More Like This

• Latest update: 30 May. Next update: 13 June. (Submissions welcome.)

• Latest from BRK: “Read aloud”; “Flashmob”, Parts 11‑12.

 

It was, it must be said, a gorgeous day to be in the park. Truth be told, it was a gorgeous day to be anywhere, but the park was particularly lovely and one reason, for Mr. Theodore St. George was that it was so early in the morning that no one else was there to disturb its loveliness, or his current state of mind, which was an attempt to memorize a sunrise as it crested above the northern hills and the tree line, coloring the sky in pinks and oranges and violets and deep, dark navy blues as it slowly, slowly gave birth to another day.

Theodore, or Ted, was an artist. At least, that was what he wished to be, quite badly. What he really was—or what he got paid for—was a teacher of art. An art teacher at a high school. An art teacher at a high school in a very small town in the middle of nowhere, which is about as lonely and thankless a job as man like Ted was likely to find.

He didn’t mind it at all. He actually rather savored it. Certainly, the inspired student came along once in a blue moon. Of course, there was no budget for supplies. Naturally, the minds of the young men and women he hoped to interest in the visual arts were more attuned to video games and hip hop, or whatever it was they listened to now (Ted was a died in the wool Mozart fan, stereotypes be damned!) and keeping any one student’s interest, let alone an entire classroom, was proving harder every year.

But he didn’t mind. How could anyone mind, with sunrises like this one.

He was a 63-year-old man with a bald head and spectacles. He liked wearing bow ties and pleated trousers and suspenders. He did not own a TV. He did not keep up with local or national news, and treasured his trips abroad to Italy, France, Spain, Japan, China and anywhere else on the globe where art could be found, because he loved it all, and he loved the artists who made it.

He was, at the moment, poised with an up-raised brush before a blank canvas. The natural beauty of the world was putting on a show just for him, and his body was very nearly tingling with excitement.

It rarely tingled anymore about anything, which was a shame. His body used to tingle, and parts of it would tingle most appreciably, but for the last ten years or so, those aspects of pleasure dimmed until they were gone.

But something was tingling now. Something deep inside him, and it was growing stronger.

“Mr. St. George! What are you doing here?” An absurdly deep and masculine voice called out from behind him. “Dude, look! It’s Mr. St. George!”

“I can see that, genius,” answered what sounded like the exact same voice, though it obviously wasn’t. “Good morning, Mr. St. George.”

Theodore turned around, his paint smeared brush still poised, and saw two huge, powerfully-muscled and nearly naked young men jogging toward him. The huge cannonballs mounted on their chests shifted and bounced as they moved, but almost nothing else did, except for the pronounced bulges jutting forward eagerly between their huge thighs. Each boy wore a pair of jogging shorts, shiny yellow Nylon that clung to their high arching derrières, with cuts on the side extending to the waistband. The shorts looked slightly too small for them, riding so low on their hips that whispered tufts of blonde curls poked over the edge, though perhaps the sheer size of their sexual equipment was causing the sag.

“Hello, Harry. Hello, Hank,” he said, calmly. The twins bounded toward him, duplicate displays of male perfection and incredible muscular development. “Making an early morning of it?”

They both smiled brightly. Mirror images of each other, the two 16-year-olds had, until lately, been students in his art class, but now they were assigned instead to Mr. Titus’s large-and-still-growing assemblage of young men, all of whom exhibited the same grace of form, perfection of face and amazing collection of brawn that the Johnson twins now did.

They had seemingly developed their bodies overnight, appearing as if by magic. The Johnsons had always been outgoing and athletic, beautiful specimens of the human form, but now they were almost inhumanly beautiful and, obviously, prodigiously gifted of several physical attributes, most of which was on display this morning. Every muscle bulged with power and beauty, and their movements—even simply jogging toward him—were extremely sensual and charged with an overt eroticism.

Each of the boys had golden, sun-kissed skin that was stretched tightly over bodies overwhelmed with muscle. The size was obvious, but the sheer strength could be observed as they moved. The muscles stretched and flexed and bulged with effortless power. Their broad chests bounced from the weight of the meat hanging there, but everything else was ripped and lean and moved only because they were moving.

