Damn alarm. Oh—oops, I’m stronger now. Hope it’s not completely broken.
Man, this body even wakes up hard. I think I came on myself in my sleep—these balls are relentless. Okay, maybe just a quick suck/stroke—no! I gotta get in early today, if I don’t get the copy done for the Nike ad they’ll give it to Henry, they like him better anyway.
Shower first? No, I need to shower my old bod, stupid! Man, this blows.
Just walking over to my desk, The Beast jutting up in front of me, lat muscles rubbing against my arms, thick soccer boy legs flexing as I walk … man, I am getting back in this body the second I get home. Let’s see where’s that web page, I need to press Undo—
What the—”Session timeout?”
Okay, just reload, just reload—okay, there’s the box, the instruction line—fuck, no Undo
Oh god oh god oh god
I can’t go to work like this—I can’t—I want to, but they won’t know me! They won’t let me in the building! I’ll lose my job, I’ll be homeless—hot but homeless—I’ll have to become a rent boy—oh god oh god
Okay, okay, okay, wait, just calm down. I need to become me again. Instead of Lance-me. I need to look like me-me. Maybe—maybe I can … reinstall my body, instead of undoing the—yeah, that’s it! I just need a picture of me
Do I have a picture of me? Who has pictures of themselves lying around? … I’ll bet Lance does. Heh.
Wait—Last week Mom sent that family portrait from when we went to Olon Mills at Easter! I just need to crop everyone else out and drop it in the box on the website.
I’m thinking about Easter and I’m still hard. And stroking. When did I start stroking? This body is hella horny.
Okay, here’s the email. Open the picture in Photoshop and—
What the fuck.
What the fuck is Lance-me doing in the family portrait? Damn, he looks amazing in a suit. I mean, I look amazing. I mean—damn. My hair, my face—look at the bulge in my upper arms, completely filling the sleeve. And my pecs—it’s like I’m smuggling half-deflated soccer balls. And that lump in my pants—wait, is my brother staring at it? He sleeps with every girl in the sophomore class, why is he staring at my crotch in the middle of a family portrait?
Although I kinda remember—he was glued to me the whole time I was back home—I had to sleep in his room and he talked me into sharing the bed—he kinda groped me the whole night, even while he was asleep.
What does this—does this mean the site made me look like this—before?
All the way before?
My dick is so stiff, it doesn’t move even when I’m jogging across to—where is that yearbook, I know it’s on the shelf here somewh—ah, here we go. C’mon where is it—Shubert, Simmons … here it is, Slater.
Huh, Lance-me is in a lot of the candids all the way through the yearbook, too. The yearbook photographer must have liked me. … Jerry. Yeah, he liked me. He was pretty cute. I must have fucked him—what, three times?
It’s permanent. The session timeout. It must have made it permanent. And—what’s the word? Retroactive.
So am I officially Lance-me? Where’s my wallet? Driver’s license, god, I even take a hot driver’s license photo. Building ID, check. So they definitely know me like this at work. Gym membership—I go to the gym? Evidently.
Work. Fuck, I’m late.
No time to get rid of this boner—assuming I ever could. Gotta just strap it down. Okay, boxer briefs—and The Beast sticks up three inches over the waistband. Unbelievably hot. Hey, no, stop it! No precum. Geez, if this think leaks, it’s not gonna make a wet spot in my pants, it’ll make wet spot in my shirt! Okay, I need—protection. Fortunately I needed extra-large condoms before, because of my width, I wonder if they’ll still fit. I’m wider now, and way longer, but—okay, here we go. Open the package, roll it down … is it going to—? Whew, yeah, it fits. Actually The Beast seems to like it. Hot. Okay, Beast, now you can precum all you like.
Pants from the floor—fit perfectly. Tighten my belt right over The Beast, like putting a kid in a car seat. Wait, it’s casual day today—I can wear a golf shirt. This hunter green one! I didn’t have one like this before, but it’ll look so amazing with my eyes, and my long hair. And, yeah, my big hard muscles.
What, feels nice pulling on this shirt. This body likes wearing clothes! But then, this body likes everything. Everything is a stimulation. Check in the mirror—good, the shirt is tight across the pecs, but loose below, so there’s no tell-tale sign of The Beast. I must always buy clothes that way.
Wallet, keys, phone, out the door. Man, I am full of energy. It feels like everyone must be able to tell I’m boned with a monster erection, but I know they can’t.
And down into the subway—swipe and I’m in—damn, full platform. Must mean there’ll be a train soon.
Everyone’s bored. And when they’re bored, they stare at me. God, it’s been like that since grade school! Everyone stares at me, even when they try not to.
Most of the business guys in suits are trying not to. But that group of guys over there—they’re not making any bones about it. Awesome. Aw, they smiled back.
Okay, here comes the train. Hm, it looks kinda full. A bunch of people are getting off. Okay, get in, move to the center … Heh, that’s funny, all the guys getting on are moving toward where I’m standing. Whoa, okay, there are like five guys pressed against me. Well, at least I don’t need to hang onto anything.
Damn, this suit guy is right in my face. I mean, right in my face. And he’s really cute. He’s pressed right up against me, too. He must feel my big heavy pecs—I can feel his, actually. Damn, he’s pressing his crotch against mine—he’s boned too. Not as big as I am though. He’s got earphones in—I can just barely hear his music. Our encounter has a Nirvana sound track.
His face is like an inch from mine. His eyes—they’re ice blue, very pretty. I can tell he likes mine, too.
I can’t see his hands—we’re in the middle of a press of a dozen guys—but—oh, there are his hands, on the sides of my hard, round, volleyball asscheeks. He’s not grinding, he’s just pressing, firmly. I can feel at least two boners pressed against my ass from behind. Someone’s stroking my right arm.
I gently move my hands to the suit hunk’s firm ass.
The train—fuck, it just shuddered to a halt in between stations. Now the lights are out. Is it because I’m wearing a porn star’s body that porn star scenarios start happening? I can’t wait to see what my pizza guy looks like now.
Suit guy’s warm breath is on my lips. I’m being gently groped in earnest now by I don’t know how many guys—arms, legs, ass, abs, all over. God, I can feel like four boners pressed against me, including suit guy’s.
Oh god, his lips are touching mine. Sooo hot! Not a kiss—not yet—but even more hot than a kiss.
Okay, I was wrong, this is a kiss, and it’s amazingly hot.
Someone else is kissing my neck.
Oh, his tongue—here, buddy, hope you like mine. Mmmmmmmmmmm oh god oh god I’m gonna cum!
Suit guy seems to sense this and holds me hard against him even as he kisses me sensuously. Oh god oh fuck yeah oh god oh god oh god MMMMMMMMMf can’t scream can’t scream aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!! Ah! Ah! Ahhhhh ah ah ahhh
When did the train start again? We’re almost at my stop, but suit guy is still kissing me right out in the open now. This guy has some balls. And I know I do.
