Spunk and brimstone

by BRK

 Ty is fed up and needs things to change. Then his coworker, Derek, tells him about the little game box on his bookshelf that changed his life…

Added: Aug 2022 6,263 words 5,176 views 4.5 stars (6 votes) This story was commissioned via Direct Commission.

T

Ty wandered the party restlessly, on edge without really knowing why. His new supervisor, a cheery, athletic midwesterner transplant named Derek, had a great house, a deft command of party ambiance, and a shockingly hot husband, all of which made for an intrigued and energized crowd. Ty felt like the only one who was having trouble engaging, and knowing that only managed to fray his already ragged nerves.

Derek and Silas’s place alone had sparked more than a few conversations through the mixed crowd of friends, neighbors, and coworkers from the worldwide logistics firm Ty and Derek both worked for. Being able to snag a vintage three-story townhouse in a respectable neck of the woods was an achievement anyone in the Bay Area could appreciate, and Ty had overheard a lot of speculation about how they’d managed it; the couple claimed they’d gotten it for a song because the local scuttlebutt insisted it was extremely haunted, and though Ty was sure they’d only been teasing the tirelessly curious among their guests he had to admit the other explanations he’d overheard propagating through the web of partygoers sounded even less likely: Derek definitely wasn’t SF Old Money, for one thing, and Ty was reasonably confident that his tall, dark, and scary husband hadn’t just stared down the previous owners until they sold at cost. There was something eerie about Silas—that much was certain—but Ty knew that even if being a hairy, intimidating, seven-foot alpha male might get you a lot the San Francisco housing market bent (so to speak) for no man.

Derek and Silas had clearly put plenty of time and effort into gussying up their home for their official housewarming shindig. A combination of candlelight and geled spotlights nestled low in the corners cast each room in its own striking color—cerulean in one, dark chartreuse in another, and so on—creating a sense of multiple microparties as you moved through the rooms of the first and second floors, all accented by different blends of potpourri. The vivid hues also contrasted nicely with the couple’s subdued decor and furniture and with the all-black dress code for guests stipulated in the invitations; the hosts, meanwhile, were decked out in silky blood-red and black. Not that they needed special outfits to make them stand out from the multitude: Derek on his own was handsome and attractively muscled, and Silas, if he was standing next to him, made Derek look like a prepubescent altar boy.

Everything about the home and the party was congenial and welcoming. The food was amazing, the steak- and chicken-based appetizers in particular seeming almost supernaturally good, and the cocktails mixed by the dark-eyed hired-in bartender behind the old-fashioned wet bar installed in the first-floor salon went down warm and deceptively smooth. Underneath everything, uniting all the complementary aspects of the party, ran a steady playlist of rock classics, most of it from before Ty’s time, kept low but omnipresent via Bluetooth speakers distributed throughout the home. The mixed crowd was universally happy and relaxed, sliding easily into conversation groups or gathering around the hosts as Derek regaled them with bizarre delivery anecdotes and Silas related funny vet-student anecdotes or passed on spicy gossip he’d picked up from somewhere about what the neighborhood was like back in the day, before Teslas, the internet, or any kind of Kardashian.

Ty lingered in the open doorway connecting the raspberry-splashed front room and the long, narrow dining room, watching the two hosts uneasily. Against all the odds in this unfair, inexplicable world they had found love—a love that, he was sure just from looking at them, also happened to be full of very athletic, very frequent, and probably very kinky sex. And it wasn’t just them; the little knot of people teeming around Derek and Silas was mostly couples as well, whether gay, straight, or unlabeled. The one singleton he spotted, a distinguished-looking man with southeast-Asian features in an avant-garde all-black suit and tie combo, was actually someone Ty had earlier overheard talking about his gay polyandrous relationship and how his two lovers had wanted to come but were stuck working late at the upscale massage salon the three of them managed.

Ty pursed his lips and headed up the stairs to the guest bathroom, more in search of sanctuary than out of a need to use the facilities. Even in here candles and colored spotlights extended the ambiance, a reminder he hadn’t really left the party behind. He kept the overhead light off, not wanting to be subjected to powers of revelation. Instead he leaned on the sink, breathing slowly, trying to rein in his runaway emotions.