“Sorry, are we interrupting you?” The twin who spoke was gifted with a voice of depth, power and absurd masculinity.

“No, boys, I was just starting.”

“Sunrise?” the other of them asked. They both slowed to a halt, but neither was breathing at all hard. A glistening sheen of sweat covered their tall, bulging forms and made them appear to be composed of liquid metal, golden in the dim light of dawn.

“Yes, I was hoping to capture one of our lovely Spring mornings on canvas, or at least make a start of it.”

The one who last spoke—Hank? Or was it Harry?—looked up toward the rising sun. His bright blue eyes, nearly turquoise in hue, sparkled and his perfect smile gleamed like polished ivory. He had his white-blonde hair, shoulder length at least, pulled back into a tight ponytail like his brother, and the way the light caressed him made him look like some youthful god astride on the earth. “Wow,” he whispered solemnly.

His brother joined him in observing the rising sun, and the two of them stood there, chests rising and falling, the deeply-defined rows of abdominal muscles on their tight bellies swelling and receding, and everything covered in smooth, flawless skin. “Whoa,” his brother said, “that’s beautiful!”

They looked back down at him. Then one of them—Theodore still wasn’t exactly sure which one was which—looked started and said, “Shit, are we interrupting you?” He slapped his brother with his arm across the belly with a loud smack, and said, “We’re interrupting him!”

“Oh, gosh, we’re sorry, Mr. St. George! We were just jogging along the path and we saw someone over here and… we’ll get going and let you do your thing. C’mon, Hank!”

They started to depart, but Ted, for some reason, felt the need to stop them from leaving. “No, boys, don’t go! You’re not… you’re not bothering me at all.”

“We’re not?”

Ted felt the tingling sensation deepen. “No, Harry,” he answered, finally able to pin names to the twins. “Please, stay. I don’t get a chance to speak with you very often, now that you’re in Mr. Titus’s class.”

They both smiled again. Hank said, “Yeah, we miss those talks, Mr. St. George.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “Mr. Titus knows a lot of stuff, and he’s cool and all, but we don’t get into the art stuff like we used to.”

“I’m sure you have other interests that keep you busy,” Ted suggested.

They both looked at each other and then Hank actually blushed—a deep crimson that colored his face and most of his exposed torso turning his golden skin bronze. “Yeah… a few things.”

Ted smiled and nodded. “That’s good. I was afraid with a classroom of so many boys, Mr. Titus would run out of things to keep you engaged.”

“We’re almost fully engaged all the time, Mr. St. George. In fact, one reason we’re out here taking a run is because we needed a break from all our… engaging.”

“Some alone time? Perhaps I’m the one interfering with you!”

“No, no, Mr. St. George,” Hank insisted. “It’s nice being with you.”

“It’s… calm.”

Hank nodded. “Peaceful. We always did like you, Mr. St. George.”

“Well, I was very fond of you boys, too.”

The tingle swelled suddenly and seemed to cause a bit of heat and discomfort. The two young men looked at each other again and one of them, Hank, shook his head very subtly and the heat and discomfort abated as quickly as it had appeared. “That’s nice of you to say, Mr. St. George.”

“Yes,” Harry agreed, “and very nice to hear.”

“If it’s not too indelicate?” the teacher started.

“What is it?” Hank asked.

“Your… outfits? Or should I say, your lack of outfits? I understand that the rules have been greatly relaxed at school, but isn’t that a bit more… exposure than might be tactful?” He couldn’t help noticing that the shorts were so tight, and the material so elastic, that it seemed to showcase the size and shape of the twins’ sexual equipment rather than disguise it. The shorts worked almost as an advertisement, drawing the eye towards their groins and clinging to every detail, leaving nothing to anyone’s imagination concerning the size, shape and sheer weight of what was couched within.

Harry huffed out a laugh. “Sorry, Mr. St. George, we really weren’t expecting to run into anyone.”

“It’s more for comfort than coverage,” Hank explained. “Things tend to…flop around—a lot…unless we, you know, keep things caged in.”

“And you’re not chilly?”

“Actually,” Harry volunteered, “I’m feeling a little hot.” His right hand, large and powerful looking in its own right, raised up onto his massive chest and his middle finger began making small, delicate circles around the ample circumference of his fat, dark nipple. He tilted his head and narrowed his bright blue eyes. “Are you feeling a little hot, Mr. St. George?”