Damn, I gotta break the kiss. One more quick one. I love the extra quick one after a make-out. The doors are opening, gotta go. Fuck, he looks so cute with that half-sad, half ecstatic look on his face.
Gotta turn around and get to the office.
Man, it’s like stepping out of a dream being on the street and out of the subway. Of course, I know it wasn’t a dream—I can feel my condom full of slime under my shirt. Best subway ride ever
I’m gonna need more condoms.
Shit. Hot bike messenger dude just brushed past me, and, wow, he barely touched me and it felt like he gave the Beast a long hard wank. This body is insane.
I gotta do something about this. I just came in the subway and I’m so hard I feel like I haven’t cum for a month. My balls feel like they’re full, huge and full, like I could cum for hours, like I could fill a fucking bathtub with my hot jizz. I’m vibrating with what feels like infinite energy and I’m so hard and so horny and I just came. I’m walking across the lobby, this swanky, old-fashioned paean in marble and chrome to the sober and ancient gods of moneymaking, and I’m not just hard and not just beautiful and not just dragging every eye with me, I feel like those looks are caresses on my sensitive flesh and licks to the base of my neck and strokes along the curves of my hard round ass. Just the looks I’m getting are doing that. I’m feeling every eye on me and it’s like they know I’m seconds away from cumming just from being so jacked up horny. It’s like they want to see it. Feel it. Feel my body shudder and convulse as I blow another load in an infinite string of—
A couple elevators are open and waiting. I dive in the nearest one, to get away from the eyes. I gotta think about—fuck, there’s like ten guys getting in the elevator with me. The next elevator opened at the same time, but all these guys packed into my elevator. That’s … weird? Except I kind of feel like—oh, man, this happens all the time, every day, these guys wait for me. That’s, wow, that’s really hot.
We’re riding up, and the elevator feels like it’s saturated, overflowing with arousal. They’re standing really close. The guy behind me works for the photographer two floors down, José, sexy Mexican guy, always wearing just a tee shirt and chinos. I smile over my shoulder at him. He winks back up at me as he gropes my round hard muscle ass through my slacks. I’m so fucking jacked up horny. Too horny. Oh man. I know I’m too horny because José cupping my ass feels like he’s stroking The Beast with both hands.
Fuck, my whole body is The Beast.
I’m totally gonna blow my wad just from being packed into an elevator with ten hot guys. Who were waiting for me. Who want me. Fuck. They want me so bad.
I know the guy in front of me too, Owen, he’s one of the fitness models we use all the time for the sporting goods accounts. I know his bod from wanking off to it, he is perfect. You can tell even with the hoodie and sweatpants he’s wearing—why’s he wearing that, anyway? But he’s beautiful, face and body. Sculpted, every proportion, every bulge is ideal—like my new Lance bod, but a size down in every way, and apparently not as irresistible because all these guys are after me, not him. They’re all smiling at me, shit, like this is just this thing we do. Owen is pressed hard against me all the way up and down our bodies: his shoulder blades against my big hard pecs, his legs against my legs, his ass—I feel like The Beast is going to push into him right through our clothes, right though his ass, just fucking part him.
Fuck, I’m on the edge of cumming. I have been this whole time. Is that a skill I have, holding off cumming even when I’m microns away from it? With this Beast, that’s not just a skill, that’s a superpower.
The other guys are shirtless already. Whoa, shit, guys. Is that a good idea? The elevator could—shit, we just shuddered to a halt? Oh, I see. The cute redhead at the front of the car just pulled the “stop” button. The hunks around me are expertly removing my clothes, too, even though Owen is pushed right up against me, and before I realize it I’m naked and, shit, so is Owen. I wrap my muscle-thick arms around his hunky torso as the lanky young receptionist from the law firm on 20 is—what is he doing? God, he’s changing out my condom, getting rid of the used, full one I blew a load in on the subway and rolling a new one onto the Beast with practiced precision, like he does it every day. Which—he does? I think? Shit, he gave it a stroke and I just had to use my superpower and stop myself blasting another massive orgasm.
The Beast is so hard it’s taking four guys to push it down enough that Owen can position his ass onto it, even with me bending at the knees to help. Fuck, found the hole. It feels hot, really hot, and I’m not even in yet. I kiss across his hard, nicely V-shaped back as he eases down onto it, because I know guys need the Beast in them but they’re scared of it too. Not just because it’s so big but because it’s so obviously more than just stiff flesh, it’s an animal. Owen is making these whimpering noises, the kind you make when you’re getting more pleasure than your mind can process, and I’m not even a third into him.
The other guys are ministering to me. Fuck, I can say it. Worshiping me. My Lance body is so perfect, only it’s what you get when you make a perfect body and then you make everything twice as perfect, that just running their hands and mouths over every damn inch of my hard, bulging muscles is doing it for them. Shit, the redhead is already cumming on me, but he’s keeping at it, using both hands to stroke my arms and my legs as I push implacably further and further into Owen as if they were more giant cocks I had, and, fuck, fuck, oh god fuck, it feels like they are. And José, what is he doing behind me? I can feel the wet tip of his cock against my back, only—shit, how big is that thing? Even as I push further into Owen and the hunkiest guys in the building jack off my entire body my attention is diverted to what I can feel rubbing halfway up my spine.
I glance again over my shoulder, and José leans back a bit to let me drink in the sight, and, oh man. This supercute, tight-bodied little Mexican guy has the biggest cock I’ve ever seen. He’s clearly got a few inches on the Beast’s proud reach of just-shy-of-twelve-inches, though I am definitely a lot thicker, almost two of his cocks wide. He's looking at me, imploring me, and I nod to him, turning back to Owen even as I feel the head of his cocktower press almost instantly against my eager hole. Oh man, my anus, it’s probably as eager as the Beast. It wants cock shoved into it. It’s desperate for it. Fuck!
I give my cock a last shove and Owen bites back a scream. I’m balls deep in his tight furnace-hot ass, rubbing my whole body against him, mauling his pecs with one hand and jacking his big cock with the other, feeling my musclebod being worshipped as José ruthlessly rams his 15-inch dick deep inside my überjacked-up bod, and now it’s my turn to cry out, gleefully expelling a long howl of pure animal lust, a roar of impossible pleasure. My adepts seem to recognize the moment and accelerate their ministrations. I start pounding Owen and José, keeping time with my thrusts, pounds me even harder, and oh god oohhhhh god
Cumming so hard
All of us cumming
I can feel us all cumming I can feel all our orgasms
It’s not stopping I’m still cumming oh god
I’m at my desk, I don’t even know how. I don’t remember getting here from the elevator, or really what happened after I came, but I’m here, disoriented but fully dressed and looking perfectly normal. But I’m warm all over, inside and out, and I know it’s from having cum—no, more than cum, erupted with what felt like a dozen orgasms at once.
