Description Steve gets a box of clothes from his mysterious and beautiful brother, Peter, and it turns out the clothes have an amazing effect on his already unusual body.
|Updated||07 Sep 2019|
Steve hurried out of the post office and, cradling the large parcel wrapped in brown paper awkwardly under one arm against his bare midriff, waved impatiently for a cab with the other. He could hardly wait to get home. The parcel was from his brother Peter, who hadn't been heard from since a postcard from Rumania two years earlier. But there was no doubt it was from him. Even setting aside the “P. Burgess” in the upper left (over no return address), he knew his brother's bold, masculine handwriting. The postage indicated the box had come from Egypt.
He stood at the edge of the sidewalk, leaning out and waving. One cab had slipped by already, ignoring him if not seeing him. The box started to slip and he propped it up awkwardly with his hip, wishing he had an extra arm to hold the box while he waved. He shook his head and smiled at the ridiculous yet strangely erotic notion. Though dusk had fallen it was still hot, and after the cool of the post office beads of sweat began to form again on his bare back, trickling down his spine, making him even more anxious to get home.
He thought about the last time he had seen his brother and smiled. He had come home after graduating college and stayed a week before setting out to travel the world for a while. Steve had been a high school junior, his body finally blossoming after three years of wrestling with a tough, championship team, but he knew his burgeoning physique couldn't compare with Pete's thick, lithe muscles, arrayed across his lanky, tall frame, moving and rippling under his clothes in a way that had always made Steve feel a warm rush. Pete had a long, beautiful face with a dazzling smile and short blond hair; that smile always seemed to have hidden meanings, a secret joy, that made Steve intensely curious about his brother. Pete seemed to enjoy, even relish, Steve's attention, going out of his way to be physically affectionate, whether it was placing a broad, warm hand on his shoulder when they happened to be standing near each other or sitting close when they were on the sofa watching television. This always embarrassed Steve, partly because he was abashed by the attention of his older brother but mainly because when his brother touched him his dick always got instantly hard. Even now, four years later, he realized his dick was getting hard just from thinking about Peter. He could feel it pushing hard against the fabric of his jeans. He'd never worn a stitch of underwear since discovering Peter went without.
Suddenly he heard a squeal of tires and realized a cab had stopped short in front of him. The dark-haired young cabbie, probably a student like himself cabbing for extra money, was staring at him, his lips lightly parted. He blushed, realizing his dick must be showing in his thin, faded jeans. Although it wasn't especially long—it was just under 7 inches—it was so wide his fingers just touched when he jerked off, and it always got incredibly hard. That and his shirtlessness seemed to hold the cabbie enthralled. His blue-eyed gaze was so intense that Steve was himself transfixed; but a horn behind them jostled him to his senses. He climbed into the cab, placing the box in his lap, and gave the address of his NYU dorm.
The cabbie—the license said his name was Joachim—was driving slow, taking every opportunity to stare at him in the rearview mirror. Steve found his icy blue eyes intoxicating. A warm feeling flooded him—he knew he was getting really aroused, and he reddened a little as he thought about what was about to happen. Since puberty he'd noticed that when his dick swelled and got hard, and he was really, really turned on, his muscles got a little bigger, too—like a really good pump from the gym, he'd later realized. It was not until college that he'd realized not only that not everyone got a body hard-on, as he'd come to call it, but that it was are sure turn-on to anyone who even remotely liked guys—though he hadn't had many opportunities to find out, since he was afraid to let everyone else know he was different. The truth was, though he was a little ashamed of it, he had started working out and participating in sports because he loved the feel of the body hard-on and wanted to accentuate the effect. Early in his puberty it was not very noticeable, but working out and developing his muscles had indeed intensified the effect, so that he had eventually had to stop wrestling for fear of getting aroused and suddenly growing bigger in front of the entire team, or worse yet, at a meet. Peter had never mentioned it, but given the effect he always had on Steve, he must have noticed.
He could feel it starting. The warm feeling all over his body instensified, and a large dollop of precum surged from his cock, seeping through the fabric of his jeans. Sure enough, his muscles were swelling, as if between two heartbeats he had spent a day performing an intense work- out. His pants legs tightened, and his pecs were now pressed against the box in his lap. He drew a sharp breath as his hard nipples slipped up the slide of the box—part of the body hard-on was a stretching of the spine that made him a couple inches taller. Joachim's eyes in the rearview mirror were wide and staring; he was obviously incredibly aroused—his right hand was in his lap, his broad shoulders were quivering, and his breathing was ragged. Steve's cock throbbed and he heard a small rip—the thin, worn, wet fabric of his old jeans was giving way to his steel hard dick!
Suddenly panicky, Steve yelled “Stop the cab!”—just in time, he realized, because Joachim, mesmerized by his passenger, had been about to hit another cab stopped for a red light. But he stopped in time and, sparing only a moment to turn on his flashers, turned all the way around, so that he was kneeling on his seat. His handsome face leaned forward, and Steve had only enough time to notice a long, uncircumcized, and very hard cock sticking out of Joachim's fly being busily stroked before he found himself the recipient of a passionate liplock, a long, hot, yet gentle tongue sliding into his mouth as if it lived there. Steve, so intensely aroused his head suddenly bumped the roof of the cab, heard as if from a distance, over the barely heard honking of cars around them, the sound of his jeans ripping open the rest of the way, allowing his extra-wide cock to escape into the air.
Without taking his lips off him, Joachim pushed the seemingly smaller parcel aside and began running one hand over Steve's hard, swollen muscles, his other still busy with his own cock until Steve relieved him of that duty even as he slid his own tongue, like the rest of his body larger from the intense arousal, deep into Joachim's eager mouth. Joachim's thick cock felt so wonderful in his hand that before he knew it he realized he was going to come. He tried to hold off, but Joachim sensed how close Steve was and, continuing to stroke his engorged muscles with one hand, running his hand up and down as if his body were a giant erection (Steve imagined more hands, stroking his torso, his arms, his legs, everywhere), at the same time reached down and wrapped his hand around Steve's newly exposed cock, stroking it with its own precum even as Steve, still gloriously deep- kissing Joachim, his heard hard against the roof now, experienced a flood of intense pleasure—then he exploded, a torrent of hot cum spraying the box on the seat beside him even as Joachim's cock burst a stream of cum, then another and another, straight up onto the tops of Steve's swollen pecs.
Steve fell back, exhausted and sated, against the seat, his body and cock still fully turgid after the intense experience. He wasn't sure how long it was before he realized where he was. He looked out the cab window and saw two hunky locals standing at the curb, groping each other as they watched the show. He smiled wanly and, pulling out his wallet, tucked the fare and a generous tip into Joachim's pocket, since the latter was still dazed, his eyes closed with a look of deep-seated pleasure on his face. Then, holding the big, cum-drenched box in front of his exposed erection, he climbed out of the cab, with more difficulty than he had had getting in, and walked as quickly as he could toward the darkness of a side-street, thankful he was near his dorm. By the time he got there his cock had softened and his body was almost back to normal. He fished out his keys from his damaged jeans, unlocked the door, and ran up the stairs to his room.
To his dismay he saw the door was ajar. His roommate, Frank, was home. This was normally bad news since his roommate, between his swim-team body and his habit of walking around showing all of same, was a constant source of potential arousal to Steve. Fortunately he wasn't home a lot, and when he was Steve normally headed to the library until bedtime, when he could sneak in and take care of his arousal in the dark while Frank slept.
He shouldered the door open the rest of the way. Frank wasn't in the room. He must be in the shower, Steve thought with a sudden grin: a shower at that hour meant a date, which meant that after Steve got back the evening meeting of the school paper, for which he was the photo editor, he would have the room to himself, probably all night. He went into the room and dropped the box onto the bed, quickly shucking his jeans and pulling on a tee shirt and a pair of gym shorts from his bureau. Just in time, for a second later Frank strode into the room fresh from the shower, his towel around his shoulders. His long, heavy cock swayed pendulously as Frank unselfconsciously walked over to his bureau and started looking through the contents of a drawer.
Catching himself staring at the young, gorgeous roommate, and starting to feel the effects in his cock, Steve snatched up a textbook and forced himself to concentrate on its contents. Je voudrais une chemise, he read.
“Hey Steve, what do you think of this shirt on me?” he heard. “Just got it today.”
“I'm sure it's fine,” he said. Les haricots verts sont trop cher ici.
“C'mon. What do you think?”
Steve looked up reluctantly and took a deep breath. Steve was still naked from the waist down, but above he was wearing a skintight black t-shirt with thin, bright-red pinstripes that traced the outline of every bump and bulge of his well-developed torso, even rumbling down his six-pack abs. Steve stared for a moment and managed to say, “It looks—great.”
Frank smiled brilliantly. “Thanks,” he said. “Say, have you been living at the gym lately?”
Steve stared for just a second before realizing his cock was in full-blown hardon stage and his body, already starting to “show,” would soon follow. “Shit!” he said, running out of the room, his French book in front of him, as Frank called after him in confusion, “No, I meant that good!” Steve hurried into the john and locked himself in a stall, breathing hard and forcing himself to concentrate on not getting hard. Fortunately this usually worked for him, and after a few moments he had calmed down. He crept out of the bathroom, cursing his hormones, he readied an apology for Frank, but he was already gone.
Half relieved, half disappointed, Steve closed the door and sat down on his bed. He set about opening the parcel.
The first thing in the box was a picture. Steve stared at it, instantly hard, his torso swelling, his t-shirt suddenly several sizes too small. It was Peter. He was sitting tall and straight on a plush sofa, dressed in a gray tank top and white shorts, his lean lanky body bursting with thick muscle, a broad grin on his beautiful face. To his amazement the photo (it must be doctored, Steve thought) showed something Steve had always fantasized about: Peter's body had four long, well- muscled arms, folded in two pairs across his chest, and four beautiful legs, likewise crossed in pairs. Steve was almost drooling. His cock was painfully hard; his tee shirt was so tight he had to drop the photo in his lap and literally rip it off. Even more stimulating: underneath the tank top, rising most of the way up long, long abdominals, was the unmistakable outline of two very long, very thick, very hard cocks. Two dots of wetness showed in the tank top just under the double set of folded arms.
Steve was in heaven. His shorts were so tight now his cock was fighting to get out; Steve picked the picture back up, then set it down with regret to peel off the shorts, wishing he had extra arms so he could hold the picture and undress—and do lots of things besides. Doctored or no he could jack off to this picture for hours. Suddenly it occurred to him there might be more pictures in the box. Quickly he set the picture aside and looked eagerly. The next thing inside the box was a letter; underneath that there seemed mainly to be clothes. Clothes? He wondered, perplexed. He opened the letter and read Peter's firm hand: “Dear brother, I was really enjoying this for a while on my own until I realized I was being kind of selfish. So I'm sending these to you. I hope you think it's as incredible as I do. Enjoy. Love, Pete. P.S. You can wear your own clothes over. They'll adapt! It's really incredible. P.P.S. I'll be back in the states before long. See you soon.”
The letter didn't make anything clearer, but the last line nearly made him come on the spot. He imagined Peter coming to him—this Peter from the doctored photo, walking into his room naked on four big feet, opening all his arms wide to enfold him in an incredible hug, squeezing Steve tight as his body swelled, Peter's immense cocks pressed hard against Steve's abs. Without realizing it Steve had his hands around his broad cock, stroking it as he imagined four hands stroking his growing body, Peter's hands, his bulging legs mixed in among Peter's as they fall back on the bed, tongues stroking each other, cocks and limbs everywhere, Steve's body in the fantasy suddenly possessed of extra arms and legs as well, the two of them writhing in intense physical passion as if it had grown just as they had grown, for now they were even bigger, bodies intertwined, each entering the other and pressing deep within; and as he came close to cumming he imagined Peter's face, an Adonis's face, flushed with passion, desire, ecstasy—and Steve came, shooting so powerfully that he hit his face, most of it shooting straight into his open, panting mouth. He swallowed, surprised and delighted, and licked his lips.
Steve lay back, exhausted and sated, from the best jack- off session he'd ever had. He had almost felt the caresses of his long-absent brother Peter, his already sexy frame somehow augmented like the doctored picture he'd sent: four hands stroking Steve's hunky young body as it swelled in a body hard-on more stimulating than any he'd ever felt, Peter's imagined four legs intertwined with Steve's lithe and muscled legs, and somehow Steve had held out long enough to play out this fantasy with increasing passion until they had both come hard and copiously. Or at least, so it had happened in Steve's imagination. But two things were incontrovertible: He had come hard—there was a dollop of come on the cinder- block hall behind him, and he could still taste the shots that had hit his mouth; and his fantasy had lasted longer than a usual j/o session—according to the clock on his desk, he was now actually late for the editorial board meeting for the campus paper, though he'd gotten home in plenty of time. He'd have to hurry.
Nonetheless he lay naked on his bed for a few moments, trying to prolong the delicious afterglow. Peter's note had said he'd be back in the U.S. soon, and that had started the whole thing; even reminding himself of it now, in spite of his exhausted state, made his double- wide cock—which was still half-hard—twitch and swell. Hastily he shunted the thought aside: he didn't have time to take care of another hard-on. Nonetheless he wanted to keep Peter in mind, and his thoughts turned to the box of clothes which, oddly, Peter had sent along with the note and doctored photo. On top were a couple of pairs of briefs and some tank-tops, all carefully folded; below that seemed to be a few pairs of pants and shirts. He decided wearing Peter's gifts under his clothes would make him feel good.
He checked the tags on the briefs. They seemed to be missing, but hand-lettered with permanent ink on the waist-band, in Peter's handwriting, were apparent sizes: one said “XL-2,” another “L-4,” and so on. He wasn't sure what the number meant, but the sizes seemed pretty clear. Though he was small-waisted—around 31”—he normally had to wear large briefs because of his hard, spherical glutes—his prized “bubble butt.” He pulled on the ones marked “L-4” and checked through the tank-tops. They were similarly tagless but carefully marked: “L-6,” “L-4,” “XL-6,” etc. He pulled on the “L-6.” Both the briefs and the tank-top seemed slightly snug and quite comfortable. His cock was just soft enough to tuck into the briefs, where it made an attractive bulge.
Quickly Steve pulled on a loose blue and red rugby shirt and jeans—not the worn ones his cock had ripped open in the cab on the way home, though he was tempted—and hurried out the door.
It wasn't far to the newspaper offices, and he jogged quickly across the campus, which was a lot cooler now than when he's come back from the post office; he was glad of the rugby shirt. He wasn't very excited about the meeting. He'd only joined the paper for one reason: he was interested enough in photography he was considering minoring in it, and the paper was the only place on campus with a darkroom he could get access to anytime he wanted. It occurred to him now, as he entered the student center, that he might have chosen photography in part because in a darkroom he wouldn't have to hide the effects that sudden arousal might have on him. His body hard-on—the way his muscles and whole body grew upon arousal as if he were a six-foot cock—was to him both intensely pleasurable and, since he'd found out in puberty that no one else got bigger when they were turned-on, disconcertingly freakish.
The meeting was already under-way, but he only got a few glances as he came in: no one really cared about the photo editor unless he didn't deliver his goods. He sat on the edge of the circle and looked around at the group as the editor ran down stories for the next issue. Suddenly his eyes fell upon a stranger's, and locked.
At first all Steve noticed about the new boy were his watery blue eyes, glinting with energy even under these fluorescent lights. Gradually his scope widened to take in a beautifully fashioned, model-handsome face with a hint of late-day stubble, and full, sensuous lips parted slightly; blond-sandy hair, cut short; broad shoulders concealed under a thin, unfashionable plaid shirt; a gymnast's torso, though a touch too muscular for a gymnast…
All this time the new boy had returned the stare, as if sizing Steve up the same way; but suddenly he turned and said to the editor, “Jay, I don't think I know…”, nodding at Steve.
Jay, not used to Steve speaking up in these meeting, blinked at him, “Oh, um. Okay," he said. "Um, Steve Burgess, this is Brad Lang, the new fiction editor. Steve’s the photo editor,” he told the new guy as an afterthought.
Steve smiled and blushed, suddenly aware he'd been staring, and in front of all these people. He glanced around, but no one seemed to have noticed. Actually he had a more pressing problem: a sudden snugness in the rugby shirt across his shoulders warned him he was in danger of getting aroused. He closed his eyes and ran through his calming routine. Fortunately it worked, though he was sure that if he hadn't just had incredible j/o it wouldn't have.
He came out of the routine and tried to pick up the threads of the meeting. He actually should be paying attention at this point, since they were talking about sports stories, which would need pictures. The heavyset sports editor glanced at him and he nodded as if he'd been listening.
