From: To: Subject: [MGS] STORY: "Seducers" Part 6 Date: Thursday, August 09, 2001 8:45 PM Seducers Part 6 He was looking into a pair of deep blue eyes. He was kissing Joe. Joe was kissing him. He was the same height, not reaching up. Joe wasn't reaching down. Joe was over six feet tall. Easily. Stan was 5-9. Stan had been 5-9. He was looking into Joe's eyes, feeling Joe's soft, warm mouth against his own, Joe's sensuous tongue inside wrestling with his own, Joe's moist lips on his own. Joe's skin felt silken, smooth, and tender, and he could feel his own whiskers rubbing against that supple skin like sandpaper. He could feel everything, every sense, heightened. His skin, exposed and slick, tingled with every touch of the boy's hands. The hairs on his chest, the dark curling forest, delivered strong, sensual shocks as Joe's touch passed through them. Joe's thumb plucked his nipple and a solid tremor of bliss shook his body, targeting his heavy cock, which was feeling its own heightened sensations of sexual satisfaction. His arms hung at his sides as the two young men pleasured him, and he lifted them now and embraced Joe's huge form, and he was surprised when he did not find that polyester shirt under his touch but instead he found more of that soft, giving flesh everywhere. It encased the boy's mountains of muscle like the softest leather, and Stan could feel every bulging mass under his arms as they pressed outward against him, flexing and stretching and bulging. He felt them swell under his embrace, swelling against his arms, muscle to muscle. He moaned when the other boy, Bobby, did something below. Stanley felt other hands now on his own butt, grabbing and kneading the flesh, the fingers pushing in and between his buns and rubbing against the responsive lips of his hole. He'd never felt this before, never imagined what it would feel like, the excitement of it, the thrill and deep, shuddering waves of pleasure this slight touch brought. It was as if the boys' touch delivered waves of intense pleasure, as if wherever they touched him he could feel himself awakening to new feelings of erotic bliss more extreme and passionate than any he'd ever felt. His body was exploding from within, lit up and superheated, about to burst with sexual release. He wanted to cum so badly. He could feel it, his load, feel it swollen and ripe and thick in his loins. It burned with need and inflated with power, it made his balls feel heavy and hot, he wanted to push it from him, to feel the release of it, to glory in his power, but he could not. And it grew stronger and hotter and larger still. A tongue, long and wet, licked his stiffness and wrapped around it and made him bigger. The hands were caressing his ass, the fingers probing and poking and ticking his insides. Lips kissed the tip of his beats, sucked his helmeted head inside a warm mouth, pulled his hardness deeply down. He was being swallowed whole. His whole body felt energized, super-powered, and magnificent. He could feel every muscle pulsing with growth and power, his strength swelling outward, his very masculinity amplifying into something overwhelming and conspicuous. He needed to roar and growl and shout to the heavens with the power inside. Joe's mouth finally left his, and his head hung forward and he looked down at himself. He was breathing fast and deep, his whole being overheated and exploding with power, and he saw what he had become – was becoming. His chest bulged outward from his body, with fat round nipples mounted on the heavy globes. He could see a set of shoulders down there, Bobby's shoulders, huge and bulging, bigger even than his chest. They flexed and swelled as the boy sucked on his cock. He could hardly stand this, the feeling of pleasure, the burn and swell of growth and power that shook him. He was at the edge of release, the sharp, angry point of it but he couldn't do it, not yet, still not. God, but he wanted to cum. So bad. The pleasure was unbearable. And it continued to build, higher and higher still. Was there no limit? No peak? He bent forward and watched the rippled six-pack of his belly pop and bulge. The soft curls of hair glistened with sweat, matted against his darkened skin, his tight and beautiful stomach muscles folding against each other under that slim, tanned flesh. He moved his hand forward, his eyes growing round at the site of his arm, overwhelmed with raw brawn, and he bent his arm and watched the bicep ball into a round belly of absolute power. Cables of muscle twisted and flexed on his forearm as he curled his fingers into a fist, veins popping like tree branches across the sinews. Then he reached down and placed his palm on Bobby's head, feeling the soft coolness of his fine, thick hair. The boy paused in his pleasures and pulled his mouth off Stanley's cock, looking up at the man and smiling. And there was his prick, red and hard and inches long. It bobbed with every beat of his heart, growing harder still. A thick, clear droplet appeared at the tip and drizzled down, falling on Bobby's huge, hairless chest. He wanted to grab himself, feel his heat and hardness, but he was afraid he'd pop with the slightest touch of his hand, as if that contact would make all this become real. Bobby squeezed his ass hard, pushing three fingers inside his ass, and he bit his lip and closed his eyes and bent his head back. Whose body was this? Whose chest, so broad and thick with muscle? Whose flat, hard belly? Whose huge prick, swollen so large and long, delivering incredibly deep and powerful shocks of throbbing sexual pleasure, was that? What was this dream? Had they drugged him, these two beautiful young men? Was he hallucinating now, lost in some narcotic dream? Bobby's mouth and hands were back at work, and he heard Joe's voice in his ear again. "Are you ready, Stan?" "For… for what?" Joe's arms wrapped around him. He could feel the boy's hard muscles pressing against his back. Joe felt great. He loved this, this feeling. He was pouring his power and strength into the old guy, watching his body change, watching his face growing younger and more handsome, watching the skin stretch across his powerful muscles, the wrinkles disappearing as the flesh evened out across the wider expanses of shoulder and chest. It was amazing, watching him change and feeling it as well. He was giving a powerful gift, flooding the guy's body with what he had in such abundance. Now the man looked almost nothing at all like he had. His head was now crowned with a full head of dark curls. The jowls of his face and his heavy double chin had been replaced with a strong, square jaw and high, angular cheeks. His eyes looked clear and shining. His lips were now moist and warm and soft – he was a great kisser, and that was something that wasn't given by Joe and Bobby. His passion was full and powerful, like he hungered for this, like he was starving for it. And Joe was starting to realize that this action, this feat, was like sex. No, it was better even than sex. Because he became part of the man he was with, literally. He gave himself to the man, and the pleasure he got from it, both physically and emotionally, surpassed anything he ever felt – even in his new body – when he was with someone. This transformation, which he wanted to go on and on, was delivering for him the same strong waves of passionate sexual and sensual ecstasy that Stan was feeling. Maybe because when a guy was transformed, it was all new to him, and the Touch and everything else about the action gave him back some of that passion, and the action was stronger and more fulfilling than any straight fuck he'd had, and he'd had a lot. This is what he wanted to do. Find men and bring them over. Change them utterly. Show them what it was like on his side. Make them better than they ever dreamed, bigger and stronger and more beautiful by far. Build up their masculine powers until it was spilling out of them, leaking from every pore, sweating from their bodies and shooting from their cocks. "Are you ready, Stan?" he whispered, pressing his growing body against Stanley's developing brawn. "For… for what?" came the reply. And Joe smiled, because he knew that the guy in his arms could not believe it could get any better than this. So he showed him that it could, and without thinking, without consideration for where they were, or what would happen, because he wanted to do this more than anything, he poured himself into Stanley's body, all of himself, everything he was, all his strength and youth and beauty, all the power that raged through every cell of his body. He heard Bobby's sexy drawl in his head voice a sudden warning, but it was too late, he had committed, he wanted this, and it was too late to stop. Bobby felt Joe flooding Stan with Transform, and he looked up as the now beautiful man began to suddenly expand in all directions, growing muscle so quickly that it looked like it was inflating beneath his skin, his dick suddenly lengthening and fattening, and another one bursting from his groin and thrusting out by the inch in seconds. He was practically thrown from the guy, shoved off his dick as he began to grow, and landing flat on his ass he looked up as Stanley's head approached the ceiling. "Oh, shit," he said softly. Stan felt something explode. He suddenly realized it was him. Joe shoved it all in all at once. It was like cumming. It was like having the strongest, most satisfying orgasm ever as he pushed all his power at Stanley and felt the man swelling with rock hard muscle, expanding out of his grip and growing taller and wider by the foot. He heard a crash, and felt a thunderous shaking, like the earth was moving. Bobby looked up as Stan's body grew so fast with size and strength that his head shot through the ceiling, then his shoulders, six feet wide and getting bigger by the second, crashed into the beams and ripped the roof open, and he was still getting bigger, and the building began to rain down on Bobby, pieces of wood and fiberglass and metal showering his perfect form as the man swelled bigger and bigger, ripping the restaurant apart. Joe blinked and shielded his eyes from the rubble and dust filling the place. He started laughing as he watched Stan swell to his ultimate form in seconds, his growing body ripping the roof apart. He looked over at Bobby who looked back at him and all he could think of to say was, "Oops." "Holy fuck!" Bobby had to yell over the crashing noise of the restaurant being ripped apart. "Holy fuck, Joe! Look what you did!" They scrambled to their feet and stood up, watching Stan continue to grow higher and thicker and more amazing. The muscle of his legs swelled massive, his balls drooped and suddenly his twin cocks were erupting, spraying wide streams of hot cream all over the insides of the Tastee Freez. "Holy fuck!" Bobby had to yell again, but now he was smiling, too. It was incredible. Even he could not believe what was happening. Stan was pumping gallons of cream from his powerful balls, it was flooding over everything, it sprayed across their bodies and drenched them, and their Transformed frames started to drink it inside like water on a parched desert. Stan's body was exploding. He had finally reached the summit of the long, tall mountain of pure pleasure he'd been mounting, and now he was exploding with sexual bliss that shook him and erupted from him. He felt like he had two cocks, both spouting a fountain of hot, thick cream, and he kept cumming and cumming. He felt something break around him, as if he was emerging from his shell, and suddenly the cool night winds surrounded and caressed him. He straightened and stretched himself to his full height, feeling stronger than he'd ever felt in his life. The thick, heavy masculine scent was