Ezar gets by in life by avoiding attention, and especially by avoiding his bully stepbrother and abusive stepfather. One night in the forest changes that when a meteorite breaks apart nearby when he’s on the run from a gang. His next encounter with his stepbrother Carter leads in a very unexpected direction.
5,677 words Added May 2025 1,435 views 5.0 stars (8 votes)
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Endless cold in burning sunlight surrounded the tiny creature, cast off into the void long before he achieved anything like awareness. The thick carapace around it—stone, yolk, or shell, all applied—was thinning, the hunger of the systems that supported him slowly consuming it even as the relentless radiation and invisible cosmic currents made him ache for the silent-cool-dark of the primordial womb, from his before. He knew things he had never learned, about tacking the shell into solar wind and dancing around the gravity of more massive objects to gain or lose speed. But none of the knowledge readily answered his hunger, or the peril of his weakening corpus.
All he had was the dim awareness of energy, life, and liquid water that might save him—the things that sang to whatever deep memories rested within him, urging him closer. He could feel them, through frail organs already cracking his carapace apart, too close to the burning, hateful star. Gravity was an uncomfortable ally, crushing his increasingly delicate structure even as it hurled him closer, enough to circle the satellite of the wet/warm/dark rock below. There were lights in the night, not enough to deter him. He needed it, and he was desperate. Instructions he didn’t understand nudged him downward, forward, shedding potential energy with a lurch as barely enough of his body and shell remained to protect him from the heat of the approach. It burned, it burned! He was saved, he was doomed! Never-learned knowledge told him he would survive, even as panic suffused him and his senses shriveled and incinerated from the friction of contact with thin oceans of uncomfortable density. He was immersed, but gravity kept pulling him deep.
Far, far, below him, there were lights. Exhausted, he steered what remained of his course towards them, shedding so much burned and shattered bulk that barely anything of him remained, just the barest clumps of critical matter, memories and organs and the padding to survive and then—
Impact.
Ezra was running for his life when he saw the meteorite break apart.
He didn’t know what he’d done to piss of the gang that was chasing him. Minding your own business and keeping to yourself was a way of life, and he was usually pretty good at it—it was the only option, when you were a skinny youth in a bad part of town. But that wasn’t always enough, and in this case being vulnerable and present had been a sufficient for a handful of drunk or high men—all bigger, older, and stronger than him—to give chase.
He was barely aware of the huge streak in the sky, sprinting through the underbrush of the park in hopes of breaking sight from his pursuers and finding a place to hide. It was dark, well after midnight, so there was no way they’d be able to find him if he only got enough time to scramble up a tree or dodge into a bush. Then they’d run past and he’d be safe. If only that damned sun would go away so there wasn’t so much light—
The noise was immense. He was in the air, then he wasn’t, and the world was brightness and chaos until his ears popped and he couldn’t hear anymore. There was something on his face, wet and thick, and for a second Ezra thought it was his brain, popped out of his skull by the force of whatever angry god had struck the ground nearby. He coughed into it and it rippled, and the could breathe again, inhalations fighting against the smoke and chaos. He couldn’t see, temporarily blinded, or perhaps blocked by whatever wet thing was covering him. He sneezed, or coughed, or wheezed—it was sort of a combination of all three—and managed to claw whatever it was off his face to so he could breathe freely. Viscous fluid, thick like tree sap but clear like glycerin, slipped off him as the thickened mass slumped to his side.
Crawling to the side, he managed to turn over and shield his eyes, the ringing in his ears gradually declining to a faint buzz lost in the chaos of sirens and confusion. He’d been blown thirty feet clear of the path he’d been running on. Blinking slowly and letting tears clear his vision, he could see shattered trees and burning foliage, and spinning colored lights in the distance. Fire, medics. Levering himself upright slowly, he confirmed he could feel his legs—and that while he was scraped and bruised, he wasn’t bleeding anywhere he could see.