I’m still hard. Still hard. Jesus! I’m fucking panting with arousal just sitting here and I just came like a fucking geyser. Fuck.
The Beast. I can still feel it as I sit at my desk, mind reeling from my morning mind-blowing fuck/orgy/worship session in the elevator, sticking straight up under this awesome tight-across-the-pecs, loose-enough-to-hide-the-Beast below hunter green golf shirt. My animal cock. It’s insatiable, maybe literally. Fuck.
I want to put it in my mouth.
I can barely stop myself.
I have my email open. A note from my boss asking about the copy for Nike ads. He seems politer about it than before, like my new Lance-like attractiveness makes everyone want to, well, please me. Actually Larry is kind of hot. And I’ve caught him looking at my ass in the men’s room mirror. My Lance-bod muscle ass, that is. Or is that a memory from before? Shit, this is confusing.
Still Larry has to deliver this ad, and the copy isn’t done, and all I can fucking think about is my mouth around my own cock. How good it felt before. Hot, and wet, my tongue tasting my salty spunk, feeling how huge and abnormally wide my cock is, filling my mouth with pure sex—
I have to do something about this! If I don’t get a handle on this, I’m going to screw myself, and not in a good way.
Screw myself. I wonder. What if there were two of me? I could take care of the Beast and do my work at the same time. The perfect solution! I mean, yeah, I could just go back to how I was before, but—it would never work anyway, right? With my luck I’d probably still be super horny only with a body that doesn’t make people want to, you know, help me out. Like in the subway. And the elevator. Oh god, the elevator.
There aren’t any pics of the old me anymore, anyway. Right? So, like Larry always says, you can’t fix the past, you have to “solve forward.” Solve forward.
Trusty Google image search will help me out. Should be easy to find another good one and just turn it into a pic where there are two of me, and then I’ll be able to get some work—wow, there sure are lots of pics of Lance on the net. Wow, wait, that one is of me! Some guy has a tumblr of hot subway guys and he’s taken like ten pics of me, all with these long, in-depth descriptions of what he’d like to do with me and stuff, and I’m tagged as looking just like Lance Beckham “only hotter”. Holy shit, hotter than Lance! Heh, the Beast gave a big pump for that one. We look exactly alike though, so, I’m not sure how that works. Probably just seeing one of us in person is hotter than seeing pics or videos. Though there is something about these pics that—shit, I almost came again.
And I’m feeling myself up too, cupping my big heavy hard pecs through my shirt. I didn’t even realize I was doing it, though it feels a little like I’m stroking a hard cock when I touch myself, even if it’s just my pecs. At this rate I’ll be actually jacking off and totally not noticing. Fuck, this bod is unreal. And so hot to look at in these pics. Especially this one where I’m standing at the back of the subway car and the arm of this cute guy in a suit is coming out from behind me, feeling up my pecs. Like I’m doing now. Nice.
I might as well use me instead of Lance, right? All I need to do is use one of these pics, drop it into Photoshop, crop out everyone else, and then copy me standing next to me. Or, no, this is better, I’ll use one of the other pics of me from that guy’s tumblr. Just drop me in behind me. A little layer magic, a little erasing and cloning so it looks like it’s just us standing at the end of the subway car, and—whoa. Now it looks like it’s my arm coming around from behind, feeling me up. And it looks like I’m leaning in from behind for a kiss on the neck. Shit. That’s really hot. I may have to suck myself after all.
Wait, is that—oh hell, it is. It’s the Beast. You can just barely see the outline of it in this picture! All this time, I though no one could see it, but—aw man. Look at it. So big, so wide, so hard. It’s amazing.
Not as big as José’s, but—no, let’s be accurate, not as long as José’s. But amazing. And it’s not like I want this thing to be even bigger, right?
But then—I am in Photoshop. A little more layer magic, a subtle trip to the liquefy filter screen, and—I mean, if I’m getting more work done, why should I be smaller than one of the guys who’s worshipping my bod? That’s kind of backwards. And—
I mean, I can totally change it back. It’ll be fun to just try it.
So, I just need to shift the outline so that it’s reaching a few inches higher up under my shirt. Shit, the Beast is really begging for my mouth right now. I gotta finish this quick so I can work and play at the same time.
Exporting the picture. Firefox. Go to your-body-like-that dot com—is it still there? Yup. What a relief. I think.
My hand is around the Beast under my shirt. I am jacking without realizing it. God. After this next experiment I gotta go back to normal. Where’s that picture I just made? Here it is. It’s definitely very, very hot. And—is there something strange about it? Now that I’m thinking about the pic of Lance I used last night, do I—both of me—look, I dunno. Taller maybe?
Where’s that blog post? “Totally hot,” okay. “I would strip him and—”, okay. “Just to be crazy I morphed him a little just to be even hotter.” Huh. “Just subtle things. He was already scalding hot and I made him hotter.”
I have to suck myself now. I can’t wait any longer. Just drop in the pic and then I can suck and write at the same time—yeah, okay, now just wait to—
I forgot about the dozing off thing. Wait where am I? This isn’t my office, this is, what, a dressing room? Why is it so small?
The door opens and I—we—both my bods turn around from where we’re just sort of standing in the middle of this little room. José? What the fuck? He sure looks happy. I can tell from the grin on his face and the giant boner shoving up out of the pocket of his chinos, the head and a few inches of long, hard shaft wrapped in the soft white cotton of the lining of his pocket. But he’s staring hungrily at my cock. Our cocks.
I can’t see much looking down, my pecs are in the way—they’re clearly just a bit bigger than before, subtly, but definitely bigger. Harder, rounder. Wait, I can look at my other body. I can sort of feel—I can use both sets of eyes, feel with the senses of both bods. Actually, I can do it really well. I’ve had 20 years of practice, and—holy shit
The Beast, it’s—fuck.
I’m wearing loose jeans and a tee-shirt from some trendy clothing store that always uses hunky and impossibly pretty young guys in their ads, and I realize/remember that we’re models now, and we’re doing a shoot for this store, and the gimmick on all the shoots we do is that you can kind of see under the clothes we model how our always-hard cocks are a wrist and a half wide and only an inch or two short of shoving up into our oversized pecs, but everyone pretends you can’t, only you really totally can.
And José is just standing there, he’s come into the room and locked the door, and now he’s just waiting, looking up at us expectantly. From a lot further down than before—how tall are we? fuck, my memories are trying to tell me we’re close to 7 feet tall! Jeez, that guy on that hunky subway twins tumblr said he only morphed us a little. Anyway I know from how José is looking at us that he’s figured we need to cum again before the shoot or we’ll blow our wads as soon as we get out there, and as he touches my arm I’m suddenly exploding with arousal, aflame with this unrelenting, up-spiraling state of superhorniness, both my bodies holding back from shooting gallons of cum from the second anyone touches us.