By the time he lifted his eyes to glare at his candlelit reflection into the mirror, however, his sense of agitation wasn’t ebbing. His life wasn’t stacking up the way it was supposed to. Everything had gone just that little bit wrong. After his earlier plans hadn’t panned out he’d picked up a package delivery job as temporary patch while he repositioned himself. He’d rationalized taking the job as a way to stay in shape. Hefting boxes, running up stairs, staying on the go, all that. But it turned out front-line logistics was all driving and unrelenting schedules. Detouring through drive-throughs and scarfing down chicken-burgers in heavy traffic were the most consistent parts of his day, and now, ten years in, the Ty that looked back at him in the mirror was undeniably schlubby. Not really fat, not exactly, he thought defensively, but you could probably tell from looking at him he was on a first-name basis with the window staff of the In-n-Out Burger nearest the depot. In his teens, twenty years back, he’d been told a few times he looked a bit like a young Idris Elba; these days he suspected Mr. Elba would be as embarrassed by those comments as he was. Used to be he barely wore anything but muscle shirts, but now when he wasn’t in the green and gold uniform it was baggy sweatshirts to hide his physique, like the black one he had on now to scrape past the party dress code. Shapeless and unappealing, that was him all around.

He was smarter than this, damn it. He’d gotten top grades—and once he’d known his way around life, too. Not lately. You’re not happy, he told his reflection sternly. You have to do something!

Fuck you, his reflection’s angry stare seemed to say. You don’t think I know that?

Frustrated, Ty gritted his teeth and, mostly to justify his use of the bathroom for his mini-crisis, did a quick, exasperated wash of his hands and a cursory dry-off with a nubby cobalt-blue guest towel before he pushed out the door, sidling past the pretty, middle-aged blond women waiting their turn outside.

Loud laughter at someone’s story drifted up the stairs, and Ty veered the other direction, escaping into a guest room that, unexpectedly, turned out to be otherwise unoccupied.

Just as well. He realized belatedly he must have had more of those sneaky cocktails than he’d thought—too much alcohol, as he knew from experience, tended to make him surly, antisocial, and a bit irrational.

Not ready to return to the party but feeling like bailing after an hour felt would count as some kind of failure, he prowled the room, trying not to think about anything too deep. There wasn’t much to occupy him. Against one wall was a neatly-made queen-sized bed that was definitely too small for the hosts (did Silas have relatives to visit, and were they as big as he was?). Near it sat an old desk, and against the wall opposite were some sturdy bookcases. One of these, he saw with interest, was given over to board games instead of books, and Ty distracted himself browsing through the panoply of choices. The games looked well used and not dusty, with a mix of new and old. Derek and Silas were probably game-night types, he mused. Maybe there was more to it than that. A friend in Los Angeles frequented various naked game nights on the regular, and anything people did in L.A. they did kinkier in San Francisco.

His lips quirked as his eyes fell on a compact Ouija board set that appeared to occupy pride of place, right on top at eye level. It kind of seemed to call to him, in an odd way, gently but insistently, which Ty thought was kind of funny. He’d always doubted that the supernatural world really existed, but if any home had an in with the other side it would be this one. He could totally picture Derek and Silas contacting dark spirits from the beyond. They’d bought a haunted house, after all. Probably they’d quiz the spirits for advice on advanced fucking techniques.

“That one changed our lives,” said Derek unexpectedly, almost making Ty jump. He’d appeared out of nowhere at Ty’s shoulder, and seemed to be directing his gaze at exactly the same thing Ty was looking at—the Ouija board set that still seemed to be tickling at his subconscious.

“Did it,” Ty said distractedly, momentarily stuck on his own image of the couple using the spirit board for funk sex tips. He frowned as what Derek had said actually registered. “How?” he asked, turning toward his sexy, very married boss.

Derek winked at him. “Let’s just say it found me the man I love.”

For some reason this declaration struck Ty with almost shocking force, like Derek had just revealed the secrets of the universe. He looked back at the box. It felt now like it was actively pulling at him. What if that was true? What if this game could change his life like it had Derek’s?

All at once it almost felt like he had no choice. This was the way. The only way.

Derek had already moved on. “—and Jolene just got here, if you want to say hi,” he was saying.

Though he was only half-listening, Ty grimaced automatically. The last thing he was up for right now was chit-chatting with his boss’s boss, the regional logistics coordinator, who never talked about anything but alternate timetables and projected route revisions. “You go ahead,” he said.

