, hot, deliciously thick cock, then shivered violently at the pleasure his humming voice sent through his sensitive, mouth-hungry dick. Holy fuck, Rusty, he thought. I fucking love you. He let his tongue tentatively explore around his own cockhead and groaned around his tool, making his body heat with what could very easily be imminent orgasm.
“Oh, you’re so good at this,” Rusty cooed appreciatively, clearly unaware that Quint wasn’t having to act the part of a man whose maw was stuffed full of giant, randy, ready-to-cum cock. “You’re so good at being what I need you to me. You’re going to love the orgasm you get from having a cock that size and balls to match—it’s like five times the pleasure, at least. Now, I want you to wrap your hands around the shaft… and the good news is you happen to have plenty of hands—let’s say six hands. All at the ends of nice, strong, nicely muscled arms, of course,” he added, as if he’d been amused by the idea of hands that weren’t attached to arms but had decided to stay with the conventional.
As before there was no moment of transition—he just went from being a two-armed guy to a six-armed guy. He dutifully wrapped all six hands around his shaft, marveling at how wam it felt and how increased tactile contact seemed to expand his pleasure almost exponentially. “Mmmm,” Quint said, and the surge of arousal this gave him pushed him even closer to the edge. He didn’t dare move his hands up and down, but he shifted his grip on each of his hands, all those fingers itching to have a go at the oversized phallus.
“Ah, now, I suppose I should do something about your ability to speak,” Rusty mused. “Fortunately you have two heads instead of one on those nice, broad, muscular shoulders of yours.”
“Oh, thank you,” Quint blurted out, relieved to be able to talk at last without pulling off his dick—though the way he was sitting it would have been hard to do so anyway, as his rod really did push naturally right into his mouth this way. His left-hand mouth, now, that is. He had a wireless hands-free headset on both heads, of course. After being a half-ogre with a call-line headset and a kitchy tee shirt, he wasn’t surprised. He’d already decided to just go with all of this and leave the rationalizing and all that for later. “Rusty, you’re a beautiful man, and if I were there with you I’d kneel down and suck both your cocks.”
Rusty laughed. “How’d you know I have two?” he asked genially. “Most guys don’t guess that about me. Not at first, anyway.”
“You just seem like a guy who’d have two huge cocks,” Quint said. Experimentally, he tried sliding all six of his hands upward a few inches toward his mouth, but he instantly stopped himself as his whole body threatened to surge into sudden, all-encompassing orgasm.
“What would you consider huge?” Rusty asked, amused.
“Well, nothing like what you gave me,” Quint said conversationally, “but definitely a good 12 fat inches each.”
“You’re about right,” Rusty said. “You’re very good at guessing cock sizes. I do happen to have two huge footlong cocks—which at the moment are very, very hard, Quint—but everything else about me is pretty normal… unlike you.”
“Fuck,” Quint said. “You’re making me so hot. Every time you change me it turns me on even more,” he admitted.
“Hmm, we should do something about that,” Rusty said. “Let’s see… you’re still talking to me, but you’re reclining naked in the bathing end of the indoor pool at your mansion—have you seen that latest Andrew Chen movie? It’s like the one in that. Beautiful, right?”
“It’s a great pool,” Quint agreed distractedly. In fact he hadn’t seen the most recent action thriller starring Hollywood’s gorgeously buff hunk du jour, but Quint guessed he didn’t have to… at least when it came to the pool, and probably the sprawling villa that came with it. He was in the shallow, rounded coda attached to a long, Olympic-sized, lap-marked pool within a glass-enclosed extension to a house that looked expensive enough to buy and sell him all on its own—and probably contained an home A.I. capable of doing so. The expanse of crystal-clear window-walls gave him a view from high up somewhere amidst craggy, snow-capped mountains he had no chance of identifying other than that they looked nothing like anything near Kansas City (either one). An eagle skimmed by some distance away, level with his own perch in the swimming pool. Or was it a hawk? Either way, he was lying back in maybe two and a half feet of perfectly temperature-graded water that rose to maybe three of the six fists he was gripping his mouth-seeking cock with, his back resting against a smooth, contoured surface the nature of which he couldn’t even guess.
He still had the two headsets on, though what they were connecting to Quint couldn’t see. Somewhere around here must be a laptop running the Randy Guyz 4 You America app, which in itself was a pretty funny thought.
“It’s nice, right?” Rusty said, no doubt thinking Quint’s remark had been in relation to the movie, not the vista his words had actually dropped him into. “Makes sense, since you’re built like him, only with all the extras. And a foot taller, with ten-pack abs. And you’re leaning back, as comfortable as you’ve every been, all three legs stretched out in the water in front of you, lazily sucking your cocks and stroking them gently with three hands each…”
“Mmmmmph!” Quint said, a second mouth full of huge, rock-hard, impatient cock finally driving him over the edge. He groaned loudly around his cocks, sitting up and stroking them urgently with three hands each.
“Oh, wow—are you cumming?” Rusty said.