“Harry—” Hank said, cautiously.

“I’m quite comfortable, but thank you for asking, Harry,” the old teacher replied.

Harry smiled and nodded. “Do you—”

“Yes?”

Hank said his brother’s name again, slightly irritated. “Harry—”

Harry didn’t respond, and kept his eyes locked on Ted. “Do you ever paint people, Mr. St. George?”

“Portraits?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, and…like—nudes?”

“I’ve done model studies before, when I was younger. Every artist has.”

“Just when you were younger, then?”

He nodded. “Lately I’ve been doing more landscapes. I find them very soothing. Working with models can be taxing.”

“How so?”

“Well, for one thing, the landscapes don’t move.” He smiled.

“What if you had some volunteers?”

“Harry, I don’t think Mr. St. George wants to—”

“Let the man speak, Hank! So, Mr. St. George, if you had some willing volunteers to model for you, would you consider doing a portrait of them?”

“I suppose so.”

That’s all it took. Harry’s eager grin warmed into a smile and before Ted knew what was happening, the young man had hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts, pushed them off his hips and worked them down his legs, stretching the material to manage its escape from his massive form. Then he stood erect, tall and astounding, completely naked in the pink hues of the sunrise. “I volunteer!” he said, cheerfully, raising his arm above his head. His latissimus muscles flared outward, and the moist curls coiled in his armpit released a heady, earthy fragrance that made Ted’s nostrils flare.

Ted’s jaw literally dropped open. The young man’s nakedness caught him by surprise, but the vision of his body, now exposed in its perfection, was shocking.

Ted suspected that the boy was gifted with a large penis, but what he saw now was almost absurd. Its size was one thing, but it was so beautiful! The long, thick shaft, a single vein arching down its length, and the boy’s rosebud of a helmet dangling heavy and ponderous at the end. He was uncircumcised, and the foreskin clung to the shape of his penis tenaciously, exposing only the tip. A thick crown of golden curls spread over his sexual equipment, but his testes hung low and hairless in a tight scrotum, swelling behind the enormous shaft like eggs held in a basket.

Though on another man’s body, such a prodigious and commanding tool would simply overwhelm his other physical attributes, but on this young man’s amazing body, it simply completed the picture. Everything screamed for attention. Every bulging mass of brawn, the long, elegant limbs, the perfectly formed eight-pack on his stomach, the two globes of power pushing forward on his chest, the dark kiss of his nipples on his golden, creamy flesh—all topped by the angelically beautiful face with his bright blue eyes and pink bow of a mouth.

Ted’s eyes traveled across the superhuman male beauty of the young man before him and the heat and tingle he had been feeling began to swell in power. “So, what do you think, Mr. St. George? Am I art-worthy?” He smiled proudly and his entire body seemed to swell with strength.

“Harry, put your shorts back on. Mr. St. George doesn’t want to have to look at your dick.”

“I—” Theodore started to speak, but was still overcome by the young man’s sheer beauty and perfection. “You’re quite beautiful, Mr. Johnson,” he said quietly. “But I’m not sure it would be appropriate for me to—”

“Beautiful? Him?!? If you want to see beautiful, take a look over here, Mr. St. George!” Then Hank stripped his shorts off, too, and Ted’s jaw dropped again as he was confronted with not just one vision of male perfection, but two.

As in everything else, Hank’s sexual equipment was a mirror image of his brother’s, right down to the single thick vein traversing his prodigious penis, the soft tuft of blonde that crowned it, and the heavy, large testes held in a tight, pink fleshy pouch. Hank dropped his shorts to the dewy grass and slung his thickly muscled arm across the mountainous shoulders of his twin, and the two young men stood there, nude and perfect, facing Ted and showcasing the awesome beauty each possessed.

“You’re not all that, bro,” Harry said, scanning his twin brother’s body. “Tell us, Mr. St. George—which one of us wins the beauty contest?”

“Yeah, Mr. St. George! If you had to paint one of us, which one would it be?”