But his mind soon wandered and he found himself looking at Brad, who was watching Steve covertly—not to incite him, just as if he were taken with what he saw. Brad licked his full lips unconsciously and that simple act sent a tingle through Steve's body. Quickly Steve closed his eyes and tried the calming technique, only this time he couldn't think clearly—it felt as though some new thread of sensual emotion was washing through him now, one he didn't know. His body started to feel queerly out of phase. The sounds in the room grew hazy. He tried to rub his temples with his fingertips, but even this everyday act felt peculiar. He opened his eyes and, glancing at his hand as he brought it down from his temple, noticed with alarm that it had six fingers.
He started at it, frozen, even as he felt his whole body shiver. It had never happened like this before! For a moment he was paralyzed; but then he felt the familiar tightness across the shoulders and realized he had to move. He stood up abruptly. The features editor, interrupted in mid-word, glared up at him. The glare scattered whatever he might have been able to say. Instead he fled to the darkroom, hoping he'd reach it in time.
The darkroom had a kind of black revolving door, a light- safe door, which a staff wag had noticed looked a lot like the Orgasmatron from the Woody Allen movie “Sleeper.” On the one or two previous occasions he'd hurried into the darkroom to hide a budding body hard-on he'd been amused by the connection; but he didn't think of it now. He rushed in and pulled the door around. He leaned against the nearest counter, staring at his hands in the red glow of the dark-room light.
He felt his body swelling—he was getting a raging hard-on. This amazed him. He'd already come twice today! Was the new boy that sexy? Well, maybe. And even with that thought he felt a surge, his pecs swelling up under the shirt like balloons being inflated. Normally he would have pulled off his shirt to keep it from ripping, but the rugby shirt was stretchy enough; it would just get really, really snug. Then a sudden constriction in his crotch tore his mind away from his shirt. Quickly he unzipped his fly and through the flap in his suddenly packed briefs he hauled out his cock. Only—where his cock should have been was a monster, a huge python that, though not even hard yet, was too big to get both hands around. It was broad and squarish like his old cock but much bigger. He stared at it aghast, and all he could think was that it felt damn good. It was swelling up to full hardness, and after a moment—though Steve had lost sensation of time—it was granite-hard and prodigious. Though it was all the way hard it felt like it was still growing. As he stroked the monster with his broader-than-before hands Steve felt, and then saw, a depression running down the middle of the quivering cock, on the top and bottom and each of the sides; and then- accompanied by an almost orgasmic feeling of pleasure the head of the huge cock separated into four, and then the separation proceeded slowly down the cock to the base, splitting into four rock-hard quivering cocks as if it were the most natural and beautiful thing in the world. At that moment Steve would not have disagreed. Just the cool air of the room on the new skin where the cocks had split felt like a succulent mouth giving incredible head.
Even as he panted with the pleasure induced by his new cocks he felt a new swell of pleasure from his shoulders and glanced down excitedly. He was surprised to see that his rugby shirt was not as tight as he expected it to be. At first he thought it was because he hadn't grown as much as usual—but he looked around and saw he was near the ceiling of the little room! He never got more than six or eight inches taller, but he must have grown two or three times that, only his clothes had grown with him. The height came from the lengthening of his torso and legs, which gave him an uncommonly lean, lanky look, only the pants legs and shirt had grown with him. Even the fly was wider to accommodate his nest of cocks. How could that be?
He looked down at his shoulder again, which was swelling in a weird way. It seemed to have three wide ridges along the top leading toward his arm. It was the same on the other side. As he watched in the eerie red light his upper arm swelled suddenly, bulging in three ridges as if he had three sets of biceps; by this point his shoulders on each side had started to separate into three caps, and having seen what happened to his cock he had an inkling of what was going to happen, though he still couldn't believe it. And even as he was thinking this the separation shot down the arm under the shirt sleeve, and just as rapidly divided, the shirt sleeve as well, with a feeling of pleasure so intense he half expected come to shoot from his hands. Almost before he realized it he was running surprised hands over his six long, extremely well-muscled arms, reveling in the touch, the press of muscle against muscle, the realization of a barely acknowledged fantasy suddenly come true.
Four of those hands, of course, soon found his large but sensitive cocks, and as he began caressing them his body hard-on completed with his head brushing against the darkroom ceiling.
He was so immersed in how good this felt, and enjoying the roving of his remaining hands over his swollen muscles packed onto his stretched body, that he didn't heard the Orgasmatron revolving, didn't notice Brad until he looked down and saw him staring up at him, dumbstruck, from the entryway. “I came to see if you were O.K.,” Brad whispered.
Steve froze. Reality had intruded and he might have lost his hard-on had Brad not been so sexually stimulating from head to toe. Worried thoughts like “What will he do?” and “He's going to tell everyone I'm a freak” vied for his attention with “My god his body is perfect” and “I could come just watching those lips.”
A tense moment passed, then Brad's hand strayed to one leg of his baggy jeans. The hand kept going, starting at the crotch and continuing down to the knee, adjusting something long and thick underneath. Suddenly he said, “I've got to get out of these,” quickly unbuttoning his pants and lowering them to the ground, revealing a slumbering cock that seemed to be swelling up like a life raft. Brad shucked his shirt too, revealing a bod that was perfectly proportioned and deliciously muscled—his muscles, though not as impressive as Steve's in their current engorged state, were bigger than his normal state and much better sculpted. But it was Brad's cock that drew Steve's attention now. Though large and heavy it was pointing straight up, and having reached full size it was quivering excitedly near the tops of his pecs. As if almost out of habit Brad inclined his head and lapped up a trickle of precum.
“You can see I won't tell anyone about you,” Brad whispered, stepping closer and running his hands along Steve's nearest arms. “I'm a bit unusual myself. Though not quite like you,” he added with a devastating grin.
Steve’s head was swimming with arousal and pleasure, so wasn't quite sure what Brad meant, though part of him was still concerned. “I—” he began. But his tongue was now longer than before, a sensual instrument of passion, and made talking more difficult.
Brad stopped him by pulling his head down for a kiss—a kiss so long and passionate that they both inhaled deeply as soon as they pulled apart, starved for air. Brad looked up at him with naked desire. “You're the sexiest man I've ever seen,” he said.
Together they dove into a span of time saturated with pleasure and passion. Steve was uninhibited with Brad in a way he'd never been. Brad, for his part, was finally letting go of a fear that had kept him, beyond a few secret hand-jobs in high school with a pair of trusted friends who’d worked as team, from sharing his prodigious sexuality with another man.
Steve felt as purely happy being able to using this astounding body to bring pleasure to Brad as Brad did being on the receiving end. First they groped each other as Steve used four of his wide, long-fingered hands to surround Brad's cock with his own and stroke them all together. Between the difference in height and the enormous length of Brad's cock it ended up poking a few inches out of the middle of Steve's quartet of cocks—and those sensitive cocks loved pressing against another hot throbbing cock almost more than anything else.
At this point Steve realized he was still fully clothed and quickly shucked the shirts, briefs, and jeans. He'd realized that Peter's clothes must have had something to do with his transformation, and he didn't know what would happen if he took them off; but he didn't care. His body seemed the same even after he took off the clothes, and Brad stopped for a moment to look up at Steve's torso: now on display were thick, square, granite-hard pecs overshadowing a tight, equally rock-hard and excitingly elongated abdominal section, above which were extra-wide shoulders from which hung six long, pumped, tightly packed arms with broad, many-fingered hands. Below were two extra-long, well-shaped and lightly hairy legs culminating in two long, beautiful feet. Brad whistled, which made Steve feel hot all over; then they went for each other, kissing madly and massaging cock, muscle, and limb.
As their passion increased Brad suddenly slid behind Steve and even before Steve realized what was happening he felt the tip of Brad's tremendous, precum-slathered cock against his virgin hole. Steve felt a momentary panic but Brad whispered, “If anyone can take this it's you. Just relax.” To distract him brad used his only two arms to reach around and start stroking Steve's top two cocks, so thick and hard they felt huge in his hands, and as Steve gasped Brad slid the first inch in. Brad continued stroking the cocks and pushing his own in, inch after inch, until they both realized that never before had either of them felt as much mind-swimming pleasure as they both felt at that moment, with Brad sliding his hot, thick, throbbing, incredibly long cock deeper and deeper into Steve's virgin-tight, red-hot ass. Brad started to push deeper, and Steve had to refrain from crying out, remembering with a sudden thrill that the others were outside. Brad plowed that virgin ass, sliding his cock with difficulty between bowling-ball glutes, until less than a foot remained outside; then he started pumping, stroking those top two cocks with the same rhythm while Steve stroked the other two. It didn't take long before they both felt ready to burst. Brad tried to pull out but couldn't get his whole length out in time, and he came inside Steve, cumming spurt after spurt, while Steve shot in great quantity from four cocks simultaneously, a burst of pleasure so powerful he staggered, nearly knocked out.
It was some time before they were aware of anything again, longer still before they were cleaned up and dressed. Steve's body contracted from the body hard-on normally; and the extra arms and cocks reassimilated into a proper number, though he felt as though he might be slightly bigger than before. He checked his hands—five fingers. That was a good sign. As for Brad, his monster shrank into a compact, bery large but almost normal-looking cock. “It's only a problem when I get hard,” Brad said, pulling up his pants.
“Tell me about it,” Steve mused. He had his jeans on but his rugby shirt was still in his hands. Perhaps because he’d cast it off before his bod returned to (near-) normal, it was still the size it had been at his biggest, and still had six arms. He would have to go with just the tank top.
“Brad, are you doing anything tonight?” he asked, past the shyness that he would usually have felt over asking a guy to spend time with him.
“No, I'm not, and even if I were, I'm not,” said Brad with a grin.
“Good. I've got something back at my room I need to show you. A big pile of somethings.”
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!” growled Frank a month later, angrily dumping his wet laundry onto his bed. All three of the dryers in the dorm laundry room weren't working, through it had taken Frank six quarters dropped in the one that wasn't marked “OUT OF ORDER” to find that out.
Now he had nothing to wear to the swim team victory party that night. There were the denim cutoffs he was wearing, of course, but this was one time the team was expected to wear shirts and pants—and nice ones too, since reporters from the city papers and the campus rag would be covering the event, the capper on the first half of a shutout season.
Fuck. All his clothes were either wet, dirty, or better suited to dance clubs than formal events. He had nothing to wear that was any better than the worn old cutoffs he was wearing.
Frank glanced in the mirror behind the door and briefly considered going in just the shorts anyway. He grinned at the ridiculous idea. Still … There was no question he had a well-proportioned body, lanky and well-built since before puberty, and he'd worked hard on conditioning for years now. His muscles were firm and tight and blew out unexpectedly large when flexed, his body fat was minuscule, his arms and legs long and lean and firmly packed, his hands and feet large, nimble, and well-formed. He could play a lot of sports, but he had to admit to himself he stuck with swimming because he liked his body and knew other people liked it too.
He knew for a fact he turned on his secretive roommate Steve, though the hunky sophomore tried to hide it. Sometimes he would seem to get distracted in the midst of a chat with Frank; Frank would feel Steve's young, hot, hungry eyes drifting over his bod—and then suddenly Steve would get up and leave the room. More than once Frank had spotted Steve's rock-hard boner, wider than two of Frank's cocks, twitching under Steve's jeans before a sudden exit.
Lately Frank had taken to provoking him, walking around naked as much as possible, just to see what would happen. At first Steve had become flustered and agitated—and evidently was working off his frustration at the gym, since whenever he saw Steve lately he looked huge. But for much of the past couple weeks his plan had evidently backfired—Steve was staying away from the dorm except occasionally stopping by to get clothes or books.
Suddenly a coin dropped in Frank's mind. His eyes slid off his body in the mirror to the dresser behind him—Steve's dresser. Frank smiled. He couldn't go half-naked, of course, but he could innocently borrow some of his roommate's clothes. Steve would never even know—he was certainly sleeping at his new boyfriend's, and the clothes would be returned in the morning.
Frank hurried over to the dresser and pulled open the top drawer. Empty. Frank frowned. His clothes must be all at his boyfriend's, since he was always sleeping there. In fact all the drawers were empty except the bottom one.
In the bottom drawer there was a variety of clothes—long-sleeve shirts, tank tops, underwear, shorts, pants, and socks. The drawer was only partly full—Frank guessed some of these were also with Steve at his boyfriend's. Oddly none of the clothes had manufacturer's labels. Instead they were marked with codes in magic marker. Frank frowned again. Steve had a drawer full of irregulars? Still he had no choice. He pulled on what looked like Calvin Klein boxer-briefs. He wouldn't normally wear briefs marked XL-2—he had a very trim 30” waist—but they were the only ones there, and fit surprisingly snugly. In fact they felt instantly comfortable and not a little erotic. Frank felt his cock swell a little into the cozy pouch.
Quickly he pulled on an undershirt marked L-3P followed by a pair of khaki slacks marked L-4 and a brick-red button-down shirt, also marked L-4. He was surprised to see even the socks he grabbed were also marked (L-7T). All the clothes fit perfectly despite Steve's bigger frame, and in fact felt as snug and cozy as the Calvins, pressing softly against his skin and muscle, as if they were adapting to his bod. Frank grinned, shaking his head. Too lucky. Must be these were all of Steve's high school clothes, from before he bulked up. No wonder he'd left them behind.
Under the slacks was a Polaroid snapshot.
The Polaroid featured a very sexy young athlete, maybe a little older than Frank. He looked a little like Steve, but better looking, and cockier, though not quite as built. He was sitting tall and straight on a plush sofa, dressed in a gray tank top and white shorts, his lean lanky body laden with thick muscle, a broad grin on his beautiful face.
Somehow the photo had been doctored, since to Frank's amazement it showed the hunk with four long, well-muscled arms, folded in two pairs across his chest, and four beautiful legs, likewise crossed in pairs. Still more amazing—underneath the tank top, rising most of the way up long, long abdominals, was the unmistakable outline of two very long, very thick, very hard cocks. Two dots of wetness showed in the tank top just under the double set of folded arms.
Frank stared a long time at this photograph, not even realizing he was getting very aroused.
Brad loved to watch Steve get aroused, loved to make it happen. It started in the eyes—his amber eyes caught fire, lit by orange-yellow flame. Then as Brad watched Steve's body would swell along with his cock. His shoulders would broaden, his upper arms would swell, his pecs would start growing, his whole torso would start to lengthen, the arms and legs following suit, stretching, growing, expanding. Finally his double-wide cock would be rock-hard and quivering, and Steve's engorged body would reach its full throbbing size as well, flushed and panting, his eyes a blazing fire. Brad had come more than once just watching Steve get hard.
And that wasn't even all. If Steve was wearing clothes from the secret box his mysterious brother had sent him, the effect was intoxicatingly multiplied. The first time they met Steve was wearing clothes that made him sport six long thick-muscled arms, velvety smooth and stone hard, and four huge hard throbbing versions of that delicious double- wide cock.
This was a dream come true for Brad, a gymnast who had always gotten off on arms and legs. Since puberty he'd beat off his two-foot cock wishing he had more arms, more hands to stroke his tremendous organ. He'd dreamed of hands, hands, and more hands, all over his super-long cock, and then as he started to build up a gymnast's bod, over his muscles and limbs as well. He'd started to have dreams at night of competing naked, hugely hard, with four or six or eight long legs and as many long arms, spinning his many legs like mad in the flairs, cartwheeling forever on the mat, splitting in all directions…
Once he learned of these dreams, Steve had put aside his concerns about his freakishness and pulled on the six-arm tank-top whenever they got together in Brad's dorm room, which Brad thanked God every night he had to himself with no roommate. Brad would immerse himself in Steve's hot body, feeling it grow around him, muscles swelling, bones growing, then Brad would feel six huge hands roaming his tight body, stroking his tremendous boner with hand after hand after hand, and often this would bring Brad to sudden orgasm before they even got to the stone-hard cocks thrusting up out of Steve's deep crotch.
Tonight, the rest of his dream would come true. Though Steve had held off, worried because he didn't know what would happen, lust at the thought of an augmented Brad had finally won out. Tonight, Brad would get to wear clothes from the box.
Brad looked back at Steve as they walked across campus, his eyes sliding up and down his body, feeling his tightly packed python squirm inside his straining Calvins and loose jeans. There was no question about it. In the month they'd known each other, Steve had grown. They'd started out about the same height, Steve maybe a couple inches taller. Now, Steve was a good foot taller than Brad even when he wasn't aroused. He'd taken to wearing gym shorts, sneakers, and nothing else, since too-short shirts and pants looked odder than nothing at all—and that was more than fine with Brad, who found himself constantly staring at the elongated abs capped with ponderous, rounded pecs, and the stretched—but still heavily muscled—arms and legs ending in large hands and feet. He wasn't sure whether it meant Steve was constantly half-hard, or that continued exposure to the magic clothes had left a residual effect, or what, and he didn't fucking care. He grinned as they passed an impromptu basketball game in progress—all eyes were suddenly fixed on Steve, and the guy about to shoot the ball went so wide it shot over the fence.
Brad felt good—he and Steve shared a magical secret and had fulfilled each other's fantasies—or they would, tonight, anyway.