Quint barely heard him, as his orgasm—it actually felt like a double orgasm, building up separately to explode through each cock independently—swelled unstoppably, sending hot sparks up and down his transformed body. “Mmmmph,” he said, and then, “mmmmph—mmmmmppphhh—mmmph! Mmmph! Mmmmmmph!!” he cried out around his cocks as he came hard and heavy against his own throats. He continued groaning as spunk kept surging through his twin cocks, his toes curling and uncurling on all three feet as his monster double orgasm shook him.
“Holy moly,” Rusty breathed after a while. “That was hot as fuck. You’re really good at that.”
Quint’s cocks were finally softening, enough to pull them out of his mouths. They flopped wetly against his thick, square, Andrew Chen pecs and hard-carved ten-pack abs. He gasped at the feeling of sheer pleasure still soaring through him and slumped back, spent and giddy, against the contoured side of the pool. “At sucking myself off?” he laughed. “All thanks to you.” He wondered Rusty had cum, too. “Was it good for you?” he asked.
“Oh, well, I like to cum… after,” he said, sounding slightly awkward at the admission for the first time since the start of the call.
“Well, may it be as good as what I just felt,” Quint said, a little winded. He felt boneless and impossibly euphoric, like he’d been gifted with the afterglows of ten men. “Your best orgasm ever, times two.”
Rusty huffed into the phone. “You might make it happen sooner than usual,” he said, and there was an edge to his voice like he was enjoying all of this a little more than he thought. “I’m glad you came though. You can’t talk sucking both cocks off, of course, and giving you three heads would just be silly.”
“Ha ha, yeah, definitely,” Quint said, lolling stupidly a little further into the pool. He had to remember not to get his headsets wet. Headsets! For two heads! And maybe that wasn’t even the weirdest thing about his body at the moment. Honestly, it was throwing him a little that he now had the physique of the one movie star who seemed to make straight guys drool, though his was definitely the special edition version. And even as he was looking down at himself, admiring the stone-cut physique and the three long, slightly hairy, and very beautiful legs, it suddenly occurred to him that he was kind of hungry. “Hey, you think they have anything to eat in this place?”
“It’s your place,” Rusty said gamely. “And since you have all the money you could ever want or need…”
“I do, do I?” Quint chuckled, sitting up and wondering how easy it was to walk on three feet.
“Well, I was going to say that it was because you shit solid gold, but that would just be weird,” Rusty said.
Quint climbed to his feet, testing his balance. He’d almost missed the bit Rusty had thrown in about being taller, but he seemed to adjust to his new center of gravity automatically. His cocks hung down thick and heavy over his balls, reaching a good way down his three tanned, muscular thighs. “Thanks for that,” Quint said. “You’re a real prince.” He splashed out of the pool and padded around the white concrete edge, marveling at the sets of three dark, wet footprints he left behind as he headed for the atrium leading into the main house at the opposite end of the pool. At least walking this way seemed to come naturally, though the pull on his groin of two huge and very heavy cocks would take some serious getting used to. As would the weight of all these extra arms.
Rusty cleared his throat. “Let’s not go into that,” he said quickly. “Anyway, I’m sure the footmen or the pool boy or one of the other men on staff will help you find the kitchens. They’re all beautiful and very… demonstrative of their affection for you. Of course they tend to spend their spare time working out in your state-of-the-art gym, and—”
“Whoa, whoa, okay, you can stop loading me up, Rusty!” Quint interjected with a laugh. “Unless what you’re going to say next is that they’re all double-hung like you. That I wouldn’t mind.” Even as he said this he noticed a tall, dark-haired, tanned twenty-something model-handsome hunk heading toward him through the atrium passage from the direction of the main building. He was barefoot, Quint noticed, and was wearing navy blue board shorts and a white polo with a Q embroidered his left pec. Good grief. The man saw Quint and smiled brilliantly, his teeth bright white against his tan, and Quint gave him a hesitant wave as they slowly closed the considerable distance between them.
“Of course. They’re all handsome, and happy, and hugely double hung, and anything else you want them to be,” Rusty said distantly. He definitely sounded distracted—maybe he was building up to that orgasm he was trying to hold off after all. Quint’s eyes were drawn to the package the dark-haired staff member was sporting. Had it just bulged out, like whatever was packed away inside it had gotten bigger… and maybe had doubled in quantity as well?
“Okay, Rusty, I’m going to let you go, okay? It sounds like you’re ready,” Quint said, watching the hot staffer as he reached the foot of the steps leading down into the pool wing and paused, waiting politely—though the hunger in his eyes spoke of more than duty.
“Yeah, definitely,” Rusty said, a little strain showing in his voice now. Oh, he was definitely on the verge of blowing his wad—both of them.
“But I want you to call me again, okay?” Quint went on, pausing so as to keep the end of this call just between them. “And by that, I mean call me personally, okay?” He gave him his number, which he could only hope still reached him wherever he now was. He had to be making this call on the same line he’d started it with… right? “And Rusty—thanks, man. Seriously. You’ve got so much good karma coming to you from me and how grateful I am, you won’t even believe it. Sex, love, eternal youth—it’s all coming for you, whatever you want!” He meant it as a joke, of course, but Quint kinda hoped he could make this real for Rusty the way Rusty had been making his own fantasies real for Quint.