They began to pose, shoving their collections of brawn into sudden relief, pushing the muscle out and up against the golden tanned skin. Power and strength exploded across their bodies as they pushed each other to showcase muscle groups and the size of individual muscles. Biceps swelled up and split into distinct heads. Chest bulged outward and separated into bands and cables. They shook the massive meat clinging to their thighs and suddenly tensed them into wedges of serrated strength.

They joked and pushed and prodded each other, hurling playful insults about each other’s shortcomings and their own mastery of some physical aspect, all the while driving their bodies to show off more and more of their power and size. “You call that a double-bi?” one would ask, grinning with pride before hurling their arms into spasms of supernatural strength. “That’s not a six-pack, bro! This is a six-pack!” the other would respond, then wave his hand before his ripped torso, creating the ungodly row of perfectly developed abdominal muscles that suddenly swelled into view as if by magical means.

All the muscle growth and playfulness was having an effect on each boy’s sexual equipment, as well. Their penises began to stiffen and swell with perceptible swiftness, growing to even larger extents than their already impressive measurements, as impossible as that seemed to Ted. Their massive shanks of meat expanded with alarming speed, inflating like meaty balloons, and quickly became overwhelmed with veins that fed their growth. As the twins continued to flex and bulge their impressive assemblages of raw muscle, their monstrous dicks arched upward and grew by inches, pushing their blossoming, ridged helmets from the tight cowls of foreskin as they flared with growth.

Harry and Hank were in a haze of muscular power and male dominance. Each tried to outdo the other, and their cocks were growing engorged and massive. Their balls began to slowly inflate like balloons, visibly swelling behind their extending cocks.

“Oh, yeah? Well, let’s see you match this!” Hank set his legs wide and bent slightly at the waist, bringing his arms into a crab pose and sending his entire collection of awesome brawn into sudden relief. Muscle sprang up everywhere, every cable and fiber and wedge of his strength springing to life as his flawless, sun-kissed skin suctioned against his overwhelming muscular development. Then, as Ted watched, his body began to swell even larger. The muscle was actually growing! He could see it expand and swell all along his shoulders and arms. His biceps inflated. His pectorals pushed against each other. His deltoids and latissimus flared and expanded.

“No fair!” his brother called in his deeply powerful voice, and then he matched his twin’s actions and both young men, like one man watching his own reflection, were growing in unison.

“Boys!” Ted called out, alarmed by this sudden and unexpected development. “Stop!”

They looked up at their old teacher’s shout and stood erect, their bodies now taller than before by a foot, and their frames packed with more muscle than ever. It bulged in fierce and awesome beauty along every inch of their perfection. Their chests were bulging thickly with new brawn that shoved their dark nipples toward the ground. Their shoulders were packed with muscle and their necks were corded and thickly veined.

But perhaps most impressively, each young man’s penis was now hard and red and towering from between their legs, each easily a foot and a half tall, deeply red and throbbing. The tight cowls of foreskin had peeled back and the heads were slick and shiny with a thick, sticky coat of precum. The clear honey drizzled down the long, engorged shafts and twin sets of fat balls were slowly, but quite visibly, pulsing in their scrotums. Their twin cocks bobbed with every heartbeat, and the veins that wound up each heavy shank throbbed with hot, enriched blood.

They looked at each other and then started to laugh, realizing what they had done without intention and falling together, slapping each other on the shoulder as they nearly collapsed with glee. “Dude!” Hank said, catching his breath, “that was intense!”

“Fuck,” his brother responded, “I’m so horny right now, I think I could fuck a tree and still get off!”

“Hank! Harry! Are you all right?”

They turned in unison and looked at the old man, smiling with obvious satisfaction. “Oh, yeah, Mr. St. George, we’re perfect!”

Harry nodded in agreement. “We didn’t mean to alarm you or anything. Sometimes we just get… carried away with ourselves.”

“We’re perfectly fine, don’t worry.” Hank looked at his brother and asked, “Should we—?” as he brought his hands up and moved them together, in a shrinking motion. Harry nodded with a smirk, and then as Theodore St. George watched in awe and confusion, the twins’ bodies began to readjust back to their former appearance. Muscle shrank from view, their frames diminished in size and height, and even their huge and monstrous erections simply deflated until the two golden boys looked just as they did before their horseplay and competition began, except that their limp pricks were still drooling thick strings of honey that scented the surrounding morning air strongly of an erotically charged and intensely sensual smell.