Derek gave him a commiserating smile. “I’ll catch you up later, then,” he said. He turned and left, his tall, scarlet and black silhouette making him look like the epitome of masculinity. And his husband’s twice the man he is, Ty thought enviously.

Ty slipped out of the party a short while later without making any further contact with the hosts, or anyone else. Partly this was because he was long past being in the right frame of mind to engage with anyone; but there was also the small matter of wanting to avoid people noticing the narrow, flat box he’d snuck under his baggy sweatshirt almost the moment his host’s back was turned.


Thunder rolled in the inky midnight sky as Ty got home and closed himself in his apartment. He pulled the Ouija board set out from under his sweatshirt and stared at it unsteadily, doubting himself. Why had he taken this thing? It had seemed necessary at the time, even urgent, but—

Light flashed in his peripheral vision from the direction of his bay windows, and another peal of thunder followed a moment later.

Ty let out a long breath. Well, I’m committed now, he told himself—not that he could have explained why. Without bothering to turn on any lights he took the game box over to his coffee table and set it down, shoving aside the game controllers and remotes to make room, then headed for the kitchen. A moment later he was back with a fat white candle, a long-nosed lighter, and a large, round wine glass three-quarters full with the driest cabernet he owned. Sitting down at his sofa he took a long swig from his vino, set it aside, then plunked down the candle and lit it. Finally, he unboxed the Ouija set, unfolding the board and laying the heavy, heart-shaped wooden planchette on top of it.

He stared at the board in the fluttering light of his candle, his eyes slightly unfocused. I can’t believe it’s come to this, he thought numbly.

Somehow everything in his unhappy life was riding on this moment and this stupid game.

He gulped down another mouthful of wine, then, setting the glass back down a little unsteadily, placed his hand on the planchette. “Is there anything out there?” he muttered. Nothing happened. Maybe he needed to be louder. Be heard. “Is there anything out there?” he burst out again, increasing his volume with every word until he was almost shouting. It felt cathartic, exhilarating, necessary.

Keeping his fingers on the planchette, he lifted his head and screamed his plea. “Is there! Anything! Out there!” His eyes stung—with fury, he thought. He pulled in a breath and bellowed, “I need to not be alone!”

Lightning blared in the window behind him, so close it seemed to be in the room with him, and right on top of the flash its thunder crashed deafeningly through his entire being. In the flare from the strike he thought he saw a huge winged and horned shadow fill the wall opposite him—then it was gone, a blind blackness blanking out the room before he even knew what he’d seen.

The strike ripped him apart, leaving him in agonized, agitated pieces. Rage pulsed in every nerve and blood vessel. As his vision returned he took in the candle—the board—the planchette still under his fingers—the half-full wine glass. He saw his barren apartment and the emptiness of his life, and his blackness turned blood-red. He snatched up the planchette at threw it hard against the opposite wall. That felt good. He took up the wine glass, drained it, and threw that, too. The furor was consuming him, taking him so completely that the loud crash of the wine glass shattering against drywall was, in retrospect, the last thing he remembered from that night—though he knew the flickering shape of that horned, winged shadow ran like an undertow through every dream and vision that came after.


Ty woke feeling like his head was packed with oatmeal. Oatmeal, and jackhammers. They didn’t really go together. Unfortunately it felt like they were very much there to stay, and he stared dully at the ceiling for a while letting himself think about nothing more complicated than wishing he hadn’t woken up.

After a while he rolled his head to the side, more because he was bored looking at the plain white plaster of his ceiling than from any desire to engage with the world around him. Before him, in the direction of his feet and the rest of the apartment, was his closet. The louvered doors were wide open—itself odd, as he was a neat guy and always closed them, but even weirder was the fact that everything seemed kind of a mess.

He must be in his bedroom, he decided muzzily. Not on the bed, because the surface he’d rolled his aching head against felt very much unlike a nice soft pillow and more like the plush carpet of his bedroom floor. At some point he’d have to figure out how he’d ended up sprawled across his floor last night and not up on the bed. Something about the cocktails at Derek and Silas’s being stronger than they seemed. There’d been wine, too, possibly. He wasn’t sure. The flash of that winged shadow danced for a second in his head, random and inexplicable.