“Back atcha,” Rusty said. “I mean that. All that, for you too. I… I… I gotta go!” and then, before Quint could say anything else, he heard the disconnect tone. Quint laughed and pulled off both headsets, setting them on a nearby table, then walked the rest of the way around the pool to meet his sexy underling. Man, this guy was positively radiating charisma and hot, raw sex appeal—Quint could practically feel the man’s beauty bombarding him all over as he approached. Somewhere deep in the house he could just hear a melodic rock ballad playing, like a muted soundtrack for what was coming next.
“Did you finish your call, Quint?” the hunk said, still smiling brightly. Before Quint could say anything, he reached up with both hands and calmly pulled Quint down for a long, hot kiss, first on one mouth, then the other. Then he released him and resumed his previous stance with a polite smirk.
Quint stared at him. His nametag read “Reggie” and, under that, “major domo”. Was that the rule in this house, that Quint was kissed on sight? Or was that just for the major domo? He hoped it was the first one. He noticed there was no “Mister” or “Sir” in Reggie’s address, and he found that intriguing—Rusty must have imagined a lack of subservience when he’d dreamed up this place for him, maybe finding it hotter that that the men here took their own initiative in pleasuring Quint. Reggie seemed not to bat an eye at Quint’s nakedness, either, so maybe Quint seldom wore clothes in this place, if ever. Quint was pretty okay with that.
“If you like,” Reggie was saying, “your personal trainers were wondering if you’d want to… work out with them.” He didn’t quite wink, but there was a twinkle in his eye that told him that the trainers offered a variety of regimens in the pursuit of physical achievement.
Quint smiled down at him, feeling a sudden rush of fondness mixed with a powerful attraction that threatened to send his half-chubbed monster cocks into full-blown erection again. The man was perfectly muscled and sweetly handsome in a way that tugged hard at Quint’s heart (and cocks). It was as though everything about him was optimized for absolute carnal appeal to Quint specifically. All except… “How tall are you, Reggie?”
“I’m 6 foot 4,” Reggie said, but he said it… almost as a question? Or did Quint imagine that?
Quint shook his head slowly. His heart thumped in his chest, but he had to try this, and he was 90 percent certain it would work thanks to Rusty’s “anything else you want them to be” remark. It sure wouldn’t be any crazier than the rest of what had happened to him already. “No,” he said, keeping his voice steady, “you’re an inch shorter than I am. Right?”
And Reggie was looking him almost in the eye, though he seemed not to notice that he hadn’t been a moment ago. “7 foot 3, that’s right,” Reggie said, a little more confidently than before, but also as if he were stating the obvious. Quint smiled in relief. Well, the major domo in a house like this should be extra impressive. He was sorely tempted to make Reggie an inch or two taller than him now and see how that felt, but… maybe later.
Quint bit his lip thoughtfully, then cocked his head to one side, as if uncertain of something. “And… you’re the only one on staff with eight arms, is that right?”
“At the moment,” Reggie agreed. He spread his arms out slightly as if inviting Quint’s inspection. Quint was surprised and gratified to see that whereas the six arms Rusty had imagined for Quint all depended from the same extra-thick shoulders, Reggie’s torso now featured two sets of heavy, rounded pecs one on top of the other pushing out his white, Q-embroidered polo. (The Q was now over the upper left pec, he noticed.) Reggie’s eight arms were thus similarly arranged like his pecs in two sets, above and below. Quint found all this to be incredibly hot—not least because it was his imagination at the wheel now, and no one else’s.
Also intriguing was that fact that since Quint had told him that he was 7 foot 3—or, rather, that he was an inch shorter than Quint’s presumably 7 foot 4 self—Reggie was still that height, his body instantly reconfigured to proportionately accommodate not only long, well-muscled legs but a rangy, perfectly sculpted torso as well that just happened to feature a stacked set of luscious, distracting pecs. If anything, the sense that Reggie was emitting an irresistible sexual undertow was magnified in his new form. “Did you want me to arrange for… more like me?” Reggie asked, sounding curious as to Quint’s interest in asking the question.
Quint smiled, then impetuously leaned forward and kissed him again. Reggie eagerly responded. As they kissed, Quint brought his other lips to Reggie’s ear and answered, “If I do want that, I’ll handle it personally.” Reggie hummed happily into Quint’s kissing mouth, sending a pleasant buzz through his tongue that reminded him of the first, heady stages of the day’s crazy-fantastic transformations. Quint pulled back from the kiss, holding the man by the shoulders with two of his hands, and stared hard into Reggie’s beautiful hazel eyes. Fuck, he was going to be hard and hungry for release again very, very soon.
“Okay, let’s go find those personal trainers,” he said, adding, “You come too, maybe you can help them work me over.”
Reggie grinned rakishly, and, taking one of Quint’s right hands in one of his lefts and lacing their fingers together, they headed off together into Quint’s very strange and wonderful new life.