Stumbling upright, he didn’t notice or feel the tiny creature coiling around his ankle, slowly making its way up his leg. Even when he’d limped to the ambulances and been shrouded in a thermal blanket, the parasite’s slimy coat of numbing chemicals meant he had no idea it was coiling around him, gently probing for entrances. When it found one, he was too busy answering questions and too distracted by lights in his eyes and the chaos of firefighters putting out the blaze to really feel it enter him.
When they pulled up to the housing project and got him inside, he didn’t notice the sensation of his new passenger sliding gently slicing through layers of tissue and sidling around organs to make a new home. It operated on some level below instinct, coiling around nerves rather than cutting them, and sublimating itself into flesh in ways that human medical science wouldn’t be able to detect any more than the organism itself could explain, if one could ask. So when Ezra collapsed, half-dressed, onto his bed in the breaking hours of morning, the parasite was already well-seated, and Ezra was already consigned to his fate.
Blinking in the too-early light, Ezra curled up in his sheets, not really sure why he was awake. Every bone in his body was screaming exhaustion, like he’d been beaten within an inch of his life after running a marathon. His stomach was growling like he hadn’t eaten in days, for that matter, and moving was agony. Every part of him wanted to go back to bed, except, apparently, his brain.
Slowly lifting himself off the mattress, he gingerly put his feet on the floor and took stock. He’d managed to knock his shoes off after the emergency response team had got him home, and his wrecked hoodie and torn T-shirt and been shucked directly into the trash can when he’d unlocked the door. His jeans were singed, cut, and ripped, and there wasn’t much left of his boxers, either. Taking a moment to pick over himself he remarked that he was damned lucky to be alive, much less intact, to the extent that ‘intact’ described a man who felt like death warmed over.
He limped over to the bathroom, shedding the rest of his clothes as he did. The apartment was cramped, shared with his absent step-father and asshole stepbrother, and neither had cleaned up anytime recently. They managed to keep the lights on and food in the fridge off of Ezra’s part-time job working retail. The bathroom was the worst off; Ezra tried to clean up some, but it was an endless task.
So when he blinked at himself through the mirror spattered with shaving cream, toothpaste, and grime, he didn’t notice that his pudgy belly had firmed into muscle, or that the aches in his arms and legs were thickened in bulk that hadn’t been there the day before. He barely looked at himself as he stumbled into the shower, idly scratching his junk while the faucet shuttered and spat to life before whistling and whining to indicate the boiler, ten stories down in the basement, had finally woken up to its job.
The warm spray massaged his sore body, and it was only as he was soaping up and stretching in the cramped stall that he realized something was off.
Specifically, his cock was hard as a rock, and much thicker than it had been the day before.
Blinking runnels of water away from his eyes, he stared at the column of flesh sticking out from his crotch. His cockhead was covered by an unfamiliar cowl of tissue-thin skin, and even as he watched it retracted to show a thicker, bigger version of the dickhead he’d become familiar with since adolescence. Ezra gently touched the fold of foreskin that had peeled back from his glans, a shudder of pleasure hitting him as new sensitivity screamed at the slightest pressure. It felt amazing, like the covert blowjob he’d been given behind the risers in high school, just from the slight touch of finger to skin. Wrapping his hand around the throbbing member made him groan, some gland in his body pumping ecstasy through him as he slowly felt along the new girth—and length!—of his organ.
He could feel his cock sliding in his hand, the slightest tension of his touch making it grow, almost as if he was reeling out more cock just by pulling. Even when it reached some impossible limit—almost twice what he’d woken up with the day before—he could feel some desperate part of him wanting to go further, push harder against straining flesh. His balls churned and twitched, more eager than even his most desperate teenage urges. With the water cascading down his body, he finally followed the line of his cock up and saw for the first time that his body had been reshaped, thickened with muscle and flesh in a way that would have taken years of effort in the kitchen and gym.
And just as he realized that something was terribly, terribly wrong, his stepbrother came home.
Carter was a bully. Even when Ezra’s mom had been alive, he hadn’t treated his little brother well. With her gone and an indifferent father ruling over them, he’d become a nightmare. He didn’t beat Ezra anymore, mostly because the threat of it was just as effective and he was lazy enough to not exert himself. But he had no boundaries at all and no problem inflicting himself on his brother.