He stared at his closet some more, his bewilderment growing steadily deeper. His closet looked strange. For one thing his boring, unflattering clothes were all heaped on the ground, some of them looking savagely torn apart as if they’d been gotten to by an enraged gorilla. The dresser to one side, on the wall adjoining his closet, was in a similar state, the drawers all open and hanging akimbo and the contents in heaps on the floor underneath, gray tees and undershirts ravaged and pulled apart.

Odder still, from the closet rods was hanging a vast and varied wardrobe that clearly belong entirely unlike him. Bright colors, gauzy, shimmering materials, with some lycra and leather mixed in with the translucent fabrics, all of it extroverted, exhibitionistic, and totally wrong in tone as well as in size, as it all looked to be meant for someone big and muscle-bodied, not like him.

New clothes he didn’t recognize lapped like a rising tide over the sides of the dresser drawers, too—jock straps, lycra thongs, things he’d never have worn in a million years. Or… would he? He was uncertain about everything just then, even basic stuff like his own tastes in clothing.

The strangest thing about the whole alien wardrobe thing, too, was that the new stuff all seemed blurry—not just gauzy but literally insubstantial. He couldn’t quite focus on any of it. Was he still feeling the effects of last night’s alcohol? It didn’t… it didn’t feel that way. It was more like the stuff he was seeing wasn’t quite there.

Slowly, he turned his head the other way. To his left and just behind him was his bed. It was huge now, and his usual beige sheets were now a vivacious magenta. The night table was next to him, and where he expected to see the usual beer bottles and old paperbacks, instead it was stacked with colorful pump bottles of lube, boxes of different kinds of condoms, cock rings, and other stuff he couldn’t quite make sense of. The drawers were open here as well, and the bottom drawer closest to him was now crammed full of truly gigantic dildos in various shapes, sizes, and colors. There were so many playthings they more spilling out onto the floor beside it, like it was some kind of magical cornucopia of sex toys.

Over the bed was an enormous framed poster featuring a grinning, dark-skinned guy gripping a truly mighty wang with both hands, and Ty couldn’t help thinking that the guy in the poster looked… a little like him? That couldn’t be right. Could it?

That wasn’t the end of the redecorations, either. Raising himself up cautiously on his elbows he scanned his room more closely, feeling both stunned and unnerved. On the same wall as the poster, closer to Ty to the left of the night stand, someone had mounted a huge silver-framed mirror, as if looking at himself and his body was something he was eager to do every day. Across the room opposite the bed, meanwhile, was mounted was the biggest flatscreen he’d ever seen—and his video collection seemed to have migrated in here as well, crammed into to a half-high shelving unit underneath that, like his dildo drawer, seemed to be spilling over with video cases.

But none of it was quite… real. The bed, the sheets, the lube, the toys, the poster, the mirror, the flatscreen? All of this was, as with the strange clothes in the closet and dresser had been, weirdly ghost-like and insubstantial, like the echo of a lifestyle that was nothing like what he knew. Or… even so there was something familiar about it all, like the taste of recognition on the tip of his brain.

He looked back at the closet again. Now the flashy, show-off clothes looked more real, and it was his old clothes that were fading out. He blinked mindlessly at this conflicting vision, needing explanations but unable to get his brain to work. After a few heartbeats had passed it all ebbed back the other way, with his old ruined clothes on the ground looking more real and the club togs fading a bit.

He closed his eyes firmly, shutting out the confusion. His head hurt, and his thoughts were like slugs. What had he done last night? Something pricked at his memory from amidst the hodgepodge. There had been a bookcase full of games, and one had seemed… important…

He frowned. With his eyes closed he was becoming more aware that there were noises coming from somewhere close by. He might have written them off as boisterous neighbors passing by in the hallway outside his door or something of that nature, but—no, it was too close, too unmuffled.

His eyes popped open. It sounded like showering. In fact, it kind of sounded a whole lot like someone singing in the shower. Not that well, either.

He climbed to his feet with some difficulty, swaying slightly as the change in altitude made his head start to pound in earnest. He found himself randomly facing the flatscreen, and for some reason he squinted at the videos underneath. Weirdness was rampant here as well, seeing as somehow all of his superhero and fantasy movies had been transformed into very raunchy porn. Then he spotted his name on some of the spines and frowned harder. Several videos were splayed out across the top of the shelving unit where his action figures had once stood, and to his amazement he saw that on these, too, his own name was inexplicably spelled out in big, bold letters over all the titles. The bodies and faces in the images beneath were all blurry and uncertain, though, and as his was puzzling this over the video cases themselves slid away and became fuzzy and hard to focus on.