everywhere, all around him, funky and sweet. He realized it was coming off him, and he smiled and sucked it inside his lungs where it burned and spread like syrupy fire. It was suddenly dark, and something was poking his legs and feet, and he opened his eyes and saw the sky, and thousands of stars, and he realized his was naked, and he felt free and sexy and powerful. Bobby stretched his arms wide and felt the man's strength feeding him, and he allowed himself to grow, now, to swell up and out, releasing the constraints he'd placed on himself. Joe watched his friend growing for a few moments and then joined him, standing there as he zoomed toward the ceiling and then the night sky. They both did so much more damage to the Tastee Freez that it collapsed at their feet, a pile of rubble. And they stood, the three transformed men, 19 feet high and overwhelmed with superhuman strength and beauty. Their naked forms towered above the rubble of the restaurant. Headlights from the highway in the distance were the only source of light, the crescent moon hidden by clouds. Cool evening breezes bathed their perfect skin and the two original members of this elite brotherhood were both looking at the newest member and smiling at him in awe and wonder, because no matter how often it happened, it was always amazing to see the finished product. Stanley's perfected form was a dark shadow in the night. His skin was burnished to a Mediterranean olive, and dark curls of soft fur coated his muscled body. He had very large nipples with fat caps poking up through the dark carpet, and an absurdly small waist in contrast to his massive upper body. The black waves of hair that had started to sprout on his head now fell thick and full across his shoulders and down his back. He had deep brown eyes and his prominent chin and brow were similarly darkened with thick bristles. He looked incredibly masculine now, and nearly all vestiges of the portly, soft, white man that had ordered a cheeseburger were wiped away. He looked no older than 18 or 19, and in the dim light of the morning the angles and bulges of his powerful form were thrown into deep contrast. He stood there dumbfounded. He was standing as tall as a giant and could feel his overwhelming strength coursing through every inch of his new, huge frame. He felt incredibly alive, there was no other word for it. And so powerful, strong enough to do… anything. "What the hell was that?" His voice rumbled and thundered from his huge chest, saturated with masculine power. It reverberated across the parking lot as the dust settled at his feet, and the two young men at his sides smiled. "Just a thing," said Bobby, his drawl making it sound like `thang.' Joe laughed slightly. "Looks like we really fucked up the Tastee Freez." He shrugged. "Oh well, I didn't really enjoy that job much, anyway." "I repeat; What. The hell. Was that?" Bobby laid an arm across Stan's shoulders. "You've just been Transformed, my friend. Welcome to the brotherhood." "I've been what?" Joe put his hand on Stan's ass and squeezed. "Transformed, dude. If we had a big fucking mirror you'd understand. But, um," he glanced down at the ruins, "looks like we broke everything." "You mean you broke everything." "Well, Bob, I think if we're being technical about this you'd have to say that Stan broke it." "He wouldn't have broken anything if you had a little patience." "Can I help it if I got excited? And, really, does the world need another Tastee Freez?" "Um, boys?" They looked at him, stopping their argument for the time being. "Is anyone going to tell me what just happened or not?" He was looking down at himself, one hand moving across his chest, digging through his silky body hair, feeling the huge hardness of his muscles, the smooth softness of his flesh, how everything tingled with sensual bliss. He watched his twin pricks twining and writhing at his groin, lowering his hand to them and making them twist and squirm in his grip. They moved like snakes in his grip, supple and strong and ready to start pumping again if he wanted. He knew it to be true, he could feel it, feel their strength and his control. "It's a long story," began Joe. "And probably better told somewhere else." He was looking up the road at a pair of headlights headed their way. "Shit. Okay, Stan, we need to shrink down." "What?" "Just make yourself smaller." The two of them were already shutting up like telescopes, shrinking away from him. And all Stan had to do was imagine himself smaller, and he was shrinking, too, feeling his huge muscles contracting and his bones compacting. It was an odd sensation but seemed somehow perfectly natural, too. "Okay, good. Um, so, now we're gonna fly." "I beg your pardon?" Bobby smirked. "I know it sounds weird, but you can do it. Just sort of, uh, push off the ground – you're really strong now so be careful that you don't go too high, k? And hopefully when you get up there it'll sort of come natural to you. And, um, oh shit, okay let's get the fuck gone!" And suddenly, he wasn't there anymore. There were lights growing stronger from somewhere. Stan looked over and Joe was gone, too. Then he heard them from somewhere overhead, calling his name. He was shaking his head, thinking he'd wake up from this any second. This was too real, too weird. "Sort of push off, huh?" So he bent his legs, squatted slightly, looked up at the stars and jumped. The air rushed past his naked form and he felt himself moving forward. He looked down and watched the ground recede from him, and he was moving very fast, very, very fast. His eyes teared up as the wind buffeted him and, without thinking, he raised his arms and was suddenly slowing. Some inner sense was coming into play and he could feel the channels of the wind, sense the pull of gravity and the weight of the air around him. He was moving through it, around it, above it. He had never felt such a sense of freedom. His heart was racing and it felt like his soul would explode from joy. This, he felt, was fucking great. "Whoa," he said softly, and he found himself hanging motionless above the earth, held there by the overwhelming strength coursing through him, sensing the currents of air and slipping himself between them. He was floating in the inky night sky surrounded by the stars. The clouds that had obscured the moon were now below him, and above the moon shone its blue-white light across his body. Magnificent was the first word that came to mind. Followed by huge, muscular, beautiful and firm. He found that this new dream body – for what else could this be but a dream? – was as flexible as it was strong. He could twist himself over backwards and touch his head to his heels. He could bend forward and kiss his toes, or suck on them if he wanted to (which he tried, and found even that was curiously satisfying). His wealth of dark curls floated around his head and he had to keep pushing it away as the winds picked it up and wafted it like the limbs of a tree. He hung there, several hundred feet above the ground, in his new body and let his hands explore. He didn't close his eyes while this touch moved across the smooth, silken skin that seemed absurdly sensitive. It felt so soft and so incredibly smooth that he might have thought that it wasn't skin at all, but some perfect fabric or buttery suede draped across rock hard muscularity of such incredible size and definition that, except for the fact that he could feel the movement of that muscle, its flex and bulge and power, that he would have sworn it was rock. He found his nipple again and rolled the tip between his fingers, feeling the sudden strong shocks of erotic bliss all the way to his toes. The forest of curls kept his attention for a few minutes until he realized that the something he was feeling rubbing and caressing his thighs was also him – his dick. Reaching down, he corrected that assessment, because he found not one but two huge pythons with thick, firm shafts and flaring helmets that obeyed his every commend. Two of them, he thought. That made so much sense. Two hands, two dicks. Perfect. Except for the newly discovered nipple problem. Now he needed four hands. Then there was a voice in his head, inside it, clear and distinct and tinged with humor and fearlessness. ::You okay, Stan?:: It was Bobby. He answered aloud, "Yeah, I guess so." Then Bobby said, ::Just use your head to talk to us. We're there, inside, and you can be in us.:: And Stan could `feel' him there, then Joe was there, too. Like the essence of them, the source. It felt good to have them there, to feel them inside him, and he reached out and found himself within them as well, connected utterly. ::Whoa,:: he said again. ::Yeah, pretty cool, huh? And it keeps getting better.:: ::What is it?:: ::Do you want us to tell you – or to show you?:: Bobby laughed. ::Showing is a lot more fun.:: Images flooded his head. Images and feelings, like physical sensations, and emotions as well, and strength and power. Men he saw, dozens of them, each more beautiful than the last, and growing, becoming like him, more muscular, more beautiful, bigger, taller, better than before. And something inside him, the gift he could now bestow, the things he could do, the power he controlled. All these truths flooded into him and he knew them to be true. And they were next to him now, in the night sky, high above the ground. Bobby floated below him, rubbing his muscled form against him, chest to chest, his hands moving across his skin, caressing his body. Then Joe was above him, straddling him, his firm butt on Stan's lower back. "Let's ride," he joked, then they separated from him and darted away through the sky, swimming between the cool winds, soaring and diving in perfect naked glory, two beautiful boys at play. They would meet each other and push away, or soar higher and higher and suddenly dive. They were unleashed in the sky, unfettered by gravity's pull and able to perform with incredible beauty and agility as they flew. Clearly, this was something they enjoyed. Stan smiled. He launched himself up, arching his strong, naked body through a wide loop until he pivoted at the apex, bent his body backwards and dove through the darkness, following after. If this is a dream, he thought, he was going to go along for the ride as long as it lasted. To be continued... From: To: Subject: [MGS] STORY: "Seducers" Part 7 Date: Sunday, August 12, 2001 1:26 PM Seducers Part 7 Maddox was a wreck after his workout. The images of the man who had been transformed – no, perfected was a better term – the images of the man's body, his chest and arms and legs and belly overwhelmed with huge powerful bulges of primed, flawless muscle had spurred him on to press that much harder, curl one more rep, push one more pump and make his own copious collection of brawn scream for mercy. Sweat slicked his skin as he stood before the mirrored wall in his weight room… stood there simply looking at himself. He did not flex his muscles into fat round balls, he didn't pose until the veins popped huge along his bronze skin, he simply stood there breathing deeply, his eyes scanning the lines of the body he had attempted so hard to perfect. He thought about the shots of hormones enriched by enzymes and radicals and god knew fuck all what was swimming through his bloodstream after a dozen different enhancements to him, body and soul. He scanned the lines of that body now, the face with its blue eyes surrounded by a wet crown of golden hair, damp with sweat. His long neck and wide shoulders were muscular and powerful. He had a chest with thick definition, and his stomach was flat and lined with bulges of power. Narrow hips lead to fat cables of strength lining his upper legs, then the wide diamonds on his calves. He had very