Damn, I’m an amazing kisser. Fuck. Good thing I don’t have to get that copy written after all.
Oh man. Oh man! I can’t …think straight. I can’t think at all! The Beast is such an animal, so oversaturated with arousal and need and the constant stimulation of its being so huge and so sensitive and so urgently close all the time. It’s like making it bigger this time thanks to the morphs subway photo guy and I did only intensified its need, its potency. My head is swimming. My heads are swimming. Now that I have two bodies I have two Beasts, and they’re amazing and crazy-making. And the more horny I get, the more it seems like the Beast has become me, that my bodies are nothing but needy, raging, 7-foot boners, quivering with every touch, every puff of breath on my overheated all-over cockskin.
I don’t know how we’re getting through the shoot. My blood is boiling all through both my bodies. My cocks—my cock-bodies—seem to be trying to shove themselves into even more size, even more stimulation. It’s hilarious that this is a photo shoot for ordinary pretty-boy clothes, because I’m two rampaging boners wanting to explode and it’s so obvious, and even if I’m holding back, even if I’m keeping myself from cumming like a whole Yellowstone full of geysers from cocks so big two hands aren’t enough, even then it’s still right there. I can see it as I look at my other me. Raw sex brimming through every cell, every look, every twitch of my must-kiss lips, every movement of my gorgeous, lickable muscles even when they shift under shirts and jeans, moving fabric with their elegant size and beauty. And my ass—Jesus, I can’t even bear to look at my ass on my other body, or I’ll lose control completely.
I can see it, feel it all around me, us. The air is crackling with lust, my lust. I can see at as the guys on the set stare at me, at my raging cockbeast bodies, in awe, in worship, in agonized want. I’m not man but sex. That’s why they want me. That’s why my photos are in demand. The Slater twins. I remember reading an article after a fashion week runway gig I’d done. The headline was something like “Slavering for the Slaters”. It said that we seemed to be passion, lust, sex, all that and ramped up to fever pitch and rendered in unbearably arousing flesh. It was lush and steamy and it was a fashion write-up.
I laugh remembering another article from a year before that, the new past of this new reality. I was just breaking into the scene as the Slater twins, and someone asked Mario Lopez once if he was upset there was a pair of Slaters more bonerific than the beefcake he’d played on that TV show once, and he just said he wished he was that hot. My faces, my bodies, my raw sexuality is out there. It just happened and it’s been happening, the sex overflows me and soaks the world.
It’s visible, palpable. On film, on the page, almost as much as in person. I know my actual cocks are showing through the tee shirts we’re trying to sell. Fuck, there must be big wet spots around the heads of my cocks, the Beasts showing themselves in pure arrogance as the thick wet cotton of the black tees plaster themselves around their beautiful shapes. They touch them up for the magazines, José tells me, but not much. Crafty placement of text. Carefully selected angles. It depends on the magazines. I’ve seen ads where they’re just there, you can’t miss them, but even I’m looking at the bodies, the eyes, the heat radiating of me through the page.
Getting aroused means more than just my cocks getting steel hard and shimmering appetite rippling through me. It spreads from me. It’s more than just what’s visible. It’s palpable. The air is full of it. I don’t know if I’m dumping pheromones into the air, or if just seeing me, feeling my warmth even from a distance somehow presses every guy’s buttons, including that button under balls that makes your dick twice as hard.
I know my clothes are tighter too. I’ve been noticing it more and more, my new memories tell me. I used to think it was a metaphor. I had become my cock-beasts. I was inflamed, aroused all over, as sensitive and aroused as a cock all over. Arms, legs, torso, muscles, skin. I thought it was a metaphor. But it’s not. I get hard. My body gets hard. I am two enormous almost animal monster boners. Touch, stroke me, and I’ll get hard, harder, full of arousal, radiating arousal, every god damn inch of me from my long blond hair riding my bulging traps to my big, long-toed feet. I am my cockbeasts.
But it’s all part of it, and really I don’t fucking care. I want people to see the Beast. Me. My too-muchness. I want people to know it, to feel it. I want them to lick my body, to suck my nips, to kiss me hard and bruising, to brush their lips along my feet, to card their hands through my hair, to fucking impale themselves on the original Beast itself. It’s intense, so intense. Beyond intense. Only José’s calming voice, murmuring steady words about holding back, cumming later, being strong underneath the photographer’s gruff commands is truly helping. It’s always the only thing outside my body that focuses me, helping me stave off, for a few minutes, that building, unstoppable orgasm of galaxy-rocking proportions.
I don’t know how I’m getting through it, but we are. I am, we are. We’re put through constant shifts of pose, touching each other, embracing, back to back with our asses bumping through our tight high-end jeans. Almost kissing. The routine, the mechanics of it conditions me. I know from my new memories that I’ve been a model long enough to work around how drowning in arousal I am. I can’t shove it down, but I can short of shove it—forward. I push the increasing crests of arousal forward. I imagine it like …shoving against a door that has this violent tsunami of hot, thick, surging cum behind it, and the pressure is huge and growing and it’s getting harder and harder top hold it back, to keep the door shut. But I’m strong. I’m so strong. I trained myself. José helped, but ultimately it has to be me. Me. I am the Beast. I must hold it. I want to cum all the time—I need to cum All The Time. All the …All the time …so I trained myself. I hold it back. With everything I have.
I don’t cum, but everyone else does. The whole crew is jacking, watching me, cumming, using their cum to stroke themselves more. Some have thick red cocks shoving out of their flies, and they’re just pumping them into their cum-slick fists. Others have dropped their pants and they’re stroking, or pairing off and stroking each other, eyes riveted on me. The photographer is trying to restrain himself, but he’s constantly grabbing and groping himself through his jeans as he moves around us barking orders in a rough-edged voice full of want. And José—even José, who sees me all the time, whose need for me never ebbs and actually seems to grow, has his 15-inch monster out and he’s stroking it with both hands, his eyes, like everyone else’s, riveted on my Beast boner bodies. Smiling. He’s smiling because he knows he’s special to me.
