Marcus had never seen anything like it in his life. He’d never even fantasized something this good, and he was having a hard time maintaining his cool as a result.
He’d just walked around the corner to his usual coffee shop for his usual morning coffee and expected nothing more exciting than seeing the cute espresso dude who, he imagined, probably treated every customer the same way that he was treated, with a smile and a “hey, dude!” and a friendly demeanor bordering on flirtatious. Sure, the guy knew what he wanted. Didn’t he always order the same thing every morning? And he knew his name because he gave it to him to label his cup with. “Marcus, my man!” he’d say. Or, “Marcus, how’s tricks?” or “Marcus, the usual, bro?”
The cute espresso dude—whose name was Tony—was young and handsome and filled with energy—or caffeine. He had a collection of scraggly whiskers across his chin and cheeks and long-ish dirty brown hair to his shoulders, always pushed behind each ear, maybe to showcase the elaborate collection of metal that pierced his lobes. He had a ready smile and bright, happy eyes and a very long, elegant neck that Marcus, in his daydreams, imagined kissing softly as his mouth made its way toward cute espresso dude’s lips.
Marcus worked from home, most days. A web geek making another useless social network aimed at some niche group of people who didn’t want to use Facebook. He never quite understood the attraction, actually, but he didn’t have to be an avid user to understand how to build them. Code is code, he liked to say, and it only mattered how you put it together. He prided himself on the efficiency and compact nature of his code. It was sleek, and purposeful, and exact.
Kind of like Marcus himself. Always controlled. Always cool.
Except this morning, when he was about to lose his shit.
“Marcus! Dude!” The familiar friendly tones of cute espresso dude had been altered, but that was nothing compared with what cute espresso dude looked like. Had something happened to time, Marcus wondered? Had he just stepped into some alternative dimension when he passed through the doors of his usual coffee establishment. Everything else looked exactly the same. Same bulletin board with dog walker ads and “Missing Laptop Reward!” leaflets, same small counter with sugar and cream and lactose-free soy milk and wooden stirrers, same rickety collection of odd chairs and crooked tables, same smell of roasted beans and honey and… something else.
Something familiar but out of place. What was that smell?
Marcus swallowed and took a couple of steps inside. “Hey,” he said quietly. “‘Sup?” He stood at the opposite side of the small space, his hand still on the door handle, his eyes wide and his body frozen in shock.
“Marcus, dude, you okay?” the cute espresso dude asked. His eyebrow rose in curiosity, but he had a broad, open smile on his lips—the lips that Marcus often imagined kissing.
“You—” he said, and then stopped. “I—” he started again, and then stopped again.
“Whoa, dude, c’mon over and grab some caffeine.” The cute espresso dude started in his elaborate manipulations to create Marcus’s usual morning double cappuccino. He started to whistle, as he usually did, and his face showed complete pleasure and concentration in the task.
Then Marcus looked down at his arms and he swallowed hard. He looked at cute espresso dude’s chest and licked his lips. He watched cute espresso dude grind the beans and fill the little cup and tighten it into the big metal coffee machine and watched the play of his muscles as he did it, and his heart did a little flip in his chest and he felt his cock twinge and his asshole tingle.
Because cute espresso dude was about to lose his nickname. He was certainly still espresso dude. Same shoulder-length hair, same ready smile, same bright, intelligent look to his brown eyes. But now it was as if espresso dude had been placed in some muscle morphing Photoshopping software routine and emerged out the other side as Super handsome fucking muscular amazing espresso dude.
He was huge! Everywhere! Mountainous shoulders were threatening to burst out of the heather gray T-shirt that had only the most tenuous grip on his torso. Broad, thick, fat mounds of muscle were piled on his chest in two massive pecs that shoved inches outward from his body. His lat spread was a yard wide if it was an inch, and remarkable delts arched up toward that long neck, which was now thick and powerful and more lickable than ever.
Even his face had been altered. That scraggly beard had been replaced by a full, manly beard that wrapped around his more sculpted jawline. His brow was heavier, and his cheekbones seemed to have lifted higher, lending his visage an almost devilish cast that looked incredibly attractive. His skin, which had been menaced with acne scars, was now smooth and flawless, and his lashes were so full it looked almost as if he were wearing mascara.
The sound of milk being steamed brought Marcus out of his revelries and he looked up from espresso dude’s awesome new collection of muscle to his face—and found the dude staring right back at him, smiling broadly. Then he turned and moved behind the espresso machine, looking downward at something as he moved Marcus’s drink under the counter for a moment. He looked back, nodded and said, “Here you go, Marcus. One steaming hot double cap. Extra foam.”
His voice was deep and resonant, as powerful in tone as his body looked, and he set Marcus’s cup on the counter before him, the thick veins lining his forearms twisting around the cables of brawn. Then he stepped back, leaning his amazing body against the rear counter, and folded his arms across that generous, massive chest.
Marcus finally released the door and walked the eight feet across the floor toward the counter in the middle of the shop. Cute espresso dude seemed to swell and magnify as he approached, as if the dude was getting bigger and bigger with each step. “What—?”
Espresso dude’s eyebrow arched and his grin grew into a heart-melting smile of utter beauty. “What?” he echoed playfully.
Espresso dude looked around him, feigning ignorance. “To what?” he asked.