little fat under his skin, and all in all he had to admit that he looked pretty fucking amazing. But the images wouldn't subside. What he had seen in those beautiful and pristine pictures was nothing less than the male perfection he so dearly desired. His body was amazing, and would do amazing things. He had the agility of a gymnast and the strength of a weightlifter. He had the finesse of a master swordsman and the speed of a sprinter. And yet… And yet what he saw in those photos was something so far beyond what he possessed that he found himself aching to possess it. He was ready to give anything, everything, to have it. Minutes later, after he had stood in the shower, the hot water spilling across his flesh, hanging his head under the spray to cleanse the sweat from his body, he sat wrapped in a towel in the darkness of his media room awaiting the next download. This one, he hoped, would reveal the secrets that the last one only promised. This one would include the why's and where's and who's. Why was he handed this assignment? Where were these men? And who was that in those pictures, who had told them everything in the initial file? While there were always secrets he had to keep, they never kept secrets from him. Maddox was trusted, a man given absolute authority to do anything necessary to get the job done. He glanced at the readout on the system clock and almost exactly at the same time 4:00:00.00 appeared, the screen flickered with the receiving icon and his hard disk started whirring. He pulled in a deep breath, realizing he had never felt this level of anticipation before. This was a role like none he'd ever encountered. He started accessing the files immediately, but was surprised when the download stopped only seconds after it had started. Opening the folder, he knew why immediately. It contained a single encoded text file, and if Maddox had to make a guess, he knew whose signature would be on it. Maddox, Scott Serial 0000000SG5 YEO – DAR Report headquarters immediately. Destroy previous file after memorization. Standard procedures apply. NC/NS Tipton, Maj. Gen. Sherman Simple, direct, commanding. Pure Tipton, the bastard. Jesus, that man needed an enema. He scanned up the page. YEO – DAR. Your eyes only. Destroy after reading. He did so. So, he was being summoned to main office. They didn't want to tell him using the usual channels, he had to make an appearance. Something he hated more than almost anything. It was highly unusual that he'd be called in, clearly something was up. And with Tipton, immediately meant immediately. He scratched himself, sighed heavily and got up, leaving the towel behind and walking his fine ass to the wardrobe to slap some clothes on his body and get gone. Main office was an antiseptic nightmare, an underground labyrinth of white walls and white floors and white ceilings sucked of anything resembling life. Maddox was more than uncomfortable here, he sometimes felt trapped or caged, but he was smart enough never to reveal the slightest hint of that unease. He liked the world, and the sky, and the dirt and the germs. He liked being outside. And this was the antithesis of outside. This was nowhere. The silence matched the cleanliness perfectly. He heard his own footfalls along the corridors but little else. He arrived at Sherman's offices and stood dutifully while he waited admittance. His clear eyes surveyed the clean-cut officer sitting at the white desk in his dark uniform with suspicion and distaste. He knew nothing about him, but the man seemed to give off officiousness like a stench. At last the door to the inner sanctum opened and Maddox entered, straightening his super-powered body to be his most intimidating, because he knew that any less would be suspect to his boss. He saluted (although it wasn't strictly necessary) and stood at attention, the lines of his body rigid and stern. His eyes faced straight ahead and his jaw was set. When he heard the order to stand at ease – and there was no doubting that it was an order he heard – he folded his arms behind his back and set his feet shoulder width. It became apparent that Sherman never even looked at him. Fucker. "I'd ask you to sit down," the general said, "but I'm afraid the seat is already taken." It was then that Maddox, whose senses were more honed than a cat's and whose reflexes were razor sharp turned to see a man sitting in the leather wingback in the corner of the office. And even if his senses and reflexes had failed him, his memory did not. The man, the beautiful man, smiled at him, nodded slightly, and then stood up, offering his hand. He was the man from the images, the perfect man, the beautiful, flawless, amazing collection of huge, powerful, raw muscular might with a face that would make the greatest artists of the millennia weep openly that they could never accurately portray its splendor and magnificence. He was the huge man, the man towering over Scott's own impressive stature, the man who, Maddox knew, could leap toward him and crush him utterly and there was nothing, not one thing, he could do to stop him. The man gave off an aura of confidence and self-possession so strongly that for a moment Scott could focus on nothing else. Nothing but the man's sleek, muscular form wrapped in jeans and a T-shirt so tight and form-fitting that the phrase `painted on' could not do them justice. Literally nothing was left to the imagination, and it was all there for the looking. His broad chest and its ripe nipples, the ripples of power on his abdomen, the glowing, sun-burnished flesh along his arms highlighted with golden hairs perfectly placed. The jeans accentuated rather than hid his ample assets, and his thighs threatened to split them open along the seams at any moment. But his sensuous mouth and equine nose and piercing eyes drew Scott's attentions away from his amazing muscular size. He noted the way the brawn of his arm flexed and bulged as he offered his grip and said, in a voice saturated with masculine power, "Hello again, Scott." "Hello, Dr. Lassiter," he said, shaking the man's genetically perfected hand. "Call me Jerry, please." He was smiling, and why not? He was perfect, and he knew it. He had designed himself, in a manner of speaking, to be flawless. He had personally turned all his own dials up to 12, and then amped them up higher still, beyond any measure in human perception. He had it all, and then some. The power, the strength, the beauty, and the capability of giving it to any other man he deemed worthy of it with a whisper, a touch, a kiss. "How are you?" he said, because he could think of nothing else to say to this man. "Fucking great, Scott. Pretty fucking great." His smile grew incandescent, and Scott could feel himself drawn to the man. Until he was pulled back to earth by his master's voice. "Pull it back in, doctor. We have business to attend to." Scott watched a sort of disappointment fall across Lassiter's beautiful countenance, but just as quickly the smile came back, he shrugged lightly, scanned up and down Maddox's own impressive form with a quick glance and a wink, then turned and sat down again, sprawling his massive muscular bulk in the chair, one leg over an arm and the other stretched before him. His ample dick shoved itself across his thigh as if it had a mind of its own and Scott wondered, absently, where the other one was. "Welcome back, Maddox." "Thank you, sir." As he turned his back to Lassiter, he thought he heard the man's deep voice mumble `nice ass.' "I assume you've read the dossier." Not a question, so it didn't require an answer. "You have questions." "Yes, sir." "The first being why Dr. Lassiter has chosen to aid us." "Actually, my first question was, `Why is the doctor bothering to wear clothes at all?' Sir." A rumble of laughter behind him, and the sound of skin on leather adjusting. No, not adjusting. Standing. Because the man was next to him now, looming hugely. "Don't ask," he thundered. He was looking at Maddox. Scott could practically feel the man's gaze on him. His voice sounded so genial and friendly. It dug into Scott's head and comforted him. "Don't tell," he answered automatically. Jerry smiled broadly. "If you two ladies are done flirting, I have some business to conduct with Major Maddox." The huge mountain of muscle was moving again, laying his paw on Scott's shoulder and squeezing gently. "That's my cue, I think." Jerry looked down at Maddox and smiled. "See you later, Scott." "I'm looking forward to it." He nodded a goodbye as the man turned and left the room. "Eyes front, Maddox, if you please." "Sorry, sir. He's rather… distracting." "He's rather more than that, as I'm sure you'll agree. That man's formula may revolutionize the art of espionage and war." Maddox could not help but agree, but still a chill went through him at the man's obvious glee concerning the thought. Scott's job was not to engage in war, nor to make them better. He was there to stop them. The general's kept talking, mostly, Maddox believed, because he so enjoyed the sound of his own voice. "How are you feeling, Major." Why did all of his questions sound like orders? He looked at the old man, sitting behind his mahogany desk. He was bald, with white hair at the temples and a paunch of fat on his belly. You could still see the soldier underneath the age and lethargy of the body that encased it. The eyes, above all, were alert and laser sharp. "Very good, sir." "I mean in light of your encounter with Dr. Lassiter." "I noticed most of the physical manifestations occurring as outlined in the casebook, sir. Indeed, the man's appearance and strength of will is almost supernatural." "Yes, yes. But what did you feel, Major? What was your reaction?" "Attraction, certainly – physically and sexually. Desire. Jealousy. Lust. I felt a curious tugging sensation at one point as if I were being drawn to him. His beauty is such that I doubt anyone but the blind would be completely unaffected by him. His overwhelming presence is… well… just that. Overwhelming." "Would you have difficulty being in the field with him?" He considered it for a moment, casting his gaze at the beige carpet before answering. "No, sir." "Very good." There was no clarification needed. These men knew each other too well. The general opened the top drawer and pulled out another brief, sliding it across the glossy top of his desk into Maddox's hands. "Your next assignment." "Yes, sir." "The details are enclosed, of course, but there are a few facts I have elected to tell you in person. These are not to be shared with anyone, under any circumstances." "Yes, sir." "You will be accompanied by Dr. Lassiter. He is aware of the arrangements. Due to his inexperience with your line of work, this assignment is not up to the usual standards commensurate with your talents. I'm sure you see the logic." Maddox nodded, but Sherman simply continued talking. "While your direct goal is to complete the assignment, your secondary goal is to observe and record Lassiter's reactions in the field." "Sir, I…" "Although the formula has succeeded, in fact exceeded expectations in some areas, there have been other unfortunate side effects that may mitigate its usefulness to us." "I understand." "Under no circumstances are you to be exposed to the transformation process." "But, sir…." "Under no circumstances, Major." "It occurs to me, sir, that should Dr. Lassiter have other plans there would be little I could do to stop him." "He understands the consequences." "Sir?" "Dismissed, Major." Maddox saluted, pivoted smartly and left. Jerry Lassiter was standing outside, leaning against the opposite wall. His arms were folded across his chest and one slender eyebrow was arched above his clear, hazel eyes. His shaggy head of sandy hair hung just