Suddenly he froze. He was unbuttoning his shirt with two hands. He lifted his head, his mind still swimming with hormones. The first thing he saw was two enormous boners. They were impossibly thick, as thick as his wrist and almost as long as his forearm, throbbing and quivering like sex totems, dwarfing the two big hands wrapped around them, fingers unable to touch, as they mindlessly slid up and down, each trip sending a wave of pleasure through his body. They were like iron bars, so hard he couldn't move them. He could only stroke their long, long length, up out of the groin at a 45-degree angle but gently curving toward his torso.
His body … Now he noticed two new hands, like the others attached to long muscular arms that filled the wide sleeves of the shirt, which had developed four arms itself. They were done unbuttoning the shirt and now he watched amazed as he guided the hands along the tight abs and up to his enlarged pecs, which ballooned out as he flexed them, as sensitive as if they were made of cock-muscle. Still stroking his enormous cocks, he continued exploring with his new long-fingered hands, drawing them across the great pecs. He caressed his broad shoulders. Where the great arms joined the body was a kind of erogenous zone—he felt a flush of pleasure as he stroked the firm muscle through the soft fabric of the shirt. He then caressed down the other, generously muscled arms, finally reaching the other broad, long- fingered hands, still slowly stroking his incredible organs.
His body shuddered with pleasure. More aware of what he was feeling, he sensed rather than saw four swimmer's legs instead of two, and four big feet. That kicked him close to the edge. He loved feet, loved the slap of big beautiful male feet on the locker room floor, and the idea of four feet made his blood rush. He stroked faster now, his huge sensitive cocks sending shock-waves through his body as he rubbed his feet against the carpet through the socks, his anus pulsing, his augmented hunk bod writhing on the bed.
He was almost ready to shoot when someone knocked at the door.
Frank froze. “Go away!”
Frank heard a masculine voice through the door. “Hey, Steve, is that you?” Frank was about yell back when he noticed the doorknob turning. Panicking, he jumped up and ran across the room, coordinating his four legs effortlessly (though he scarcely noticed), positioning himself behind the door just as it started to open. He grabbed the edge of the door and peered around it cautiously, acutely aware that though he was fully clothed—magic clothes or no—he was obscenely exposed, his two huge boners totally unhideable, his new arms and legs somehow just as erotic.
On the other side of the door a very tall, lanky, well-muscled young man regarded him with interest, eyes glinting. They were a warm, sweet brown, like milk chocolate, and Frank could hardly look away from them. His limbs were very long, ending in large hands and large bare feet; long straight blond hair fell past broad shoulders down onto his upper back. He was wearing just a tee-shirt, stretched across heavy pecs and worn through near the nipples, and very worn jeans. He smiled, revealing dimples. “You're not Steve,” he said, still smiling.
Precum oozed steadily from Frank's monster cocks, behind the door. “No, I'm not,” he said. “I'm his roommate, Frank.”
“I'm Peter, Steve's brother,” the tall man in the hall said. “Can I come in and wait?” Suddenly Frank realized why Peter looked familiar—he was the gorgeous augmented athlete in the apparently-not-doctored-after-all Polaroid. His mouth dropped open. At the same time Peter's grin broadened and he said, softly, “I recognize that shirt.” Peter slowly pushed the door open enough for him to step through, his head not quite grazing the doorjamb. Frank didn't resist.
In a moment they were standing in front of each other, very still, engrossed. Peter pushed the door shut and locked it.
Frank felt passion burst in every cell of his body. In spite of his squarely positioned four legs and four big feet he felt he might swoon. This man radiated sexuality, and just standing in front of him, drinking him in, he was pushing Frank to a new level, his blood surging, his heart pounding, his cock-poles shuddering. A drop of sweat trickled down his broadened back. He stood, four muscle arms akimbo, panting, waiting.
Peter was becoming aroused.
Still smiling, eyes still glinting, his whole body seemed to throb imperceptibly. Frank felt a half-second's blackness come over him and when he focused again, his knees weak, Peter was nude.
Frank gasped. His body was perfectly crafted, firm and solid and muscular and stretched, from his long neck to long but thick-muscled arms and legs to a long, ten-pack abdomen to long fingers and toes. And hanging from his crotch was a thick heavy penis that was growing, and growing, and growing.
Even as he watched it seemed to swell like a balloon being blown up, and—accompanied by a moan from their owner—they slowly divided as they grew and stiffened into two huge cocks, as big as Frank's but longer, pointing straight up. As Frank looked over that powerful body and sucked in his breath—it was all pulsing, throbbing, growing. He winked at Frank. “I don't need the clothes,” he whispered.
Frank couldn't stand it any more. He had to have him. He closed the distance between them and as they touched lips he too was naked. He didn't notice his missing clothes at the time—but he remembered many hands stroking his broad bare back as they kissed, their hot mouths merging as they groped each other.
Time stopped. Arms and legs intertwined, muscle pressed against muscle. Peter bent slightly and began giving Frank's left cock sensational head, using two hands to grab Frank's ass and two more to stroke the broad shafts near the bottom. Frank closed his eyes, perpetually seconds away from coming as Peter ministered. Gradually he became aware that his right cock was also getting expertly sucked. He opened his eyes a crack and saw the Peter had broadened his shoulders and was using two beautiful, sexy, long-haired heads to suck his two huge cocks. Frank found this incredibly arousing and soon clear precum was dribbling from both of Peter's mouths and down firm, angular chins. Two blowjobs at once felt ten times as good as one.
Frank began stroking the two heads with two of his hands, wrapping his other two around the tops of Peter's gorgeous cocks, getting off on his arm muscles brushing together. They felt hot and firm and smooth, and as Frank massaged them they throbbed and seemed to expand slightly in his hands. Peter moaned again around Frank's cocks. He was taking more and more of his cocks, hot mouths swallowing his meat in stages, until suddenly he lunged forward and took the whole length, entirely engulfing Frank's throbbing monsters.
Time shifted and somehow they were on the bed. Frank was on his back, Peter kneeling over him still taking both his cocks, four glinting eyes looking up at him, his long thick meat shoved deep in Peter's hot tight throat as Peter's many broad hands slowly caressed Frank's enhanced musclebod, but now Frank's four legs were over Peter's broad shoulders. He realized he could feel he had two asses now—his extra legs had grown behind his old ones, merged into his body with a new ass, and he raised his head to see Peter using a couple extra long-fingered hands to guide those poles toward his two virgin assholes. Frank shivered, and for a moment felt a twinge of fear, but somehow he knew he would be able to take those beauties—just. To take his mind off it he stared at his four big, sculpted, powerful feet. He felt an odd sense of pride to own such superlative feet. They felt strong, just as how whole body did. He looked closer and realized that each of those feet was possessed of seven finger-like toes. He waggled them and his cocks surged. He longed to suck them.
Then Peter's cocks made contact with his twitching twin holes and he forgot all about his feet. They pushed in, incredibly hard and firm, slick with their own juices, and Frank felt a brief flash of pain followed by a storm of pleasure, flooding his mind and body, as the cock-poles pushed into his body. Peter sucked harder on Frank's intensely throbbing cocks, lathing them with long hot tongues, squeezing them in his throats so they seemed to grow with every stab of violent pleasure, every thrust of Peter's steel-hard cocks. Peter seemed to push them in further, harder, impossibly far, each push thrilling Frank's body, until at last Peter, bent nearly double, shoved the last few inches through his virgin- tight, furnace-hot holes and he felt those two huge organs entirely inside him, hot and throbbing and alive, and he wanted them there more than anything, he wanted them to stay there pulsing deep inside his bod.
Peter started to fuck him, slowly at first, then quickly faster and faster, pounding his asses and his cocks in sympathetic rhythm. Frank was in ecstasy but couldn't hold out. Within moments he was on the edge and then his whole body seemed to swell up, muscles and limbs and cocks expanding, and them suddenly he exploded, his groin bursting with fiery cum that shot down his endless cocks and burst into Peter's twin throats, and even as he fell back tingling it happened again, only now it was happening to Peter too, his whole body throbbing, those cocks inside him expanding and shuddering, and then they both let loose, filling each other with cum, and then again, and once more.
Peter disengaged and, smiling up at him with beautiful twin faces, moved up and lay on top of Frank, kissing him with both mouths. Frank had never had a three-way kiss before and loved it, and they kissed passionately. He wrapped his four muscle arms around Peter's long, thick torso and felt its pulsing, thinking that it felt like a man- sized hard-on, still half-erect after incredible sex, much as both their cocks were, laying pulsing against their sweaty abs, the thick tubes half hard and pleasantly intermingled, bigger now than they had been hard. He was dimly aware that he didn't fit on the bed any more, that his whole body had grown, and this sent a last light wave of pleasure through his sated body. They fell asleep that way, Peter's heads resting on Frank's expanded pecs, and were awakened only by the jangling of keys at Frank's door.
“Shh! I think I hear something!” Brad whispered to Steve, who had unlocked the door to his dorm room and already had his broad, long-fingered hand on the knob to open it.
Steve frowned down at Brad, but the frown melted as he looked into those beautiful clear blue eyes, just catching the bright light of the third-floor dorm hallway. He licked his lips. Whatever had made his body slowly stretch, little by little, since he'd met Brad, he liked seeing his face, his eyes, from this angle, turned up to him, innocent and cute as hell. Well, not that innocent, Steve decided—there was a hungry gleam in those eyes that was far from innocent, a gleam that drank in Steve's towering practically naked body as if to absorb Steve into him, a gleam that said that however much he wanted to be held and caressed Brad also wanted to throw Steve on the floor and have passionate sex with him right now, nonstop, bodies melting together, with no return to reality.
Steve lost his train of thought for a moment. A few pricks of sweat trickled between his heavy pecs and started rolling down his very long, flat abs. “It's probably just Frank,” he said at last in a normal voice.
Brad looked disappointed. “I thought we were going to be alone,” he said. “Didn't you say he had a swim meet tonight?”
Steve nodded. “He's probably just getting ready to go.”
Brad grinned suddenly. “Maybe we should wait a minute,” he said, and without warning reached up with both tightly muscled arms and pulled Steve's head down to his, locking their lips together in a kiss more passionate than any fuck. Steve felt a wave of deep warmth flow through his elongated bod—his blood started to pump, filling and swelling his dick, his muscles, his entire body.
He pulled away from the kiss, just an inch, and said, “No wait, don't get me excited out here!”
Brad grinned. “Why? You're not wearing any of the clothes,” he said, glancing down at Steve's bod, which was hidden only by very large tennis shoes with a bit of crew sock showing, and a pair of gym shorts with a suddenly very large package.
Steve nodded breathlessly. “The shorts,” he breathed.
Brad's face lit up. “Which ones?”
Steve bit his lip. “Four extra-long legs. Three extra-long cocks. It was going to be a surprise,” he added ruefully.
Brad was practically panting. “Oh, I'm surprised,” he said, grabbing Steve's head again and pulling him in for an even hotter kiss.
Forgot to tell him about the socks, Steve thought. Well that can still be a surprise. Shit! It's starting… Steve's heart pounded as he felt Brad's strong hands caressing his slowly broadening, stretching back.
Peter grinned without opening his eyes. “I bet it's Steve,” he said in a deep growly voice.
Frank lifted his head in alarm and glanced at the door, then down at their intertwined bodies. His four arms and hands were wrapped around Peter's long, broad torso, stroking the long blond hair that tumbled from two heads now, intermingling all over his back. His four (!) long swimmer's legs extended off the bed now—the bed ended halfway down his thigh!—and four very large, very sexy feet were planted firmly on the floor. And he could feel, with every ounce of his body, the two enormous cocks, hot and full of blood, still three-quarters hard and twisted with Peter's equally large organs, a large heavy mass of cock muscle twitching and throbbing against their abs.
“I can't let Steve see me like this!” he said.
Peter lifted his heads and looked up at Frank with piercing eyes. “Sure you can! This is his fantasy. Though I don't know if he knows it yet. That's why I sent the clothes—I wanted to get him ready.” He grinned in stereo. “Though if I'd known his roommate was so hot, I would’ve sent them to you first—that would really have got him going!”
Frank blinked. He was becoming distracted. He was looking at those twin gorgeous faces and remembering why Peter had done it—the mind-blowing simultaneous blow job on both his towering cocks. Peter's heads were placed very close to each other, just like Frank's cocks, and his stubbly, square jaws and cheeks were just brushing against each other. Frank loved the feel of light stubble brushing against his cheek and wondered of Peter was enjoying the feel of it too. He seemed to be. Without even realizing what he was saying Frank whispered, “Can you kiss yourself like that?”
Peter grinned even wider. “I can do anything,” he said softly. Slowly he turned his heads toward each other and, tilting them, began to kiss enthusiastically. Frank drew his breath in sharply and felt his cocks suddenly trying to get hard, pushing against Peter's similarly stiffening monsters.
“No! No!” Frank said suddenly, pushing Peter off him onto the bed and standing abruptly, startled to realize his head was near the ceiling. He balanced on his four large seven-toed feet, his cocks iron-hard now and curving back toward his torso in a double arc, the shafts pressed together, the tips just touching his breastbone between his pecs, one just below the other, pushing hard against the packed, ponderous muscle. Two big, full ballsacks jostled each other. He gazed down it in amazement. It was still his hunky swimmer's bod, but transformed and fantastically augmented.
“I've got to get back to normal!” he said desperately, spreading his four arms wide, though he dreaded it too. He loved this new body more than he cared to admit.
He looked over at Peter and gasped. Peter had transformed again. His one head was now shorn, its buzzcut hair bristling with a light sheen of sweat, set off his bright, glinting eyes and sensually chiseled features and smooth glowing skin. His long, languorous body was on its side, every muscle visible, expanded, delineated, sexual, strokable, lickable, from the striations of his thick, heavy, densely packed pecs and excitingly bumpy traps and delts to the long, flat, rigidly defined abs which led into a nest of heavy, extra-wide half-hard cocks, below which were four very long, thick, toned, steel-hard legs. At the end of each leg were big, strong, many-toed feet. Depending from his massive shoulders were six luscious arms, each with thick, dense biceps and triceps, big enough that the arms got in each other's way, muscle jostling muscle; and thick strong forearms leading to broad many-fingered hands. Frank licked his lips. Each of the six arms featured a tattoo on the upper arm of superhot multilimbed guys in various positions, making love. Superhot multilimbed guys like us, Frank thought with a sudden wave of desire.
“Not just yet,” he half-whispered, half growled.
They stopped, listening. They could just hear what sounded like low moans in the hallway on the other side of the door. They exchanged glances, grinning. “Sounds like someone's having fun!” Sebastian said to his “brother.” Though he was Michel for public consumption, neither one of them knew which one was “real” and which one was the duplicate. Their handsome, dark Celtic features and tight, gym-rat bods were absolutely identical. They called each other Sebastian in private.
“Let's go see!” said the other. They pulled open the door together and walked into the hallway where they stopped dead, awestruck.
Only a few feet away, pressed against a dorm room door, a nearly naked Steve Burgess was making out with his hot new boyfriend Brad. The Sebastians had lusted after both these hunks before, but now they were enraptured. Steve was transforming before their eyes, his body metamorphosing even as he and Brad kissed and groped each other. They watched amazed and intensely aroused as Steve's entire body slowly grew toward the ceiling, stretching like a cock. All his muscles seemed to be swelling—shoulders, pecs, biceps and triceps, ass, quads, calves—as his body stretched, his arms, legs, neck, and torso lengthening, so much so that Steve had to pick up Brad in order to continued ravishing him. Soon Steve's short stiff hair was brushing the high ceiling of the hallway. A very wide, powerful, rock-hard cock seemed to be creeping up Steve's abs, just visible between Steve's naked torso and Brad's still fully-clothed bod. Brad moaned audibly.
The Sebastians stared, entranced. It was exactly like Steve's body was itself a cock, swelling and stiffening, getting bigger and bigger, filling with some kind of raw, primal passion. Their own cocks were painfully engorged and constricted. Without taking their eyes off this fantastic display they carefully adjusted each other's cocks, straightening them up so they were against their abs, already powerfully hard.
But they hadn't seen anything yet. Steve's ass, legs, and feet were starting to swell, growing backwards, the shorts he was wearing and even the socks and shoes growing along with them. Brad became even more excited, watching the legs expand as they kissed excitedly, groping his burgeoning ass; Steve seemed half in a trance. The Sebastians watched enthralled, one pressed against the other's back and stroking his clone's body and cock through the gray gym clothes.
Then suddenly Steve's legs, ass and feet divided and he was standing on four awesome legs, each one with a massive, foot-and-a-half-long foot still encased in newly supersized sneaks. At the same time Steve's already massive cock shot up rapidly, swelling into three super-long, super-wide boners, squeezing urgently between the two hunks as they sprang up, their heads finally emerging near Steve's broad, muscular shoulders.