So it wasn’t a surprise that he barged into the bathroom, whipped out his cock, and started peeing even though Ezra was in the shower. The stall covered him enough that turning around concealed how much his body had changed, but the intrusion really pissed him off.
“Ez! You didn’t make dinner last night, asshole. I took money from the grocery jar to eat out with my friends. You gotta get your shit together if you’re gonna keep living here, man,” Carter groaned, and a furtive look behind him showed the other man’s head cocked back and totally indifferent to where his stream landed. After all, it’s not like he was going to clean up after himself.
“Fuck off, Carter,” Ezra grumbled, then froze in shock. He never talked back to his stepbrother. It only invited more abuse. Where the hell did that come from?
“What did you say to me, bitch?” Carter’s voice was low and menacing. “Did I hear you tell me to fuck off from my own damned home?”
“Carter, leave me alone,” Ezra answered, panic rising in his chest. He was naked, and his cock was rock-hard, and if Carter found any other excuse to call him queer or make fun of him his life would find new depths of misery.
“I heard you tell me to fuck off, and I’m not going to listen to some asswipe string-along from my dad’s last conquest, you hear me?” Carter was raging, and Ezra didn’t dare turn around to look. He didn’t have to—he’d seen Carter’s reddened, angry sneer before, carved into years of nightmares and flashbacks. He was cringing against the shower wall, braced for the inevitable blow, and he yelped when his stepbrother shoved his arm and threw him against the tile wall so they were face-to-face.
Something lurched in his throat, somewhere between a cough and spasm, and he reflexively opened his mouth to clear it. Time seemed to freeze as his tongue slipped out of his mouth, and for an instant he thought he was going to vomit—then a strange, terrifying pinprick of pain lanced out of the tip of his tongue. A wad of something—viscous, opaque, whitish—shot out and splattered all over Carter’s face.
Ezra stood there, stark naked and dripping wet, and stared at the wad of phlegm or spit or whatever that was that he’d launched at his bully of a stepbrother. For a second, his mind simply couldn’t compute what had happened, but as reality set in, so did panic.
“Carter, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” as he was stumbling into a cringing apology, he locked onto Carter’s face and watched with horror as the other man opened his mouth, strings of the goopy matter stretching across … and licked it up, almost curiously. His stepbrother shivered, and for a second, Ezra faced his own mortality. Carter would beat him into a bloody pulp and there wasn’t anything he could do or say to stop it.
The moment passed because instead of lunging forward to assault Ezra, Carter started frantically licking, sucking, and shoving the wad of phlegm into his own mouth like it was the cure for cancer flavored like his favorite bourbon. As his stepbrother sank to his knees with a look of unforced, almost religious ecstasy on his face, Ezra felt an uncomfortable tightness in his crotch as his cock surged with growth again, reversing whatever his moment of terror had done to shrink it.
“Carter, what are you doing?” Ezra whispered, barely audible over the hiss of the shower. “What the fuck?”
“Ez, it’s so good. It feels so good,” Carter groaned, pawing at himself with one hand while the other felt along his face for more of the phlegm. “Oh god, it feels so good.”
“What—how?” Whatever it was, it had stopped the bully cold and put him into a pliant, almost mindless state of bliss. As his stepbrother moaned, Ezra turned off the shower and reached for a towel frantically wrapping it around his slim—well, trim with muscle now, but still slender—waist. He gently prodded Carter to follow him into the bedroom, and the bigger man stumbled like a drunk, lazily careening into the wall and slumping along as he mumbled about how good it felt.