to his ears and the nape of his neck, and the front slid forward across his brow. A smile that showed no teeth creased his full lips, and he uncrossed his legs and stood erect as Maddox pulled the door closed behind him. Scott had a hard time keeping himself from looking startled, because even after having seen this vision of masculine perfection only minutes before, his memory did not seem capable of doing the man justice. He was gorgeous, there was no doubting that. Maddox swung both ways, a self-described sensualist and sexual hunter, he had been with many beautiful people in his years, but none, not one of them of either sex, came within an inch of the man standing ten feet from him. He felt like he was in very great danger. Lassiter gestured up the hallway. "Shall we?" Scott's brows arched. "I assume you have a few questions for me – like why I'm here, for instance." Maddox smiled, attempting to hide his desire with nonchalance. "Where to?" "My place," he said, grinning. "On our first date? Don't I even get dinner?" "Good to see you haven't changed." Jerry led the way. "But you need to be careful, Scott. I may take you up on your teasing now, you know." "You've changed quite a bit, Dr. Lassiter." "You noticed?" Scott could smell something, not cologne exactly, something more like musk. "All for the better, I assure you." "Thanks loads," he said. His tone was droll. "Was I really that bad?" They tuned a corner and brushed against each other. Lassiter felt hard as stone under the T-shirt. Scott shrugged. "Frankly, I don't remember you having a personality at all." Jerry laughed. It was a deep, rumbling sound, like thunder coming from a cave. "Frankly, neither do I." He paused in front of a door and looked at Maddox. "You do look really good, Scott." He opened the door. Continued in Part 8... From: To: Subject: [MGS] STORY: "Seducers" Part 8 Date: Sunday, August 12, 2001 1:35 PM Seducers Part 8 It was a room like any other here at Main Office. Antiseptic, void of design or personality, holding a simple bed with white linen, another door Maddox knew was the closet, a desk with a monitor on it and keyboard in front of that, a chair, a small couch and no windows. What was there to look at? "Ah, home at last." He motioned Scott in first and followed after, shutting the door behind them and slipping his tall, wide frame onto the couch. Scott pulled out the chair and spun it around, straddling it and resting his crossed arms on the back. "Okay," he said, "why are you here?" "Direct as usual," Lassiter replied, looking unsurprised. "Simplest answer? Ego, I guess. I mean, the stuff worked, right? And it worked pretty fucking well. And the whole scientific community was laughing at me." "The whole scientific community had no notion of what you were doing." "Of course they had a notion. I'm a geneticist working for the government, and more specifically for an agency no one ever speaks of. A notion is the least of what they had." He rubbed a hand through his hair, pushing the flowing locks off his forehead. Maddox couldn't help but watch the man's bicep swell like a balloon, overrun with fibers and cables of power. "Anyway, it bugged me. You know how a thing can get in there and burrow, and you try to ignore it but it just won't go away? And maybe the stuff made my ego more powerful too. More likely it was always that way. Whatever the cause, I decided to come back in and, sort of…." He shook his head. "I dunno. I just needed someone to know." "Remind me to give you my number next time." "A joke? From Scott Maddox?" "I'm a funny guy, Dr. Lassiter. You just never noticed." "Please call me Jerry, Scott. Do I look like Dr. Lassiter?" Maddox wavered his hand, smirking. "Fucker," Jerry said, grinning. "I told you I was a funny guy, Jerry." "Oh, yeah. I forgot already." He lay back against the cushions, sprawling his legs out and stretching his huge frame. "Was it hard getting used to it?" "What? This?" He bent his arms and gestured at his torso. The shirt stretched across the contours of his massive muscularity. He seemed to swell slightly larger. "At first, sure. I mean, I was never a big guy. Now I'm suddenly the biggest. I'm constantly horny – which was never a real problem until… lately. I'm totally aware of my body all the time, the feeling of its power and size. Keeping myself shrunk like this isn't easy, especially for long periods. And at first I kept breaking things. Trees, buildings, the usual. And you have to sort of monitor how you move. I weigh quite a lot more that is apparent, but you learn to use the air to support you, sort of like a cusion. It's weird, but handy. But being so big, I'm still not used to that. I look down at myself and think, `this isn't me.' When I look in the mirror I'm surprised every time. And my face. I get hard looking at myself. It's shocking." "You're telling me." Jerry grinned. "And I'm toned down, you know." Maddox nodded. "I saw the pictures." "Ah. Well, that was toned down, too. I'll fucking make you cum if I'm full power." He noted Scott's doubtful smirk. "I'm not shitting you." "I know," he answered. "So you came back, you show yourself off, you're expecting… what?" "Dunno, really. I suppose it was stupid, knowing the military mind like I do." "Present company excepted." "Of course. You know they've ordered me not to transform anyone. Ordered me, as if I were still on the payroll." He grinned, looking particularly lascivious. "Do I gather from your expression that you haven't quite abided by those wishes?" "I've been a very good boy, cross my heart." He did so, etching an X in the middle of his brawny chest. "And it's been very hard." He glanced at Jerry's groin. "I imagine." He leaned forward, his eyes intense. He missed the implication. "No, you can't. You can't imagine. Because doing it, making another man over, transforming him into his perfect self is… it's better than sex. In some ways. It really is. And I've been secluded down here for a week and…." He licked his lips and allowed his eyes to scan Scott's prime meat. "It's been very hard." "I'm off limits, too." "I've been told." He was still smiling. "What's kept you from doing just as you please, anyway? God knows there isn't much they can do to stop you. Hell, Jerry, from what I read you could start releasing that pheromone scent your body produces and down here, away from the outside world in a controlled environment, it wouldn't take long before the whole place was one screaming orgasmic muscle fuck. The guys'd be so big that the walls would burst." "I know." He tilted his head and sighed. "But I made a promise, and I know that sounds dumb, but I keep my promises." "Why promise anything?" "I have my reasons," he replied enigmatically. Maddox hated secrets, even though he probably held more than anyone. "But, uhhh…." His hand moved under his shirt, revealing a hairless belly of tight, rippled power. "What?" "I was just wondering, Scott." His hand crawled higher, and his other moved to the button fly of his jeans. "Yeah?" Maddox kept in eye contact with him, knowing what he was doing. He expected this, and was a little surprised the guy didn't attack him as soon as the door was closed. "All that teasing you used to do?" The shirt was now shoved high on his torso, showing ample amounts of gleaming, silken skin covering more raw muscle that Scott had ever seen. The shirt evidently was not made of cotton, because the material moved like a plastic film. It looked like cotton, but it was extremely thin and elastic, whatever it was. "Yes?" "When you would say things like, `watch where you're putting that thermometer, Dr. Lassiter. I might think you're coming on to me'?" His fingers popped one button of his pants, then another, and a third. A glistening wealth of dark pubic curls erupted out from his flat pelvic region. "Uh huh." Scott smiled. The man had a good memory. "Or the time you told me I had a nice ass and I shouldn't hide it under my lab coat?" The hand pulled at the T-shirt. There was no ripping noise, but it seemed to tear apart. "I think so." "And when you promised that if I ever decided to `try hitting for the other team,' you'd be there to play catch with me?" The shirt was all but gone. Lassiter's upper body was a roadmap of perfect muscular beauty, hairless and without flaw. His huge chest was capped with dark, round nipples that poked up half an inch high. Something was happening to his body as Scott watched, to his face as well. His beauty was magnifying, as was his muscular size and the perfection of the shape and contour and balance of his total brawn. "I recall something like that, yes." Jerry leaned forward, his body swelling thicker with power, his face becoming a vision of male beauty nearly impossible to resist, and a huge cock was splitting wide his tight jeans and spilling forward, growing longer and thicker every second. His voice was a growl of tightly suppressed animal lust. He was a beast rattling the cage. His hunger was unbound. "Did you mean it?" "Why Dr. Lassiter," he answered, standing up to show off the raging hard-on pressing forcefully against his fly, "I never thought you'd ask." Making love was not a phrase that leapt to mind when Maddox had a moment to consider Lassiter's technique. The guy might be huge, beautiful, incredibly flexible and willing to try anything, but it was also clear that somewhere down inside this vision of male perfection there lived the middle-aged, sexually frustrated, emotionally pent-up doctor that Scott took great enjoyment out of kidding. Jerry wasn't awkward, certainly. His body wouldn't allow that. But he was overanxious and pushed too hard and didn't seem to enjoy the act as much as he might have. Unquestionably, the man was possessed of a need that overwhelmed him. His body demanded constant attention now, both sensually and sexually. He had curtailed what were probably several days of constant fucking with whomever else he was with, but his time at Main Office meant he probably only had himself to himself, with lots of jerking off and long showers. Now he had a partner with whom he could sate that overwhelming hunger, but for Maddox, whose experience in these areas probably outstripped anyone else within several hundred miles, fucking Jerry was like having an overeager teen who wanted to get off and could care less who was inside the other body. The fact that Lassiter had never been with a man who was not likewise gifted with his collection of muscle, growth, sunsualized touch, pheromonal attractants and various other superhuman traits wasn't helping matters. Maddox could hardly imagine what it must have been like for the old doctor. One minute he's a balding intellectual with the sex drive of a brick and a body that probably couldn't even control its bladder very well, the next he's a supersexed stud with two hungry cocks and a body so strong and beautiful that he could make himself cum just glancing in the mirror. Maddox thought he would use his vast and powerful arsenal of moves and words on the guy and together they'd reach places he'd only dreamed of with others. He didn't have the saturation of powers that Lassiter had, but he had a hint of them in his own subtly altered genetic make-up. He thought he knew what to expect, and he was looking forward to it at least as much as Jerry needed to get off. But the phrases he used most often were "slow down, Jerry" and "not so much." Lassiter, to his credit, was very accommodating and more than willing to do anything Scott suggested. His body was accepting all of Maddox's expert handling and, every once in a while, Scott could feel Jerry feeding it back through the Touch. But he knew they wouldn't last a minute if he was pumped full of that stuff – it made him feel like his whole body was a