“Me?” Espresso dude looked down at his body, then he placed his fingers at the hem of his shirt and lifted it up, displaying the most finely crafted and perfectly detailed set of abs that Marcus had ever seen. He ran his fingertips along his cobblestone belly and chuckled slightly. A thick treasure trail erupted from his navel and aimed itself into the crotch of his pants. The ponderous weight of his pecs made the shirt cling tightly across his chest, and his two fat nipples pushed at the fabric. “What do you mean?” he asked innocently, looking up but not dropping the shirt down, practically daring Marcus to reach forward and feel the six-pack that graced his body.
Cute espresso dude rose from his resting place and moved closer to Marcus. “You okay, dude? Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.”
Marcus looked at the drink as he pulled a stool up to the counter to sit. “You’re bigger.”
“Am I?” Cute espresso dude held out his massive arms and looked across them. He lifted one and tensed the biceps into full strength. It rose by the inch and pressed against his skin, showing every fiber and cable of muscle, a fat ball of power swelling bigger and bigger as he squeezed his fist and bent his arm. “Been hitting the gym,” he said simply. “I guess it’s working.”
“But yesterday, you weren’t—”
“Drink your cappuccino, Marcus, before it gets cold.”
He looked down at the cup and breathed in its scent. Whatever that strange but familiar smell was that he encountered when he first walked in, it was much stronger now. An earthy, musky smell. Not unpleasant, to be sure, and even rather enticing and attractive. “But yesterday….”
Cute espresso dude huffed a laugh through his nostrils and shrugged. “Yesterday was yesterday,” he said simply, then he lifted both arms and produced a double-bi so thick and powerful that it threatened to rip right through his shirt sleeves. The size of his shoulders and chest made the shirt rise a few inches above the waist of his pants, and Marcus was gifted with another view of his perfect six-pack of abdominal muscles and that enticing and inviting treasure trail down the center of his pelvis. “And today is today.”
That scent grew much stronger as he exposed his underarms, as if a wave of it struck Marcus’s senses head-on. His cock twitched again in his jeans. His asshole tingled. “Tony, I—”
“Dude!” Cute espresso dude’s face lit up brightly and he was leaning in close. “You never use my name, Marcus!” He looked like he was about to kiss him, but then he backed away and shook his head. “It’s nice to hear you say it,” he said, softly.
Tony smiled and shook his handsome head. It made dimples break out in his cheeks and emphasized another in the center of his chin that his beard usually hid. “Nope,” he answered.
“I’m sorry,” Marcus responded. “I didn’t realize that.”
“Usually you just, y’know, come in, grab your coffee, maybe share a few words and you’re off again.”
Suddenly, Marcus felt guilty, though why exactly he couldn’t say. “I’ve been rude,” he apologized, “and I do look forward to this every day.”
“To what?” Tony’s arms were again wrapped across his chest. Thick veins pulsed under the skin, atop those new bulging muscles, and his pecs rose up under his tight shirt like two bowling balls. He tilted his head slightly and narrowed his eyes. It felt to Marcus as if his answer had some gravity he hadn’t anticipated.
Tony’s mouth quirked into a half-grin, the left side rising and making his dimple appear again. “No,” he said, “tell me.”
“Well, you make really good coffee, and—”
“And, y’know, I enjoy… seeing you and—”
Fuck, was it getting warm inside the little cafe? There was no one else in the room, but Marcus was feeling suddenly crowded and embarrassed. “You’re always really—”
Tony smiled again and his body relaxed. “Thanks,” his deep voice answered. “I think you’re nice, too, Marcus.” He moved forward and nudged the steaming cup of foam toward his patron. “I have always looked forward to your daily visit.”
Tony’s shaggy head nodded once. His dark eyes smoldered and he leaned forward. That odd, enticing scent grew suddenly very strong in Marcus’s nostrils. “Really,” he answered. “Don’t you want me?”
“The coffee? Don’t you want it?” He looked down at the small cup and looked back up, winking.
“Oh, yes,” he answered. “Of course.”
Tony stood back up and stretched his neck, twisting his head back and forth easily. His traps swelled and flexed massively and his chest lifted higher and seemed to swell outward. Marcus lifted the cup and allowed his gaze to wander south on the other man’s body as his face was turned, surreptitiously grabbing a glance at the cute espresso dude’s basket.
His eyes bulged and the cup dipped and then dropped to the counter. The shock of the size and evident shape of what was fervently pressing against the cute espresso dude’s button fly caused Marcus to lose control for a moment, and the double cappuccino splashed hot and wet across the counter and onto cute espresso dude’s tight shirt as the small cup broke.
“Shit!” he said, jumping away. “Shit, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” The vision of the other young man’s overburdened crotch was still burned into his retinas. Fuck! Fucking hell! No one was really that big! Fuck!
Tony jumped back too, and Marcus could’ve sworn he felt the whole shop shake when the super handsome fucking muscular amazing espresso dude landed. His pecs and shoulders shifted mightily under the gray T-shirt, and so did the fat shank of cock meat pushing urgently against his jeans. “Whoa, dude! You okay?”
“Sorry,” Marcus said again. “Sorry.” He reached for a handful of napkins and started mopping up the mess when Tony’s large paw rested on his own and pushed it back.
“S’okay, dude, no worries. Shit happens, y’know?” He looked down at his belly and the dark stain of coffee spreading across the material. It made his shirt stick to his finely carved abdominals, and that made Marcus’s prick throb again. Tony shook his head and said, “Oops,” as he examined the stain.
“Aw, man, I’m sorry. Look, I’ll pay for that.”
“Cool down, Marcus, I’m okay. No harm done, just a little hot splash on my belly. I’m pretty used to that.” Before Marcus could apologize more, Tony was lifting the sodden shirt up his torso and away from his body.
