Description When Steve’s attempts at bringing boytaurs into popular awareness through CGI ends up being a disaster, his only recourse is to use the real thing.
|Updated||01 Mar 2004|
Steve Fosters stared at the monitor in disbelief, cursing to his empty trailer. The special effects trial run was a complete failure. All the effort that had gone into convincing the record company to let Jason Chase’s new video show him turning into a hot boytaur at the climax of his latest blockbuster single, and now the special effects people couldn’t even make it happen. Look at that! The extra arms were misaligned, the wrong color, and fuzzy to boot. And the legs! Christ, he’d seen better digital effects on the Channel 7 weather report. Attached to Jason’s carefully sculpted bod, the extra CGI arms and legs looked ludicrous—they didn’t even look like a joke, they looked like a mistake, instead of the turn-on they were supposed to be.
Steve cursed again, flicking the images off with his remote. He had a week left before delivering the finished video, postproduction and all. And no more budget. The crew had gone home, all the photography complete. Jason Chase was at his beach house doing who knows what (or who knows whom—the omnivorous appetite of the former-boybander-turned-solo-artist was becoming legendary).
Steve was completely screwed. His big chance on his first major video, and he’d blown it. Shoulda stuck with dancing in videos instead of making them, he thought with a wry smile, brushing his long blond hair behind his ears as he settled into the big chair to think.
Well, he had three options. He could present the video as is, with the crappy effects. That would sink him; he was better off turning in nothing. And he was committed to getting boytaurs on TV somehow, this year. He’d promised the guys, the time was right, and he was the only member of the group that was even connected to TV. So his second option, dropping the boytaur effect, also sucked.
Steve sighed. There was a third option, but he wasn’t sure it would fly with the guys—or Jason. But there was no time to waste. He only had the studio and soundstage two more days.
It was a huge place, done all in dressed stone so it looked like a cathedral more than a place of residence. Kim Sung, the informal leader of their group, owned it now outright, but he said it used to be owned by Errol Flynn, and he told amusing stories about getting it on with Flynn’s ghost and other famous Hollywood hunks of the golden age. The cavernous main hallway ran the length of the house and countless rooms and corridors on the ground floor gave off it, as well as grand staircases leading to the upper and lower levels. Steve skipped up one of the staircases to the second floor ballroom, already hearing a hubbub of voices.
As he got to the second floor he saw the ballroom’s double doors were wide open, and next to them Kim was hovering, chatting idly with one of the other guys. Kim caught sight of Steve and broke into a broad grin, running over to him and snatching him up in a strong-four armed hug. “You look great,” Steve said, having taken in Kim’s luscious boytaur muscle bod, which he’d decked out perfectly in crisp four-legged jeans and a tight black tank. He wore no shoes, revealing the extra toes on his four tanned feet.
They kissed for a few minutes, Kim’s four hands stroking Steve’s back, and then Kim pulled back and said with a grin, “How come you’re not changed? Everyone’s waiting to see the hottest boytaur of them all!”
Steve grinned back. “Didn’t bring my clothes with me,” he said. That wasn’t really true. He liked changing here, and so had deliberately waited.
Kim winked. “Well, you know the rules.” Kim took him by the hand and dragged him into the ballroom where they were met by the gleeful hoots and whistles of a dozen casually dressed boytaurs.
“Changing time! Changing time!” they called, laughing.
Steve tried to look abashed, but the fact was, as soon as he learned that anyone who showed up for a meeting with only two arms and two legs had to transform in front of everyone, he’d resolved to “forget” as often as possible.
Kim took charge. “O.K., strip,” he said, padding backwards on his bare feet a few steps to better appreciate the show. Steve obliged, shucking first his black tee shirt to reveal his generously muscular chest (to a chorus of “ooos”), then the chinos he always wore. As he never wore underwear his eleven-inch boner, which he’d had since kissing Kim in the hallway, was immediately on display along with his beautiful dancer’s legs.
The crowd actually clapped and cheered as he kicked off his sneaks and stood in all his glory, naked, before them. Steve turned a little red but inside he was lapping it up.
“O.K., enough showboating. Now change!” Kim laughed.
Steve closed his eyes. It actually required very little effort to revert to his boytaur form; it was like unclenching a muscle he’d been keeping tense for a long time. He felt his body relax—really, really relax—and then he could feel the warmth of his rear biceps against his front triceps â—¦ his stance settling on four big feet â—¦ four fourteen-inch boners thrusting into the air, his hind ones poking out a few inches beyond his front balls â—¦
Except he realized it wasn’t the air. He opened his eyes to see Kim wrapping his mouth lovingly around his front left monster hardon, and three other volunteers, including Pacey the Olympic gymnast and the pro surfer, Doug, were gently taking care of the others. For some reason when he’d been inducted into the group the serum had worked especially well on him, particularly the cocks—though they were usually a good deal bigger, not everyone ended up with four, and Steve’s had also almost doubled in width. Even in his two-leg form he was better hung than before, more muscular, and a few inches taller, all of which was unusual, though the inductee generally got a little better looking, more toned, and so on. Almost no one had reacted as well as Steve, in either form. Maybe that was why they liked watching him transform, and why he liked doing it.
