Wrong number

by Dream Big

A mysterious phone call and a burst of static on the line triggers some changes.

I was having the most erotic dream, involving an international gymnastic team, when the phone rang.

I sat up blinking in utter confusion. Where were the hot boys in uniforms and all muscles up? Why was I in this drab room? Oh, right, a dream. Maddeningly the details faded all too rapidly, unlike the raging hard-on I sported.

The call claimed to be from Morocco. I didn’t know anyone in Morocco, and was pretty sure none of my buddies were even on that continent, though it was hard to tell with Lars. He tended to globe trot a lot with work.

How did it even go through? I had “do not disturb” set. I tapped the ringer to silent and tried to clear my head.

The calling phone number was really long, lots of digits.

CALL ENDED

Ugh. Whatever. Back to sleep, the mystery could wait. I put the phone down and cuddle back under the covers. Sleep? Maybe not, my prick was too stiff.

BEEP BEEP.

Argh! Fine, I’ll see what the voicemail was.

I tapped the play button and was rewarded with a squealing digital screech, and then the screen flashed. My eyes swam with an afterimage, the light and color inverted temporarily. I fell back, stunned, the phone falling screen-up on my right pec..

What the hell was that? Some kind of digital payload? How did they get the screen to flash like that? My mind was racing…and I couldn’t seem to move.

And that’s when I felt it. My heart went into overdrive and I felt lightning shoot through every inch of my body. I felt….heavier. It felt like I had worked out to my absolute limit, and then got bathed in menthol cream, and then rinse dry in warm water. I felt like I was pumped up, but my body still couldn’t move.

I don’t know how long it lasted, but a few moments later, the buzzing started again. It built and built, every pore and muscle, hell even my hair, vibrating… and then suddenly concentrating… southward.

Imagine the best hand job you ever received, teasing and stroking your balls and dick and taint with feather touches, and then building to firm loving massage. And then follow it with the best blowjob you have ever had. I felt pre leaking out of my turgid cock, which was in itself unusual—wasn’t much of a leaker—but then it got massively better, a prolonged and pleasant hum that shot up my nerve endings into my spine, and then up into my brain. Something sparked, and then I was somehow changed—but how and what it meant, I had no way of knowing.

And then it all stopped, like someone had switched off the mains.

I sat up effortlessly and stretched over to reach the lamp, and turned it on.

Holy shit, was that my arm? It was a work of art, and I stared at it in wonder for a moment, turning my hand around and watching sinewy bulges move under the skin, before reality smacked me in the midsection.

And by reality, I mean my erect dick. And by midsection, I mean just under my newly huge pecs. I felt it there, but couldn’t see it because my scrawny chest had been replaced by that of some refugee from Upper Workoutistan. Jesus. I was incredible, and if my still-unseen schlong was as improved as the rest of me, I was gonna like this a lot. I mean, I still had no idea what had happened, or how on earth something like this could have been triggered. Was it Lars? Had he stumbled on some magic, or knowing Lars, some kind of military experiment, in Morocco?

I leapt out of bed. If my arm had been a work of art, my body was a masterclass. And my dick was the fucking Sistine Chapel, with a symphony being played below it.

It was hard to guess how large the rest of me was, but the part I was most concerned with was a graceful arc that probably topped 14 inches, and I couldn’t get my hand all the way round it. My balls hung low and large, a tangle of hair cradling them and swarming up into a neat bush above, one now soaked with pre. The things I could do with that mighty cock…

BLING BLONG

A text. Unknown caller.

“HOW DO YOU LIKE IT?”

As it happens, I liked it quite a lot.

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