Marcus watched every move with intense interest and growing arousal. The man was a fucking brick shithouse! If his abs were impressive, that was nothing compared to his chest and his shoulders and, well, fucking everything!
The shirt had a hard time managing itself over the sheer size and amazing thickness of Tony’s pectoral shelf. His fat nipples plucked at the cotton like fingers until he shrugged the shirt over his chest and it was clinging to his upper body, refusing to give in. The skin on his belly was shiny with the spilt coffee, making every movement a symphony of muscular beauty.
Tony lifted his arms and moved his hands behind his neck to pull the shirt free. His lats exploded with size and thickness, and another thick wave of that erotic and enticing smell assailed Marcus. Something ripped and then Tony looked at Marcus rather sheepishly and asked, “A little help here? I’m kinda… stuck.”
And he was. The shirt was locked under his arms and stuck on the width and size of his shoulders, wrapped into a tight gray wad under his arms. “I’m not sure—”
“Just come on back here for a sec and help me outta this thing,” Tony said, motioning with one arm to the end of the counter, “before I rip it to shreds.”
“Oh. Oh! Sure, okay,” Marcus answered, moving quickly around the counter toward Tony’s massive form.
He looked even bigger now that there was nothing standing between them. Nearly naked from the waist up, and comically mummified by his own shirt, the feature that stuck out most prominently now to Marcus’s eyes was that huge, miraculous, super-human bulge between Tony’s legs. His pants hugged his hips, low on his torso, and the muscles of his legs looked as daunting and powerful as everything above his waist.
But his crotch was just fucking too much to easily avoid looking at. A length of thick cock was clearly tucked along his hip with the head reaching nearly all the way across. And his balls must have been equally impressive because the crotch of his jeans was nearly bursting. Then Marcus heard Tony say, “Admire me later… just help me get this off!”
“Sorry, sorry!” Marcus reached up and started to extract the cute espresso dude from his small shirt, tugging and unwrapping and pulling until he freed Tony from his cloth prison, holding the severely stretched shirt in his hand as Tony rose up and shook out his mane like a lion king on a rock.
“Fuck,” he said, smiling, “that feels better.” He stretched his broad frame, twisting at the waist and bending sideways, making his collection of brawn flex and bulge before straightening to his full height and looking at Marcus, smiling. “Thanks,” he said, shoving his hand forward.
“No problem,” Marcus answered, shaking his hand.
“Uh, I was just reaching for my shirt?” Tony said, grinning broadly.
To Marcus, fantasy had just turned into reality. He was standing before the most handsome, well-built, muscular, sexy, amazing, and well-hung man he had ever encountered anywhere. His hand was warm and soft. He was smiling his perfect smile and showcasing his handsome dimples and bright white teeth. His upper body was swarming with fat, hard, lean bulges of power everywhere, not to mention two of the most chewable nipples on the planet and skin so warm, soft and gorgeous that all Marcus wanted to do was fall into his embrace and remain there for days.
He was lost for a moment outside his own world, where things like this never actually happened, and men like this didn’t actually exist—and if they did, he was never afforded the opportunity to strip them of their shirts and stand so close to them that he could smell them.
That smell! That amazing, earthy, sexy, arousing smell! It was Tony! “Jesus,” Marcus whispered, realizing that the man not only looked like he did, and sounded like he did, but that he smelled like that, too.
The essence of man. The pure, distilled, concentrated essence of masculinity. That’s what it was. “You okay, Marcus?” Tony asked.
Marcus swallowed into a dry throat and felt his cock pressing insistently at his zipper and his heart beating fast and his whole body heating up. “Yeah,” he answered, “I’m really good.”
“Awesome,” Tony answered. “Can I make you another one?”
“What?” He looked up, tearing his eyes away from that broad, thick, powerful chest to look at Tony’s extraordinarily handsome face.
“Another double cap, dude? On the house?”
“Oh, yeah. Yeah, sure!”
“Can I have my hand back?”
Tony’s powerful grip squeezed his palm in a most agreeable way. “My hand?”
Marcus released Tony’s hand and he passed over the stretched shirt and made his way back around the counter as Tony started to make another cappuccino for him, wiping off the counter and removing the broken cup. As Marcus sat down, he heard the door open and when he turned around to look, his heart leapt into his throat and his brain flipped inside his head.
Another male fantasy was walking into the cafe. Another tall, handsome, muscular, horse hung young dude was easily strolling into the coffee shop as if this happened all the fucking time. His incredibly developed upper body squeezed into a white ribbed cotton tank top while his lower extremities were poured into a pair of loose low-riding shorts that still managed to showcase one thick, fat, long, amazing prick bulging down his thigh. “Hey, Tone!” he said, lifting his well-developed arm and waving a greeting.
“Hey, Max,” Tony responded. “Marcus, my friend, I don’t know if you’ve ever met my little brother, Maxwell. Max, this is Marcus.”
“Hi!” he said brightly. Then he looked at Tony with a strange expression, his brow creasing and his lips mouthing something toward his big brother. Then his face went blank and a smile wound across his mouth and he was offering his hand to Marcus. “I’m very happy to meet you, sir,” he said, seriously.