thrusting, throbbing, rock-hard dick. So when Scott pulled away before either one of them had managed to pop, the look on Jerry's gorgeous face almost made him laugh out loud. Apparently, this had never happened to the man. None of his other partners ever stopped, it was more likely that they went for hours at a time lost to the powerful passions and unearthly strength that flowed through them both. Jerry looked like a puppy denied his bone. "Hold on," Scott ordered, pulling his body away from Lassiter's strong and hungry embrace. They were both slick with sweat and a very perfume of something very masculine filled the space between them. Scott's boner was hard and red, jerking with every beat of his heart, and his own muscular form felt pumped and hot. He was justly proud of his body. He was no Schwarzenegger, but he could give someone like Bill Davey a run for his money. He was prime meat, and right now the blood was pumping into every muscle and his skin was flush and warm. But compared with the man with the puppydog eyes still leaning toward him with nothing but need in that gaze, he looked like PeeWee Herman. Jerry was larger now than when they had started. Maybe this happened unintentionally; maybe he just couldn't help himself. But either way, he was now about seven and a half feet tall, more than a foot taller than Maddox, and his body was a landscape of mountainous brawn bulging hard and thick under his tanned and buttersoft flesh. Scott couldn't grow limp if he wanted to, but there were a few words he wanted to say. "What's wrong?" Jerry was using the Voice. It passed into Scott and shook him to his toes. Jesus god but that was unfair. He had to pinch his eyes closed and concentrate very hard to overcome a sudden desire to jump the guy's bones and fuck him into the floor. He held his hand out as if to push the feeling away. "Jer… Jerry… wait, wait just a second." He was pulling air into his lungs, but every breath was saturated with the strong smell of the man before him and each one entered his body like fire and went right to his cock. "We need to take a pause for… for a minute. Just… wait." His chest was rising and falling, and it took all his mental powers to hold himself back. "Did I hurt you?" He sounded genuinely concerned. That voice shook Scott again, and he swallowed hard. He shook his head. "No, that's not… not it." His hand was still held up and he took a moment to collect himself as best he could. "Jerry, you haven't… you weren't… before the transformation, when was…" "What's wrong," the beautiful man asked again, leaning forward and starting to move to pull Scott back into his huge, strong arms. "This…" He was pointing. "This is what's missing." "What? What am I doing?" "Emotion. Concern. Sharing." He pinched his eyes shut again and sucking in a deep breath to clear his head. His whole body felt incredibly great. Just being in the same room was… overpowering. But he had to get this out, now. This was important. "You… okay. Okay. Let me… Jerry, you have the physical thing down. I don't think… you could fail to get that part right, but fucking involves another organ you aren't using at all and if you want…" Jerry leaned back, pushing his wet hair from his face. His skin was glowing. "I know," he answered softly. "I know what you want." And suddenly his other dick sprouted from his loins, blooming like a limb, swelling and lengthening until both his ample monsters were a foot long and thick as a table leg. "No, not that organ." His eyes couldn't help but stay glued to the collection of raw and powerful sex lying between the man's thighs. "Oh! I know!" And in front of Scott's eyes, the man before him became another man. His sandy hair darkened to black, a thick carpet of curls sprouted across his chest and belly and spread wider across his groin, his muscles seemed to thicken and separate creating a deeply defined collection of hard brawn, his skin darkened, his eyes became an impossible jade green and a mustache and goatee developed on his chin and upper lip, spreading along his jaw and muscled neck as a shadow of darkness. If Maddox had ever encountered him, he'd recognize that he was now sitting opposite Chuck. "I noticed that a lot of guys like this look better." "No, you don't understand, it's not…" "Or this one?" He was changing again. The hair on his body receded somewhat, his muscles smoothed and refined themselves, his short shock of dark straight locks flowed out into a cascade of black waves that hung to his shoulders and kept going. His skin took on a sheen of health and beauty almost beyond belief, and then his face resolved into a collection of features that made Scott rethink his ideas of masculine beauty. Now Jerry was Michael, uncontestedly the most beautiful man he himself had ever encountered. He smiled and Scott's dick hardened. He tilted his head and pulled his hand up to his fat, firm chest. He was perfection. Scott looked at the breathtaking vision before him and wanted nothing more than to fal into his embrace and find heaven. But this wasn't helping matters. Lassiter was still thinking externally. Certainly he was goddam amazing to look at, but he'd still be Jerry. "It isn't that, Jerry. You're beautiful no matter what you look like." "You don't want me more like this?" He sounded perplexed. Scott nodded, gulping. "Of course I do. But, I want YOU, Jerry. And I'm not getting you, am I?" "I'm not sure I understand. Just tell me who you want me to be, what I should look like, and I'll be him. I can be anyone." But he tapped his forehead and said, "I don't want anyone. I want you, the real one. This one, inside. You're not this one." "But…" "I want to be with you, Jerry. Who you are. I'm not with you." Jerry's features and body resolved back into the more youthful man he had been before the morphing. Scott smiled, thinking it logical that the old man wanted to be young again. And in a sense, that was what Scott was trying to make him – to start over again. "I didn't think…" "Exactly!" Maddox interrupted him. "You're just… fucking." He sighed a soft hot breath and brought his gaze up to meet Jerry's. "Look, I can't explain this, but maybe I can show you." He sat forward and took a breath. The air was thick with Jerry's brawn. "I'm going to kiss you, but I don't want you to do anything. Understand?" Lassiter nodded. "Okay." Scott started across the floor toward Jerry and moved his body on top of Lassiter's, their slick skin colliding and sliding across each other. A heat was rising from Jerry's hugeness, but the man was true to his word and simply lay there, unmoving. Scott settled his weight against Jerry, straddling him with his hot, throbbing dick pressed against Jerry's hard belly and cupped his face in his hands, tilting his beautiful countenance and pressing his lips to the man's mouth. It was a tender kiss, soft and gentle, no tongues involved. He kissed him with passion, tenderly, delicately. And he felt Jerry kissing him back, but an eagerness overtook him and Lassiter opened his mouth. Scott pulled back and shook his head, whispering, "Don't do anything." They kissed again. Slowly. Scott moved his mouth against Jerry's, brushing their lips together. Lassiter's were soft, luxurious, wonderful to touch. Scott could feel the man shudder in his hands. He could feel him start to grow under him, so he pulled back again and this time squeezed his legs together around Lassiter's swelling body. "Stop," he whispered again. "Let me do this." He bent his head and kissed Jerry again. Time slowed down. He reached his fingers into Lassiter's wealth of sandy hair and rubbed his fingertips against the back of his head. He could feel Jerry relax beneath him, feel his body finally giving in and giving up control. He parted his lips slightly and darted his tongue to Jerry's mouth, painting a slickness on his lips he kissed away the next moment. Finally, Scott was making love to Jerry. It wasn't two strong men wrestling each other into sexual submission, it wasn't a race to the finish, no longer a competition to see who was stronger or sexier or more powerful. It was one person and another and they were sharing each other, tenderly, slowly, and lovingly. Two men in worship of each other and of their joining, of their common desires and mutual passion. Maddox knew he would be spending a lot of time with Lassiter, and he knew that a lot of that time would be spent like this. There was no way he could keep up with the man sexually, his body just wasn't equipped. So he had to train him now to take things slow, to enjoy the moment and be with him fully, not just physically. Scott was in charge at first, moving his hard body against Jerry's, until Jerry finally relinquished himself and joined in, not trying to lead or to follow, but recognizing the cues Scott gave him. And maybe for the first time ever, Dr. Jerry Lassiter made love with another man. The cock was not the object, it was the whole man he was after, every bit of him inside and out. He was with Scott, now, not merely pressing against him. His hands found their way along Scott's wonderful and talented body and caressed him, embraced him, held him and stroked him. For Maddox, it was everything, now, he had imagined it to be. The man's body was joined with his head more closely than other men. He just had to get his brain engaged in what they were doing and the body would follow naturally. And once Lassiter slowed down and fell into the act, he was better than even Maddox ever was. It was as if the light bulb went off over Lassiter's head, he was a different man altogether, no longer some poor stud going through the motions aiming for the target, but a man making love, passionate love, wanting to give and receive with equal measure, finally listening to himself and his lover both. Tipton watched the scene from his office. Every room was under constant surveillance. Maddox knew that. There was no such thing as privacy anywhere, really. There were three cameras in Lassiter's quarters. He didn't know whether Lassiter realized this or not, but Tipton had never informed him. The two men were screwing, that much was clear. Or at least they had been until Maddox suddenly stopped and pulled apart from Lassiter's rather eager attentions. Tipton listened to Maddox's words with detachment. He knew better than to question Maddox's methods. He'd seen the man fucking any number of people, women and men – sometimes both at the same time. But he'd never seen this. Was the major giving the doctor lessons in fucking? What the hell for? He must have his reason. Whatever they may be. And although General Sherman Tipton did not approve of this sort of fraternization between soldiers, no matter what their `orientation,' he had to admit that Maddox had never failed an assignment. Not one. He turned his attention to the transformed man. His narrow eyes scanned the impressive specimen, gazing at his wealth of muscular size. His physical beauty was undeniable, even to a man like Tipton whose only appreciation of the male was normally how well it performed athletically or how strong it was and what it could do for him. If he were to be perfectly honest, Sherman felt some jealousy. After all, he and Lassiter were of the same generation. Lassiter was a few years younger than Sherman, but he looked younger even than Maddox, who was 28. Lassiter looked no more than 19 or 20. Perhaps if he had some whiskers on his face, but he never observed any on the man, nor did he ever shave. His face was always as clean and clear as a boy's. Only his body, encased in those clothes he had to keep replacing, told a different story. Now Lassiter's secondary penis made an appearance, and Tipton leaned forward. He wondered how this would work, frankly. But nothing happened. They