The Sebastians gasped, and without warning came violently, their swollen cocks exploding unexpected amounts of cum. Steve and Brad both snapped their heads around, staring at them with fear and arousal. “Seb! Michel!” Steve said. “Oh my God—”
The clones were gripping hard to each other, the one in back with his arms locked around his twin's thick, muscular shoulders and meaty pecs. They were still cumming but slowly subsiding, their bodies and faces flushed red. They heather-gray workout shirts were soaked with cum in front, plastered to scrub-board abs and palm-wide, torpedo-shaped cocks. They were panting hard, their eyes locked on the apparition before them, eyes shining with lust. “Don't stop,” the one in front said. “We haven't seen anything this hot since Peter,” said the other. Their light, buttery French accents sent shivers up Steve's spine, but what they said was even more stimulating.
Steve's eyes lit up. “Did you say Peter?” he said, slowly setting Brad down and turning toward the “twins,” a gorgeous nine-foot-tall human cock with huge overpumped muscles, four massive feet—and three incredible cocks of his own, wider than Sebastian's wrist and pressed proudly against his ballooning pecs. He turned and walked toward them a little, and they watched every muscle move, his long legs and asses rippling under the taut, sweat-damp skin, his impossible cocks bobbing slightly but still pressed hard against the pecs. Little trickles of sweat slid from his pecs and dropped to the floor. The clones were so aroused they came a little more, thick warm cum now that coated their cockheads and made the random rubbing against their abs as they shifted their weight instant pleasure.
For his part, Brad, now on his feet and standing only as tall as Steve's cock- concealed nipples, eyed the sweaty, aroused gym-rat twins with a hint of jealousy mixed with a great deal of ill-concealed lust for his own part. His own, naturally long cock was poking up past the collar of his loose open- collar shirt, quivering inches from his mouth. Absently he licked precum from it, watching as the twins watched fascinated.
The Sebastians nodded. “He could do stuff like this,” one said softly. “And a lot more,” added the other.
“What do you mean?” Steve and Brad said together, both moving closer to the twins, who now resumed caressing their own bods, slowly and softly.
The Sebastians exchanged glances, then turned back to the aroused lovers.
“I used to be just one guy,” one of them said quietly.
“Shit,” Brad said. His cock started to leak precum in a steady flow, dampening the collar of his shirt. Steve gaped down at them and actually seemed to get more aroused—he winced momentarily as his head banged against the ceiling.
The Sebastians grinned. “I know how you feel,” they said together. “It's a constant stimulation and distraction for us,” one of them added. They were still groping their hot hard bodies, the one behind humping the one in front ever so slightly.
“I was in what you would call high school back in Provence,” the other went on. “I was just turned 18 and about to graduate. Peter showed up in town, and I instantly fell in love with him the first time I saw him in a café in town, wearing nothing but a worn shirt and jeans, always barefoot.”
“That excited me,” said the first, and the other nodded.
“Without even thinking about it I sat down next to him at the café. He seemed to look right through me. We talked for a while. He said he was in town researching at the university. I asked what he was researching, and he winked and said, “My own latent talents.” For some reason that got me totally aroused.”
Steve was now stooping slightly, the back of his head pressed against the ceiling. He blinked and elected to sit down, folding his four luscious legs together. Brad sat in his lap, leaning against the three throbbing cocks. |Steve wrapped long, lithe arms around him.
“I can't say why, but Peter seemed to sense my arousal,” the Sebastian in front continued as the one in back caressed his arms and nuzzled his neck. “We were completely in sync, somehow, and before I knew it we were back at my tiny apartment making love. I was amazed at how much better it was than any sex I'd ever had. I think he changed some while we were writhing together, though I didn't notice at the time. I thought the throes of passion were making it seem like his shoulders were broader and his cock seemed to be pushing farther inside me than I thought it would.” Steve was absently caressing Brad's gymnast body and enormous cockshaft, his longfingered hands almost twice the size of Brad’s.
“It lasted for hours,” the other one carried on. “Finally I slept. When I woke up Peter was gone. My heart stopped—I thought I'd never see him again. But I got up and stumbled into the kitchen. And there he was—making out with someone!”
“I was so upset, and yet I was instantly aroused. They were both naked, their beautiful bodies wrapped around each other. I was staring, my cock getting harder and harder, and thinking not only did these two men have gorgeous bodies—their bodies looked alike. Very alike. Skin tone, muscle definition—”
“Then they looked up. And both of them were Peter.” Steve and Brad were listening open-mouthed, intensely aroused, cheeks flushed. Precum was leaking steadily down Brad's long, long cock.
“The three of us had sex all day. We were insatiable. I was in heaven, pressed between these two gorgeous men and their animal passion. And Peter's confidence grew as we went on, surrendering to his own fantasies. Slowly I started to realize that his muscles were bigger, heftier, though he kept them lithe and graceful. And his cock looked bigger, thicker, and longer every time I looked at it, and the cock on one body was always bigger than the other.”
“Then I started to change.”
All four of them were totally turned on now, breathing short. The Sebastians’ cocks, which had never softened, were now twitching with suppressed desire.
“I looked down while I was getting simultaneously fucked and sucked and I realized that my body was—better than it had ever been. Like I'd been working out all my life. I came in Peter's mouth right then, my whole body shuddering with electricity, and the cock I pulled out of Peter's mouth, still incredibly hard, was twice as big as what had gone in. He just leered up at me. I grinned back, and my brain became swamped with desire, gratitude, and desire. I wanted more.”
“I went mad with passion, and I don't remember much of the rest of the night, just glorious lovemaking, orgasms beyond endurance. I sort of came to in the middle of the night—”
“Peter was lying on top of me—”
“—And Peter was lying on top of me!”
At this incredible memory the twins twisted around and started kissing and groping each other, unable to contain themselves any more, and the sight was so amazing that Steve and Brad, already close to the edge from the story, pushed up to the flash point as the clones worked themselves into a frenzy, and with a sudden access of pure joy all four of them exploded right then and there, their entire bodies thrilling as electric cum poured out of their ubercocks, the twins locked in passion, Brad entwined in Steve’s huge embrace.
They remained where they were for a long time, not moving, sated with pleasure and burning for more.
Suddenly a light rattling sound made Steve raise his head from where he'd been softly kissing Brad. It sounded like the doorknob to his room right behind him.
“Shh!” he said. “I think I hear something.”
Frank stood in the center of the room, fear and craving circling around each other in his gut like rival dogs. He was staring into Peter’s bottomless, milk-chocolate eyes again, a new rush of attraction crashing over him for the impossible man now posing languidly in his bed. His fears submerged for the moment as he drank his new lover in like heady brandy, though they did not go away, and some were reshaping themselves as he tried to get a handle on what was happening to them both. A longtime admirer of the male form (starting with his own), Frank was starting to realize that Peter’s infinitely variable body was unlocking banks of hidden desires in him that he’d barely even dreamed of. Who was this man? How had he affected him so deeply? Was he feeling any of what Frank was feeling, now, in this moment?
Frank had always felt a deep passion for everything that was beautiful about a man. Now he knew that a guy having more of the things he found attractive—thick, tight muscles … long, bulging arms … strong, powerful legs … tall, fat, shuddering iron-hard cocks—it opened something new in him. It was as though Peter had found switches in his brain and heart and balls that had been closed and rusted shut behind sealed and welded panels, and they’d been ripped open, exposed and effortlessly flicked on, one after another, lighting up his secret self. Peter’s superabundance of beauty, his erotic proliferation of anything everything he loved about men, ramped up the heady, churning lust inside him a hundredfold. His desire had swollen from a bonfire to a blazing sun, and his blood was rushing through him like liquid fire, his skin hot. Under Peter’s appreciative stare he felt himself hardening and tightening as if he were being reforged by Peter’s white-hot desire and his own fantastic lust.
The room was warm, hot actually, and it seemed to be because of the two of them somehow. Their connection and their shared need filled the space they were in, saturating the air, the furniture and clothes, the very molecules around them. He was glad they were naked. Frank marveled at the unsettling magnitude of what he was feeling. No wonder Peter was gently smirking at him right now, proud of the conflagration he’d sparked as they basked together in the heat of their arousal.
What surprised Frank most of all, though, was that it wasn’t just their animal lust. However much his hands wanted to touch Peter’s impossible body, however much his lips longed to meet Peter’s again in sweet kisses that became rough with mutual urgency, however much his twitching holes missed Peter’s hot, hard thickness driving deeper inside him than he knew it was possible for a man to feel, he was sure that what had given him over to Peter most of all wasn’t any of what Peter had done or could do.
It was something about the way Peter was. He could see it in him, even as Peter lay there softly smiling, letting this moment between them play out. It was that Peter was the kind of man Frank had always pretended to be—mysterious, playful, confident, and comfortable with what he could do.
Frank was used to putting on a show. He worked out to impress people. He’d deliberately chosen the most exhibitionistic sport, swimming, just so he could look cocky and confident, because that was what guys were supposed to be. He’d teased and flirted in high school and college too, like he had with his cute but skittish roommate, Steve. But as he looked deeper into Peter’s eyes, as he was caressed by Peter’s sweet, knowing smile, it was becoming painfully clear to Frank that he didn’t really know the first thing about true confidence, a confidence that was calm and without a trace of arrogance, a confidence that was almost selfless. He didn’t know anything about confidence, or about how to be comfortable being who you were.
As he stared, stunned and in heat, thought flickered in him somewhere, a reminder of the world around him. With a flutter in his gut he remembered hearing the Steve’s key in the lock, though the door somehow hadn’t opened yet. It was like the moment, all around them, was paused. The world was holding its breath.
Abruptly, Frank cut his eyes away from Peter’s intoxicating beauty. He dropped his gaze to the floor, abashed and confused and suddenly feeling his fear creeping back over him. He caught sight of his four impressively large feet, far below him from his giddy new height. He could feel the tremendous weight of his two massive surgingly erect cocks, now so achingly hard again they were nearly pointing straight up. Every so often they flexed hard enough to be tapping impatiently against his jutting, muscle-swollen pecs, leaving small dots and smears of pre along the surface of the hard, heavy muscle.
He lifted his four hands up to stare at them, spreading them wide for his own inspection. Amidst his confusion and fear there was something else. His body becoming a secret fantasy was releasing something else inside him—the possibility that he could be confident and comfortable with himself. He wasn’t sure how. Peter would need to teach him. But for the first time it seemed to him that there might be more to life than just the show.
As this new awareness opened up in him an unstoppable his fear subsided once more and a sudden smile bloomed on his lips. Frank enjoyed feeling it stretching his cheeks, thrilled at the idea of a hope he hadn’t known he’d been missing. He turned his bright grin back up to Peter, and he was smiling warmly back at him. Frank took in this smile in wonder. This was not any of the smiles he’d seen from Peter already—not the smirk of someone smugly pleased with his work, not the saucy smile of lascivious desire. This was the simple happiness of someone profoundly glad that someone else was experiencing joy of a kind he had never experienced before.
Brazenly, Frank let his eyes drift across Peter’s lounging form. There were freckles scattered across Peter’s bulging shoulders, Frank realized. Not many, just a few small dots strewn here and there, dappling the round, lightly tanned mounds of his tripled delts like scarecrows cropping up randomly of their own accord across a vast, rolling expanse of grain. Had they been there before? As if the muscles felt the heat of his eyes on them, the tripled shoulder bunched, and Frank felt sparked of pleasure skitter up his spine. Frank’s eyes slid down the long, obscenely muscled upper arms, watching as they, too, flexed spontaneously under his gaze, biceps behind jostling triceps on front. Frank huffed a breath, his cocks straining to get harder and more erect as his eyes skated over, mounting Peter’s deliciously oversized pecs to take in the man’s sweet, perfect face.
Peter licked his lips, admiring Frank just as Frank was doing with Peter. “You look good like this,” Peter said softly, eyes glinting. In a single smooth motion he got up from the bed, and padded quietly on his four feet across the dorm’s room’s dark, industrial carpet to where Frank stood, a prodigy of masculinity: erect, swollen with muscle, and hungry for whatever came next. His heart was slamming against his chest as Peter moved toward him. The other man was nearly Frank’s height again, his cropped hair not quite brushing the ceiling. He raised many-fingered hands and began to gently caress Frank’s thick-muscled arms, his heavy pecs, his adoring face as intense pleasure washed over every cell of his body. Frank responded in kind, unable to stop himself touching Peter’s skin, greedily seeking the countless tingling shivers of arousal that coursed through him at every contact of his skin against Peter’s. They both ignored their raging cocks for the moment, secure in the certainty that this moment would escalate in passion and intensity soon enough.
Frank’s dick had always been unusually sensitive. In the past, just getting a hard-on in his pants could drive him close to the brink of orgasm just from the way it rubbed against his briefs. Sometimes he’d sit down on the edge of his bed for a good wank, only for his big, quivering boner to spit a huge jizz-load all over his chest and abs practically the second he touched it with his Vaseline-lubed fingers. Now, though—Frank knew his cocks had gotten even more responsive as they’d grown and grown to their new impossible size, as if they were hotwired directly into the pleasure centers of his brain. He felt practically on the verge of orgasm every second he spent aroused and in the company of this preternatural man, and had to struggle to focus his thoughts before he was totally beyond rational thought.
He remembered the paused moment again. With an effort he found his voice and pieced together what he wanted to say, though right now the thoughts in his swirling brain were like the ragged flotsam tossed about by a roaring tempest. Meeting Peter’s gaze heaped steady him a little.
“I love what’s happened to me,” he told Peter honestly. He grinned again, and leaned toward Peter, brushing his lips against his lover’s. Peter deepened the kiss but let Frank break it a moment later, leaning back just enough for them to stare into each other’s eyes, their mouths inches apart. They were in a full-on embrace now, their many arms intertwined and wrapped around each other, and Frank was enjoying the amazing sensations of stroking Peter’s long, tapering back with four eager hands … of their hips and groins pressing together, their enormous, slick, rigid cocks mashing together against each other between them … of Peter using two of his big, sexy feet to gently stroke Frank’s ankles and muscular calves.
“I love this,” Frank breathed, “but I need to understand it. I need to understand you.” He gazed into Peter’s eyes, and felt a surge of need so strong he couldn’t stop himself from kissing him again, tightening their multi-armed embrace even further. He broke the kiss at last, panting. Instead of staring into Peter’s addictive eyes he pressed their hot cheeks together. He kissed Peter’s jaw where it met his neck and said, “Can you give me that? Before … before everything changes?”
Peter was holding Frank tightly, too. “I wasn’t expecting to find you,” Peter told him. “It’s not usually quite like this for me.” The raw, almost animal power of his low, sexy voice in Frank’s ear was so potent it made Frank start to gently rut his precum-slick cocks where they were crushed against Peter’s equally slick nest of monster-dicks. “I think I need to understand you too.”
Peter’s unexpected admission made Frank shiver with a new flood of desire. “Fuuuck,” he breathed, shuddering with how much he wanted to do exactly that.
“Do you want that?” Peter said in a rush. “You inside me? Me inside of you?” He sounded as aroused as Frank was, and Frank was more turned on than he had ever been.
“Yes,” Frank panted immediately. Their cheeks still brushed together, nuzzling against each others soft stubble. “Yes! Fuck yes. Inside you. Always. Yes!” he pleaded.
“Push into me,” Peter urged him. Frank didn’t understand, but his cocks were desperate to be inside of Peter even though they were rubbing blindly between his and Peter’s mighty pecs, nowhere near Peter’s entrance. Frank grunted, rutting hard against Peter. He drew his hips back slightly, then shoved forward hard—and cried out as pleasure flooded through him. He looked down past their pecs and saw to his amazement exactly what he was feeling—that the heads and top few inches of his enormous cocks had disappeared right into Peter’s flesh right under the shelf of his massive pectorals, as if Peter had an invisible fuckportal into his body right in the middle of his torso, right at the angle where his pecs ended and his abs began.
Frank heard a small sound from the back of Peter’s throat. “Do it,” Peter begged in Frank’s ear. He was panting hard. “Push into me. All of you. Do it!” he commanded.
The pleasure was unreal, and Frank wanted more. He knew there was more. He had to have more. Experimentally Frank shoved his cocks a little, and this time he and Peter moaned together in rapturous pleasure, clinging hard to each other’s hot, sweaty musclebods. Pushing into Peter’s body through the hot, tight, invisible entries felt like the tightest, hottest fuck Frank had ever experienced. He rocked back and shoved harder, imagining he was driving his cocks home like Peter had done to him, and a new tsunami of almost unbearable pleasure roared through him as his enormous cocks sank even deeper into Peter’s impossible body, until he’d somehow driven himself all the way into Peter, every inch, every foot of his massive, shuddering, incredibly sensitive cocks deep inside Peter all the way to the hilt. He looked down again, around their thick pecs pressed hard against each other, and saw that his erections were now completely inside Peter, shoving rudely through Peter’s forest of five or six towering, double-wide dicks and straight into his body right above Peter’s crotch. Frank rocked his dicks and gasped, shuddering with impossible pleasure, as he felt them thrusting right up into Peter’s body. It felt like he was fucking Peter’s entire torso even as he held Peter tight to him with four strong arms, and it was the tightest, hottest fuck ever.