“Little brother?” Marcus asked incredulously, because this kid was anything but. He looked every inch as huge as Tony, in every way. Marcus could see the resemblance clearly, but Max was a bit more clean-shaven and put together than his brother. No piercings in his ears, his muddy brown hair cut short and clean, almost a flattop, and his jaw and cheeks were clear of even a single whisker. But there were Tony’s same dark eyes and thick lashes, and there was Tony’s bright smile and deep dimples. Marcus shook his hand as he sat down next to him.
Tony said, “Why don’t you entertain my guest as I prepare him another double cap?”
“Yes,” he said, “another.”
“Oh. Oooohhh! Another one!”
“Yeah, had a slight accident,” Marcus explained.
“So that explains the…” he said, grinning.
“The shirtlessness,” Tony answered quickly. Then he said, touching Marcus on the shoulder, “I’m gonna go in the back for a second. I’m outta milk.”
“You mean cream? Dude, you’re never out of cream!” Max said, laughing softly.
“Milk.” There was a note of warning in his voice. “Cappuccinos have steamed milk, Max.” Then he said to Marcus, “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere!”
“No problem,” Marcus answered, watching the mazing play of the muscular backside of his host as he retreated, before returning his attention to Max. “So… you’re his brother?” A nod. “How old are you?”
“Almost seventeen. In October.”
“You look—” Marcus glanced down at Max’s prominent bulge. “Older.”
“Thanks!” The teenaged muscle monster sat a little taller on his stool. It looked as if his chest was literally swelling with pride.
“And how old is Tony?”
“Twenty-one. Just.” He smiled and said, “So, you come in here everyday?”
“Practically.” He narrowed his gaze and said, “You two must spend a lot of time at the gym.”
“Yeah. Because you’re both so… big.”
“Not really,” he repeated. “You like Tony?”
Marcus nodded, thinking the question innocent. “He’s very nice.”
“Dude, he’s a shithead.”
Marcus laughed. “All brothers think that way.”
Max’s bright eyes considered the answer and then he said, “How old are you?”
“Really? You don’t look that old.”
“Thanks.” Marcus wanted to challenge the polite young man’s assertion, but he let it lie. “I wonder what’s keeping him?”
“Probably having trouble with his zipper or something.”
“He’ll be back. Don’t worry about that.” Max smiled. “What happened to his shirt?”
“I spilled some coffee on it.”
“How’d that happen?”
A sudden flash of Tony’s ever-present and ever-prominent crotch bulge entered Marcus’s head again. The fat shank. The flaring helmet. There it all was, inches long and inches thick, barely contained behind his jeans. “Just clumsy, I guess,” he answered softly. “Maybe he’s trying to find another shirt,” he added.
“Why would he want to find another shirt?”
“Well, it’s… he’s….”
“Don’t you think he looks good like that?”
“I guess so, but….”
“I hate wearing this fucking thing,” Max reported, plucking at the front of his own tight tanktop. “But I guess we can’t wander around butt naked all the time.”
“No,” Marcus agreed, “we can’t.”
“Too bad,” Max responded, seriously. “Sometimes this thing gets a bit awkward.” He looked down and Marcus saw that he seemed to be petting his cock through his shorts, and it was responding in a most appreciative fashion, the head edging dangerously close to the hem of his right leg. “I am so fucking horny right now, dude,” he reported seriously.
“Jesus,” Marcus said, quietly, as he looked down. The young man had an enormous erection shoving forward inside those loose shorts. He could actually see the boy’s prick expanding under the navy blue material, swelling fatter and pushing its way toward his knee.
“I’m in Muscle Club,” Max reported, looking up, still stroking the monster. “I was in it for a few days, messed around with the other guys, and then I initiated Tony in Muscle Club. Kinda by accident, but you know how it goes,” he said, as if Marcus understood some deeper secret.
“What is it?”
“You’re joking.” His face reflected his incredulity, and he stopped petting his snake for the moment.
“No, what’s the Muscle Club?”
“Just ‘Muscle Club,’ no ‘the.’ Do you not, like, get out much?”
“Probably less than I should.”
“Watch the news at all?”
“Just CNN, or cnn.com more likely.”
“Ever go to the mall? Seen some other guys like me and Tone?”
Marcus shook his head in the negative. “Good old Amazon provides for all my needs. What do you mean, ‘guys like you’?”
Max just smiled innocently. “Oh, nothing. It’s just that… well, Muscle Club is pretty famous in town because—”
“What are you two talking about?” Tony announced his re-emergence and was quickly back behind the counter. “He’s not boring you, is he?”
“Not at all,” Marcus reported. “We were just talking about you, actually.”
“Yeah, Tony, and how you—”
“I’ll have this ready in a second, Marcus. Max, why don’t you make yourself useful and take down the outdated fliers. Some of them have been posted for months.”
“He’s not bothering me,” Marcus said.
“See? I’m not bothering Marcus! I can just—”
“Now, please, Max.”
Max sighed and resignedly went over to the corkboard to read the posts, his plumping prick forgotten for the moment as his shorts slipped down to cover the emerging tip. He started pulling off those he deemed outdated while Tony began to create another double cappuccino for Marcus. “Muscle Club?” he asked.
Tony looked over, a surprised look on his handsome features. A lock of dark hair slipped across his gaze and he brushed it back behind his ear, offering Marcus another unintended look at his swollen, veiny bicep. “Huh?”
“Max was telling me you joined a club.”
“Oh, that. Yeah, well, a lot of guys are joining it. It’s pretty popular.”
“Must’ve missed my invitation.”
“It’s hard to miss,” Tony responded. “You like muscle?” He seemed to tense one of his arms into power. Marcus watched the muscle bulge and swell to mammoth proportions long Tony’s limb, each cable separating from its brother and swelling massively.