He turned away quickly. In consternation, he started for the bedroom door. Reality fading in and out was really not helping his headache.

Exiting his room, he stumbled across the little hall and pushed open the bathroom door. A cloud of warm, fragrant steam billowed over him. Behind the transparent shower curtain, a manly shape was sensually soaping himself with his back to the spray, humming snatches of Adele as he did so.

As Ty stood there gaping, barely aware of his own nakedness, the figure became aware of him. Languidly, the stranger pulled back the shower curtain and stood squarely facing him, exposing the most exquisitely gorgeous vision of a man Ty had ever seen. He smiled wide, fixing Ty with beautiful amber eyes that seemed almost phosphorescent in the swirling steam.

“Morning, lover,” the beautiful man said, his voice low and sultry. “Ready to join me?”


Ty scoped out the beautiful man making use of his shower in slack-jawed wonder. The stranger might have been an online thirst feed made flesh and bone right there in his bathroom. Every inch of his warm, dark-gold skin seemed to glow and glisten in the heat of the spray, his nearly hairless body so sculpted to perfection that everything about it seemed designed as a literal wet dream. Firm, thick pecs with that U-shape he loved, heavy even up top where not everyone bothered to build and shape. Rippling abs that seemed more like a flowing system of rises and cuts than individual muscles. Round shoulders that led to carved, delicious arms he wanted to feel wrapped around him. Strong, muscled thighs and calves that ran forever, long and inviting. And as for the cock…

Completely limp and unpiqued, hanging massive and uncut in front of low, hefty balls, the thick meat before him instantly took complete hold of Ty’s imagination as if possessing its own eldritch mesmeric powers. It was impossible not to imagine it swelling to full and immense hardness, filling Ty’s mouth, spilling its white-hot juice down his eager throat, suffusing them both with infinite pleasure…

Stupefied and aroused, his own cock rising, Ty looked back up to the handsome face smiling rakishly at him. In truth, the man was more than just handsome. Every aspect of his visage was idealized. Smooth, sharp jawline. Pouty, wine-stained lips. High diamond-shaped cheekbones. Dark, expressive eyebrows. Those penetrating amber eyes. Taken together, it was almost literally compelling. Even the short, loosely tossed coppery hair seemed metahuman, an advancement beyond ordinary mortal beauty.

“Who—?” he rasped. He felt liked he should know the answer already, but he just couldn’t think. It was like the thick shower vapor was stultifying him, minute by minute, cubic inch by cubic inch.

Suddenly Amber Eyes was right in front of him, no longer wet though he was still radiating heat. His bright eyes bored into Ty’s. “Don’t you remember, lover?” he said, his voice deep and enticing. “I am Ludovico. I am yours. I am yours, Ty. Yours forever.”

His lips parted and he slid his perfectly-chiseled arms over Ty’s shoulders, moving in for a kiss. Incapable of resistance, Ty leaned into the embrace, his hard cock sliding wetly across the other man’s hip as their bodies crashed into full, heated contact. Their lips brushed, and an electric charge danced dangerously through Ty’s entire nervous system as he opened for him in every way. Their mouths merged, their tongues wrestling as Ty pushed toward a sudden, shocking orgasm, and then, all at once, it was like the lightning from last night smashed right through the ceiling and straight through him, burning every particle in him into white-hot ecstasy. His mind flooded, capsized, and flared to nothingness, and then he was gone. The universe ended, and nothingness remained.


Ty came to his senses alone in his bed, his body buzzing with energy and the lingering effects of that orgasmic embrace. He sat up and swung his legs quickly over the side, looking around wildly. The room was still a mix of boring and bizarre, but the sexy, colorful life seemed more real now than before, on the edge to taking hold. None of that mattered to him, though—he just wanted those feelings back. “Where are you?” he called out.

“I’m still with you,” Ludovico’s voice said in his mind. “I told you. I am with you forever. But you have to choose. You have to embrace you as I do.” Ty’s heart quailed, his old doubts flickering. That sounded beyond him.

The deep, sexy voice chuckled. “Feel yourself, babe. I’ll give you a hand.”