Peter was holding him just as hard as Frank began slowly fucking into Peter’s body with both his sensitive shafts. He rutting his own too-big cocks against Frank’s abs, which were slippery with precum and sweat, and Frank knew that he needed Peter to feel this as much as he needed to feel it himself. “You too,” Frank panted in Peter’s ear. He was trembling with unexpected emotion. “You inside me,” he huffed, “me inside you.”
Peter dragged his head back along Frank’s sweaty cheek so he could stare into Frank’s eyes, though they still clung hard to each other. Frank looked at his beautiful warlock. His hair was damp, his skin was flushed, and his eyes were blown with lust, but he had managed to find the strength to pause in the middle of this mounting storm of ecstasy to meet Frank’s eyes before the final switch was thrown. Without speaking, he was asking if Frank was sure, if he was really ready to pass beyond what ordinary humans could possibly experience. Frank met his gaze with a confidence that seemed as genuine as Peter’s. It only took a second, less than a heartbeat, for their souls to mesh in this final way. They grinned as one and dove in together for a hungry, bruising kiss.
And even as Frank felt Peter’s six massive cocks shove into hot, tight, fuckable insides he did not know he had, Frank experienced something else that was entirely new to him. He remembered things, with a whole new memory that did not belong to him, but that was being shared with him. A memory that had not belonged to him, but belonged to him now, just as his memory belonged to himself and to another now, too.
He remembered things that had not happened to him. He remembered them because they had happened to Peter.
I always knew there was something different about us.
I remember the first time I was sure. It was just us, me and Stevie, who was two years younger. Yeah, Mom and Dad were there, but our house was so huge we never really saw them. They were in their own worlds, and it looked awful—shouting into phones, talking about unimportant things with stupid people. When we did the fifth-grade unit on genetics and I suddenly understood that I and my amber-eyed brother couldn’t really be the actual, biological children of a blue-eyed corporate CEO bastard (Mom) and a green-eyed rapacious shark of a lawyer (Dad) who seemed to have forgotten their kids had a function other than to be photographed alongside them at charity events (both), it was a relief so huge and palpable that I laughed for an hour and grinned for a week.
And something opened up inside me. I felt it in me, and what was even stranger, I felt it inside Stevie, too. It wasn’t just that I was different. We were different. I couldn’t put into words exactly how, not yet. But it helped me to make sense of the world. Our relationship to it wasn’t about the things we’d always been told it was about. We had to figure out what it was about, but we could do that on our terms.
Frank felt the spread of Peter’s memories, feelings, his whole life unfurling inside him. He wasn’t sure Peter had intended a connection this deep when he’d let Frank into him. He could sense that Peter had never tried something like this before, and he felt awe and gratitude and Peter wanted this with him. And something more than gratitude.
He slowly positioned his cocks, now the size his arms had once been, deep inside Peter’s body as he held him close, kissing him insatiably, thrilling as Peter’s tongue danced and twined with Frank’s. Peter was thrusting into him as well, and they developed a rhythm that seemed to fuel their mounting pleasure, banking their sensations until they burst with the sheer magnitude of everything they were feeling together. He lost himself in this moment, this connection, with everything that had brought Peter to this place, finally after years of wandering coming home to his only familial bond, only to find another connection he had never expected.
In high school I started realizing I had an effect on other guys. They couldn’t help being attracted to me, even the guys who never looked at another dude. Even my brother had a huge crush on me, though we didn’t do anything about it. Stevie was feeling this thing we shared, this thing that was different about us, and I didn’t want that bond between us to get mixed up with his attraction to me. It was tough, though, because what was different about us had everything to do with our bodies. The idea formed in the back of my head at some point really early on but I didn’t have any way of expressing it—until the day I grew for the first time.
I was a freshman in high school. Looking back I’d have thought something like this would happen in the locker room or behind the gym, someplace where you expected physical things to happen, but it was in the cafeteria with hundreds of kids milling around, laughing and goofing and dancing the complex choreography of high school social groups. I was horny as fuck, like always, twenty-four/seven. And guys liked being around me, touching me. Guys even kissed me, because it was what guys did when they were around Peter Burgess. It was happening more and more. It was cool, it was the thing that guys did. I was hard all the time and grinning my smirky grin all day, blowing my load at the urinals between every class with whoever was watching getting an eyeful and then diving back into the sea of hormonally addled men for more. My dick was big and it seemed to be getting bigger, but, fuck, I didn’t know anything—I thought that was normal for teenage boys! Guys in the locker room were pretty big, and they all seemed to be hard or half-hard most of the time too, though looking back that was probably because they were around me.
And then I started noticing what was happening to the guys.
There was a cute upperclassman named Corey who’d I’d noticed was watching me making out with guys and hugging them and stuff, but he’d held back even after I’d caught his eye and smiled at him. Then one day he just got behind me in line at lunch and sat down next to me on my left at the big table where I usually sat before anyone else could. I turned and grinned wide at him, all cocky, and threw my arm around his square but skinny shoulders. He was wearing a loose white tee shirt that hung on him like he was a wire hanger, but he was cute and sweet. His eyes met mine and then he was kissing me, because that was what happened when you looked into my eyes. When we broke free from the kiss he was grinning too. He was also … a little cuter. And I realized with a jerk of my super-hard dick that my arm was curled around shoulders that, subtly but perceptibly (to me at any rate), weren’t quite so skinny anymore.
I leaned back to take stock of him. His loose white shirt was now being pushed forward, very slightly, by thin but defined pecs that hadn’t been there a moment before.
I grinned even wider, making Corey catch his breath and grab at his crotch—I think he was trying to stop from cumming right there in his pants. I looked away from him, though I held onto his shoulders as I glanced around at the other guys crowding around my table, and the ones who were kind of lingering around it. They were all guys who’d kissed me the moment our eyes locked—and they were all noticeably hotter and buffer than I remembered them being when I’d first laid eyes on them. Joey Lattimer, the nerd-hunk redhead in the scarlet polo shirt sitting across from me, actually did cum in his jeans as our eyes met, making him drop the hamburger he was trying to eat while he stared at me all over his tray in a (second) big mess. I winked at him and he shook, flustered and red-faced to match his shirt, trying to smile back as he pounded out a second load into his Calvins.
These men had changed, and I knew, without being sure how I knew, they had changed because somehow I had tied a change in these men’s bodies to—what? An action? I guessed instinctively that it had to do with touch, with connection. And the nature of the touch was obvious. In some inner repository, some mental book of shadows, I had inscribed a connection, a touch that produced a change. I had linked a revision in these guys’ physical forms—maybe any guys’ physical forms!—to the touch of their lips with mine.
Revision. That was it. It was a revision in the reality of our physical forms. Or rather, the unreality. Because that was the real secret, I realized with a rush of excitement. It was all coming to me at once, as if some part of me had already worked all it out. Our bodies are not who we are. That was the key. The health teacher, of all people, had said this a month ago, during some lecture on body image. I’d hardly listened, but that phrase had stuck in my brain, waiting for the epiphany. Here it was. Our bodies are not who we are. And Stevie and I—we had a connection no one else did, to something in the universe that let us revise the unreality of our physical forms.
It was like one piece of paper that had a design on it, and another piece with another design that was on top of it at an angle, and light was shining through them so you saw how the designs came together. And I, and I bet Stevie too, could grab the bottom sheet at move it a tiny bit, maybe turn it just a little, and now the design I would be different. I could revise things, though I didn’t know how, and it was tied to touch, though I didn’t know why. I’d buffed up and cutified all the guys around me, and probably beefed up their dicks too, because I’d been revising them when they kissed me toward what I liked. It was silly, I knew, and also awesome. And only the beginning.
Still grinning, I turned and kissed Corey again, this time focusing on the touch changing me, not him. I was more aware now, and the potency of my ability to use a connection—to make revisions—deepen within me. More was possible. Corey responded eagerly, and we started in on a serious make-out session while the guys around us cheered and egged us on and hugged each other and shared a few kisses of their own. They moved closer to us. Some of them were rubbing my shoulders, stroking my hair (I was wearing it kinda long), caressing my arms, my pecs, anything they could reach. Others who couldn’t reach me was doing the same to Corey, who I’m willing to bet barely noticed.
When we broke our kiss the air felt charged and there was a hushed silence around us, though all the hands touching me as I sat at the table couldn’t seem to stop feeling me up. I felt stronger, heavier, more potent, and looking down I saw I was not just nicely defined, like I normally was—I was built. Not massive like a bodybuilder, but muscled perfectly, exquisitely, in exactly the way I found literally orgasmic. And I did start cumming as I stared down at myself in delighted awe, shooting ropes of cum all over my suddenly naked, swole-as-fuck body from two massive thirteen-inch erections. Most of it splashed on my newly thickened chest, but as I got off on how hot I was, and how amazing it was to be coming from two dicks, having two mind-blowing orgasms at once, the cum started hitting my face. All the guys crowded around me and touching me, including Corey (who still had my newly beefy arm around his newly bulging shoulders), started moaning and cursing with pleasure as they started blowing their own prodigious loads in their pants.
Finally I stopped cumming. I just sat there, flushed and panting, grinning down at myself. I beamed up at the guys around me, and they were all staring in awe, their above-average, still hard tools outlined and obvious in their cum-soaked jeans.
As I came down from my euphoric, post-orgasmic high I realized I’d have to tone it down at school or I’d start riots. And maybe people would come looking for me if I made things too crazy, I thought belatedly. I stole one more linked kiss with Corey, using it to revise myself back to the way I had been—mostly. Clothed, that was the main thing. And maybe not quite so built. I couldn’t quite get rid of the extra dick though. I never have. Once you’ve felt what it’s like to have two raging hard-ons, to get them off together—or even to feel them snuggling soft together in my boxer briefs (on those occasions when I am soft)—you would never go back to having just one dick. I got up and hugged each of the guys, telling them all as I made the rounds that I’d almost felt like I was naked for a second, and they decided that they’d imagined that moment in a rush of raw, unstoppable fantasy. Not that that was that far from the truth.
After that I tried to keep a lower profile. Sure, guys kept gathering around me, touching me and kissing me. I didn’t mind. And I didn’t remove the link that made kissing me for the first time an act of modest transformation. And kissing me after that was still linked to only very, very tiny improvements in buffness and cock, barely even noticeable unless you were someone I kissed a lot, like Corey, toward whom I felt a persistent, grinning gratitude and a persistent, low-grade lust. But no big transformations, no mass cum explosions in the cafeteria, I told myself sternly—not until I knew more about what I was capable of. I didn’t let anyone suck my dicks for a long time, other than myself, because I was afraid that with that kind of contact, that kind of entryway to unreason, I would unleash a revision I wouldn’t be able to talk my way out of.
Then the next year I started noticing that when Stevie was aroused, which tended to be the effect I had on him, something new was happening. He started growing. He got taller, and buffer, like his whole body was a dick that expanded and get hard when he was really turned on. He seemed a little embarrassed by this and his inability to control it, but it didn’t stop him from hanging around me whenever he could. I realized I needed something concrete to tell him, something more than my guesses and experiments. The moment I graduated I left home, hugging Stevie as he tried to be brave and not sob or beg me not to go. I traveled, following my gut, and my instincts and whatever they were connected to found signs of others like me in centuries past.
In Provence, struck by the beauty of a local boy who seemed to have a taste latent abilities of his own he wasn’t aware of, I dreamed of loving two of him. Instead I discovered I could make two of me. And rejoin with the clone I’d created, though that didn’t get tried until later, when I had a new lead in the east and decided not to travel as twins. It was hard at first to not have another me to make out with, though—I found to my bemusement that, in the flesh, I was just as mesmerized by my own uncanny masculine beauty as everyone else was, and the real reason I tried merging back into on e me was I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to concentrate with me around. Since then, though, I’ve done it… more than a few times, and it’s always been a wrench to merge back into one. There may come a time when having a twin, another me, will be as natural and inevitable as having two dicks.
In Romania I tracked down an ancient, forgotten codex that contained a story of how a old sorcerer had once bound transformation of other men (into dogs, for punishment, but still) to the pulling on of a tunic. He had linked the clothing to a change—he called it a mage-spell, but it was the thing I was calling revision. I decided I needed to practice how I made these connections and regularize my ability to provoke revisions. I focused on the clothes idea, training myself, testing possibilities. I worked for a while in a small man’s clothing store in Bucharest, experimenting with subtle changes in the shirts and slacks and underwear I sold. My customers were very happy, I think, though they didn’t know quite why, and the guys with extra cocks walking around Eastern Europe are pretty pleased with the change and have no idea it was me that did it. In Egypt, after a year of research, I found the final key. I understood now. I’d already sent some clothes ahead to get Stevie ready for what I had to tell him, and now I could come home.
Only … when I came back to the States, back to meet up with my still-in-the-dark brother, I discovered something I had never expected. There was a layer to my abilities, my revisions to our unreal bodies, that I had never encountered before. For every soul there is another that will bond with it like atoms forming the strongest molecule, and for me, conscious of the mask of the physical, that bonding would be more powerful, more unbreakable than for any other two people in the world. The moment I met this man, this beautiful soul, I knew my life would never be the same—and neither would his.
Peter stood at the door, one hand on the knob, looking back across the room at himself and Frank experiencing a combined physical and emotional intimacy unlike anything Peter had ever imagined. It made him feel a bit of wistful envy. He’d always wanted to try something like that, to combine and almost merge with someone, to feel more than most people thought was possible. But he’d also always known somehow that it couldn’t be done if you were just fucking around with someone, and for a long time he’d been enjoying the pleasure that could be had from raw, animal passions, not looking for more, exploring what his unreal physical form was capable of experiencing. For magic that intense, you could only do it if you were making love.
It was a little strange, not being the Peter that was having that with Frank. True, when he and his other self eventually merged again, all of their memories would be all his after all, in the end. Still…
He sighed and closed his eyes a second, concentrating on his own form. When he opened them he was in the body he tended to take on when he was relaxing, when he felt like he was being his normal self—though the very idea of ‘normal self’ made his lips quirk. Well, it was normal for him. It was the body he’d had in that picture he’d sent to tantalize his brother Steve: tall and lanky, well-muscled though more like a supermodel or an top-favorited Instagram hunk—but with the four arms and the two thirteen-inch dicks, because, fuck, he really had trouble these days doing without at least those two augmentations, and he almost never did. His blond hair was grown out a little compared to the buzz he’d just had while he was goading Frank, but still short, and all his other body hair was gone except for a dark blond thatch hidden just inside his soft, worn, low-riding jeans, at the base of the two raging boners that shoved right up past his waistband, standing quivering with need for a mouth or two to wrap around them behind the wholly inadequate veil afforded by his thin, clinging shirt. And of course he was classically gorgeous—almost literally irresistible, in fact. But then, he told himself with wry faux-egotism, that had always been true, before he’d ever found his way to magic. He was always super horny in this body, constantly boned and dying for someone to blow him, unless he broke down and did it himself—but then, he thought again with a grin, that had always been true, too.
He looked down, double-checking to make sure he was presentable, then he glanced back up to gaze in wonder for a moment at the lovers driving each other desperately toward the biggest orgasms they’d ever had. He’d get the full impact of it when he re-merged, and he decided he was looking forward to rejoining and the rush of getting all those spectacular memories. Though, he mused, eying Frank’s sweet muscle ass, he might just keep two of himself around for a while, this time.
He shook his head and turned, ready now to slip out of the room and into the hallway. He knew he would find his brother out there, along with his brother’s boyfriend and—someone else? He sensed Stevie and his guy weren’t alone, but he wasn’t sure who was with them. Either way he had a small task to perform. He needed to give Frank and his other self that time they need to understand each other as they became something entirely new together. He could definitely do that, and, he was betting, have some fun of his own at the same time.
Time to meet Steve’s friends, he thought with a grin. And for them to meet me.
Javier pushed through the stairwell door into the third-floor hallway where his basketball teammate and secret boyfriend, Malick, had his much-prized single dorm room, but he stopped dead when at the sight of four incredibly hot guys wrapped around each other like braided pretzels, seemingly filling the long, narrow space with rich, skin-stroking need. His fat uncut dick swelled quickly to half mast in his loose training sweats, but for once Javier barely paid any attention to his dick as he fixated on the impossibly tall guy sitting on the floor, looking like he was ready to fuck his boyfriend right through their clothes—not that the giant was wearing much.
Javier licked his full lips as he stared, feeling his heart stutter in his chest. It was only after getting into basketball at a very young age—eye-rollingly inevitable for an athletic kid who’d shot up to 6’3” before he was 12, seven inches short of his final height—that Javier had realized something important about himself: tall guys turned him on, and the taller the better.