“I—” He paused. “I admire a good physique,” he answered carefully.
“Really? I fucking love muscle. The more the better. I only want to get bigger and bigger. Stronger and stronger.” He smiled and twisted a dial. “Yeah, I fucking love muscle.”
“Max said he initiated you.”
A sly smile wound across Tony’s kissable lips. “Yeah, he did.”
“Accidently on purpose, more like. But… so, a good physique, huh?”
Tony turned slightly, facing Marcus, his shirtless torso swollen with brawn. “You said you admire a good physique.” His smile was gorgeous.
“Yeah,” he answered. “Who doesn’t?” He looked over at Tony’s brother, and creased his brow. From behind, the young man looked even bigger and more muscular than from the front, as if he had somehow managed to miraculously grow more muscle in the space of a few minutes. His back was absurdly wide, nearly ripping the seams of his very tight tank top, and his shoulders looked higher and thicker, and his neck… and his legs… and that bubble butt…!
“Depends on your level of admiration, I guess,” Tony answered. “If you know what I mean.” Marcus thought he did, but he didn’t respond, more than slightly distracted by the younger brother’s seeming expansion. “You… ever wanted to pack on some muscle, Marcus?”
He turned back. “Me?”
Tony nodded. “Ever thought about it?”
“I guess,” he answered. The truth was that he thought about it all the fucking time, and particularly now. His cock was throbbing hotly in his pants and he was still flush with desire and lust for the amount of male muscle strutting around the cafe.
“You’d look good,” Tony said. “Really good, I think, with a little more bulk.” The steamer was screaming and Marcus wasn’t sure he actually caught the shirtless hunk’s next words: “Or a lot.”
“Me?” he repeated.
Tony paused again. He smiled. His body was bulging with power. As if he was growing bigger, too. He poured some milk, though it looked thick and slightly curdled, from a small metal pitcher into the coffee, then added some foam atop that, building a wonderfully full cup with an alluring, somehow strangely scented coffee.
He placed another steaming cup of cappuccino on the counter and said, “Drink this, Marcus. Guaranteed it’s the best fucking cup of Joe you’ll ever have.” He winked and added, “It’ll change your life.”
He heard something coming from the direction of the younger brother, a soft sound like a moan or a sigh, and he looked over. Was Max even larger? Taller? It looked like his head was physically rising above the edge of the bulletin board. “Is he all right?”
“Max? He’s perfect.” Tony looked over and added, “Sometimes it’s just hard for him to maintain.”
“Drink your cappuccino, Marcus.” Tony was looming close to him. His chest was massive. Cables of brawn stretched across its vast canvas. The dent between his pecs was inches thick. That smell was back, the intensely sexual, earthy, musky scent like… sweat and cum. A vein throbbed in his neck. His long, elegant, powerful neck. His hair looked so shiny and beautiful and soft. Not the usual muddy brown unkempt nest, but now made of soft waves and shining like copper.
Marcus lifted the cup in his hands. It was hot, and he could smell the strong, familiar scent of dark coffee mingling with the other scent, the heavy masculine smell that seemed to penetrate his head and meander down his skin and wrap itself around his cock and squeeze. He took up a small espresso spoon to push back the foam and the dark black coffee was milkier than he expected. Something thick and filmy settled on the surface. “This looks odd,” he observed. “Is your milk okay?”
Tony smiled his perfect, heart-melting, cock-stiffening smile. “My milk is great. Don’t worry about it.”
The sound of fabric tearing, soft but distinct and recognizable, reached Marcus’s ears. It lasted only a moment and was gone. Then he felt the warmth and odd sensation of someone standing behind him, and turning on his stool he found Max there, looming like a monster, a beautiful and perfect monster, watching him. He was huge, even larger than before. His chest was almost bursting apart, ripping its way through his shirt. His arms bulged with fat brawn. His dark eyes burned. “Hey,” he said quietly.
“Hey,” Marcus answered, slightly afraid.
“Back off, Max,” Tony said. “Give the man some room.”
“Oh,” he answered gruffly. “Sorry.”
Marcus nodded an acceptance of the apology and pulled a breath into his lungs. That scent was overpowering, now. Deep, penetrating, and incredibly sexy. He sucked it into his nostrils eagerly, pulling it in like a drowning man gasping for air. It warmed his body and his blood and made his hard prick throb and twitch. “Is that you?”
Max’s lips twisted into a grin. “Yeah,” he answered. “Do you like it?”
“Stop tugging the man, Max,” Tony said, ominously. “Let him drink his coffee.”
“I’m not tugging him… hard.”
Marcus swallowed and felt his cock surge again, pushing for escape. Something tingled up the shaft and a warmth emerged from the tip, wetting his underwear before cooling against the heat of the flesh of his cock head. A small moan of pleasure escaped him. His cock felt very, very good, and now it felt like his asshole was going to join in. A pleasant warm tingle circled his pink pucker. He could feel it distinctly, as if a very small but persistent tongue was lapping at his back door. His eyes closed and he set the cup back down as the feeling of pleasure intensified.
“Max…” Tony’s deep voice sounded a warning.
“But he’s so fucking… responsive.”
“I know, Max. But practice a little patience and the rewards will be greatly intensified.”
Marcus opened his eyes again as the sensation of sexual bliss diminished and then faded completely away. He swallowed and blinked and felt a hot rush of embarrassment shroud his skin. His brow furrowed and he reached down to cover his hard-on, still throbbing dully in his pants. “Don’t worry, bro,” Max said lightly, resting his warm hand on Marcus’s slender shoulder, “see, it happens to the best of us!”