continued to talk. He leaned over and pressed a finger to the intercom. "Tipton here." On the screen, Lassiter's form was changing in a matter of seconds. Every time Sherman witnessed this, it was hard to accept it. It seemed like a special effect, so unreal and almost too real at the same time. "Yes sir?" The young man's voice, even over the tiny speaker, was powerful and deep. He hadn't learned control quite yet, it seemed. Tipton's short hairs tightened. "Make yourself scarce, lieutenant." Lassiter was changing again, now becoming someone painfully beautiful, a man possessed of something beyond mere beauty. "Sir?" "You heard me." "Yes, sir." He lifted his finger and returned his full attention to the scene on his monitors. Now Maddox and Lassiter were coming together again, but Tipton could see no difference. Maddox was on top of the doctor, kissing him. Lassiter seemed to be frozen or something, but soon his hands were again crawling across the major's naked form and they looked like they were about to start up again. Tipton smiled thinly, thinking about the young man he'd told to get himself lost. It was prudent not to take chances. A back up plan was always a good idea. To be continued... From: To: Subject: [MGS] STORY: "Seducers" Part 9 Date: Sunday, August 26, 2001 5:37 PM Seducers Part 9 Tommy was waiting in his apartment above the coffee shop with his friend Jeffrey. Jeff had red hair and pale skin. His green eyes showed his Scottish stock stronger still, and the sun had marked him with freckles everywhere. Since his meeting that morning with Chuck, Tommy's libido had gone through the roof. For some reason, he was constantly horny, and even after getting his rocks off he found his big hungry dick growing hard and long for more attention. At first, he wasn't sure what to do with his new body and face and cock. If he showed up in his usual haunts with the usual gang, would they freak out? And if they did, was that necessarily a bad thing? So he decided to try himself out on Jeff, who had a pretty fine body and an undeniably great ass. He'd lusted after the guy forever, it seemed, but never managed to get up the courage to proposition him. And for that reason, he avoided him. They were better friends before Tommy started fighting his feelings, and now he called Jeff up and invited him up for "coffee and a DVD or something." Jeff, always an amiable and good-natured guy, said, "Sure!" and arrived with copies of Austin Powers and The Matrix in hand. But Tommy answered the door shirtless wearing a pair of spandex workout trunks he'd never had the courage to sport in public and all thoughts of watching anything flew out the window. They spent the whole afternoon together and, amazingly, it seemed that Jeff also became increasingly amorous the more time they spent together. His ass was every bit as beautiful out of his Wranglers as Tommy imagined it would be, and it drove him crazy. He seemed to be having the same effect of Jeff, who was exploring parts of his body with increasing passion and attention, and as the afternoon drifted into the evening, he felt as if he was becoming bigger and bigger, able to stay hard as a rock and pump load after load in that fine ass and across his chest and belly and into Jeff's warm, wet mouth. The workout was doing Jeff some good as well. Maybe it was just the evening shadows, but it looked like the guy's nicely developed body was growing more defined by the hour. They were lost in a frenzy of sex and when the knock came on his door, they were tangled together in the sheets of his worn-out bed, sweaty and hot and ready for more. What neither he nor his companion was ready for were the three men who walked into his apartment that night. Tommy expected Chuck, of course, but seeing Frazz – who was even bigger than Chuck – and Adam, who had an intensity of beauty and a semblance of innocence so strongly manifested that he seemed as if he had stepped out of some Renaissance painting of angels, although these angels would be so large and muscular that they'd wrestle you into heaven rather than simply blow trumpets. Jeff was obviously taken aback. All Tommy had told him was that his personal trainer would be stopping by later and that he was sure Jeff, who wanted to get into bodybuilding as a lifestyle, could pick up a pointer or two. The sort of helpful information that allowed Tommy to turn into the muscle stud he was in only a few short weeks. Since the evidence was right in front of his eyes (and all over his body) Jeff had high expectations. But the men who walked through the door more than surpassed those expectations. They blew them out of the water completely. Tommy had a sheet wrapped around his waist when he went to answer the door and Jeffrey, naked, sat on the bed with his hands on his privates when he walked back into the bedroom followed by the most amazing collection of muscle Jeff had ever seen. "Hi, Tom," Chuck greeted, pulling him into an embrace before kissing him hard and deep on the mouth. Chuck was wearing the same pair of shorts he had on that morning, doing the same poor job of hiding his attributes, and a T-shirt so tattered and threadbare that it looked like he found it on the street. One heavy nipple was poking through a hole, and everywhere else the shirt was being torn apart under his muscular onslaught. His dark, hairy skin was everywhere, and he looked damned sexy. His friends were dressed little better. Jeff wondered what the people downstairs must have thought seeing these incredibly huge and gorgeous creatures mounting the stairs wearing little better than tatters. The black guy had on some navy sweat pants, the legs of which had been removed below the knee. They were bleached in places and the rear pocket was missing, leaving a couple of small holes that showed glimpses of dark butt flesh. If he was wearing underwear it must have been either a jockstrap or a thong, because his basket was so full and heavy that it looked like he was smuggling lemons or something. His upper body sported a dirty white ribbed athletic top that was plainly too small for him so that several inches of his belly, and its rippled glory, was exposed. He must have cut the chest open to allow his bulk inside, because it was split down the center and spreading itself wide. His nipples poked against the cotton and he looked about ready to split his seams open as well. The young guy, who had a habit of staring, had on perhaps the oddest wardrobe of all. For one thing, he was obviously wearing boxer shorts because the fly was pulled open so that his dark wealth of pubes was showing through. The shorts had a design on them like the American flag and the side seams were ripped open, with threads still hanging free as if he'd just done so on the way up. His dick – if something so obviously large could be called just a dick – hung down his right thigh and Jeff swore he could see the tip of the head dangling from the leg, but that meant that, limp, the guy had nine or ten inches going on. He must have stood about six and a half feet tall, but he had this face like a kid. It was sort of weird to see him. It was as if someone had found the most beautiful boy on the planet and stuck his head on the body of a testosterone-pumped, steroid-popping monster, because he was muscle everywhere. But for some reason, it all fit, he didn't look wrong, he looked completely, perfectly right. The only thing he wore on his torso was a pair of suspenders attached to the waistband of the boxers. They bowed around his chest and rubbed against his nipples. And Jeff thought the reason he wasn't wearing a shirt was because there weren't any that would fit him. He had never seen a body so thick and massive. Huge, fat bellies of power bulged everywhere. The guys arms, alone, had to be 24 inches around. If he had any fat on him, it wasn't showing. He was sculpted, defined, vascular and immense. And he kept staring at Jeff until the guy called Chuck introduced him as Adam and he smiled so sweetly that Jeff felt his heart ache. Adam said, simply, "Hello." Jeff said it back. And then the boy-man was pulling off the suspenders and stepping out of his shorts. It was readily apparent that his dick was bigger even than Jeff thought it was, not to mention a set of balls he'd have a hard time sucking into his mouth. He furrowed his brow at the unexpected (but not unwelcome) action until Adam crawled into bed with him and started to kiss him on the mouth, pushing him down onto the mattress and moving his strong touch all over Jeff's body. Adam's skin was smooth and soft and sensual, his kisses tender and loving and attentive, and everything he did told Jeff that this beautiful creature loved him totally. Chuck rumbled a laugh. "Well, that didn't take long." "Shit!" Tommy dropped his sheet and gawked as Adam applied his mouth to Jeff's stiff joint and deep throated him with evident ease. Jeff arched his back and let a low moan from his throat, his eyes wide open and his hands grabbing the sheets with white knuckles. As Tom watched, his friend's chest began to inflate and the arms grabbing the white sheets bulged with sudden muscle. Veins as thick as fingers popped up across his white flesh, branching out and multiplying with sudden fury as his whole body began to grow. "Shit!" Chuck's grip found Tommy's ass and he said, "I promised him," he said. "He's been a very good boy and this is his reward." The hugely muscle boy gently pushed Jeff onto his back and took his ankles in hand, pulling his legs up and spreading them apart. Muscle seemed to be swelling along the calves and thighs as he did so, and his legs seemed to spread themselves apart so wide that it looked as it they'd come unhinged. For some reason, Jeff's body was super flexible. And when he had himself positioned before Jeff's rosebud, he moved his drooling prick inside and started to slowly thrust, going in deeper each time, shoving his mammoth cock up the redhead's ass. Tom could see that with each bottomless push, Jeff's body seemed to swell outward and not recede. He was being fucked into a beautiful muscled superman. "Holy shit!" Tommy just kept saying that as he watched the young man in his bed developing into a massive muscular hulk. Adam's mouth only smiled as he fucked Jeff's ass for a few luxurious minutes. Then he pulled himself out, accompanied by a gush of thick, clear honey that suddenly made the whole room smell like a gym. Once again, he bent his lips to Jeff's stiff prick, kissing and sucking and stroking him – and then Adam started back up his body, kissing and sucking and licking as he went. He paused at the nipples and nibbled them. His hands moved down Jeff's arms and they entwined fingers, and after only a few moments Jeff's biceps had bloomed almost as large as Adam's. "Shit! Shit!" "Careful, Adam. Not too much." The boy lifted his arm and looked at Chuck and Tom from under it. "No?" Chuck shook his head. "Not yet." He nodded at the ceiling. "It would get a little crowded in here." Adam smiled with incredible beatitude. "Okay!" Then he turned his attentions back to Jeffrey and continued to quickly turn him into a bodybuilder of incredible size. He lay his own body against the other young man as he continued to kiss and stroke and fondle him. His hands were everywhere, and his mouth seemed to be there just a beat after. Jeff simply lay on his back moaning and gritting his teeth and pinching his eyes shut, obviously lost in a sort of sexual pleasure too deep to easily cope with. "Who… what… how…?" Chuck kissed Tommy again and squeezed his ass. "I was expecting more of your friends tonight, Tom. Frazz here is feeling all left out." "Yeah," his dark friend said, making a cute pouty face. His voice was so deep it sounded like an