Ty’s fingers and palms started to tingle. Not sure what was happening, he instinctively placed his hands on his soft belly, watching in wonder as the layer of fat melted away, revealing a gentle six-pack that rapidly developed into full, steel-hard definition.

He pulled his hands away and gasped, looking back and forth between them and his transformed belly. The whole apartment seemed to vibrate around him, poised on tenterhooks been two destinies—but he was mostly aware of how incredibly turned on he was. His cock hardened instantly, rising to a stiff, sharp angle between his legs, and Ty felt a smile curl on his lips. “Keep going, love,” the voice in his mind urged, his tone saucy and provocative.

His pulse quickening, Ty wrapped his fists around his already aching erection. At first there wasn’t enough to fill both grips, but that swiftly changed as his cock expanded to inhuman size, pushing his fists open and emerging from the upper fist so enthusiastically he was already shooting little arcs of precum from the now-tangerine-sized head. He pulled his hands away in awe, staring at his magnificent prick, now three-fists-big and demanding more.

It occurred to him that a huge wang definitely required balls to match, so he cupped his (comparatively) undersized testicles and started kneading them larger, his eyes widening as over the course of a few seconds he pushed them to expand to the size of baseballs in his hands. As he did this need consumed him, eroding his reason, which seemed to drain away down a hole in drips and globs out the back of his head, lost forever.

Cumming was what mattered now. Orgasms, and all the pleasure that came between them.

There was no question of not spreading his self-love to the rest of him. He stood and looked down at himself, eager to remake everything. He started low, reaching down to squeeze his calves into thick, diamond perfection… then his thighs into long, soccer-star showcases… then his ass into perfect, firm, fuckable globes. The sparse body hair on his legs vanished under the working of his hands, leaving his skin a warm, smooth brown.

He tried to ignore the sharp, unpleasant sensation pushing through his bones and muscles as he worked, as though he were pushing his cells beyond endurance. The slowly increasing sense of fog and confusion in his mind helped, and anyway he was too enamored with the results to stop.

He caressed up his flanks next, expanding his lats as he went to give him a sharp V for the first time in his life. Then he slid each hand in turn up the opposite arm, cording his forearms, massaging dense power and definition into his biceps and triceps, kneading his delts and traps into round, hardened repositories of sweet, sexy muscle. Then he did it again, growing them more, a notch or three pant normal as he chased the sensation of being powerful and inhumanly masculine. He starred at the resulted in wonder. These were the arms of a god, arms that all by themselves would make a man hard, like his legs, or his magnificent cock.

His dick pulsed, spitting out more precum as his hands slid, finally, down to his neglected chest. As if the potency of his body-shaping powers had intensified with use, his pecs seemed spring out from his now-hairless chest, swelling in seconds to prodigious, packed mounds of sexy man-muscle. He was panting now, halfway to cumming. He kept his hands on his pecs, unwilling to pull them away yet, and they expanded further, verging into the disproportionate as he molded them into the hard, enormous muscle udders of his dreams.

Finally he ripped his hands away, but then the voice in his head said, “Keep going, babe.” With his brain as deeply fogged as it was, he didn’t quite understand at first. Should he make his pecs even bigger? But then he felt an echo of the tingling in his face along with Ludovico’s laughter in the back his stunted mind, and he grinned, finally understanding.

By some fluke he remembered the huge mirror on the wall next to him—because of course there was a mirror there for him to admire everything about himself. He turned and grinned, knowing that the face he saw there only existed to be replaced and enhanced. He scrubbed his hands over his jawline, his cheeks, his mouth, his eyes, his forehead, his whole scalp—everything, and then he did it again, and again. This time it hurt for real, in his face and in his mind, but he kept going, still driven, still urgently aroused by what he was becoming, still craving cum and pleasure more than anything. When he opened his eyes again he watched as he drew his hands away from his sore and throbbing face, as though he’d done nothing but apply some moisturizer, but the results were more than anything that could have come from an overpriced little pump bottle.

Physically his face was harder—any fat he’d had was gone. His cheekbones were so sharp they looked painful. He now had strong cleft chin, and along his razor jaw his perfect shadow beard had appeared. His lip were subtly plumped up like they’d been stung. Strangest of all his eyes had lightened to a piercing amber color—the same bright amber as his mysterious lover.