“How did you—?”

Hank shrugged. “Don’t know how, we just do it.”

“So… what about it? Do you want to paint us?”

Ted swallowed hard and tried to regain his composure. What he had just seen was staggering, and that feeling of heat and the unfamiliar tingling was stronger than ever. His gaze drifted south and his eyes flicked back and forth between the two identical male appendages, each one dripping with thick, clear precum in long, fat droplets that fell to the grass. The air smelled of something musky and erotic and intensely sexual. “I—”

“Because we can come to your place, if you want,” Hank suggested.

“Yeah, Mr. St. George,” Harry agreed. “Or anywhere you want us to.” He grinned. “We can come anywhere.”

His brother huffed out a deep but quiet laugh. “Yeah, Harry and me can come anywhere, and any time.”

There was a pause, then. A moment of silence. Mr. St. George seemed preoccupied with the two young mens’ thick and heavy cocks. They were no longer engorged and erect, but they remained extremely powerful and sensual. “Mr. St. George?”

Ted licked his lips. His heart was racing in his chest. He inhaled deeply, pulling that erotic and intense scent into his head and lungs, drowning in its beauty and power.

“Do you think he’s all right?” Harry didn’t say anything, so Hank said, “He seems a little preoccupied with your dick.”

“Not just mine,” Harry added.

“You’re not, by any chance, tugging him?”

Harry winced slightly. “Just a little.”

“Harry!”

“Dude, I didn’t know it was Mr. St. George!”

“How long have you been tugging him?”

Harry looked sheepish, and his handsome face dipped slightly as he said, “Since we got here.”

“Dude! The whole time!”

“Only a little!”

“Dude! You know Mr. Titus told us we’re not supposed to tug anyone without permission!” Hank’s voice rose in pitch as he looked at their old teacher.

“It was only a little tug, and he seemed to like it.”

“Of course he likes it, dumbass! When you tug a guy, you’re playing with his limbic regions, the place in his brain where his sex drive lives.” Hank tapped his forehead as if pointing at the spot where erotic fantasies lived.

“Dude, duh, we were both sitting in class when Mr. Titus explained this.”

“Right, but then we started up with the muscles and the cock, and now we’re both pumping out pheromones like smoke from a house on fire, plus drooling precum like leaky faucets! Dude… we’re nothing but fucking sex machines right now! And poor Mr. St. George here is—” He paused as he looked back at the teacher, and he sighed. “Well, fuck, now you’ve done it.”

“What?” Harry looked over, too, and saw that their 60-year-old art teacher had pitched a tent in his pants and a growing wet spot was spreading darkly. “Oh.” His sensual lips twisted into a grimace and he asked, “Should we, like, do something?”

“I think you’ve done enough, Harry.”

Ted’s heart was racing. He had an award-winning erection in his trousers and beads of sweat were breaking out across his brow. His mind was racing, too—filled with fantasies and desires that he hand’t felt in a dozen years or more. Something inside his head had been reborn, and the power of it was overwhelming.

“Is he okay, do you think?”

“How hard are you tugging him, anyway?”

“I… I might have let things get slightly out of hand when we were going at it back there.”

Hank looked over. “How ‘slightly’?”

Harry swallowed and looked pained. “Maybe not so slightly.”

“Dude!”

“Well, you started it! I was only going to pose for him, show him a few positions, then you get all ‘that’s not a bicep, this is a bicep!’ And things kind of got out of hand!”

“Dude!”

Harry looked at his twin and shrugged. “Can I help it if I’m irresistible?”

Ted was looking odd. His face had a kind of calm determination about it. He was staring at the two young men, and particularly at their impressive cocks, and the dark stain on his groin was spreading. “What should we do?”

“We can’t just leave him like that.”

“No,” Hank agreed, “we can’t just leave him like that.”

“What if we—?”

“Mr. Titus told us not to,” Hank warned his brother.

“Yeah, but… I mean… aren’t you kind of… bored… with just Mr. Titus teaching us all the time?”

“Well, yeah, but that’s not—”

“And wouldn’t it be cool to have Mr. St. George around again?”