Marcus’s gaze moved toward Max’s voice, then followed the young man’s gaze down his thickly muscled form toward his groin, where a very obvious and very large erection was clearly pressing itself against its confines, hanging thick and lush along his hip, building a tent in his shorts. It looked like it was ten or eleven inches of very thick meat, with a prominent helmet and a fat, firm shaft. Max’s fingertips were slowly, easily and proudly stroking the hard-on, and it was responding by increasing even larger. “Fuck me,” Marcus said softly.
“I’m gonna… take care of something,” Max said, then he winked at Marcus and started to undo his shorts as he sauntered to the back of the cafe toward the restrooms. Marcus watched him go despite himself, fascinated and attracted to the muscular teen and more than a little bit shocked when Max pulled out his massive hard-on before he’d made it inside the men’s room, holding what was easily the largest cock that Marcus had ever seen in one hand, jutting forward a foot or more from his body at a ninety-degree angle as it rose, and he pushed the door open with the other hand, his shorts slipping off his hips and offering a glimpse of a very firm, very round, very edible ass.
Marcus realized his mouth was hanging open when Tony said, “Sorry about that, man. My little bro hasn’t quite got the hang of control, yet.” Marcus glanced over at Tony’s handsome face and his easy smile and dark, flashing eyes centered him back into where he was and what was going on.
“Are you guys—?”
Tony tilted his head slightly. “What?”
Things were getting weirder and weirder. First he walks in and cute espresso dude has turned into a wet dream of a muscle worshiper’s ultimate fantasy. Then, his “little” brother comes in looking just about as amazing, before he whips out a foot-long length of fat, meaty prick as easily as someone else opens an umbrella. Not to mention Tony’s own ample, swollen bulge between his legs, so large that it appeared to be pushing the buttons on his Levi’s apart. “Your coffee’s getting cold,” Tony said gently as he pushed it toward him again.
Marcus lifted the cup to his lips and breathed in its unique and enticing scent. Did everything smell like sex, today?
The coffee tasted a bit off, now that he was drinking it. Kind of salty, with an oddly familiar chemical flavor. It had a thick consistency, too, but perhaps that was because it had been sitting on the counter cooling. Even so, as it struck his tongue, his mouth warmed up considerably, and as the liquid poured down his throat and into his body, everything became quickly warmer.
“Mmm,” he said, drinking more of it. The taste was growing on him, seemingly richer and more delicious as he drank it. He swirled it around his tongue and savored its tang and warmth and swallowed it down greedily, gulping it with sudden urgency and thirst.
“Good, huh?” Tony asked, watching Marcus drink down what he’d made for him. He narrowed his gaze and watched the man’s body, looking for something particular. “Drink up, Marcus. There’s more where that came from.”
The restroom door opened again and Max stepped back into the cafe. He was now shirtless, too, with his wifebeater hanging over one thick shoulder. As he walked across the small shop, his demeanor was more relaxed, but his muscles were bulging fatter than ever, and thick veins wound across the contours of brawn like tributaries. His upper body was huge, with fat cables of heavy, powerful muscle bulging out from every inch of his torso. His pecs jutted forward inhumanly thick with inches of cleavage separating each globe, and his nipples, large as silver dollars with peanut-sized nubs, had been pushed almost completely beneath each overhanging mound. His arms were fat with muscle, it bulged from them in huge balls and thick wedges. His whole body was glowing with health and strength, and he was licking his lips as he approached the two other men. “He’s drinking it?” he asked, his voice saturated with sex and power.
Tony nodded. “Looks like you had some, yourself.”
Max grinned and nodded. “Fucking balls were practically busting with it, dude. Felt like I was gonna blow right there. Had to do something, y’know?”
“I know too well,” Tony answered. “Hey, Marcus, you want some more? Looks like you’re really enjoying that one.”
He was. It was the most delicious thing he’d put between his lips in a long, long time. His body was warm and flushed and he felt a little drunk or dizzy. “Yeah,” he said softly. He reached forward to place the cup back on the counter and his shirt felt tight around his shoulder and across one pectoral plane. The material dragged across one nipple and it sent a sudden, intense sexual shock south, directly to his prick, which tingled and throbbed and swelled in response.
“Damn,” Max said.
Tony just chuckled and lifted up the creamer, pouring a more direct shot of the thick, warm, white cream into Marcus’s cup, undiluted and direct from the source. “Here ya go, dude. Drink up.”
Marcus wasn’t even paying attention, now. His brain was buzzing and his body was throbbing and his cock was growing stiff in his jeans. The drink had a strong smell of the heady masculine musk that now seemed to be permeating everything. The cup was warm and he lifted the rim to his lips and sucked the contents into his mouth.
This time the heat was intense. Almost scalding. It felt, as it hit his tongue, like he was pouring lava into his mouth, but that sensation was quickly replaced by a cascading feeling of bliss that wrapped its velvet gloves around his brain and slipped its warm, wet tongue into his asshole and enclosed the swollen head of his cock in its comforting, hungry, sucking mouth. He gulped down the whole cup, licking the salty cream from the smooth china.
“Here he goes,” he heard someone say. Maybe it was Tony. Maybe it was Max. They sounded so much alike. And looked so much alike. So much strength. So much cock. So much male beauty and sexual perfection wrapped in flawless skin and packed into musclebound bodies. His body felt hot, now, like he was in a sauna, like he was lying in the sun on a beach, naked and glorious with a pounding hard-on and a voracious need to fuck someone with it.