Javier still remembered the first time he’d really, truly noticed a tall guy. He was at the grocery store with his mom and his two older brothers, Luis and Diego. For some reason it was a different store than they usually went to, a bigger one across town. His brothers were goofing off, roughhousing and generally vying for attention as usual, and Javier, not wanting to get sucked into their antics, had slipped away and was roaming the aisles randomly. He turned into the cereal aisle and he saw him. Javier stopped dead and stared. Halfway down the aisle was a guy that looked like he was a dude and a half tall. He looked college-age, like his oldest brother, with boyish features and a mop of curly dark hair, and after a second Javier realized he was wearing the white shirt, dark trousers, and blue apron of a store employee. Javier’s eyes roamed over him in awe. His legs were endless. Javier didn’t even know they could make pants with legs that long. His strong, wide-shouldered torso was just as elongated, and his arms in their super-long white sleeves looked like they could reach the sky if he lifted them up. He was so tall he was looking right at the top shelf, looking down at it really, as he arranged and straightened the boxes of oatmeal, and the very thought had Javier entranced. As he moved and reached, Javier saw that he was wearing a narrow leather cuff on one wrist, just visible under the end of the sleeve, and Javier had the crazy idea that he wore it to stop his arms from getting any longer, to hold in his whole body from just getting taller and taller and taller. Javier realized he was feeling awash with pleasurable, almost giddy sensations he’d never known before.
Just then, the guy must have caught sight of Javier standing there gawking at him in his peripheral vision, because he turned and aimed a brilliant smile at him. Javier flushed scarlet and scampered away, feeling a very strange of embarrassment, wonder, and a potent form of desire that he didn’t understand until later. He jacked off that night thinking of the dude-and-a-half-tall supermarket guy and a million times after that, long before he truly understood he was gay.
Mom never did understand why Javier always begged to go to the other grocery store across town, but he invented a cereal brand that they only sold there and that was his new favorite food in the whole world, and, well, Javier was so seldom passionate about anything that she indulged him sometimes and they all went shopping there. He never had the nerve to go up to the supermarket man, but he saw him a few more times, and until the family moved away a year later those stolen moments staring at him from around the endcaps or from behind their laden cart he was the most important thing in Javier’s life.
Then Javier started seeing other tall guys, especially once he started shooting up himself, becoming, as if in answer to his own dreams, the tallest tall kid he knew. And Javier was sold, hooked, done for. Long, lanky arms and legs, made thick and strong with lifting and hard work, definitely, but best of all the long torso of a truly tall dude. Taller than him? Fuck, he was all in for a guy that topped out taller than him, all the hotter for being so rare. Even the guys on his team now that he’d reached college stardom were mostly shorter than he was.
But this guy … this beautiful stretched-out super-muscled white guy … even with the dude sitting down on the rough industrial carpet of the hallway, Javier could tell that he was way taller than Javier was, and the difference was in feet, not inches. Javier couldn’t have wrenched his eyes away if he wanted to.
Even the sides of his pale torso were mesmerizing him. Liquid, shifting obliques longer than any he’d ever seen. Lats that stretched long and flared just enough to hint at the stretched V of a perfectly proportioned athlete who’d been pulled vertically into a height far taller than his usual frame by some god with the power and wry inclination to grant Javier’s deepest desires. And the strong, bare arms he had wrapped around the boyfriend Javier could barely see in the radiance of the vision-like man… Dios, Javier wanted those arms wrapped around him so bad…
“Hey, Gomie,” said a quiet voice behind him. Javier barely noticed as an arm slid casually around his shoulder. “I was in the lounge and saw you headed up here, and I wanted to talk to you about—Jesus,” the speaker broke off, obviously following Javier’s gaze and catching sight of the spectacle before them. Javier knew that the voice and the hand had to belong to Jason Chen, his best friend since high school and still his teammate. He was the only one on the team besides Malick that was close to Javier in height (Jase was 6’9”, while Malick stood a towering 6’11”). Jase was also even more handsy with Javier than most guys were, always wrapping an arm around his shoulders when they were together, whether it was in class, walking the campus, eating at Abel’s Pizza, even all sweaty on the court between plays. Lately Jase had taken to following up on this move with his other hand, playing with the leather cuff Javier always wore on one wrist or, lately, by pressing his hand against Javier’s rock-hard eight-pack abs—yep, there it was, Jase’s warm hand against his torso through the plain white tee he was wearing.
Normally Javier found it comforting and enjoyed the low-grade arousal Jase’s attentions routinely gave him, but right now it was all barely registering, hardly tripping the dials on his inner sensual dashboard. He was even aware at some level that he was fully hard now, so that his thick, girthy cock was tenting out his sweatpants, but the alarm this would normally trigger was entirely swamped by his first exposure ever to a hot, well-muscled man who was much, much taller than he was. His brain was totally and absolutely engaged in watching this nine-foot giant passionately making out with his (comparatively) ridiculously undersized, sandy-haired lover.
“Fuuu-u-u-uck,” Jase groaned as he held Javier warm close around the shoulders, pressing his hand a little more firmly against Javier’s abdomen. Then he heard his friend gasp. “Wait,” Jase said, his usual soft voice sounding a little ragged. “Fuck—does that guy have…? It looks like he has four—four—fuck, that’s—” Jase stammered, his words trailing off feebly.
Javier blinked, wondering what had his buddy so flustered, and he found himself taking in the scene in front of him as if for the first time. Something swelled inside him, a level of arousal he realized he’d never achieved before. All his blood seemed to flow south, into his hugely erect dick, and he felt a little lightheaded and he drank in, finally, the full import of what he was seeing. “Oh my god,” he said, the awe currently flooding him seeping into the very tone and quaver of his words. Still the couple were immersed in each other, kissing with absolute abandon pressing every inch of themselves against each other, oblivious to the incandescent madness of a man so whose beauty could not be contained or fully expressed by merely the normal number of limbs. Or the normal number of—“Oh my god,” Javier murmured again. Jase clutched him tightly, the thumb of his left hand rubbing small circles through his shirt around the contours of his ab muscles.
To his right, one of the aqua-blue dorm room doors opened in his peripheral vision, and Javier realized at the level of thought that was still operating beneath his stunned reactions that it was Malick’s room. A moment later he sensed Malick standing there on the opposite side of him from Jase, dark caramel skin contrasting nicely with one of the pale white long-sleeved henley V-necks he liked to wear. He seemed to be eyeing them warily—probably wondering why Javier had brought Jase along when they were supposed to be spending the afternoon fucking.
“Hey Gomie,” Malick said cautiously. It was the team nickname—picked up from Jase, who’d been sweetening Gomez down to “Gomie” almost from the first time Jase had, literally, latched onto him in freshmen year of high school. Malick only used it when they were in public and they were pretending Malick wasn’t aching for Javier’s thick tool down his throat or pounding his tight ass. When they were alone together, Malick called him Jav. “What’s up, guys?” he asked. Like Jase, Malick turned to see what Javier was looking at. Javier expected a reaction to the four-legged giant and his lover, so what he said next threw him.
“Damn!” Malick drawled, his deep voice sounding like it would carry for miles despite an obvious effort to keep it sotto voce. “Check out the muscle twins,” he said, slow and appreciative.
Javier was so startled by this non sequitur that he looked over in surprise first at Malick, who was grinning as he watched, then at what he was looking at—just in time to see the very hot gym-rat twins Javier knew lived down the hall from Malick break free from what looked like a very intense liplock and turn to look at them in alarm. He’d actually forgotten there had been another couple making out up here when he’d arrived, and it hadn’t really clicked who they were until now. He’d seen these guys at the gym and talked to them sometimes, enjoying their French accents and their obviously deep intimacy, but he’d never picked up on the carnal aspects of their very close bond. Now he felt dumb, because it must have been obvious if the way they were twined around each other was any indication. Malick’s visible approval made Javier wonder if his boyfriend had noticed the twin’s lust for each other, and whether he’d embroidered on it in his own personal fantasies.
The twins were staring at the three ball players, wide-eyed. Their attention then shifted to the other couple. “Guys,” they said together. When the other two didn’t respond immediately, they tried again. “Guys!” they said. “We have—”
The pale-skinned giant and his partner were just separating from their own make-out and turning to look over at the twins in surprise, when, in the same moment, the door next to where the giant was sitting against the wall burst open suddenly, and a tall, lanky, well-made man with four beautiful arms and a wicked grin stepped dramatically into their midst. He looked around at the array of men surrounding him as if he’d assembled them purposefully for his own delectation, cockily making eye contact with every single one of them. When his chocolate-brown eyes met Javier’s, he felt his insides twist with an indefinable want that seemed completely separate somehow from the carnal need he had been immersed in.
“—company,” the twins finished lamely.
Taken by surprise by the new arrival, Steve clambered hurriedly to his feet, almost making Brad lose his footing as Steve leveraged from a sitting position with Brad stranding between his four immense, halfway-drawn-up legs, to looming over him in the suddenly cramped-seeming hallway. They’d been sweetly making out until they’d thought they’d heard the doorknob to Steve’s room jiggle, as if someone was about to come out. But when a couple of seconds had passed and nothing had happened, Brad had drawn Steve in for another deep kiss, and they’d quickly gotten so lost they hadn’t even noticed other people showing up, or the door finally opening after all, or a fucking wildebeest stampede for all Brad knew. Now, in his haste, and apparently unaware of the size he’d reached, he smacked his head hard against the ceiling. Brad winced in sympathy.
Steve didn’t seem to quite notice, though. His amber eyes were wide, and his attention was entirely on the man who’d just emerged from Steve’s dorm room. Tall enough to need to duck slightly under the doorjamb, and hard-muscled enough to look carved from stone by an artist with a true appreciation for the possibilities of male anatomy, the brash, beautiful man met all their eyes in turn, causing Brad to gasp as his gaze seemed to bore into him. Brad had to drop his gaze, afraid of seeming too aroused in front of Steve, but when he did so his eyes fell on the newcomer’s brawny doubled arms, two on each side, looking like they were shoving competitively out of the man’s thick shoulders like two big men pushing through a doorway at the same time. At first Brad thought that the brief sleeve of the man’s soft, clingy tee shirt was a normal sleeve straining to accommodate two bulging delts and the uppermost clefts of two sets of powerful biceps and triceps, but as the man moved slightly and the muscles changed position, shifting invitingly under the tanned skin, Brad saw that the shirt was, like Steve’s special clothes, specially tailored to fit a four-armed man.
Brad swallowed, suddenly consumed with a tempest of want that was half sexual desire and half aching envy. He’d enjoyed Steve’s extra arms and legs every time, dreamt of them, sucked himself off thinking of them when Steve wasn’t around, and his fantasies had been more and more taken over by the thought of him and Steve being multilimbed together, with Brad threading six or eight or a dozen strong arms through Steve’s, holding him impossibly close, with legs and legs and more legs between them, more legs than he could count without looking at them. He knew that was what he wanted, but it took seeing this man, a four-armed man with a physical presence that seemed twice as intense as any other guy, to bring home to Brad how much he had been craving it all this time.
Thoughts fired somewhere in Brad’s half-capsized mind, making connections. As the man moved his heart-melting gaze off of Brad to the others in the hallway, Brad looked up at Steve. He was standing so tall over him, his broad, bare back against the eggshell-painted wall, that it looked like he was curling into the join of wall and ceiling, with the back of his head resting against the ceiling above them. Steve was still watching the other man, his expression one of wonder quickly giving way to delight. When Brad looked up at him, though, Steve met his gaze. He was beaming. Brad felt oddly reluctant to speak—it seemed like the newcomer held the floor—so he mouthed, “Peter?”, and Steve nodded happily.
Brad breathed a ragged breath. Warm precum drooled onto the planes of his neck from his own monstrous erection. Brad realized his gut-twisting yearning for the fruition of his own fantasies was also translating into towering arousal far beyond the close-to-permanent turn-on he’d been experiencing ever since he and Steve had met and had that legendary darkroom encounter, four short weeks ago. He held Steve’s excited gaze. They’d been planning on letting Brad try the clothes tonight, something Brad had been holding off on because he had been suppressing this urge, hiding its extent from Steve as well as himself. They hadn’t even been sure the clothes would work on someone else. But the clothes had come from Peter. Peter was here, now.
“Hey, brother,” said a rich, sexy voice at his shoulder.
Momentarily confused (as he had no siblings), Brad turned and saw that Peter had turned his attention back to the two of them and was currently gazing up at Steve with a heated grin. Brad could see they had a lot in common. Sure, at the moment Steve was in the full throes of perhaps the biggest body hard-on Brad had ever seen him experience, and was currently looking like a relative giant (no pun intended), outstripping his rangy big brother by a good two and a half feet. He was also, despite looking stretched out like taffy, a good deal more muscular than Peter, with pecs, shoulders, arms, thighs, and even his ass all pumped huge by Steve’s erection-like muscle swell. Even the three extra-large cocks Steve currently sported outranked Peter’s very visible two in size as well as quantity.
But Brad could see a strong resemblance. Their eyes were different in color—Steve’s more golden brown than the light chocolate of Peter’s—but they had the same spark, the same exuberance in them. The lines of their jaws and the cut of their cheekbones were the same, and their blond hair was a lot alike too, though Peter’s was much neater than the messy thatch Steve favored. Even their confidence was akin. Steve was boyish and lighthearted whereas Peter was the upgraded model where assuredness came from knowing he had something to be cocky about—enough so that conceit and arrogance wasn’t even necessary.
“Hey Peter,” Steve said at last, eyes shining. Then in a swift motion he gathered his older brother up in his strong bare arms and held him close. Brad drew in a breath, almost intoxicated at the sight of the two gorgeous brother and how well they fit together. Each brother’s attractiveness seemed to reinforce the other’s, cascading though the two of them like a chain reaction, and as Steve’s and Peter’s lips met and they began to kiss there seemed to be a detonation of sexual pleasure that exploded out from the pair, so powerful, so drenching in raw, ball-squeezing euphoria that Brad realized to his amazement that his own huge, nearly two-foot dick was bursting in sudden, violent orgasm. He barely had time to tip his head down and get his mouth around the thick head of his own dick before gouts of hot spunk started erupting violently into his mouth, his eyes on the unreal brothers the whole time. He swallowed frantically, barely keeping up as his balls roiled and he shot again and again, the unexpected release washing over him and thrilling him over and over until at last the orgasm subsided. He swallowed the last of the cum and devotedly cleaned the now-sensitive head of his cock, making sure to drip the tip of his tongue into the slit before looking up, wiping the stray jizz overflow from around his mouth with his forearm.
Peter and Steve were still making out. Peter’s feet dangled a couple of feet off the ground as Steve continued to hold him against his oversized body, but it looked like Steve had orgasmed too; what he could see of his bare, heavy pecs were doused with spunk from three parallel eruptions, and there were even spots on the wall above Steve’s bulging shoulders, and puddles on the floor by his four huge feet. Still shuddering on the delicious aftershock from the sneak attack orgasm, his cheeks warm and the taste of his own bittersweet (and copious) seed seeming to tingle along his tongue and lips and throat, Brad took a deep breath and slowly glanced around to see how the hotness explosion had affected the others. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see the rest of the guys shaking from release and covered with their own cum, too.
What he wasn’t expecting to see was that he and Steve didn’t have Peter to themselves.
Off to their right, the muscley Sebastians were visibly likewise in a post-orgasmic condition, their brows dotted with sweat, as they indulged in a deep three-way kiss with themselves and … another Peter. Brad stared as the Peter over there, standing several inches taller than the two Sebastians, snaked his four arms around his duplicated one-time lovers, his snug, thin tee stretching across his perfectly shaped back. They did the same, wrapping the three of them up in a post-coital cluster of languid, needy hotness.
Automatically, Brad snapped his head back to look up at Steve and—yes, Peter was still there, though they weren’t kissing now, just pressing foreheads together, breathing hard and smiling the same smile. Two of Peter’s hands were on Steve’s neck and shoulders, and Peter was speaking softly to Steve. Brad couldn’t hear much of it, but there was something about secrets and truths, about uncovering who they really were. Steve’s eyes were boring into his brother’s, bright with long-kindled anticipation, as if something he had been longing to understand for years was now on the verge of being made suddenly and dramatically clear.
The quiet words they were sharing were sort of sliding off of Brad’s skull at the moment, however. He was too caught up in what he was seeing, and what he himself was feeling. Pulling his gaze from Steve and Peter, Brad looked back at the Sebastians … and their Peter. He felt his still-raging erection jump and slap against his chest, just brushing against the underside his chin. The feel of its too-sensitive head against the slight stubble under his jaw sent shivers of pleasure all through him.