“Harry—”

“To have him to talk to, like we used to, and show us cool shit and teach us about the Renaissance and the Greeks and Romans and cubism and—”

“Harry—”

He looked at his brother. “I’m just saying that we—”

We?

“Okay, I. I kind of already… started it. So shouldn’t we finish it?”

Hank looked at the mesmerized old man on the small stool. A paintbrush was still clutched in one of his hands. He looked frail and small. Wisps of gray hair circled around his bald pate in the breeze. His wan skin was gray and sagged in loose wrinkles. But his eyes were bright as they stared with obvious desire at the two naked visions of masculine perfection and youthful beauty standing before him. “I guess….”

“Cool!” Harry said, and without a moment’s hesitation, the golden twin unleashed the entirety of his sexual and transforming power on the small, old man.

Ted came. His cock swelled with sudden zeal and a pent-up flood of warm cream filled his underwear. Harry grabbed his cock as it inflated with sudden fury and grew inches thick and rock hard in his hand. Without a single stroke, or so much as a caress, the end of his prick exploded with a hard, heavy stream of cum that erupted forward with a hydrant’s strength. His swollen, cream-filled balls pumped up a thick flow as he came in fat, hard gouts of transforming cream that splashed and splattered toward the small figure seated two yards away.

“Jesus, Harry!”

“Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help?”

Hank shook his head with some regret, but he grabbed his own prick and allowed himself to grow hard and fat and unleashed his own sudden spout of cum, joining his brother’s repetitive ropes of thick, warm cream with his own copious flow, and together they inundated the old teacher with a flood of their combined creamy fountains.

It struck Ted’s body and face like hot water. An immediate sensation of heat, that grew nearly unbearable, swarmed over his skin and swam into his muscles and bones. The twins’ transforming cream soaked through the man’s clothing and splattered against the exposed flesh of his hands and face and neck and eagerly sank into his cells, starting his transformation and initiation into Muscle Club with alarming speed.

Ted’s heart raced and he felt as if he were going to die. He watched the two young men’s cocks explode with sudden force, sending fat, splattering sprays of pearlescent cream forth like fleshy firehoses. They came with unbelievable abundance and force, as if they had been built for this action, and had some unique and unusual properties that made them into cum cannons. Their cocks grew suddenly hard and fat and long, swelling in their grips. The foreskins peeled back and the heads bloomed and ballooned. The mouths of their pricks opened and they issued abrupt and profuse streams of cum that struck him and splattered everywhere.

He could taste it, and smell it, and feel it. The salty essence, the strong sexual aroma, the warmth and stickiness as it clung to him and began to soak through his flesh. It burned like boiling oil and his whole body felt horribly hot and terribly painful.

But those sensations lasted only a heartbeat, and then they were replaced with a different sensation altogether, one that made him swoon and gasp and cum in his pants again. A strong, overwhelming and inexorable sexual sensation that washed over his senses utterly, and then he began to grow.

“More?” Harry asked, as the old teacher’s transformation began.

“More,” Hank advised, bucking his hips and stroking his meat as his own body was overwhelmed with the orgasmic bliss of release and the abundantly satisfying feeling of transforming another man into his own physically perfect state.

Ted closed his eyes and fell from his stool to his knees. The back of his jacket split and his sleeves were growing tight and uncomfortable. He came again, sending an even thicker and more copious flood of hot cream into his underwear. His cock was painfully hard and tingling sensation that felt a bit like ants crawling over his skin was growing stronger and stronger, building with every pulse of his old heart.

“Do you think this’ll work? I’ve never seen it done to a guy this old.”

Hank didn’t speak, because his eyes told him that it was already working. Mr. St. George began to swell outward. The wrinkles of his skin began to smooth, and the bald patch on his head grew smaller and smaller as new hair emerged. Ted raised his head and they both saw his features begin to alter as the man’s youth began to return to his face.

Small ripping sounds became long tearing sounds. The shoulders of his jacket split open. Buttons burst from his shirt with alarming strength and ricocheted against the ground. His neck was swelling and his collar burst and tore itself apart. The seams of his trousers along his thighs separated and exposed strips of ivory white flesh beneath. His sleeves were swelling from the inside, trying desperately to remain intact as fat, round, hard balls of brawn became evident along his arms.