“Get his clothes off.” Hands were on him. It felt good. He wanted to be touched. Needed to be touched. His skin was on fire. His mouth was dry and his palms were wet, but his nipples tingled and his cock throbbed and his asshole puckered and released like a sucking mouth, hungry for cock. His balls felt like they weighed a ton. His balls were made of lead. His balls were as big as honeydews and filled with hot cum.
His cock. His cock was huge. A yard long. Stiff as a board. It hurt, and then it didn’t hurt as it was released from its confines, free to surge and swell and lengthen to glorious stiffness. Without his clothes on, he felt free, liberated. Max was right. Clothes were useless. Why did he need clothes at all?
He smiled. A reward of orgasmic comfort swept over him. “Jesus.” He heard someone speak, somewhere. Something was happening. “Look at him go!” A door was locked. It sounded loud. Then something else, a lower sound, a deep moaning. He was making it. He was moaning. His voice, deep and powerful, humming from his chest, moaning in ecstasy.
Max asked, “Should I give him some of mine? Just to see what happens?”
“You know what’ll happen, Max,” Tony answered. “Look at me if you need some proof.”
“Yeah, but…. what if he has both our junk in him, making him grow? Like, will he grow even bigger?”
“No harm in finding out, is there little bro? Go ahead and give him a shot of the good stuff.”
Something warm pressed to Marcus’s mouth and pushed between his lips. Something stiff and hot and slick that slid into his mouth and started filling it with a hot, salty, thick cream that gushed over his tongue and teeth and he started to swallow it down and suck on the fount with eager hunger. He reached up and found firm, hard butt flesh and pulled it toward him, swallowing the cock down his throat. His reward was a flooding gush of cream. It tasted amazing, and felt amazing, and as soon as he started swallowing it his whole body felt like it was growing thick and heavy and throbbing. Something else wet and warm splashed onto his chest and belly. It felt so good, so amazing, and all he wanted was more of it.
“Fuck,” someone’s voice said, impressed, “that’s fucking unbelievable.”
“Told ya,” the other voice said. “Works every time!”
“Give him some more.”
“No problem,” the deep, penetrating, masculine voice answered, and his mouth was filled with salty spunk and thick, warm splashes coated his torso and dripped along his arms and into his crotch, bathing him in sex.
He wanted to cum. He wanted to cum so, so badly. He could feel it. An electric rush of tingling sex throbbing through his cock and shoving insistently at his cock head. He wanted to cum. He wanted to go off like a fucking fountain, but he couldn’t—and it just kept building, and building—and then the feeling split in two. He felt it happen. He felt another cock at his loins. Another fat, firm, amazing cock throbbing and swelling and ready to pop. Fuck, he wanted to cum so bad.
“That is fucking unbelievable. Did I look like that when I—?”
“Fuckin’ A, bro. You were so, like, fucked up. You kept saying ‘oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck’ over and over and, like, feeling yourself up and just totally getting off on yourself.”
“Look at his face!”
“I know, bro, it’s awesome how this shit happens. It’s like he’s getting younger or something, right? I mean, along with the muscles and the cocks and shit, it’s like he’s literally getting younger.”
Words. Marcus could hear words. They made sense but it didn’t register that they were discussing him. He was lost in a thick haze of pure, concentrated sexual bliss. Everything felt good. Better than good. Better than great.
He felt perfect.
Strength surged in his limbs. His chest felt thick and swollen and tight and powerful. The pucker of his ass tingled and throbbed. Someone was licking his ass. A long, wet, warm tongue was lapping at his tight hole. His nipples were sending shocks of perfect pleasure to his groin, where they expanded inside his fat prick, only it felt like two fat pricks. Two fat, long, thick, super-sized cocks bulging with seed and ready to start pumping gallons of it. His balls ached with the load of hot cream he needed to let fly. Everything was pointing at his cocks, every sensation of animal lust and powerful throbbing sexual thrust was gathering at the tip of his twinned cocks and building and building and building.
“Get on that, dude.”
“His cocks, dude. He’s gonna cum. And it’s that first one that’s” fuck, just grab on and suck!”
“Don’t you want..?”
“Dude, think about it. Two cocks. Two of us. Do the math.”
“Oh. Right. Cool.”
Hands gripped his thighs. A weight settled on him, the warmth of skin on skin, the exhalation of moist breath surrounded his fat shaft, bathing its overwhelming heat in soft coolness. Lips, kissing. Tongues, licking. Someone gripped his cock, but it felt like two cocks. Then the familiar sensation of a mouth wrapping itself around his dick head, the tongue lapping against his slit—no, the mouth was still kissing his shaft, the tongue was still licking his cock, but he could feel the mouth sucking on him so fiercely, the tight, hot feeling of another man sucking his huge dick, it was there, he could feel it, but also the slick slide of a firm grip up his shaft, the play of a thumb over his tip, the gentle exploration of fingers worshiping his helmet, rubbing the ridge, sliding up the spongey head and slicking it up with precum.
He could feel both of these things at the same time, as if he had two cocks. Both being worshipped. Sucked on and stroked and licked and kissed. He was right there. Right on the edge.
Someone moaned. He could feel it all the way down his prick. The sensation of it unlocked the trigger and he started to shoot, and he shot hard and thick and full.