I love it. The worship is almost as good as touching. Almost. I need. I fucking NEED to be touched. I can’t hold back the cum anymore. I can’t. I can’t! I whimper, just audibly, and the whimper become a growl, and I hear José shout “That’s a wrap!” and those are …the …w o r d s
All in one motion I rip my shirts off my bodies as if I were tearing wet tissue paper. The fabric is soaked through with sweat and precum and need. And oh man
My bodies fall together and my naked cocks finally touch and press together and the sheer stimulation of that touch is like atomic fucking fusion and I
I’m cumming and cumming and cumming forever. Time is, it’s like it’s obliterated, gone, is, was, will be gone, and there’s nothing but fractured sensations as I keep cumming, more and more as they crowd around me, hands and mouths and cocks and sex
I’m kissing me / fucking me / feeling José fuck me / fucking José / (only José) / fucking me fucking José / all the hands are rubbing me / touching me, kissing me, jacking me / I’m cumming harder! I’m cumming harder!! / they all know only José can fuck / they’re all cumming all cumming on me cumming with me / touches feels emotions orgasms from everyone all over my cockbeast bodies / I’m cumming on everything, harder and harder / their passion is flooding me / I’m feeding them passion and it’s flooding meeeee
I can’t breathe / My orgasm is spiraling out of control / too intense
I hear my name, our name / try to focus
(It’s okay, they’re gone, it’s just us)
My vision swims into focus and there’s our cute, smiling José looking up at us, his buff, naked body covered in my/our cum. His proud, fat fifteen incher is still standing as hard and erect as mine are. His is not longer than mine any more but still formidable, huge, beautiful, like his hot, sweet body, like him. He’s still spitting periodic gouts of cum, like me. I feel the warm burn of his having fucked me and cum inside me, both me’s. I think he must be feeling the impact of my unnatural tools as well. I don’t know how long the …episode …was, but I think a lot happened.
I smile at him, twice over. I love doing that, smiling twice, at him. He smiles back. I feel myself coming down.
“Sorry,” he says. He seems to mean it. Why?
I stare at him, uncomprehending. I can’t think straight yet, not enough to speak. I just shake my head.
“It was too much,” he says. He seems awestruck, and there’s worry too. “Too many guys, too big an orgasm.” He’s looking from one me to the other, like he usually does. Some people pick one of us to talk to, maybe two of us is more than some people can deal with. I can understand that. The fog is clearing a little, though my cocks are still hard and still cumming a little, and José’s is too, maybe because mine are. Anyway, now I get what José is trying to say.
Instead of trying to speak, and risking turning José on again (my voice does things to him—actually it does things to a lot of guys), I just smile and take him up in my arms between us. I kiss him tenderly from both sides as we ride out the denouement of our orgasms. We smile as we do so, as finally I start to register all the noises coming through the walls—the moans and shouts of all the guys on the crew still fucking like crazy in the next room. We kiss softly and sensually for a long, long time, our huge, rigid hardons not even coming close to softening even a little.
A lot of guys are dopey after an orgasm, especially a spectacular orgasm like that, but I’m always full of energy for some reason. When we get back to the obscenely awesome custom-designed mansion I had built with my insane modeling money I always end up heading to the gym annex to work out or play squash against myself. José loves to watch this. Sometimes he films it for the premium members on my website. Guys jack off just to vids of me working out, spotting myself. Me jogging around the track that circles the back gardens. Me playing handball against myself. Even me cooking in the kitchen, my bodies moving around each other like old hands in a famous bistro kitchen. It’s actually amazing to practice and get better and better at using my mind and bodies in such complex ways. I was terrible at coordinating the two me’s when I was a kid. That’s what my new memories tell me. But so much of something like tennis or handball is just below the level of the consciousness, and the more I do it the more I love it. It’s almost as amazing cooking or shooting hoops together as cuddling with myself, or making out with myself, slow and sweet. And I love doing those things more than anything that doesn’t involve hot guys and oceans of hot sperm.
Tonight I’m swimming, loving the simple exertion of pushing my strong bodies through the warm, caressing water of the Olympic pool, lap after lap. After a solid couple of hours of single-minded effort I look up to catch sight of José again, like I tend to do whenever he’s around. He’s sitting on the edge of a deck chair near the foot of the pool, and he’s set down the video camera to just sit there and watch me. He has a funny, thoughtful expression, like there’s something he wants to run past me, but he’s not sure how to broach it.
He’s still a little nervous around me, after all this time, even if I know it’s only been less than a day since we were nothing but fuck-buddies in an elevator. Even then, though, he was the one that took care of me.
I stroke easily back down to the end of the pool and haul my bodies up to rest my arms on the coral-tiled edge that ran along the sides of the pool. I know I’m making an amazing sight, the water cascading off my brawny, tanned shoulders, my thick, bulging delts and traps and biceps and pecs on full display, long blond hair dark and wet against the back of my necks, beaming at him with two cocky grins. I know I’m having an effect on him, and I’m rewarded as I notice him staring lustily back at me, us, at the same time the head of his dick shoves rudely out the end of his board shorts.
“Hey stud,” I say with both voices, and he moans a little.
“You are so fucking hot,” he admits, almost in a gasp, both hands straying to the bulge in the leg of his shorts made by his lengthening and fattening meat. I feel my cock twitch in sympathy, though for the moment, while we’re just playing, I can resist getting hard thanks to the exertion of the swim and the epic orgasm before that.
“I know it,” I say with mock smugness, still in stereo.
He kneads his meat, but he still seems thoughtful. “I’m worried about today, though,” he says, “That’s the craziest it’s gotten.”
I swallow. I’m worried too, but I don’t like it when José is upset. I shrug, this time just with what at the moment is my left-hand body. “You handled it,” I say.
“I know. But I want to fix it so it doesn’t get that out of control.” I watch as he pauses, and I start to ask him how it can be “fixed”—but then I realize what he’s going to say even as he says it. He goes on, very cautiously: “You know you told me about the website once, right?”
I’m shaking my head slowly, not aware I’m doing it at first. “Baby, I’m not sure I can… ” I can’t quite say it. Jesus. I’ve thought about it before, but I always end up at the same place. I can’t go back. Can I? I think fondly of the old me, but the level of feeling I can experience now—it feels like losing a lot. Too much, maybe. I’m sure I can steel myself to handle it, though. If José believes it’s necessary. I trust him, I realize, more than I knew I did.
I can see José’s eyes shining at the endearment. We’ve gotten close, so subtly, like an undertow. He understands me. The look on his face tells me he can see what I’m thinking. “I’m not talking about going back,” he assures me, and I can hear in his voice that he means it. “I’m talking about making you better.” And then the fucker licks his lips and bares his teeth in a small crafty smile, and I know he’s thinking very dangerous thoughts. He says, more softly: “Much, much better.” His voice is deepening with lust, and his pupils are already blown.
I stare into those eyes and feel the arousal build and stoke between us. The fire expands inside me, filling me, then saturating me. Then insinuating itself into every particle of me, ripping through flesh and blood and nerve and soul. When we get turned on, especially if it starts with him—it feeds on itself, not runaway-train crazy like this morning but like it’s transporting us, leveling us up to a dimension that has exponentially more room for passion and ecstasy and every other sensation we can give each other. It takes hold of our minds even as it manifests in our bodies. He’s boning, I’m boning. My cocks are boning. My bodies are boning. I climb my naked bodies slowly out of the pool, advancing on him.