“Keep going,” Hank said softly.

“No problem,” Harry answered, feeling his engines revving hire, energized and turned on by the site before him.

The twins continued to spray the man’s body with streams of cum. It disappeared, now, almost as quickly as they produced it, sinking into Ted’s growing body as it thirsted for the nutrient that was making it swell with power.

Ted’s face was still changing. His brow smoothed. Blemishes of age dimmed and then vanished. His lips looked moist and full. A dark beard began to form across his chin and cheeks as they strengthened and grew more sculpted. The film of age cleared from his eyes, and their sea-green coloring grew more distinct.

His jacket was in tatters. His shirt had burst open. His pants were shredded into strips and now the extent of his muscular development was becoming more evident as his body tore through his clothing. Thick wedges bloomed and separated on his legs. Distinct lobes rose up on his shoulders. His back broadened and finally ripped itself free of his small, woolen jacket which fell to the dewy grass around him.

He moaned. It was a deep and satisfied sound. He raised his hands to his eyes and watched his fingers lengthen and the skin of his palms regain their former youthful smoothness. He turned them over and witnessed as even his nails perfected themselves, becoming shiny and beautiful.

He looked up at the two young men, still spraying him with their seed, and he threw his arms wide and puffed up his chest and felt their warm, sticky flood splash across his skin. His pectorals swelled upward and pushed against each other for space on his slowly growing frame. His former head of gray hairs was now a thick cascade of ebony that was already at his shoulders and still growing. More dark curls sprouted on his chest and down his belly as an eight-pack of hard abdominals bulged outward adjacent his pale white skin.

Now his cock began to push itself free. The zipper of his pants split open and his boxers, sodden with cum, tore apart as his prick swelled by the inch, pushing forward and up with sudden and amazing force. He arched his head back on his new, powerful neck and leaned backwards, shoving his cock forward and up, and he came again. The stream arched high and hard, fountaining toward the sky before splashing back down on his own belly, joining the unending flood of cream provided by his former students.

He opened his sensual, most lips and grabbed his dick and aimed it toward his face and pumped a fat stream into his gaping mouth. It was warm and salty and satisfying. He came again, swallowing greedily. Then he came again, and again, pumping ropes of his own cream into his mouth, swallowing all that he could as the excess formed droplets in his thickening beard and drained down his powerful neck and gathered on his chest before his body drank it inside.

“Where…?” Hank asked.

“There it is,” Harry said, watching Ted’s darkly furred crotch. “Right on schedule.”

The last true sign of a fully transformed Muscle Club member began to make its appearance. A small nub of flesh appeared to the right of Ted’s 14-inch high cock and quickly swelled and developed as the rest of him grew to maturity. His secondary penis. Once it made its appearance, it grew alarmingly quickly and arched its long neck next to its brother. The head bloomed and swelled and then it, too, began erupting, flailing a second fountain of cream that rose high and splattered on the grass while Ted continued feeding himself from his original gargantuan appendage.

Muscle swarmed and multiplied and swelled all over his naked body. His clothing lay about him in tatters. His knees dug into the soft, wet ground as he gained two hundred pounds of muscle in the space of a few minutes. His ass bulged outward with bulbous perfection. Hair sprouted across his chest and belly, and along his forearms. The massive muscles on his legs bulged higher and wider, shoving them apart. His cocks continued to spout his first transforming flow of cream, and his growth finally slowed as his body settled into its new, powerful, perfected form.

The twins ceased their flows and looked at the man they had recreated. Theodore St. George looked almost nothing like the old teacher they remember. Dozens of years had been shaved off his body, and hundreds of pounds of muscle had been added. He was an eight-and-a-half foot tall monster of strength, masculine beauty and unstoppable sexual power. They beamed with pride, like new fathers, watching their mentor cum into his own mouth, knowing what he was feeling and joyous in his new form.

“Mr. St. George?” Harry called, but the man continued his gulping thirst for cum. “Mr. St. George!”

“Ted!” Hank said, loudly.

It seemed to shock the man back to reality, and with a startled shake, he opened his eyes and looked at the twins as his cock dribbled its stream to a sudden stop. “Oh,” he said. His voice was transformed, also, into a deep well of masculine power. His hair had grown very long, hanging down his wide back to his ass. A wealth of dark curls erupted from under each heavily muscle arm, and a forest swarmed across his thick and impossibly wide chest.