By the time Ezra had dried off and shoved a shirt and basketball shorts on his enlarged frame—which did nothing to hide his new musculature or endowment—Carter had rolled onto the floor and was stroking along his chest and face, eyes wider than any rave bunny, inanely jabbering about how good he felt. When Ezra reached out to lift him back upright—thinking vaguely that this was something he should take to a medical professional, or the police, or someone who might be able to undo whatever had just happened, Carter gasped and groaned with his whole body at the skin-to-skin contact, squirming on the floor. A sharp, familiar scent filled the air and Ezra looked down in shock at the undeniable wet patch now staining his stepbrother’s underwear. A white glob of it pushed through the cheap cotton and confirmed it—just by clasping hands, Carter had cum all over himself. And judging by the thick mound of flesh now coming to rigid attention under the fabric, he was gearing up for a second round when Ezra broke the grasp and let the other man slump back to the floor.
“Ez, I gotta have more. Please, help, gimme more, I need more,” Carter started to babble, almost crooning as half-lidded eyes drifted across the room. “I can’t see you but I know you’re here, please man, you gotta help me. I’m such a dick and I’m sorry and I love you please help me, give me more.”
He stared down in shock as Carter feebly crawled his way. When his mother had still been alive Carter had been forced to apologize for some outrage or another, maybe a handful of times, but since they’d become adults nothing even resembling ‘I’m sorry’ had ever passed his stepbrother’s lips, at least not meant for Ezra’s feelings. He took an involuntary step back as Carter drew closer, and a whine of physical pain followed as the other man curled up on himself.
“It felt so good, it hurts now, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Carter continued, pulling his legs up into the fetal position. “Please, touch me. Hold me.”
Ezra tentatively stepped forward, lowering himself to his knees and reaching out to put fingertips to his brother’s arm—and at the contact, Carter shuddered with relief, like a man stepping in from the cold. Ezra felt the low groan of satisfaction in his own chest as Carter squirmed under his touch, as if trying to wrap his whole body around his stepbrother’s hand. The other man was whimpering, almost crying as he kissed, licked, stroked and rubbed himself along his stepbrother, sighing with relief and joy as each inch of contact spread across him. After a moment, Ezra was gently cradling the other man in his arms as the larger bully whispered apologies, entreaties, pleas, and moans in an incoherent stream of consciousness, whimpering and crying whenever they shifted and a square inch of skin lost contact between them.
“Carter I’m going to take our shirts off. You messed yourself, too,” Ezra said gently, then let his stepbrother keep hold as he slowly reached down and pulled cloth from skin. Carter started to hyperventilate when the geometric necessities of the removal pulled him out of skin contact for a moment, then moaned in obvious pleasure when his bare back and sides came into contact again. Ezra managed to lift his own shirt off again with one hand pinned in his brother’s grasp, awkwardly angling himself to keep his erection out of the way. Whatever insane high Carter was on now, it was unlikely that it would forgive Ezra’s boner poking him in the ear by accident. When they were spooned up, Carter’s back resting on Ezra’s chest and arms wrapped around his belly, Carter finally seemed to come out of the worst of whatever that had been.
“Ezra?” Carter asked quietly. “Am … am I going to be okay?”
“Yeah, you’re going to be okay buddy. We’ll figure this out,” Ezra sighed. He had no idea how he was going to follow through on that, but he’d said it because it’s clearly what the other man needed to hear. “Just hang in there, calm down a little, and we’ll get sorted.”
“I made a mess.” The bully was looking at the raging erection in his underwear and the thick wads of cum soaking it through. It was an insane amount of ejaculate—more than he’d ever seen in even the most marathon jerkoff sessions or the wildest porn. “Can I take my pants off too? I’ll feel better.”
“Okay, Carter. Just move gently, all right?” Ezra let his stepbrother tenderly move his arms away, almost like the grown bully was afraid of losing the safety of the smaller, younger man’s arms, before they helped him peel out of his sodden briefs. The cloth fell to the floor with an obscene splat noise and Ezra mentally revised the amount of cum his stepbrother had shot out. It was a dangerous, absurd, impossible amount of cum. He tried to stop thinking about it but couldn’t—especially when the only other thing of note in his field of view was the taut, muscular abdomen of his stepbrother and the cum-drenched mess of his genitals.