“Are you there?” he said aloud. His voice was deeper and more melodic. It sounded… hypnotic. Sensual. Like he could convince any man to do anything.

“I am here,” his lover said proudly. Then he was behind him in the mirror, sliding his hands along Ty’s rounded traps and admiring Ty’s body with him in the glass. Ty’s empty brain was filling again, his old, useless information and acuity replaced with things that really mattered. Fitness, nutrition, modeling. Sex. All kinds of sex and every way to give and receive pleasure with a man or more than one man. Memories filtered in, too. Porn shoots. Live feeds. Lovers. Constant sex, in public and private. Everyone wanting him, and him sharing his ecstasies with as many hot men as possible. Because sharing, after all, was what pleasure was for.

It occurred to him that he actually felt pity for Derek and Silas. They were both hot as fuck, and it was a stroke of fortune that they had found each other, but at the same time they were cruelly tied down by their love for each other. They would never know the joys of infinite fucking with the human kaleidoscope of masculine sexiness.

Self-awareness surfaced in him for a moment, and with it came a sliver of un-Ty-like uncertainty. He met Ludovico’s gaze in the mirror. “What are you?” he asked.

“I am a creature of pleasure, like you,” his lover said seriously, brushing his lips along Ty’s neck. It felt so good, Ty spurted clear precum onto the mirror. “I want nothing except to find eternal pleasure and happiness on earth, with you.”

“On earth?” That part sounded weird. Was Ludovico not… of earth? The words “creature of pleasure” struck a chord in his mind, too. A random fragment of old knowledge, left behind amidst all the muscle and cocks and cumming, murmured the word incubus.

“Is that what I am?” he asked Ludovico. “What if… what if I want to go back?” Even as he said the words, he was wondering why he was asking. The Ty of yesterday was fading from his mind, like a movie he’d watched and been disappointed by. There was nothing about his old life he wanted back, even for a minute.

Ludovico moved closer to him, his hard, slick dick sliding between Ty’s rounded glutes, and Ty sucked in a breath. His lover kissed the side of his neck. “You can,” he said reasonably. “If you want. You need only abstain from sex for one month, and you will return to how you were before, with all of this forgotten.”

Ty’s heart tripped, and his enormous cock spasmed, shooting more precum onto the glass. He grinned, shaking his head. “You might as well ask me to fuck the moon,” he said in his newly deepened, man-entrancing voice.

Ludovico smiled wickedly. “Don’t doubt your capabilities,” he said, shoving his erection past the ring of muscle and into Ty’s forever-tight, supremely willing anus. Ty moaned, and Ludovico skated his hands lower, squeezing and worshipping Ty’s dense, oversized pecs. “Limits,” he hissed against his skin, “belong to others.”

Ludovico thrust deeply, skewering his mighty prick all the way into Ty to an extent that seemed impossible, pushing his being into uncharted regions of pure, utter gratification. Ty and Ludovico came together then, because they could, because they chose to, Ty painting the mirror white with the prodigious spend from his superhuman cock and balls. The room seemed to fill with their climax, and Ty didn’t notice as his new fate solidified at last, everything from his old life faded away and gone.

Once they were done cumming, laughing and giddy, they showered and dressed themselves in Ty’s gauzy, revealing outfits. Like the bedroom, the living room was saturated with signs of Ty’s new life as a sexual icon—framed video-cover blow-ups, randy photo-shoot imagery, huge mirrors on every wall, plus top-of-the-line camera equipment in every corner feeding multiple angles live to his own proprietary porn site. Three hunky, hang-dressed guys were humping each other on the couch, and they greeted Ty and Ludovico enthusiastically as they entered, immediately dropping to suck their huge dicks to another incredible climax like that was the local way of saying hello.

“Thanks for appetizer, boys,” Ty said, coasting on the high of his release. “Now, let’s go out and paint the town white!” The others groaned good-naturedly at the joke as they moved in a grope-filled scrum toward the door, ready to do exactly that.

As they moved past one of the big mirrors Ty caught a glimpse of himself and held back a second. For a just an instant he caught a flash of shadowy wings and horns, like he’d seen in that silhouette on the wall the night before. Ty grinned and, pausing to let his serpent-like tongue lap at his lips, he turned away from the mirror and left the apartment with his friends, intent on spreading as much cum and release through the world as he possibly could.

 
 

More Like This