Other handsome boytaurs came forward to kiss and caress him, and Steve closed his eyes and surrendered to bliss. These moments were always the best, what he dreamed of at night, though nothing matched the passion and unflagging animal heat of his induction weekend. Those golden days were chiseled in his memory forever, from the indescribable sensation of growth to the immediate deep, warm feeling of community and love to the endless, progressively more powerful, unstoppable hourlong orgasms of which he learned he and the others were blessedly capable.
Two hours later, after they had indulged in a great deal of casual but intense lovemaking, they reconvened in the formal dining room. They were dressed for dinner in four-armed, four-legged tuxedos, Steve in a tux borrowed from Kim (just a little tight). As they waited for dinner to be served, Steve stood up and began to speak, looking over the dozen cute faces, into their shining eyes.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I have a problem—and a possible solution.” He then spelled out his difficulties and his proposed solution. There were some reservations and the debate lasted well into dessert, but in the end Kim led the group in agreeing to Steve’s plan. Even though the group was conservative about changes, and had been for the three hundred years since its founding, the membership loved Steve and Kim enough, and trusted them enough, to do just about anything for them.
Steve glanced at Kim in the front seat. “Just to show him we’re a community,” Kim said over his shoulder. “If it was just Steve, Jason might think he was a freak.”
“But why me?” They were all extremely circumspect about revealing their boytaur alternate forms, but Pacey perhaps most of all. He had even panicked after his induction because there had been what he was sure were noticeable changes to his two legged form, though these were mostly concentrated in his pecs and his brighter-than-before ice blue eyes. He’d worn baggy shirts outside of meets for months, though lately he’d started wearing tight stretchy tees again which flaunted his chest, much to Steve’s amusement.
“Because you’re his type,” Steve said laughing. It was true: Jason fucked anything sexy, but he loved broad shoulders, big pecs, and narrow waists on a clean-cut All-American boy.
“More importantly,” Kim said, “you’re our only celebrity at present.”
Pacey fell back in his seat in resignation. They reach the turnoff with Steve still smiling to himself, thinking it would be nice to see Jason again, and a few moments later they pulled up at the spacious beach house.
Steve drew in a deep breath of tangy sea air as they jogged up the wooden steps to the glass door. As a kid from Nebraska he could never get enough of the ocean. He rang the bell and in a few moments Jason appeared and slid open the glass door.
He was stark naked, completely in the buff—and “buff” was definitely the word. Steve sucked in another sharp breath, this one involuntarily.
“Hey Steve,” the young singer said with a grin, similarly drinking in his visitor and then his companions, taking special note of how Pacey’s gymnast muscles challenged his tight tee shirt. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing friends,” he added, apparently not at all displeased.
At that moment two more guys appeared behind Jason. Steve realized he’d seen them before—they were twin fitness models, always in watch ads in Vanity Fair or fragrance ads in GQ. According to publicity they were straight, but here they were, and like Jason they were stark naked and unabashed. Geez, Jason really can get whoever he wants, Steve thought. To his amazement he felt a stab of jealousy.
“Neither did you. Anyway this isn’t a booty call, Jason,” Steve said, a little embarrassed.
“That’s what you said last time,” Jason said with a wink. “C’mon in.”
As they followed Jason’s perfect ass into the interior of the roomy, light-filled house, Kim grinned at Steve and punched his arm. “You sly dog,” he whispered. “You didn’t tell me—”
“It was just once. O.K., three times. He’s hard to resist.” Very hard. Steve had been boned nearly every minutes on the set, working with Jason, and it wasn’t long before Jason was exchanging covert glances with him and throwing his arm around Steve when they huddled to discuss the video. Finally they’d found themselves alone in the studio bathroom, and a stare and a grin turned into a make-out session long enough that everyone thought they’d left and gone home.
“So are you.” Steve glanced at Kim, but Kim had already turned away, chuckling.
They all sat down in the living room except for the twins, who, sensing business to be discussed, disappeared hand in hand into the kitchen.
“Jason, we have a proposition for you,” Steve said, trying not to let himself be distracted by the pop star’s causal nudity. “The effects for the video tanked, but I really want to make it happen. And.. there is a way. Um—”
“Let’s just show him,” Kim said. “Jason, you have to promise not to tell anyone what you’re about to see.”