He’d seen Carter naked once or twice before. But it was another thing entirely to see the brawny bully covered in semen and hard as a rock, with six thick inches of cock jutting out of a messy tangle of pubes. The other man’s breath had settled into an easy, comfortable rhythm now that his panic attack—or whatever that was—had subsided. Ezra tried to gently pull away but every time he did, his stepbrother whimpered and clutched at his arm. Eventually his knees started to complain from the awkward position and he gingerly offered a suggestion:
“Carter, let’s move up to the bed, okay? You’ll be more comfortable.” The bigger man mumbled some sort of begrudging agreement, almost—but not quite—resembling his more usual belligerent attitude. As Ezra maneuvered them towards his threadbare and lumpy mattress, Carter seemed to instinctively move to keep as much of himself in contact as possible, almost propelling them into the comfort of the padding rather than risk losing touch. The entire thing was bizarre—even if Carter had been a cuddly, touchy-feely person, which he absolutely was not, the last person he’d want affection from would be Ezra. As they awkwardly maneuvered themselves into a spooning position, the body heat and skin contact—and the undeniably rigid erections on both men—left Ezra terrified that Carter would just as suddenly flip back to his normal self and try to beat him to death with whatever was closest to hand. He did everything he could to keep his own tented crotch away from Carter’s bare ass, but the other man left him no choice by scooting ever-closer until they were pressed back-to-belly and ass-to-cock. Only the thin liner of the gym shorts separated Ezra’s newly thickened and lengthened cock from the exposed ass of his homophobic, bullying stepbrother, and it was Carter who was doing his damnedest to keep it there.
“Your cock is bigger, Ezra,” Carter mumbled after a few tense, terrifying minutes. “I don’t remember it being so big.”
“Uh, you’ve never seen it hard, that’s all,” Ezra lied, his heart racing. The heat of their bodies was making him sweat, as he was practically wedged between the shitty plasterboard and Carter’s muscled backside. In a moment of panic he realized he’d just admitted that he had an erection, but Carter’s answer stole that fear.
“No, it’s bigger. I remember being so jealous when we were younger, and your cock was longer than mine one night when you were asleep. I measured.” Carter’s voice was full of shame and fear, the sort of things Ezra was used to hearing from himself instead of the terror of his childhood. “I wanted to beat you up because of it, so I did. I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, uh. We can talk about it another time. It’s—it’s okay.” Carter trembled in his arms and once again Ezra’s brain stumbled in confusion about the sudden, drastic change in personality his stepbrother had experienced.
“It’s not. But now your cock is even bigger—thicker, longer, I can feel it—” Carter’s ass wriggled and clenched around the cock lodged against it, and Ezra nearly bit his lower lip off to stifle a groan of pleasure as the movement stretched and pulled on his new and unfamiliar foreskin. He could feel a wet patch forming there, and it wasn’t all sweat. “—and then you spat that stuff at me and it felt so good.”
“I’m—I’m sorry, Carter. I don’t know what I did,” Ezra apologized, and he was surprised to discover that he meant it. As much as Carter was a bully—and he undeniably was—it was somehow Ezra’s fault that he was now a shuddering mess afraid to lose skin contact with his former victim. Some part of that felt like justice, though another part of him was pissed that once again, Carter had found a way to make his problems, Ezra’s problem.
“It’s—I was going to hurt you. I don’t want to ever do that again though. I just want to touch you. I want you to like me. I want you to l- I want you to love me, Ezra. I love you now, I’m so sorry, I don’t even—” Carter sobbed, and Ezra poked his head up to confirm that yes, his stepbrother was bawling, face red and eyes washed out with tears streaming down his face. “—I can’t ever be sorry enough, I was so terrible, I just want to die but then I wouldn’t be touching you and that’s even scarier and—and—”
“Shhh, shhh …” Ezra soothed him, and the other man shuddered with some sort of emotional release. Another kind of release, too, Ezra noticed—Carter’s cock had stayed at attention the entire time they’d been awkwardly cuddling like this, and now it was spurting cum lazily over his bedsheets. It was just dribbles compared to the sodden mess on the floor, but Carter had not only had a handsfree orgasm, he’d done so while a sobbing, emotional wreck. When he’d spat slave-bond on the bully’s face he’d really done a number on him.