The twins’ smiles were mirror images of each other as they surveyed their handiwork. “Welcome to Muscle Club,” Harry said.

Ted let out a long, satisfied sigh and then looked down at his new, larger form. He grabbed his secondary prick in his other hand and stroked himself once, shuddering with pleasure as the intense sexual bliss his augmented pricks could deliver manifested. He stroked the ample foreskin curiously, unaccustomed to the sensation that an uncut cock delivered, then he looked up and uttered a single word. “How?”

The twins both shrugged. Harry said, “Don’t know exactly. It just works this way. It’s in your cum. Anyone you touch with it… changes.”

Ted’s right eyebrow arched. His face was achingly handsome and incredibly masculine. The twins had cherubic, angelic countenances, and Ted’s was an almost inverse realization of that beauty. He had dark hair and deep green eyes, but his skin was pale as moonlight. He looked almost vampiric or demonic, with a brutal, harsh mien to his deeply sculpted and angular features. “And the two penises?”

“Yeah, it’s a bit much, but it’s part of the whole package.”

“But you don’t have—”

“Yes,” Harry answered, “we do.” With startling speed, both twins unveiled their own secondary sexual appendages that swelled and lengthened to fall into place next to their original visible cocks. “It’s another thing—like the growing and shrinking we did? You can do that, too.”

“So that’s why I’m so much bigger than you boys?”

“Boys, huh? Maybe you need to have a look in a mirror, Mr. St. George. You’re not the old man you used to be.”

“Dude,” Hank added, “you look about 20 years old—except for the beard and that bird’s nest on your chest.”

Ted looked down. “I always did have a lot of hair—until I lost it.”

“Looks like it found you, again, Mr. St. George.”

Ted staggered to a standing position. He towered almost three feet taller than the other two Muscle Club members. “This could be… awkward.”

The twins both nodded. “That’s why we usually stay like this,” Hank offered. “Just shrink down.”

“How do I do that?”

“Just… do it,” he answered with a shrug. “You kind of tell yourself what you want your body to do—”

“And it does it,” Harry finished. “Like this.” Then his secondary penis reversed its previous appearing act and diminished until it seemed to disappear into his thick blonde pubic bush. “Just do it.”

Doubtfully, Ted imagined himself shrinking and with a suddenness that startled him, his body collapsed like a telescope until he stood only slightly taller than the twins. His hair hung to his bubble butt and he stood there, startled, until Hank blew a wolf whistle and his mouth cracked a smile. “Thanks,” he said.

“No problem, Mr. St. George. You’re pretty fucking hot.”

“No shit,” his brother added. “So….”

Ted looked at him. “So?”

“There’s… um… usually one more thing to do before you’re officially in Muscle Club.”

“Yeah,” Hank agreed. “One more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m not sure we should… maybe Mr. Titus should—”

“Yeah, it seems kind of… weird.”

“What thing?” Ted asked.

“Well, to be blunt….” Hank began.

“Which one of us do you want to fuck?” Harry asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Yeah, um, this is kind of awkward, but—”

“It’s not is much a requirement as a… sort of… thank you.”

“I see.” Ted said quietly.

“I mean, you don’t have to do it, of course.”

“But, like, your cum? Right now? It’s kind of at its most—”

“Its most powerful,” Harry stated.

“Powerful?”

“Yeah, and, like, when we gave ours to you, and then your body kind of purifies it and…”

“And then you give it back to us, we get some—”

“Some benefits,” Hank concluded.

“What does Mr. Titus have to do with it?”

“Well, I mean, if you’re uncomfortable, or whatever—”

“And you don’t want to—”

“Gentlemen,” Theodore St. George said as he smiled. His new body was pumped and primed. His muscles swelled into relief and his nipples and asshole tingled and buzzed with hunger and need. Both of his cocks swelled to erection in a moment, and thick drizzles of lubricating precum began to flow down the shafts. His balls were swollen with cream and ached for release. Ted’s dark eyes flashed and his devilish face reflected a sudden realization of desire. “What do you say to a three-way?”


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