earthquake. Jeff had no way to prepare for what was happening to him. Being with Adam was like being the focus of intense love and strength and power and passion. It was being at the center of ultimate pleasure in every sense. Adam gave everything to Jeff, unconditionally and with great fervor. It felt as if it was pouring into him, as if he had been empty all his life and now he was being filled up to overflowing with everything good, and everything powerful, everything sexual and sensual and blissful. It was physical, certainly. The transforming process as well as Adam's attentions to Jeff's body. But the strength of emotion was, if anything, more powerful still. Adam knew no boundaries. He gave everything he was in every encounter. And he felt he received even more in return. All of these beautiful, passionate, wonderful men everywhere, he wanted to be with them all, and to love them, and make them better, and make them feel good. He loved Jeffrey. Jeffrey was beautiful. When he asked Chuck if he could please be with the first man, and Chuck said yes, he felt a swelling of love of passion inside that he needed to let out as soon as he saw him. He wanted to be with him, have him inside and to be inside him, to share everything and give himself completely to Jeff. Jeff wanted to cry out, to shout, to roar with pleasure and happiness and bliss. Everything felt good, inside and out, and it was all swollen with power and sex and love. He was a burning sun of raw brawn, it was exploding everywhere, and he knew the boy with an intimacy in those few minutes such as he had never felt before. He had never been with anyone so completely, and felt so good being with them. And suddenly Adam was kissing his mouth with tenderness and softness that belied his size and strength. Adam's hand was in his hair, petting him gently, and their eyes met and Jeff felt totally, completely contented. "Hello," the beautiful boy said again. "Hello," answered Jeff. "Okay you two, break it up. Jeffrey, kid, stand up so we can get a look at you." Adam lifted himself off Jeff and slid off the mattress, squatting near the foot of the bed. His shoulders looked like they could support the whole building. Jeff started to get up and felt that something was different. Things moved differently. He felt heavier and lighter at the same time, as if his body was more massive but better equipped to carry itself around. He moved with an ease that felt alien. Nothing ached. Nothing hurt. Nothing caught. His muscles felt energized and powerful. Something had changed. He sat forward and heard someone whistle. He looked at Tommy and his mouth was hanging open. The first thing that occurred to him to ask was, "Am I bleeding?" Tom whispered, "Holy shit." Jeff looked down and noticed immediately that he wasn't bleeding – and he was wearing some other guy's body. And whoever that guy was, he was going to be royally pissed off because this was a damn fine body. The first thing he saw, because it was so big you couldn't miss it, was a broad, muscular chest dusted with rust-colored curls. The hair spread in a triangle across the top, moving out toward his shoulders and thinned to a trail leading between the two fat globes and their huge nipples onto a flat belly that sprung to muscular life as he leaned forward. He still owned the freckled skin he had before someone slipped him inside this muscle suit but now it seemed to shimmer and sheen like silk. The hair spread wide again above his groin and grew very thick around… holy jesus god what the fuck kind of dick was that? Was that a dick? It looked like a fleshy hose overrun with veins and hung across one of the meatiest thighs Jeff had ever seen. Every muscle was cleanly defined and bulging with cables of power. He moved his hand down toward that monstrous cock and felt its firm, soft, smoothness. "Stand up, Rookie!" It was Frazz, the dark man with the earth-shaking voice. Jeff looked up and saw the guy smiling happily, and there was Chuck with his hand across Tommy's shoulders. They were both looking at him, too, and while Chuck looked more or less like Frazz, with a broad smile on his masculine, goateed face, Tom still looked like somebody just slipped a corncob up his ass. Jeff moved off the bed and stood up, feeling immediately like he was standing on a box. His whole perspective had changed. The things he was used to seeing at eye level were now quite a bit below that, and he looked at the ceiling and reached up and found that he could put his whole forearm against the 8-foot high surface. Doing so made him feel muscles he could swear he didn't have before, huge wedges that unfolded from his back and under his arm. The tricep swelled like a mountain and the reddish brown hair across his chest became a thick forest under his arm. "Oh my God," he said softly, then a grin wiped across his lips growing quickly into a smile with shining white teeth. "Where's a mirror?" Tommy, mouth agape (still), pointed toward the closed closet door and Jeff stepped over and opened it, seeing his whole form and new face for the first time. His eyes were so green they looked like jade. His red hair had lengthened and grown curly. A shadow of more rust ran across the strong jaw and high cheeks of his improved face, and a full mustache scrawled across his upper lip. He had a broad, proud nose and the freckles were here, too. He raised his hand to touch the fantasy face in the mirror, and the twisting brawn of his forearm drew his attention away. Then his hands were dancing down the bulging contours of this new body, seven feet tall and bigger than almost any bodybuilder he could think of. Everything was firm and fat and huge, he could feel enormous strength pulsing throughout his new body, steel-hard and capable of feats he could hardly imagine. But more than that, his huge muscles were perfectly symmetrical, beautifully developed, bulging fat and hard everywhere. Then there was that mammoth prick arching proudly out from between his legs and dangling down what looked like a foot at least. Two low hangers drooped behind the monster, as big as lemons. He brought his arms up to flex his power to full strength, watching his chest enlarge and those wings of muscle unfold from his back. He balled his hands into fists and watched his own arms inflate bigger and bigger. "Oh my god," he whispered softly. "Yeah," agreed Chuck, "Adam does nice work." Jeff turned and bounded to Adam, pulling the huge beautiful boy into a fierce embrace. The others could hear him saying `thank you' about a dozen times. Then he kissed Adam's mouth and Adam looked like he didn't want to let go, but he did finally. Jeff sat down heavily on the bed as something like shock finally set in, and it was up to Tommy to ask the obvious questions. "So, where the hell did you guys get your wardrobe? Some homeless guy didn't need them anymore?" Chuck laughed aloud, pinching his T-shirt and pulling at the flimsy material. "Something like that." Tommy sat next to Jeff, who now outweighed him by at least 100 lbs, and put his hand on his friend's leg. "And… how do you do this?" Jeff looked up, then looked at Tom, saying, "You mean, this is how…?" "Of course, stupid. What, you honestly thought I started Body for Life two weeks ago and it changed me this much?" Jeff shrugged. Tommy said, "This morning I weighed 170 pounds soaking wet and stood about six feet tall. Then I met Chuck here and this is how he left me." "You look good," Jeff said. "Uh, yeah." He looked at Chuck. "You do this for everyone you meet?" He shook his head, kneeling down to look Tommy in the eyes. "Only the ones I like." Jeff asked, "And how many is that?" Chuck looked over and shrugged. "Bout a dozen, I guess. Give or take." "And… just how the fuck do you do this?" Chuck sighed. "God, this is the part I hate. Over and over, the explanation." Frazz tapped him on the shoulder and said, "You could just…" Then he tapped his forehead. "Oh! Duh. Yeah, okay. That would save a lot of time, wouldn't it?" He looked back at Tommy and said, "I'm going to give you something. This is… a bit unusual. But it won't hurt, and you can turn it off whenever you want to." "Turn what off?" "This," he said, and he leaned forward and kissed Tom's mouth. The kid had all but forgotten this feeling of total masculinity that Chuck gave off, but it all came back in a rush of testosterone-driven lust and sensuality. Then something inside his mind seemed to flutter and flicker, like a fluorescent light coming to life. And suddenly he felt Chuck – and all his male potency – flooding his brain with images and sensations and words and situations. He saw men, dozens of them, all gorgeous and huge, and growing bigger. He watched Chuck become the man he was now, the beautiful muscle god kneeling in front of Tommy. He saw others changing, growing, swelling. They were of every color, every size, every age, and then they changed, some slowly and others almost instantly, swelling with muscle, and he saw the fire that burned through them and changed them, watched their bodies and faces perfect themselves, saw them falling into each others' embrace, and fucking each other, and cumming like fountains. He saw a place with green meadows and trees. Men there, too. Fucking and sucking and loving each other. And suddenly everything was in his head, all the explanations Chuck had. Names and places. Where IGE was, when they should return for The Sharing, the changes yet to come. His brothers, and lovers, and Adam, the beautiful and magical Adam. Michael and Carlos. Todd and Justin and Aaron. The Greeting Squad. More and more men, now so huge and beautiful. Now Tommy had the mindspeech, and he heard Chuck's deep, sultry voice shake him. ::One step closer, lover.:: The words were tinged with desire and pleasure and exhilaration. "Shit," he said again. "Cool!" Jeff paused in his examination of himself and said, "What? What is it?" "Perfection," said Tommy. To be continued... From: To: Subject: [MGS] STORY: "Seducers" Part 10 Date: Sunday, August 26, 2001 5:49 PM Seducers Part 10 Stan sat under a spreading oak. The hot summer wind brushed his bronzed skin and his eyes were closed as he enjoyed a day full of doing nothing. He could hear the two boys somewhere, their deep- throated laughter as full and round as the muscles that covered their bodies. He had never had any kids, never wanted any – and wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to do with these two, if anything. He felt an odd responsibility, though. They were both so green. He had a life behind him. Had they ever seen disappointment? Did they have regrets? He couldn't imagine they knew what the words meant. They were constantly up, constantly high and sunny and flying – sometimes literally. They fell into each others arms as easily as falling off a log. Was that love, he wondered? Lust? Both? He opened his eyes and gazed at his own body. Weird, he thought with a slight grin, that he still had some sense of shame of nudity, even now that he owned what could easily be described as a perfect male body. Everything was honed to a beautiful perfection. From the bulging biceps that twisted along his arms to the eight-pack of abs rippling on his belly to the long, strong legs stretching before him. All this, and he still insisted on wearing a makeshift loincloth to cover his dick. He knew he could control its size, make it less noticeable if he wanted to, make it more average for a man his assumed size, which he figured was about 6 foot 2, but there was no one else around to compare against except the other two beautiful male specimens so he wasn't exactly sure how big he was. Something else in him – pride, maybe, or ego (more likely) – kept him from doing that. No, he sported a huge hanging monster, a