Ezra froze as he rolled that thought around in his head. What the hell was slave-bond? Why did he know what that whitish mucus was, and what it was called? Panic settled in as he probed around the edges of his ignorance, turning up nothing but more questions. When he pressed his tongue against his clenched teeth in frustration, he could feel something firm but flexible at the tip—something that just barely caught at the edges of his tooth when he probed it. It was an opening, so tiny he doubt he’d be able to see it in a mirror, but he could feel a slender vessel in the spine of his tongue that terminated there. He wanted to panic, but couldn’t—as much as he intellectually knew that something was terribly wrong and that something had happened to him last night in the explosion, his heart wouldn’t race and his breathing stayed slow and even. The feeling that he was fundamentally fine, that nothing was wrong, was an iron wall that his brain couldn’t overcome.
Meanwhile, Carter snuggled into his chest and it was soon impossible to ignore the fact that they were both harder than steel. Every once and a while the larger man would whimper and another spurt of cum would splat out onto the sheets, and when he did, he pushed his ass up against Ezra’s erection. The thin fabric of the gym shorts were soaked through with sweat and precum, and it was all Ezra could to resist the moans that tried desperately to escape his throat. He wasn’t sure how long they were there on the bed, but a painful eon later Carter squirmed around and turned to face him.
The bully’s face was guilelessly open like a child’s, wide-eyed and slack with something like awe. It was unnerving, but he couldn’t look away.
“Please let me make you happy,” Carter asked, his hands clutching the waistband of the gym shorts with trembling, almost clenched fingers. “I need to—to taste you again, to make you happy, to make things right.”
“Carter, you don’t need to—” Ezra started, but was interrupted by tears in his stepbrother’s eyes and a look of truly fierce desperation. “Okay. But you can stop anytime, all right?”
The bully eagerly yanked the shorts down and gasped as Ezra’s cock was exposed. Carter lunged forward, gently kissing and licking across the new panes of muscle on his stepbrother’s chest as his hands groped at the thick, enlongated flesh of his cock. Ezra let out a moan of relief, the clutching, eager touch giving way after years of denial and fear.
Carter was enthusiastic but inexperienced, licking and groping frantically. Every time Ezra winced at a nick of teeth or too-rough touch, however, Carter flinched like he’d been struck and softened his approach. Within moments his eager fumbling transitioned into smoother, more tender and more confident strokes and kisses, sensually rubbing his whole body across and along his stepbrother like a cat in heat. He hadn’t even known how sensitive he was—or perhaps, he was now sensitive in ways he’d never had the chance to explore. His cock had been rock-hard the entire time but in short order he was panting and groaning with pleasure as Carter maneuvered himself between his legs, lapping at his balls and then nervously licking along the long column of his cock. They were both fascinated by the play of his foreskin across the glans, with Carter’s eyes widening every time he gently pulled the skin back to expose the cockhead beneath.
His childhood bully, face red from licking and sniffling all over his crotch, gingerly opened his mouth and accepted Ezra’s cock between his lips like he was receiving some sort of divine blessing. As his tongue rolled along the folds of skin and flesh there, he shuddered with delight, whimpering as his new master reflexively grabbed his hair and locked him in place. Carter moaned like someone had shot heroin directly into his spine, humping mindlessly against Ezra’s legs as the cock sank deeper and deeper into his gullet. His master groaned and let out strings of incoherent profanity, guttural noises coming deep out of his belly like an animal in rut.
He could feel his cock throbbing as it slid down Carter’s throat, the thick muscle seeming to slide with unnatural ease. Aside from an initial choking noise, Carter didn’t seem to have any problem taking the girth of it, making himself a cocksleeve for his stepbrother with wide, delirious eyes. Ezra noticed the rhythmic tremor on his brother’s shoulder and cocked his head around—Carter was stroking himself furiously, his dick a mess of precum, cum, and sweat as his balls slapped back and forth under his fist. Even as he watched, his brother dropped another load on the sheets, a tiny yet impossible splat of cum firing out of the slit.