“Scout’s honor,” Jason said, watching them carefully.
The three of them stood, and, after a moment’s hesitation, began peeling off their clothes. Jason’s eyes danced back and forth between the three disrobing hunks, his languid cock slowly stiffening.
“Now,” Kim said. The three of them closed their eyes and relaxed completely. In a moment they were settling their weight onto four feet.
Jason was now completely hard, and the three boytaurs were boned as well, even the reluctant Pacey. The pop star’s eyes were huge and a grin was frozen on his face.
“Jase, are you O.K.?” Steve asked, padding forward a few steps.
Jason seemed to come out of a reverie. “O.K.? Are you kidding?” He stepped forward and grabbed Steve’s two front monster erections and began gently stroking. “Steve, I wanted this more than you can imagine. I knew.”
“You knew?” Pacey said, glancing anxiously at Steve.
“It wasn’t his fault,” Jason said quickly. “It’s just—the last time you were here,” he said, looking into Steve’s eyes, “we fell asleep together afterwards and snuggled, so you didn’t get up and leave as usual. Well, I woke up in the middle of the night and you were—like this. I spent an hour jacking off staring at you while you slept. Then I drifted off and in the morning you were gone.”
Jason kissed Steven then, lightly, their mouths lingering a few inches apart. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since then. I’ve been with a lot of guys, but it was different with you. I think—I think I was already falling in love with you before—you’re so sweet and kind and smart and funny. And now this,” he added caressing Steve’s four muscular arms as they kissed a little more. Kim, watching, began idly stroking Pacey’s broad back.
They kissed for a long time, then Jason moved his mouth to Steve’s ear. “Make me like you,” Jason breathed.
Steve pulled back a little, gazed deep into Jason’s eyes. “Are you sure?”
Jason grinned. “Dude, I’m the one who paid off the special effects guys to fuck it up,” he said softly. “I wanted the real thing.”
Steve had to laugh. “Fuck,” he said, going in for another kiss. Then he said, soft enough for only Jason to hear, and to his own surprise, “I love you too.”
After they’d been making out for a while (in which activity they were soon emulated by the other two horny young boytaurs), Jason said, “So how is it done?”
Steve, distracted by the firmness of Jason’s ass, which he was exploring with all four hands, said, “There’s a serum.”
Jason nodded and looked at something over Steve’s broad shoulder. “Do you have enough for three?”
The three boytaurs turned to see the twins standing in the doorway, staring with astonishment and deep lust, their granite abs nearly hidden by monster hardons. They smiled sheepishly.
The video for “Change Yourself” was a huge success, propelling Steve into the top ranks of video directors (and before long into directing his first film). Especially popular was Jason Chase’s boytaur morphing scene, which immediately became the top download on the Internet. Steve’s carefully designed boytaur dance sequence, featuring Jason backed up by a superhot group of eight boytaur dancers including extra-buff twin fitness models, a hot Asian guy, a well-known muscular gymnast, and the sexy young director/choreographer himself all executing complicated four-legged footwork, won an MTV video award and inspired much comment and emulation. But when others tried it their digital effects somehow just lacked the reality of Jason’s video.
Jason’s career exploded to a new level, both because of the success of his song and because of his hot new look. The magazines couldn’t explain it, but everyone agreed he was even cuter than he’d been last year and definitely hunkier. He appeared on the cover of Men’s Fitness to show off his new build and to describe his workout routine, though this was largely fictional—most of Jason’s workouts involved his boytaur body and a certain rising young film director.
On the other hand the twins, Cory and Nate, had some trouble at first, because the serum had caused both their muscles and their cocks to balloon up dramatically in both their original and boytaur bodies—in fact they were now double-cocked and obscenely hung even in their two-legged form, which according to the archives had never happened before. One upshot of this was they could no longer do swimsuit and nude work, which had been one of their staples. Fortunately, they had a savvy agent and a new contract shortly arrived making them the exclusive new print models for Armani, which was celebrated at the mansion with a party that lasted for days and was remembered for years.
Jason and Steve married a few months later in a private ceremony, attended by all forty-six known boytaurs in Southern California. Each of the grooms had a beaming boytaur twin for a ring bearer, and Pacey and Doug acted as groomsmen; Kim, as head of the community, officiated with a broad grin and a little wistfulness—he’d always had a thing for Steve; but then they all had.
As the happy couple kissed enthusiastically after the ceremony there was much stirring among the hormone-infused congregation. There was a lot of four-legged lovemaking that night in L.A., and nowhere more so than in a certain secluded beach house whose inhabitants were not seen for many days.