Hearing murmuring behind him, Brad turned, somewhat dazedly, to look the other way down the hall. He recognized Malick, the supertall basketball star who lived down the hall from Steve and Frank. He was with two other guys who were clearly his teammates, since they topped out close to the seven feet tall Brad had guessed for Malick on their previous encounters—and, again with his back to Brad and the rest, another Peter. At the moment that version of the libidinous warlock was indulging in a long, sensual kiss with the Latino guy in the middle of the trio of b-ball superstars, but their arms all wrapped loosely around each other, while the friend with the arm draped around the Latino guy in a way that said “inseparable” was taking the opportunity to caress the thick, bumpy muscles of Peter’s right upper arms and shoulders with the hand he wasn’t using to claim his buddy.
As Brad watched, Malick slid around Peter and sandwiched him between himself and the Latino dude, mouthing the side of Peter’s neck before taking advantage of a break in the others’ kiss to join his own lips with the Latino guy’s over Peter’s shoulder. It was then that Brad realized that whereas the Peter that had joined him and Steve was unusually tall, maybe 6’6”, so that he was shorter than the body-hardon-giant Steve but taller than the Sebastians, the Peter that was enmeshing himself with the basketballers was just as tall as Malick and his buddies, as if Peter had casually grown an extra five or six inches just so they could all make out and grope each other and generally play around without anyone straining their necks.
Ho … ly … fuck, Brad thought to himself. His huge dick surged in violently renewed arousal as his mind filled with all those Peters, and the head of his dick shoved up against the underside of his chin as if it were trying to get into his mouth the hard way. Brad reached up and wrenched his iron-hard erection to one side, letting it brush wetly against the side of his jaw.
He looked back to Steve and Peter in time to see Steve gently setting his brother down. He noticed with some embarrassment that Peter was watching him out of the corner of his eye. As soon as he was on his feet, Peter turned lazily to press his back up against Steve’s mostly naked body. At the same time he drew Brad toward him into a cozy, four-armed embrace that felt so good, so delicious and uncomplicated, that his whole body quivered and then relaxed in simple, bone-loosening pleasure.
Brad looked up into his intoxicatingly beautiful face and had to force himself back from another explosive orgasm. He was good-looking, Brad saw—immensely good looking. But what made him irresistible was the force of his presence, as if there were a glow that emanated from who Peter was, and not just how he looked. Brad focused on Peter’s sweet chocolate eyes as Steve slid his arms around both of them, his long-fingered hands sliding gently up and down the lower curve of Brad’s neck and along Peter’s forearms where he held Brad close. Brad’s towering cock was rigid and palpably hot between them.
“Do you want to kiss me?” Peter asked, his voice growly and coy. His eyes seemed to glint, the knowledge that he was almost irresistible obvious in them, alongside his simple curiosity about how people reacted differently to his magnetic attraction.
Brad licked his lips. He did want to kiss Peter, very much. But what he said was, “Clothes.” It was barely a whisper.
Peter raised his brows a bit but said nothing, his eyes locked on Brad’s. Brad cleared his throat and spoke more confidently. “I want to feel what it’s like,” he said, willing himself to keep a steady voice as he looked up at Steve’s enigmatic brother. “I want—can you make more clothes? Not for Steve, but—” He couldn’t finish the question. It was too selfish, too big a thing to ask, like meeting a famous crooner and asking the star to sing something for him. He blushed, suddenly abashed, and tried to wriggle free of the brothers’ embrace, but they held him fast. The brushing together of their strong male bodies made another surge of arousal flood through him, and he wondered how he could feel so incredibly, amp-on-11 turned on and his balls so full of seed, and his cock and body so impatient to burst into ecstatic release after already having done so just minutes before. It was like he was replenishing life points, only he’d been overfilled with them, saturated with potency to match his aching need.
“For you?” Peter finished, and the way he said it, to Brad, who’d been half-expecting annoyance or derision, it almost seemed tender. When Brad hesitated, Peter seemed to eye him appraisingly. His expression said that there was something to explain—not necessarily bad, but important. “The thing is—sorry, hotness, what was your name?” he asked apologetically.
“Brad,” Steve said from above them before Brad could speak. He was still stroking Brad’s neck and shoulders, and Brad was finding it soothing and stimulating at the same time. Being held by both of the preternaturally hot Burgess brothers was making Brad practically vibrate with need somewhere deep inside. The needs he was feeling—there were more than one.
“Brad,” Peter repeated. “The thing is,” he went on in a quiet, steady voice, “guys just … aren’t born with equipment like that.” He nodded at where Brad’s enormous erection was chafing the side of Brad’s jaw, painting his left cheek with warm, sticky dickjuice. Brad blinked up at him and started to speak, but Peter continued before he could speak. “They’re not,” he insisted. “Unless someone else did this to you, someone like me, it can only mean that … somehow … you did that yourself.” Abruptly, like punctuation to his startling pronouncement, he bent to kiss Brad, covering his mouth so deftly that it felt like the best kiss he’d ever had. That was even before Brad eagerly opened for him, letting Peter’s long, agile tongue dance delightedly with his own for a long moment that seemed like a season of voluptuous lovemaking.
The whole time, Brad’s mind was whirling. His dick—fuck. It had gotten steadily bigger since puberty. But they’d moved around. There’d been no siblings, and no friends that lasted. The only continuity, in all that time of freakish, relentless growth, was himself.
Peter seemed to sense his thoughts. He broke the kiss and said, very quietly with his lips barely an inch away from Brad’s, “Maybe you’re like us.” Brad had closed his eyes for the kiss, but he opened them now in shock. He felt warm breath against his lips and looked into Peter’s chocolate stare, trying to understand. “Maybe,” Peter went on, his mouth still close to Brad’s, “there are things you can do. And maybe there are reasons you … we … can do them. Reasons that need to be—” Peter pursed his lips, then finished, “—uncovered.”
Brad’s mind stuck on the one word in that speech that had truly staggered him. “‘We’?” he whispered.
Peter smiled, and again, for someone who had just met him, the smile seemed almost fond. Quickly Peter straightened up, the momentary intimacy replaced with his usual cocksure amusement. “In the meantime, however,” Peter said, in a new, drolly businesslike tone, and Brad realized with a thrill that he was looking shrewdly at the loose, open-collared solid-blue dress shirt he was wearing, as if appraising whether it was suitable for the purpose Peter had in mind. No way, Brad thought, heart hammering. No way, no way! He was going to do it. He was going to do it, now, with this very shirt…
He glanced up at a grinning Steve where he seemed to be almost pressing into the ceiling above them. A wave of guilt was passing through him, as he realized how he was ignoring his own boyfriend and focusing this sudden ocean of want on Steve’s brother instead of Steve. But Steve was obviously happy, and not just that he had his brother back. Steve was truly happy that Brad might get his chance at a slow-building dream that had only recently been acknowledged—a dream that Brad realized Steve himself had long harbored, and for whom it had come gloriously true with the arrival of Peter’s box a month before. Steve winked at him, and Brad felt his lips stretch in a huge, giddy smile.
When he looked at Peter again he saw that he had closed his eyes as if concentrating, his four hands pressed against the shirt Brad was wearing where he still held Brad close against him. Something seemed to shift. Brad thought he felt a tiny, slivered, split second of blackness, and then…
Peter opened his eyes, and Brad felt his body change, his shoulders bulging, swelling, and dividing on each side as the shirt expanded and reshaped itself to cover him. Brad glanced down on his right to watch, a thrill of excitement running through him as he stared hungrily at the burgeoning muscle. Two thick gymnast delts—then three! Arms growing and dividing with them. Two arms. Three. He glanced quickly to the other side, past where Steve’s long hand was still caressing his neck and traps. Three thick, round delts held snugly by the upscale shirt he’d worn for this special night, now made even more special—the shirt and the night. Three delts.
He lifted his hands, exhibiting them to himself. Six of his strong, ring-grabbing, pommel-horse-riding, cartwheel-loving hands. Brad realized he was panting, his breaths coming hard and ragged. He looked up at Peter, who was watching him with simple joy at Brad’s delight in the transformation, then past him at up Steve, who was looking down at him with what looked like joy, need, want, love, and bottomless animal lust all thrown together. The light in Steve’s eyes kindled the same joy inside the deepest places in Brad’s soul.
That was what the arms were for all along, he realized! Not just the rings or the mat, or the endorphin rush of working out. They were for touching Steve. Holding him until they couldn’t get enough of their hard bodies pressed together. Caressing his nine-foot cock of a body. Stroking him everywhere. Making love with every part of their bodies.
“That’s just to get you started,” Peter said into his ear, breaking into his thoughts in the same private tone he’d been using. Brad dropped his gaze quickly to Peter’s in surprise. “There’s more where that came from,” Peter went on, serious but still with a wry edge. “And … maybe you won’t need me to find it.” Then abruptly Peter looked up and addressed the whole throng of male pulchritude that had somehow assembled itself in Steve’s third-floor dorm-room hallway. “Hey folks!” he called, and all heads turned, most of them grinning, many of them flushed, with kiss-bruised lips and sex-dark eyes. “The night is still young—what say we go out and have some fun somewhere?”
The Asian basketballer instantly seized on the idea. “I know a place we can dance,” he said excitedly. “What do you say, Gomie?” he asked, turning to the friendly-looking Latino guy, who seemed to be the center of that little knot of men even with stretched-up Peter among them.
Malick, the only one of them Brad knew from before tonight, looked slightly skeptical, not to mention a little abashed, as if only now realizing how demonstrative he’d been with his guys. He took an uncertain step back from where he’d been sandwiching Peter. But the Latino guy, evidently known as “Gomie” for some reason, nodded happily, smiling and easy smile first at the extra-tall Peter they’d been messing around with, then, more affectionately, at Malick. “I’m in,” he said positively, and Malick hesitated only a second before nodding back at his buddy and tossing back a grin that wasn’t quite as easy as his friend’s.
Then Gomie’s eyes flicked behind Brad, almost unwillingly it seemed, drifting up and up and up with an unconcealed hint of naked admiration; and when his eyes reached the ceiling and there could be no doubt as to the object of his appreciation, Brad suddenly found himself thinking he might not like “Gomie” that much after all. He felt himself actually narrowing his eyes, like boyfriends in the movies who spotted a potential rival for the soulmate he’d already given his heart to.
As if choreographed, everyone then turned as one to check in with the remaining group. It looked like the Sebastians and Peter had barely been able to tear their lips away from each other for this sudden group convo, and their arms were all still thoroughly entwined, their hard, hard-built bodies pressed tight against each other. Wait—did that Peter look more built than the others? Fuck. “Oh, you know we love to dance,” one of the “twins” said with a grin, and the other matched it. Brad’s imagination filled with scenes of the two cute muscleboys gyrating together in synchronized seduction of entire dance-floors full of hungry-eyed clubgoers. He guessed that the Seb’s suggestive comment probably had got the same images flitting through the other guys’ heads as well.
The Peter that was entangled with the twins, meanwhile, was aiming a very cheeky smirk back at Brad and Steve’s Peter. “Should we drag the lovebirds out with us too?” he asked, nodding toward the closed door to Steve’s dorm room, indicating that there was yet more hotness still closeted within.
Brad raised his eyebrows in surprise and looked at the Peter in front of him, wondering what had been meant by “lovebirds”. As far as Brad knew, Frank had been alone in the room—disregarding the fact that he wasn’t even supposed to be home at all tonight. Their Peter—his and Steve’s Peter—was grinning like a movie villain in full gloat. “Absolutely,” he told his doppelganger. “There’s plenty of time for what they’re doing, later.” He met Brad’s gaze, eyes twinkling, as if waiting for him to clue in. Frank was in the dorm room that Peter had just come out of, only for Peter, once he was out here, to become… Fuuuuck.
Brad huffed out a breath, and Peter laughed. “You get all the boys, don’t you?” Brad teased.
“Sooner or later,” Peter agreed, though with a hint in his voice that there was a bit more to the story. Then he again addressed the group. “C’mon, men!” he call exuberantly, as if rallying a shipfull of Napoleon-era marines for the boarding of a pirate corsair. He was looking directly into Brad’s eyes as he added with a wide, dimpled, reckless grin, “It’s time for us all to cut loose!”
The club was called Bananas, which made Steve snort with amusement when he saw it. It turned out to be walking distance from the dorms, and the Asian b-baller, whose name was Jason Chen, apparently had a personal connection to the place; anyway the burly guys at the door seemed to know him, and a moment later a manager came over and gave him a hug, promising a drink on the house for Jason and his friends as they filtered into the club. No one seemed to notice that four different Peters were passing through the doors with their group—but then, each Peter looked subtly or significantly different from the others. It was like his favorite thing was tailoring himself to whoever he was with.
Plus, Steve had to admit that most eyes were being yanked automatically his way as soon as he ducked under the doorframe of the main entrance and entered the packed establishment. His body hard-on had been getting more and more out of control lately, and tonight, with as aroused and horny as he was, he’d turned himself into the biggest goddamned human boner he had ever been and then some. His long, bare torso seemed to shoot up out of the group of guys he was with in exactly the same way that his front trio of huge, rigid cocks were stretching massively up past the waistband of his now four-legged gym shorts. He wondered self-consciously if the seven-foot (or close to it) basketball prodigies he was with appreciated palling around someone three feet or more taller than them, and giving them a little relief from the stares.
He looked down at those three extra-thick and totally indomitable erections jostling against his steel-hard, jizz-slicked twelve-pack abs. All three stuff-as-fuck fatties were drooling pre all over him and each other and generally begging for attention, shifting as Steve moved and with their own kinetic impatience. The rear ones were just as hard but better hidden. Back at the dorm, as the group had approached the stairs at the end of his hallway, Steve had abruptly remembered his state of undress and exposure and had a sudden, weird reality check. After all, he’d worn just the shorts and shoes expecting a quiet night with Brad—no one was meant to see him like this but Brad. And then, fuck, he’d glanced over at Brad and stared at how his lover’s formerly collarbone-high monster cock had shoved even higher than ever and was now nuzzling at his neck, huge, quivering, and as impossible to hide as his sudden crop of six thickly carved gymnast arms. Steve had looked back over at Peter on his other side with what must have been very obvious worry about his and Brad’s extreme freakiness, but Peter’s response was a swift, reassuringly cocky grin. “I’m going like this,” he said simply, turning and walking backwards in front of him and Brad and spreading his four exquisitely muscled arms wide, the action incidentally helping to frame the pair of towering and very obvious thirteen-inchers bulging out against his tight, body-hugging tee shirt. Steve found himself getting, if possible, even more turned on at his impossibly hot brother and how he was deliberately and audaciously taking all that hotness out into the world for everyone to see. Brad whimpered slightly beside him, equally moved, then looked up guiltily at Steve, but Steve just smiled at him and took two of his right hands in his.
Whether on account of Peter’s magic or for some other reason, no one in the club was bugging out that all these men of impossible body configurations were moving among them. Which is not to say that they weren’t taking notice. Everybody seemed to be welcoming them like they’d been waiting for the hottest of hot guys to finally arrive. Whoops and cheers from the writhing dance floor and crowded bar-area mezzanine followed them as they moved into the club. All the guys, and Steve especially, were touched appreciatively and smiled at gratefully by everyone they slid past. Their party segmented naturally into its component groups as they hit the sprawling, colorfully lit dance floor and diffused through the gyrating crowd, and it wasn’t long before Steve, from his superior position high above the churning mass of bouncing, sweating twinks, twunks, cubs, queens, hardbodies, and average joes, could discern four distinct focal points of rapt arousal and sexual fascination, each one revolving around its center like a tropical storm rapidly building in strength, speed, and intensity with every second that went by. Ignoring the warm hands and twisting bodies enjoying him from every direction, Steve looked around, a little stunned by how Peter’s arrival, after all this time, had transformed his world in seconds.
Out of all of them the biggest shock for him might have been his roommate, Frank. And not because he took so readily to having been turned into a four-armed, four-legged, thickly muscled, extra-tall boytaur. Steve could easily imagine the brashly exhibitionistic swim hunk eagerly embracing anything that made him stand out as an avatar of masculine pulchritude, and in the weeks since Peter’s box had arrived Steve had even had a few tawdry daydreams where he’d imagined his tight-bodied roommate discovering the clothes and secretly transforming himself. The strangeness lay more in what seemed to have happened to Frank on the inside. Steve’s impression of Frank was that he had always been about serial affection, and no-strings encounters; but now, as Steve watched him dancing close with his own personal, extra-handsome Peter, what he saw was two men staring deep into each other’s eyes, forehead resting against forehead, like the most romantic and committed couples he’d seen on campus. Their adoration and the connection between them was obvious and beautiful. It was kind of funny. Here inside the club the intense, thumping rhythm was so pervasive it felt to Steve like it was originating in his guts, or maybe his balls, but Frank and Peter seemed oblivious both to the club-saturating dance music and to the exuberant throng around them. Though they were if anything the most clothed out of their group, they danced together like they were alone and naked and fucking face-to-face as they moved and turned and smiled at each other, their many arms loosely interlaced as their bodies pressed close.