I want. I’m flooded with need. But there’s a thing I need to know from José before we descend into primeval lust. I think about what I was, what I tried, the stages I’ve gone through. It’s weird thinking about normal me, before. I don’t look down on myself. I kind of want to find that guy and make love to him, my new bodies tantalizing and satiating my old one. José is watching me, rapt. I lick my lips and say with twin voices, my voices rough, the only question I know I’ll ask before José starts to work on …whatever I’m going to be next. “Will there still be two of me?” I ask / insist.
There’s no sound but the pool lapping against its walls from my departure and the slow, cadenced slap of my feet against the tiles as I close the distance between us. José’s lust starts to wash over me in waves. His greedy eyes are boring into me. Making me ache with want. Before I go under I hear him whisper two gruff words: “Fuck …yeah.”
It’s so amazing having two bodies. I come to slowly, out of these amazing, half-remembered dreams, and I’m fucking myself, like always. I’m so content it’s like it’s burned into my bones, but I know it’s only the baseline of how happy I can be. I’m sated, too, like I’ve been having amazing sex for hours, or days, or for all of time, and yet at the same time I’m fucking hungry for more, because, fuck, I always need to cum these days.
I’m sweaty all over and covered in dried cum. These perfect, muscle-packed, seven-foot-tall bodies of mine are spooning each other in my giant bed. The front me is impaled on the giant monster erection of the me in back, and my front me’s hands are hands wrapped loosely around this big, incredible, insatiable erection that’s big enough and hard enough to pound holes through a brick wall.
I have memories of my old life, before I found the website, before I gifted myself with the Beast. And new memories. Memories of my new life—my life as the Slater “twins”. Those memories tell me I’ve always woken up like this, going back to my first erections and even before I could have sex with myself and just snuggled my bods together. From puberty onward, though, I was slow-fucking myself in my sleep, and waking up like this, hard and thrusting and stroking and crushing my bods together. My memories tell me I’ve always cherished this moment of waking up like this the way I do now. This still, calm moment of returning to consciousness after mind-blowing release followed by intertwined sleep, and then this blissful, luxuriating return to consciousness. The simple pleasure of how dead sexy my bodies are, pressed together, flesh against flesh. Stroking my front bod’s hot abs and pecs as my cocks slowly rock into hands and ass.
Soon the Beast will take me over. My heart will start to beat harder. My blood will start to pound, and my skin heats and my mind is drowning in simmering, carnal greed. This is the sweet moment before I’m consumed by need and riotous pleasure. I run my fingers over the scant hair on my front bod’s chest and I think, it really is like a Beast, taking me over, taking charge of my senses and actions and my needs. Like Mr. Hyde, or a werewolf. Once my bloodrush begins, I can’t stop until I explode in twin, mind-obliterating orgasms. It isn’t like a car exploding, or a building blowing up. This is bigger. When I’m in the throes of my need I’m on fire with demanding, consuming fires of raw ecstasy, and when I cum, when I release, it’s like fucking detonating a universe.
I enjoy this moment, the before moment. I feel it a lot. It’s my Dr. Jekyll state, because the Beast isn’t always in control. But it’s always there. These aren’t the normal moments—these are the before moments. Don’t get me wrong. I love, love, love the incredible, too-much unfettered euphoria of my release. It’s like a hundred shots of pure joy. It’s like it’s more than mortals were supposed to know, like being plugged into a molten planet core of divinely intoxicating ambrosia a million times too strong for mere humans to handle. It’s scary good, literally, and scary intense. Scary everything.
But these moments, the still, sweet, before moments—I do cherish them. It does feel nice. More than nice. It feels fucking amazing. And yet…
Even though I’m still all muzzy in my head as I languidly rock my hips against each other and then away, against each other and away, fucking my hard but half-awake cocks into tight, furnace-hot ass and warm, strong hands, I feel like… something’s missing.
José. He’s not here. He’s not in bed with me in this moment, the way I’ve gotten used to him being. I’m used to him between my bods. Taking me while he roughly fucks me. Cuddling hard and sweaty after. I feel unfinished without him between me, wrapped up in my flesh.
It’s funny, right? I don’t just have one ricking bod, I have two of these sexy fuckers, two of these amazing, godlike bodies. Looks, muscles, cocks that won’t quit. And yet I’m not complete without that incredibly cute Mexican with the tight body, the fifteen-inch cock, and the heart-melting smile.
Oh man, that smile. His face is so smooth, so goddamned adorable, with his longish black hair falling in front of those bright, dark eyes. Those eyes that always watch me with this knowing, ravenous glint under dark brows that emphasize how sexy those eyes are. And lately, fuck, he’s been wearing this scruff of beard along that perfect jawline, jet black like his silky head hair against his flawless tawny skin. Just thinking about that face, those eyes makes me rock my cocks harder. I can feel the Beast’s need start to stir just from picturing him.
And when the three of us—when we make love, me and José… fuck, it’s so intense. My orgasms are ten times bigger, big enough to share, like José and I are experiencing them together, his and mine as one. We always drift off afterwards, like I do with myself, our cocks still rammed all the way home inside each other as orgasmic ecstasy of an intensity not meant for us mortals throws us into deep, beautiful blackness.
It’s like… everything’s different when I’m with José.
My constant arousal is always too big. It doesn’t stay just inside my enormous Beast cocks. Fuck, it’s way too big for my lust-swollen Beast bodies to even begin to contain it. The monstrous need and unbearable sensuality and this crazy unstoppable appetite… All of it spills out of me, like the biggest radiation source ever, like a sun somehow contained inside two almost-human bodies. The Beast’s driving need, it pours into any space I’m in. It fills every room, stoking the air, saturating it with my sex, with contaminating beastly desire. Anyone who’s around me when I’m like that, when I’m overflowing with the Beast’s demanding, ravening voraciousness, is plunged into mounting, runaway erotic rapture.
The worst part is, their out-of-control rapture feeds back on me, driving me beyond endurance. Like at the photo shoot. The feedback of all those ordinary guys overcome by my need, overflowing with it, radiating it back to me, infecting me with my own ragged desperation… It’s like I start feeling like my bodies exploding in minutes of mind-blowing, nonstop orgasm won’t even begin to satisfy my vast, unrealizable hunger.
It’s frightening, and exhilarating. Like the drop on the world’s tallest rollercoaster, only it’s out of control and you’re not sure there’s even a bottom. Or—no, it’s like you sped over the highest rise and you’re hurtling down and you’re not sure there will be any tracks at the bottom.
And… shit, that’s why I feel so incomplete without José here with me. With José, it’s different. Fuck, he… it’s like he holds me in. It’s not about a terrifying, spiraling arousal feedback with him. When it’s just me and me and him, our arousal builds and shares between us, but it’s… like it’s a closed circuit, fire and light spinning between us. A circle of energy, connecting us. Melding us. It’s like this dynamo we make between us, this circular conduit filled with spinning lust and desire and even more powerful emotions. There’s so much safe, limitless power hurtling around that circle, we could damn near light up the whole country.