dick that would make any other man he met do a double-take and probably stare. His grin grew brighter thinking of that, imagining whipping his baby out at a stall and taking a whiz next to some big-dicked asshole who thought he was cock of the walk. No matter how big that guy was, how long or thick or impressive, he could be longer, thicker and twice as impressive. Then get bigger than that. He found the blood rushing into that monster as he viewed the scene. Yeah, he thought, he'd pour out his bladder in a hot, acid shower and shake off the drops while the guy watched. Then he'd turn to that guy, and he'd be a hairy brute. Huge man. Like… a constriction worker of something. Hairy and greasy, with a big mustache and a rough bearded chin and these dark, evil eyes. And he, Stan, would turn to him and tell him to get on his knees. He'd refuse of course. Of course he would. So Stan would get bigger. He'd swell with brawn, his arms bulging, his shoulders and chest, he'd split the seams of his shirt and keep going, ripping it to shreds. And he'd use that voice thing he had now. He'd use that and tell the trucker, "On your knees." He'd say it quietly, but it would be an order. And Stan, the formerly mild-mannered Stan, would hold his huge dick in his huge hand and shove it forward, shifting his hips, and make the guy swallow him. Make his suck his big dick, teach him how big a big dick really was. Then he'd move his hips very slowly, starting to feel his dick in the guy's mouth, inching down his throat. He was huge, Stan was, and thick and hard and the guy would take all of him and like it. Love it, in fact, swallowing and sucking his monster with abandon. Right. And the guy would have a mustache and he'd have this rough growth of beard and this big huge chest, yeah, and blue eyes and this black burr of a haircut and he'd be sucking Stan's dick and... "Stan! Hey, Stan!" He opened his eyes and the dream vanished. His dick was at full mast, though, catching the warm breezes on its precum slickened surface. He made himself deflate, not without regret, and shaded his eyes to watch the two young gods running toward him with easy, athletic strides. They were, as usual, naked. Their heavy chests bounced and shifted and their dicks swung like pendulous elephant trunks. They had smiles on their beautiful faces and sheens of sweat on their shining skin. His heart did a little flip at their overwhelming appearance. They moved toward him under the wide open sky, their long ponytails of shimmering hair sailing behind them. Their bodies looks almost exactly the same, two perfected masculine forms so musclular and mighty that they looked like they'd just come from benchpressing Cleveland. "Hi, guys!" He rose off the grass easily, still marveling that a body could move so gracefully and effortlessly when it had all the strength in the world at its command. The place where they were might have been heaven, for all he knew. They flew quite high and quite fast. He may have crossed oceans, or he may be only a few miles from his hometown and the destroyed burger joint. Maybe he was on some African savannah. Or in the south of France. "You're a weird guy, you know that, Stanley?" He loved hearing Bobby speak. That little Texan twang tugged at his short hairs every time. "You sit over here under a fuckin' tree all morning… I mean, have you looked around? This place is great! The sun's out, the sky is blue, you've got two nice guys in front of you who like to fuck and can do it all day long and all night long and never get tired and yet you're over here all alone having a wet dream about taking a piss at a truck stop." "How did you… oh, yeah. I keep forgetting that." He chuckled softly. He forgot about leaving his channels open, as these kids called it. The mindlink was a little... embarrassing at times. But the two beautiful forms in front of him never seemd to judge what he sent out, which half the time was about what he wanted to do to them, or to watch them do. He still hadn't adjusted to that - or to the understanding that all those fantasies could now be realized. "You'll get used to it. Probably takes more time since you're so old." Joe loved teasing him about that. The three of them looked almost exactly the same age, but the fact that Stan was more than twice as old as either Bobby or Joseph gave the two teens a kick. "Yeah, probably," he answered, deflating the joke. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be… me." Bobby shrugged. "Hey, no pressure, bro. Just thought you'd rather have your dick in a nice ass instead of being by your lonesome stroking off to a fantasy – a fantasy, I might add, that you can easily make reality." He was echoing Stan's own thoughts. "Which is sort of the point," nodded Joe. "Actually, that's what I've been thinking about." "You mean, when you're not thinking about turning some cattle trucker into your love slave, right?" He snickered. "Right. Um, but, so… what exactly is the point?" "Of?" Stan took a few steps out of the shade of the tree. His loincloth snapped in the breeze, lifting up to reveal his lengthy wonder. "Of this. I mean, I know there really was no point in your guys' heads. Turning me into this, uh, whatever I am." "Nope. Thought it'd be cool, mostly." "Yeah," agreed Bobby. "And it was!" He started making crash noises and mimicking the destruction they left behind. The two kids whooped with laughter and Stan smiled along. "But, um, so… what now?" "Whuddaya mean, Stan? Now we go have some fun! Fuck each other, find some other guy, fuck him, maybe make him big, or bigger, or something." Joe shrugged and shoved his hair from his eyes. "I dunno. What difference does it make?" "So, um… okay, say it's a year from now, right? And we're having sex and…" "Fucking, Stan. You can say it. Fucking." "Right, Bob. So, um, we're fu… cking…" he shook his head. He was still Stan, no matter how hard he tried not to be. "We're doing that and turning other guys into, uh, what we are now and they're probably doing that, too, right? And whatever. But, I mean, so what?" "So what?" "Yeah. So what?" "You've lost me." Joe hung his arm across Bobby's wide shoulders. "Bob, are you following any of this?" "I just think our friend needs a good blow job. Or two. Or a dozen." He wrinkled his perfect brow. "Jeez, Stan, you've only been Transformed for one day. You haven't even tested the equipment, really. You don't know half of what you can do, now. And then you wear that silly thing," he said, glancing at Stanley's loin cloth, "when the only people around are Joey and me and we're butt nekkid and wagging in the breeze and could give a fuck who sees us." He smiled, then, trying to make his words less accusing. "I mean it, Stan, just give yourself a chance, here. It's not bad at all, you know. I'm not sure there's anything bad in it." Bobby nodded along. Stan nodded a little, too. They were right, of course. He hadn't really explored anything. He was drawn to each of the guys in front of him stronger than he'd ever felt with another person. He wanted to hold them, to kiss them, to explore them as they showed him what he could do, and what they'd do together. And they invited him all the time, and never forced the issue, and said it was fun and fine and `really cool' and everything. He was aware that his dicks would respond to any wish he put to them, and that his asshole would welcome even the fattest dick and want more. And that every inch of his body could deliver pleasure more intense than anything he'd ever felt before. But the two guys were, well, they were together, weren't they? And that meant something, didn't it? And didn't sex mean something, too? It had been so long since he had any, it was hard to remember. So he had been fulfilling his hunger himself, and more and more his body wanted more and more. He was told he could control anything, but he was starting to wonder. And he thought it would sound stupid to say this stuff to the two guys, who already thought he was weird. "I know," he answered, "I know. It's just…" "Just what?" Joe, always the more affectionate of the two, stepped toward him and slipped his hand around Stan's hip. His face tilted slightly and his eyes were filled with care and curiosity. Jesus, he was young. No one Stan knew had eyes that should much of anything anymore. "I keep coming back to… that… well, I've been thinking about this a lot." "Yes," Joe said, his hand moving onto Stan's new ass, "we know." "And, okay, do you know who you two guys are?" Bobby grinned. "The two horniest, handsomest, biggest fuckin' guys in the world?" Damn, that accent…. "Well, yeah. But… think about it a second. Super strong. Super fast. You can fly. Any… sort of… ideas?" A cool draft flew up his loincloth as Joe caressed his butt flesh expertly. "Um… well, Chuck can do that. Hell, any of the guys can do that. You can do that, Stan!" "No, um, think less real. Think, you know, comic book." "Oh. Duh. Superman." "No," disagreed Bobby. "Superman has x-ray vision. And we don't." "Did he?" Joe could manage to debate his friend and deliver Stan into ecstatic butt bliss at the same time. Quite a talented guy. "I thought that was Spiderman." "No, Spiderman has the web stuff and Spidey Sense, but he can't see through walls." "Maybe it was Aquaman, then?" "No, Aquaman had the giant seahorses and could control, like, fish and junk." "And breathe water," Joe pointed out, moving his touch deftly into Stan's hole. "Well, that goes without saying." "Maybe you're thinking of…" "Guys," interrupted Stan, moving away from Joe's touch. "That's all beside the point. What I'm trying to say is…" Joe was reaching for his body again as he said, "I wonder if we can breathe water?" "Hey, that's an idea! We should go…" "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Okay, just, hold it one sec. Okay, so, you see my point?" Bobby and Joe both turned to look at him, both with similar expressions of confusion. So he came out and said it. "You're frigging superheroes!" "But which one?" Bobby still looked confused. Kids! "No, I don't mean… you're not a particular superhero. You're your own superhero. New ones. Real ones. See?" "But, superheroes come from other planets and shit. Right?" Joe looked at Bobby, the expert. "Actually, I think Superman is the exception." He started ticking off names on his fingers. "Spiderman, the Incredible Hulk, all the X-men, the Fantastic Four… most of them are from right here! I'm not sure about Green Lantern. Oh, wait, Silver Surfer is some sort of alien. But Batman… pure human being and when he's George Clooney quite the fuckable superhero, at that. And don't even get me started about Chris O'Donnell!" "And a lot of them," added Stan, "became super after scientific experiments." "Like us!" "Yeah! Fuckin' A!" The guys high-fived each other and grinned very broadly. "So?" Stan was now smiling broadly. "So… we're fuckin' studly superheroes! Yay! C'mon, let's go fuck." "Yeah, we could do that, I suppose. But, so, um, let's think about that other thing, though?" Bobby grinned, "While we're fucking?" "If you want to. I guess." Stan shrugged. He clearly wasn't getting his idea across. But he was never very good at communicating his ideas. Maybe, he thought, it would work better if he just showed them. He nodded to himself, thinking that thought, but his brain was suddenly taken in another direction altogether when he found himself being lifted into the air, and there were mouths pressed against his body, and someone had ripped his covering off him and the cool breezes were caressing his dick and balls for a moment before hands were doing the same, coaxing him to an easy erection that grew bigger and bigger and bigger until he was hard as a rock and big as a baseball bat. To be continued...