He didn’t cum, he exploded. A fat, full, rushing flood of cream erupted up the thick inches of prick he owned and he felt his cocks swell and plump and harden and fountain his load of rich, delicious cum. The mouths were slurping it up, drinking it down, sucking it from his balls. He groaned and sighed and arched his back and stretched his head on his neck and pushed it from his heavy, aching balls in full, powerful shots that raced up the inches of each prick and shot from him like cannons. He reached down and found the shaggy head of his cocksucker bobbing up and down as he sucked on his dick, swallowing every drop Marcus could deliver, and he came and came and came.
Something wet and warm and thick splashed on him and he realized that the man sucking his cock had started to cum as well, delivering an equally powerful flood of cream that splashed and splattered against his flesh, warming him and making him cum even harder. Oh, fuck, it felt so good.
Marcus moaned, “Oh, fuck,” and then “Oh, fuck, yes,” as he felt his cock go into overdrive and send forth the fullest, thickest, hottest cascade of rich, salty cream, yet. He shuddered in ecstasy and balled his hands into fists and pounded the floor, and something cracked, something shattered, his body shifted and he groaned and pushed the cocksucker’s head down on his spouting prick and came and came. Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.
And then it was over. His body sweating, glistening with the cum of other cocks, warm and wet and throbbing, Marcus opened his eyes and looked down his body and was overwhelmed with shock at what he saw, now.
Two sets of eyes looked back up at him. Two mouths attached to two cocks. Muscle-thick bodies straddling his own, looking up over the mammoth mounds of his pecs and the rich forest of fur, dark and thick, that had grown there. Audible pops accompanied the withdrawal of the two mouths from the fat plums of the two heads that crowned his two pricks. They still drooled white cream from each tip as the final streams of his first transformed load reached its conclusion and it spilled into the nest of his pubes and over the cobblestone 8-pack of his new abdominal wall. He was breathing hard, and he could see the muscle swell and flex all over his magnificent torso.
“Fuck, dude,” one of the perfect young men at his groin growled, “you sure can cum.”
It was Max. He recognized him now. Max. And the other face, the beautiful, handsome, masculine face was Tony. His cum was all over Tony’s face. Tony was licking his cum off his lips. Tony’s dazzling smile, his perfect teeth, were gleaming with his cum. “What—?”
Tony smiled and used his thickly-muscled arms to push himself up off Marcus’s new body and he nodded and stood up, gloriously naked, covered in thick bulges of brawn, two fat shanks of sexmeat throbbing between his legs, and he reached down and offered his hand and smiled and looked eminently fuckable. “Stand up, Marcus,” he said. “If you can. I wouldn’t be surprised if your legs are still shaking after that fucking huge cumshot.”
But he could stand up. And up. And up. He was now huge. Beyond huge, beyond anything he could have imagined. He had not seen the Muscle Club boys parading their bodies around the streets and malls and parks, usually in their uniform of choice consisting of tight sweatpants gripping every overt and obvious bulge of brawn and cock, their V-tapered torsos naked and bulging with even more muscle, and forests of soft curls and fat, juicy nipples, leaving clouds of thick, masculine pheromonal fog banks in their wake. He had been sequestered at home, in front of his computer, looking at facsimiles of these young men online in forums dealing with bodybuilder pornstars that couldn’t hold a candle to his own new physique and monster cocks.
There they were, two of them, with fat shanks and faring mushroom heads mounted proudly over a set of balls as large as oranges hanging heavy in their tight sack of skin. Marcus moved his fingertips across the amazingly defined wealth of raw, bulging power that now pulsed and throbbed with sexual heat along every inch of his 9-foot-high frame.
The cafe had 12-foot ceilings and he reached up, spreading the wings of his thick lats, and grabbed onto the overhead beams. His body was throbbing, still, and overheated with his transformation and the steady, hard, constant thrum of sexual energy that ran through him like blood and leaked from him like sweat. He was muscle, sex, cock, ass, balls, hair, flesh and more muscle on top of it all, a raging monster of male dominance and his pricks were rising again as he felt the power of his newly developed form manifest.
Tony and Max looked at the product of their seed and found their own ample libidos rising again. Watching the man stretch his frame, watching his cocks slowly swell and throb and rise, growing fatter and longer with each beat of his powerful heart was making their mouths water and their own cocks swell in harmony. The rich tang of their combined scents was filling the room, along with Marcus’s enhanced masculine musk, swimming in the air like perfume. It smelled like power.
“Turn around, Marcus,” Tony requested. “I want to see your ass.”
Marcus blushed, unaccustomed to being so openly ogled, but he obliged and heard someone gasp and someone else sigh. Tony remarked, “Now that is an ass to die for.”
“Die for?” Max responded. “That is an ass to fuck!”
Marcus felt the tongue again. Hands pried him apart and a face shoved toward his hole and licked him, kissed him, sucked him. He bent over and saw a massive prick coming toward his ass and he opened himself to it and Tony began to fuck him deep and hard and rough, shoving his fat cock inside and starting to cum almost at once. The warm rush filled his guts and made his mighty form shake with overwhelming bliss. He gasped and groaned and Tony grabbed his hips and pushed all the way inside. Marcus tightened against the intrusion and Tony moaned and clawed his back and then another fat prick was at Marcus’s face, rubbing its drooling tip against his lips and he opened his mouth and Max pushed his cock inside and Marcus sucked and slurped on the hot, hard monster as Max’s brother pounded his ass mercilessly.
Marcus was in heaven.
And Marcus was in Muscle Club.