Safe. That’s the thing. I have too much power inside me, enough that it’s impossible to control, and it builds up beyond anything I could have imagined before, too much, too big. But José makes me feel safe, like the super-potency of the Beast is controlled and contained, shared between us and spun in this incredible connection between us. It’s still scary. I still wish I could control it. Not to drive guys into euphoric, mindless lust and unstoppable arousal just from being in the same room with me when I’m turned on. And definitely that feedback thing, I lose it every time, it’s—
I hear the padding of bare feet down the polished hardwood of the hallway outside my huge, tastefully appointed bedroom. I look up in time to see him, hovering at the doorway across from me, maybe ten feet away. He has this nervous, crooked smile that stops my heart with desire, and appreciation, and …fuck, with love. Fuck, I’m in love. Holy fuck. His hair is getting long, and some of it falls over his face, and all I can think of it how I want to brush it aside, cup his bristly jaw, and kiss him like my life depends on it.
I meet his eyes, watching his glance dance between my faces. He nods toward where I’m fucking myself, his still-crooked grin stretching a little wider. “Thinking of me?” he asks with a wink.
“Always,” I say immediately. I talk with just the me that’s in front, nearest me. I realize what I’ve blurted out, and I feel my cheeks color a little on both faces. I’m not usually this sappy. I’m supposed to be the sex monster, not the besotted romantic boyfriend.
Except… with José, I’m… both. I’m both. And I can see it in his glinting eyes. He’s both too. He’s hot for me, he wants my sexy bods, he craves fucking me while I fuck him. And he wants me on another level, too. The level where his smile speeds up my pulse. Where I love him. And he…
José takes a step into the room, and I’m distracted, my vision filling with him. He’s naked, walking toward me. God, the sight of his tightly muscled body, his six buff arms jostling together like his shoulders burst out with arms our for sheer love for them… his twin cocks rapidly hardening to their full, impossible twenty inches…
Two José memory strands now, too. I remember my old life and my life now, and I remember… José, before. Hot, sexy, tight-muscled, wicked smile, two arms, amazing fifteen-inch cock. And this José. Hot, sexy, tight-muscled, wicked smile, six arms, two long unbe-fucking-lievable twenty-inch monster cocks.
All at once I understand what happened. “You went to the website,” I say in wonder. He nods, his smile still crooked. He’s nervous, not sure how I’ll react. Fuck. “You look so damn hot, babe,” I tell him, and finally, finally, that crooked, uncertain grin blooms into a huge, wide smile, and my heart fucking breaks with love for him. And an increasingly urgent need to make love to him. To fuck him, hard, and let one of those raging-hard cocks fuck me while the other rubs between his hot torso and my sweaty back. God, we’ve done that so much, and yet I’m filled with a desperation to do it now for the first time.
He’s standing over me now as I continue fucking myself. If anything my pace has quickened. I let my gaze slide over his profusion of long, beautifully shaped arms, just thick enough with muscle to suggest strength as well as beauty. I remember watching him work out in the home workout room, which is better equipped than a lot of public gyms. Working his arms hard with bicep curls, first left, then right, in my old memories becomes shifting between all six of his limber, athletic arms, his long fingers wrapping around the weight each time in the same firm he wraps around my cocks. That though reminds me of what else has changes, and my appreciation drifts over to the two towering erections topping out near the base of his throat, not nearly as thick as my insatiable Beast cocks but much, much longer. The morph he’d used to upload to the site must have shown his dark cocks standing straight and tall, pressing against his muscled chest, but he’d tweaked the image. Because the cocks rose up side by side, close enough to rub together as he walked, but near the top both of them curved toward each other, overlapping almost like the snap of a pocketbook so that the heads were one behand the other, red and slick already with precum. And with a gasp I remember the benefits of that configuration. I remember seeing him bend over a little and easily take both cocks into his mouth at once. Just opening wide and accepting them both into his hot, beautiful mouth, dark red lips wrapping lovingly around the shafts below the heads as he lazily tongues his dual glans…
The way he is now…
He’s doing it. Damn. He’s showing me. Showing me his first time taking his overlapping cocks into his mouth together. The thing is… I know his memories and mine are telling him he’s done this a million times. Maybe literally! Okay, not literally, but thousands, tens of thousands of times. Jeez, he’s been sucking his twin cockheads into his mouth all the time his whole life, ever since his very first double hard-on. That’s what he told me, in my other memories, and I remember seeing it every day while we’ve been together. Anytime he’s turned on and not actually fucking me.
But we both know. This is the first time. And he can’t imagine not doing it with me.
He gets into it, watching me watch him with a wicked gleam in his eyes. He’s flushed. Turned on as fuck. He’s sucking himself harder, and I’m fucking myself harder, too, hard and deep. Holding myself tight, stroking my front bod’s cock. We’re both getting off, not like when we fuck but gentler, more low-key, though I can feel our shared arousal mounting like floodwaters. This is… god, both of us, just watching each other—fuck, what a thrill. Not even touching, just soaking each other in with our eyes.
His hands have been loose at his sides, hands flexing like they wanted in on the action. But now… he lifts his front hands up, wrapping both of his strong, deft hands around both shafts together. Low, near the base, one fist above the other. My breath is coming in pants now, watching this, riveted.
But he’s only getting started. His middle hands move up toward the middle of his impossibly long dicks, behind those slowly stroking front arms. I think he’s going to wrap those hands around the shafts there, like the others. Instead he reaches higher, drawing his fingers along his upper abs as his lightly hairy forearms cross each other just behind his raging erections. I watch enraptured as he reaches with index finger and thumb on both sides and starts gently twisting his own nipples.
A moan escapes him and he closes his eyes for just a moment, reveling in the multiple layers of pleasure. “Fuck, José,” I groan. He’s already got me close, and not in the terrifying, Beast-lust way. Somehow this is us, sharing this wild form of lovemaking without even touching each other, driving ourselves and each other toward beautiful release even in this, the “before” moment.
I didn’t know I could make love in the “before” moment. I didn’t know how great it could be to have sex with the man that means everything to me, without the animus of the Beast driving me beyond reason.
Fuck. Fuck! My eyes are burning. This means everything to me. I hold back tears of awed gratitude as I piston into myself driving toward our orgasm, José’s and mine. I kiss my neck from behind, closing those eyes at least for a moment, but I can’t keep my eyes off him. I can’t stop watching him, sharing this with him. It feels like the first time we’ve been together. The first time like this. Like if I’d met him as the old me, before I’d ever even gone to that site, and we’d had languid, voluptuous, incredibly hot sex on my old queen-sized bed in my old life, and we never stopped after that, not ever. It feels like that.
There’s that gleam in José’s dark, lust-deep eyes. He’s not done stimulating himself. Stimulating me.