Even more unexpected, maybe, was the way Frank’s deep emotional bond with this Peter seemed to be fully mirrored in Peter himself. Frank’s Peter might physically resemble the other smirking, self-confident, four-armed renditions of his brother that were there with them tonight, but unlike them he looked as oblivious to his surroundings as Frank was. In place of the usual Peter-like smirk there was an intimate smile that was meant for Frank alone.
A few feet away the boisterous basketball crew was frolicking, and they could not have looked more different, at least on the surface. Malick, Jason, Javier, and their stretched-up, equally towering version of Peter were fully embracing the idea of a night out partying with complete abandon, all of them dancing fluidly and enthusiastically in a tight cluster of long-limbed, long-torsoed muscle. All four of them were defiantly and delectably shirtless, exposing for their avid admirers their miles of sinuous, irresistible flesh, their mix of skin tones sliding together making them look like a flavor variety pack. Bodies rubbed evocatively against bodies under the shifting lights, drawing the eye hypnotically along square, firm pecs, flaring lats, rippling intercostals, and cobbled eight-pack abs down to straining crotches barely concealing heavy, hard erections, while their long, powerful arms curled and stretched around each other’s close-pressed forms. Packed around them were uncounted shirtless, well-built admirers, all grinding and rutting against them and each other with huge smiles and roving hands. Javier, at the center, seemed to be in tall-guy heaven, though Steve couldn’t miss the way the black-haired Latin basketball stud kept glancing lustfully over at Steve himself, thirstily drinking in the way Steve was helplessly thrusting up high out of the crowd like he’d been hit with a secretly engineered tallifying ray.
Steve blushed a little and twisted self-consciously away from the b-ballers, said action putting him line of sight with the Sebastians. His eyes widened as he saw the circle around them staring raptly, barely moving to the music, at the two handsome, dark-haired, identical gym rats shared a four-way kiss with an impressively ripped and shockingly two-headed version of his warlock brother. It was like the sensual Sebastians were made of kissing, and Peter as always effortlessly adapted himself to become capable of sharing their privately perfected form of oral communication with each of them at once. The blond hair on both his heads was visibly grown out just since they’d arrived at the club to end up brushing against his swollen traps, and had loosened enticingly as well—the Sebastians were each running long fingers through Peter’s cascading locks as they kissed hard, slow, and deep. Meanwhile, the hotties around them were visibly clasping big, stiff, uncontrollable cocks in their jeans and humping each other in slow, rhythmic appreciation as they drank in the sight, their free arms wrapped in sympathetic arousal around whatever random hottie was nearest them. At their center, ringed around protectively by their admirers, Peter and the Sebastians smooched emotively and endlessly, their bodies shifting gently to the heavy, slamming rhythm as if they’d been left unattended by brains too engrossed in the simple, blissful ecstasy of making out to retain awareness or control of anything else.
“See something you like?” someone shouted over the pounding music.
Steve looked down to see Brad grinning wickedly up at him, his pale blue eyes hot and dark with desire, and in that instant Steve’s vision suddenly filled with nothing but his sweet, sexy man. With his super body-hard-on at maximum effect Steve was at least four feet taller than Brad, whose sandy locks only came up to the tops of Steve’s abs, and though the elevation felt unnervingly extreme to him, it did happen to provide Steve with the perfect vantage point from which to admire Brad’s cute face and his so-fucking-hot rounded triple delts. Even through Brad’s thin, rust-red, tighter-than-before long-sleeved henley, Steve could almost trace the striations of Brad’s muscles as the three delts joined separate trapezius-heads that merged along their lengths like a three-headed river into a single mighty current. Steve wanted to lick along the fantastic muscle landscape of Brad’s shoulders, feeling the tripled brawn with mouth, tongue, and lips, while Brad moaned and murmured over Steve’s discovery of hitherto-unknown sensitive spots amid clefts and fissures not to be found on any normal body. From those miraculous shoulders, too, hung heavily muscled arms that Steve wanted to feel around him. He wanted Brad’s hands all over him, touching and stimulating his own long, naked form, the way the anonymous dancers around them were boldly stroking his sensitive cockflesh torso and his firm, four-legged ass and even his four athletic, extra-long legs, as if throwing themselves into some primitive, carnal rite.
Just as arresting was Brad’s crazy-huge and now completely unconcealable cock. It was shoving thick, massive, and immovable past his unbuttoned collar and was nuzzling against the side of Brad’s lickable neck, and all the skin from his jawline to his collarbone was slicked with untold quantities of pre.
“I so definitely do,” Steve called back down to him. His dimpled grin was so wide his face hurt. He took in his newly augmented man, dancing with natural grace to the techno beat, with an awe that went straight to his balls.
Steve abruptly realized that there was no sign now of the Peter that had come with the two of them, and at the moment he was kind of glad. Peter was impossibly sexy, and that Polaroid photo had awakened something in him that he still didn’t fully understand… but it was Brad that set his heart on fire, now more than ever. His heart, and his balls. He beamed down at his man. “How you liking those extra hands?” he teased.
Instead of yelling over the music, Brad just kissed up at him.
“You come up here and say that!” Steve shouted back at him, still grinning.
Brad wiggled his dark eyebrows at him, his blue eyes glinting like he’d accepted a challenge. His gaze locked with Steve’s, and Steve had the odd sense that something world-changing was about to happen. Coincidentally or not, the music shifted and a hit pop song started playing, remixed to add a compulsive, driving beat that saturated the club and made Steve feel like his body was nothing but a conduit for relentless, pulsing energy. Steve stared hard into Brad’s eyes, powerful emotions washing through him with each pounding impact of the music thrumming through him and all the other sexy, horny, sweaty men packed onto the dance floor.
At first he didn’t realize what was happening. It just seemed like his own imagination was drawing Brad’s cute, smirking face relentlessly toward him, like his mind was zooming in on his man, willing him closer. He blinked, and realized with a massive surge of arousal that it wasn’t his mind tricking him into thinking that was bringing their faces closer at all—it was Brad’s, and it was no trick.
Wait. Was he—how could—? Steve broke their gaze just for a moment, looking around for their Peter as if to confirm that Brad wasn’t being reshaped by his warlock brother… That was when he noticed that whatever was happening to Brad was swiftly capturing the attention of the whole excited crowd at the club. Everybody was watching eagerly, slack-jawed and captivated as the music throbbed through them. Even the other clusters of his own group had stopped to gape and grin at Brad and Steve. Finally he spotted his four-armed, now shirtless brother leaning against the mezzanine railing, a beer in each of his right hands. He was watching Brad from afar, just watching, though it was clear he was impressed and intrigued. At Steve’s look he smiled and shook his head. Not me, he mouthed.
It was all Brad, Steve thought, a little dazed. Peter had been right after all. Brad had had some kind of magic in him all along—something that had allowed him to unconsciously grow his own cock over the years until it was stupidly huge, as if that were just somerthing that happened to people. All that had been lacking was awakening and awareness. Meeting Steve, and then Peter, had made Brad aware of innate capabilities he had never known could be real—capabilities at least as potent as Peter’s, maybe, though without Peter’s experience. Yet.
The beat drove through him and everyone around him like the pounding of a spike. Steve looked back down at Brad, and already he was not looking down anywhere near as far as he had been before. Brad was creeping closer, and closer, his body stretching and filling out as he grew, the only sign of effort a slight crease in Brad’s forehead as he kept his cornflower blue eyes fixed on Steve’s. And there was something else about Brad’s growth that was feeding his arousal even more. Before, when Peter had gifted Brad with extra arms, he’d shifted Brad’s long-sleeved henley along with it, making it a six-armer in just the same way as Steve’s clothes changed with his transformations—witness the now four-legged shorts that were almost his only covering at the moment. But either Brad didn’t know how to do that or he wasn’t bothering, because as Brad grew he was growing out of his clinging, rust-red shirt and and loose jeans, exposing inch after inch of tanned abs like a push-up popsicle. Sleeves and cuffs pulled away inch by inch from his hands and feet, exposing Brad’s tanned skin in a way that would almost have made it seem like it was his clothes that were shrinking as Steve watched, like a time-lapse film of the effects of repeated runs through a hot dryer… were it not for the way Brad’s sweet, bristle-jawed, model-handsome face was rising steadily toward his own.
The enthralled crowd was cheering Brad on now, and a chant arose from somewhere that was quickly picked up by the entire throng. “Grow! Grow! Grow!” they shouted, urging the muscley, sandy-haired hunk to literally new heights of physical awesomeness. The excitement filling the room was like a fever. Brad kept filling out as he grew, not merely stretching up like taffy but expanding almost proportionately, though the taller he got the lankier his deliciously cut, gymnast-muscled body looked. The fabric of his shirt was straining hard now against his chest, lats, and cock, his ten-pack abs almost completely revealed (or at least, what could be seen of them behind the lower half of his gargantuan neck-high hard-on). Without even looking Brad grabbed at the collar with four strong hands and ripped it clean off him to the roar of the delighted throng. Pulling the remaining constricting fabric off his six arms, he whipped the tatters blindly into the crowd, and in his peripheral vision Steve sensed it being snatched up by a knot of hairy-chested alpha male types who were whooping and yelling themselves hoarse with lusty admiration. Steve couldn’t blame them. Every damn inch Brad grew stoked Steve’s arousal like a lightning strike, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold off before his three jostling, overstimulated cocks started splattering uncontrollably all over Brad’s newly exposed stone-cut twelve-pack, hard, sculpted chest, and colossal, neck-wedged cock.
And then—and then—fuck, Brad was looking him right in the eye, his molten baby blues rich with mischief, magic, and insane desire. Steve drew in an involuntary, juddering breath, his balls screaming that a climax was imminent and unstoppable. A deafening cheer went up as Steve wrapped his six long arms around Steve’s elongated hard-on of a body. Steve shuddered hard and did the same, feeling the strength of Brad’s rangier but still-sculpted physique. A new chant erupted, even louder than before: “Kiss him! Kiss him! Kiss him!!”
Brad brought their faces close, and Steve could feel the heat of his boyfriend’s towering arousal, as immense as Steve’s if not more so, but he didn’t kiss him, though Steve’s mouth and tongue ached to join with Brad’s. The soft brown-blond bristles speckling Brad’s firm jawline slid against his as he moved to speak in Steve’s ear. “Should I keep going?” Brad growled, still having to speak louder than normal over the pounding music and the equally rhythmic shouts of the club’s entire patronage for Steve to even hear him.
The words sent a bright, electric thrill slamming through Steve, and he thought he felt his whole body stiffen and get even harder, shooting up as much as another whole inch out of the sheer imminence of his release. He had never, ever been this aroused. Brad laughed and matched him. “You want more of me?” Brad asked again, his voice deep and dangerous.
Steve was panting now. “Only if you take me with you,” he gritted out into Brad’s ear.
Brad pulled back to look Steve in the face again, and fuck—had he gotten even more handsome? “Don’t tempt me,” Brad said with a depraved half-grin. Then, before Steve could react, Brad pounced. Their lips came together, and it felt like lightning shotting through them both. A thundering cheer exploded through the club, mixed with the screams of what were very likely dozens of sudden, spontaneous, involuntary orgasms wrested here and there from all through the enraptured crowd. Steve himself was unbearably close, but he had to feel this kiss first. He opened eagerly for Brad, and what felt like an extra-long, extra-thick, unbearably sexy tongue thrust impatiently in to meet Steve’s. Steve’s massive, stiff cocks… his heavy, tight balls… fuck, his whole body seemed to be stretching, churning, and shimmering with an urgent desire he just couldn’t hold back any longer.
You’re mine, he thought. All mine.
Brad clasped him closer and Steve did the same, reveling in the press of Brad’s thick, delightfully stretched muscles against his entire length and the iron-hard, unmoving cock between them, shoving at Brad’s neck like it wanted to join in the kiss. Suddenly sparks erupted at the base of Steve’s spine and his balls seemed to convulse as his front and rear cocks swelled and strained. He grunted into the kiss, wanting to warn Brad, who only held tighter and kissed him harder. He was close too. Then the dam burst completely, and he erupted like a primal force, cumming hard from too many cocks. Satiating elation ripped through him as they kissed feverishly, gripping each other’s elongated torsos fiercely, their mega-release radiating out from them in shuddering waves and triggering orgasm after orgasm through the screaming crowd. He could feel Brad cumming too, as hard as Steve and then some, pressurized jizz pulsing relentlessly up the fat, adamantine cock pressed tight between their chests and spraying high up into the heading, vibrating air, ropes of heavy spunk smacking on rafters or falling in ropes of hot, sticky rain on the churning mass of men far below them.
They broke the kiss only when they were gasping for air, but they kept their lips close, Brad’s long tongue still lolling from his sweet, gorgeous lips, restless for the moment it would be back inside Steve’s hot, willing mouth. Steve pulled back just enough to take in Brad’s flushed, radiant face and shining eyes and almost came again just from the beauty of him, and the sudden, earth-shifting sense of connection between them.
The moment seemed to sink slowly from the imperative of a release that was still sizzling through him into something closer and more intimate. The crowd was quieter now, too, the music changing again so that it wound through them like they were all components of a single organism. Though many were still admiring the two super-sexy giants towering in their midst the club patrons’ focus seemed to soften as they held each other in groups of two, three, or more, some of them making out languidly with friends, or lovers, or random hot strangers as they swam in a profoundly satisfying post-orgasmic bliss.
Steve glanced around, his heart still hammering solidly in his chest, as the world seemed to slow. He saw the basketballers trading off kisses and caresses, all of them four-armed now and a little taller compared to the crowd around them than they’d been before, though Steve found out later that all of the club-goers had received a couple extra inches in height and cock length the moment they’d all erupted in their combined orgasm, and even Peter wasn’t sure whether it had come from one of him or from some kind of leak from Brad’s untrained use of his own potent abilities. Boytaur Frank and his Peter were so close they seemed to be joined together as they made out, oblivious once more to the teeming admirers around them. The lusciously attractive, gym-grown Sebastians were now kissing each other, a heart-stoppingly arresting sight in itself, and each had a two-headed Peter behind them gently embracing the two clones and attacking their necks from both sides. The Peter up on the mezzanine was sandwiched between two mostly naked, darkly handsome fitness models, his mouth nuzzling the ear of the one in front of him as the one behind kissed the other over Peter’s wide, doubled shoulders, and Steve could almost believe—almost—that Peter’s seemingly devoted attention was not divided between what he was doing and his brother and unexpected protégé below.
Steve’s eyes drifted back to Brad’s beautiful face, and doing so felt pleasingly like bringing the world into focus. Everything intensified, his pulse sped up again, and he felt a lump in his throat as he met Brad’s penetrating gaze. The blue of Brad’s eyes seemed to be the focus of all blue that existed in the the universe, luminous and potent with all the same emotions flooding through Steve in that moment. “Fuck, Brad,” Steve huffed, staring hard into Brad’s eyes. “I think I love you.” He said it only loud enough for Brad to hear over the music. They may have just shared their growth and their release with the crowd, but whatever he was feeling was just between them. He wondered if his orgasm had made him a little high, maybe permanently. That was sure what it felt like.
Whatever Steve was feeling, he could see it gratifyingly mirrored in Brad’s eyes. But Brad only winked and smiled at him at first. Then Steve watched keenly as Brad hauled that impressive tongue back into his mouth so he could speak, and Brad made a show of it, pulling it in as sensuously as he could and drawing it along his full, kiss-swollen lips until it finally disappeared, ready to emerge again from its cave at the slightest provocation. “It doesn’t count if you say it after sex,” Brad said at last in a tone of faux-admonishment, though he smiled as he said it. “Besides,” he added lightly, “you just love me for what I did to your junk.”
Steve felt his brows draw together automatically in confusion. Then his eyes narrowed, and Brad’s crooked grin widened back into a smirk. Steve didn’t have to separate their cum-slathered torsos and look down to know what Brad had done—he could feel it, now that he knew what to look for. Now he understood those sensations he’d had before, of cumming from too many cocks. His junk had already been heavy and huge and multiplied by the shorts he’d worn for what was meant to have been an intimate, sexy evening alone into three massive hard-ons in front and another three in back. Only, in the last few minutes they’d all been fucking doubled… in size and number, it felt like. With, he realized, a corresponding upgrade to his balls as well. “You fucker,” Steve said, though he couldn’t keep his own lips from quirking as Brad beamed at him. “I already had too many before this!”
Brad was unrepentant. He wiggled his eyebrows at him again in a way that made Steve’s stomach flop around and his heavy, augmented balls shudder before leaning in for a soft kiss before. Eventually their mouths parted at last, and his lover pulled back to smile at him. “What can I say?” Brad said saucily. “I like cock.” His gaze fell hungrily onto Steve’s shoulders. “And arms,” he added, a little more distractedly. Even as he said this Steve felt a tingling warmth ripple through his arms and shoulders as he held his ten-foot, sweaty and cum-slicked lover tight, the sensations warning Steve of what was soon to come.
Steve shook his head and leaned in for another long, sensual kiss. He didn’t care how many arms he had, as long as this man was in them.