The sight triggered something deep inside him, like a latch coming loose with force. Something unlimbered in his crotch and he felt a swell of pleasant agony as his cock reflexively impaled Carter’s mouth, shoving deep without any grace or finesse. The base of his cock throbbed, then swelled, a thickening of some sort passing out of his belly and down into the shaft, rounding out slowly as it slid along his cock into Carter. The bully groaned, surprised and momentarily panicked, and their eyes locked as the rounded, oblong bulge slipped into his mouth then down into his gullet, leaving tingles of overstrained flesh as it went.
The egg—it was an egg, or something like it, and it was egg-shaped, but that’s not how Ezra knew what it was—traveled into Carter’s throat and lodged there for a second before a flush of cum lubricated its passage, and with a spasm it locked in at the edge of his glans, the piss-slit straining to open wide enough to admit it. Carter’s shock and panic had faded away, his eyes rolled back in ecstasy, and Ezra felt the last crumbs of resistance in his mind, the desperate desire to make sense of what was happening—it all fell away. An alien, fuzzy intelligence settled itself somewhere beneath his mind like a plush blanket.
The egg slid into the thrall-slave beneath him, his glans relaxing as new bands of muscle and tendon connected to his nervous system for the first time. A gentle, insistent release put the wad of viscous material where it belonged, sliding down past Carter’s throat muscles to lodge itself safely above the stomach. Flesh parted and muscle strained out of the way, foreign tissue gently adhering itself in place where it had no business being, until it was as smoothly lodged in the thrall’s abdomen as if it had grown there naturally. A faint bond snapped into being in the back of Ezra’s head—not telepathy, but a sense of connection and contentment that slowly surfaced into him as his cock slowly retracted from Carter’s mouth, leaving bruised and ruined flesh in its wake.
Beneath him, Carter was moaning incoherently, stroking along his taut belly as his cock flopped around weeping cum and precum. His eyes rolled up in the back of his head, and then he crumbled, folding in on himself. For half a second Ezra felt alarm, afraid that his stepbrother was having a seizure or stroke or heart attack—but then that little tendril of awareness in the back of his head blossomed, and he felt Carter’s satisfied bliss as if it was his own, dimly reported over the radio or reflected in a bent mirror. Their link cohered bit by bit as the little packet of alien tissue integrated itself deeper into the thrall’s body, slowly winding around neurons and slipping between layers of tissue and organ to lock itself in place.
At last, Carter fell into the rhythm of sleep, and Ezra gently separated them. He showered again, then raided the kitchen when his stomach complained that he hadn’t eaten in an unknown amount of time. The entire time, Carter’s presence was like a familiar pet’s, just to hand whenever he thought to reach. He borrowed a pair of the thrall’s sweatpants, because his clothes now fit better than the ones that Ezra had in his closet. Taking the time to explore the changes to his body, he felt boundless energy, firm muscle, and a dangerous overconfidence. He’d survived by being small, fast, and keeping his head down—and it looked like that wasn’t going to work anymore, even if he wanted to go back.
(More to come)
5,677 words Added May 2025 1,435 views 5.0 stars (8 votes)
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Dragon’s Horde: Drunk on the groove by STrRedWolf A local DJ and neighbor of Red's overdoes it at the Dragon's Horde... and the next day, he's feeling rather green... and rather hung. 1,573 words Added Mar 2017 11k views 5.0 stars (2 votes) No comments yet •Cock Growth•Huge Balls•Hyper Cock•Multi-balls•Multiarm•Anthro/Furry•Alcohol
A miracle on 69th Street 2: Jingle bed rock by Ziel After the events of “A Miracle on 69th Street”, Nick visits Kris’s home at the North Pole only to find out that there is a strange caveat for having visitors in the magical land. 5,393 words Added Dec 2017 8,247 views 5.0 stars (2 votes) No comments yet •Cock Growth•Huge Cock•Hyper Cock•Size Decrease•Christmas
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