There’s still two hands left.
My eyes fall to them. I watch in fascination as his final left hand moved—only the left. With agonizing unhurriedness, he reaches around and, with just that one hand, cups his ample balls. He draws in a long breath past flaring nostrils, his eyes meeting mine.
I let my gaze drop to his one remaining unoccupied hand. He keeps it still for a moment, taunting me. Then he slowly moves it. Not toward the front where all his other hands are occupied. He moves it back behind him. Where I can’t see. But I know what he’s doing. He’s pressed those long fingers between his round, perfect cheeks. Brushing his own hole. Teasing his own entrance, with fingertips that remind his hole of much larger and more insistent encounters it has had, that José’s body loves and craves.
I drag my eyes up José, taking in all the ways he’s pleasuring himself. But when I meet his eyes, I can see that what is truly pushing him close to the edge is what I do to him. Just like the ways I’m pleasuring myself—fuck, stroking, kissing, holding myself tight—all that isn’t even about me making myself feel good. It’s all reaction to how good I feel seeing José, seeing him turned on, seeing him close.
José can’t speak, so I have top say it for him. Say it for us. I lick my lips and say it.
“Cum for me, babe,” I say. My voice sound rough and hoarse.
José reacts as if his pleasure has been stepped up tenfold just from that. He’s close. We’re close. I pound my ass with my thick, long tool, stroking myself too, pushed right up to the edge of release. “Do it,” I urge. “Cum with me. Cum with me now!”
We rocket over the edge together, him standing over me, me in the bed. We start blasting our loads together, both of us from two cocks from the first time. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he yanks his doubled cocks out of his mouth and—fuck! He’s shooting is seed up in twin tall, soaring arcs. Cum showering down on both of us. I cry out with two throats and start really cumming hard, orgasming in a way that feels completely new.
I pull out of my own ass and scoot my bodies apart, still cumming, flipping my front body to face my back. “Get in here!” I gasp, and José dives between my bodies, all of us still shooting jizz all over each other. I wrap myself around him fiercely, hugging my bodies with him between them, and he wraps all those strong, beautiful arms around my front bod. He’s kissing me, deep and needy, while I hold him and kiss his sweet neck, nuzzling his loose, silky black hair. “Fuck, José,” I moan into his ear even as I carry on kissing him. We’re still shuddering with the last throes of orgasm. “God, babe, I love you so much,” I murmur against his nape, and he shivers between us, though his orgasm is spent.
He breaks the kiss and pulls back just enough for me to see him, though our faces are still very close. “That’s no fair,” he says. His eyes are dancing. “You can say shit like that to me while you’re driving me nuts, ravishing me with that mouth of yours.”
I grin unrepentantly. “You love it,” I say.
He stares into my eyes, transparently happy. “You love me,” he replies.
“Yep.” I affirm. I lick his ear with my other bod. He gasps.
“Stop it!” he protests, giggling. “I can’t say ‘I love you’ for the first time while you’re licking my ear!”
I give him a little kiss on the mouth and I do not stop ministering to his ear. “I’ll bet you can,” I tease.
“But I won’t,” José says mulishly, still on the edge of giggles. I hold him close, content and beyond sated.
We’re still mostly hard. My cock noses rudely between his, trying to push them apart, but they don’t really want to be separated too much. My other cock rides lazily against his spine, leaving a trail of slick. He squeezes me with all those arms he has now. I sigh happily. He rests his head against my tanned shoulder. “I love the arms,” I admit. “As much as the cocks. Maybe more.”
He kisses my shoulder. “I just did the cocks because I pictured you sucking them both,” he says. “I mean, there’s two of you, and… ” He trails off. “But the arms were what I really wanted,” he confesses quietly.
I’m a little surprised by this. “Oh yeah?” I say. He doesn’t say anything more, so I prompt him, “Why’s that?”
He lets out a little sigh. “I love touching you,” he says softly at last. “So much.” I hear so much affection in his voice, endless affection and love, and my heart constructs with my own feelings for him. “Touching you, holding you. Like this.” He squeezes me tight again, and I squeeze him close with both my bodies.
“I’m really glad,” I say. The words are… inadequate, and he gives a soft chuckle. I sober a little. “Will… will it be okay?” I ask him tentatively. “With the arms, I mean?”
My suspicion is that he probably implemented some kind of safeguards when he’d uploaded his picture to the site, and I’m not wrong. “I wrote some stuff on the shirt,” he murmurs against my shoulder. We’re drifting toward unconsciousness now, deliciously languid. “In the picture,” he clarifies sleepily. “The morph I’ve been working on. Wrote stuff about it being okay, and stuff like that. You and me knowing about the change.” He pauses, then adds with a hint of drowsy amusement, “Wrote something else on the shirt too. You figure it out yet?”
With his head on my shoulder my faces are close to each other. Inadvertently I meet my own gaze, like I’m exchanging a puzzled glance with someone. But it’s not like that, because we’re both me, and all I’m doing is seeing myself seeing me, and vice versa. It’s a little weird, actually. I know how to see things with both eyes, like I trained my brain to accept and process multiple visual inputs. Hearing works the same way, and I’m better at sensing spaces because I can triangulate, like an auditory depth perception. But looking into my own eyes feels weirdly empty. Like looking into endless reflections in facing mirrors.
I look away with my rear bod, bending to kiss José’s shoulder blades below where his hair falls against his shoulders. His hair is almost as long as mine now. It’s hot as fuck on him.
“I guess not,” I say, distracted by my thoughts about my senses. “What did you write?”
I can actually feel his smile against my skin as he says, “Beastmaster.”
I laugh, both of me. “You did not,” I say.
He just nods against my shoulder.
“Fuck, no wonder it was the best ever,” I say. “It was… just us. Just you and me.”
“Yeah,” José agrees. “Doesn’t solve everything though. Your turn next. Still have plans for you.”
I feel a thrill at this, waking up a little. “Yeah?” I prod.
José nods against my shoulder. “Uh huh. Lotsa plans,” he says, almost unintelligibly. He’ll be gone any second. “One I gotta ask about, though.”
He goes quiet again, not saying more. “Yeah?” I prompt again.
“Mmm. Two bods… or twins,” he mumbles. “You pick.”
I look at my other face again, careful not to look back this time. What would it be like? To look into my own green eyes, but see only as much of what another me is thinking and feeling as can be sensed from the outside? To see wily intent there? Sly purpose? Fuck. Even if there’s a “twin link”… I wanted to look into those eyes and see something unexpected. Unpredictable.
“Twins,” I answer, quiet and firm. “Definitely twins.” But José is already gone, breathing regularly against my skin.
I smile, holding him close. A part of me wants to wake him up, to go to the website now, to make his plans for me come true. But I can wait. And this moment… this moment is perfect. I close my eyes, and drift off to sleep, holding my man.