Description Terry wasn't gay. He wasn't, he wasn't, he wasn't. So why was even the thought of his new co-worker, John Smith, getting him so hot? Can he survive the upcoming business meeting without blowing … his cool?
|Updated||13 Jan 2014|
Taking a short detour from the continuing adventures of the men of Transform, I present a self-contained short story written on a train en route to a business meeting, to kill the 2 hours of time.
This story was inspired by a photo gallery you might find as enjoyable as I did at Beautiful Magazine online.
The presence of John Smith was problematic. It always was, for sure, but in this instance the presence of John Smith was going to be unavoidable, and that had Terry sweating inside his suit before the man even entered the room.
Terry wasn’t gay. He wasn’t, he wasn’t, he wasn’t. He knew that very, very clearly. Terry had a wife. Terry had a girlfriend and a wife. Terry had Internet lovers and women in other cities he’d meet on business travel and Terry slept with as many women as he possibly could, or could possibly get away with. Terry liked women, he liked them a lot. He liked fucking them a lot. There was almost nothing at all about being with a naked woman that Terry didn’t like.
But the presence of John Smith. That was going to be a problem.
He’d encountered the man a few times, having heard his name being whispered and spoken and gossiped about in the short number of days since he had arrived at the firm. Usually it was the women doing the talking, and usually the talking gwas accompanied by words like ‘gorgeous’ and ‘hunk’ and ‘beautiful,’ the last of which he found odd because he’d never thought of men as being particularly beautiful. He was confident enough in his own sense of being to be able to admit that some men were handsome, and he understood the attractiveness of certain models and movie stars whose smiling faces stared out from magazines with their chests rather larger than his own and their teeth rather whiter, not that he ever compared of course. In the mirror. In the restroom. After taking a piss. Standing there. Next to John Smith. And looking down. Focusing on his huge….
Damn it! Why did his brain go there? Again? He swallowed hard and tried to look like he hadn’t been thinking about what he had been thinking about. He took a sip of hot coffee and looked around the small conference room before checking his watch. Two minutes to go. He was early, seated at the fat end of the table, planning on the likelihood that the other chairs would be taken up and he would be seated as far from John Smith as possible.
Carrie came in. The Sarah and Martin. He looked out the floor-to-ceiling glass walls for a sign of the man, his head bouncing far above the cubie walls, his broad shoulders and his thick, muscled neck moving with that unearthly quality of smoothness and sensuality that….
Damn it! Fuck! No, not fuck. Not fuck! He cleared his throat and checked his watch and felt a trickle of sweat working its way down his back. John Smith.
John Smith. He’d first encountered him only two days ago. Everyone seemed to be talking about him. But not in the usual way, not about his competence or incompetence, or the way he wore his clothes or his bad breath or anything else that everyone else was talked about. It was… weirder than that. “Have you seen him?” they would say, and the tone wasn’t incredulity or amusement, but something like reverence and awe. They would put an emphasis on “seen” like it really, really mattered. “Have you seeeeeen him?”
“Who?” He was in the office kitchen, adding sugar to his third cup of coffee.
“The new guy. John Smith.”
“His name’s John Smith?”
Sherry nodded. Her eyes looked glazed. “Have you seeeen him?”
John shook his head and took a drink. Sherry rolled her eyes and pursed her lips and looked, for a moment, as if she were passing into some sexual trance, like her pussy was wet and her nipples were hard and she was ready, right there, for him – for anyone to fuck her brains out. “So,” Terry said, “what about him?”
“He’s in Finance. You have to check him out.”
“Why would I care?”
She sucked in a slow, calming breath. “Just check him out. You’ll see.”
Terry grimaced and shook his head again. “Whatever. I have a meeting with him on Friday, I’m sure I can wait.”
She sighed and pivoted on her 4-inch heals and left him standing there in the kitchen, pondering what the hell was wrong with her, when the man himself circled the corner and entered the small space in the center of the floor where the employees of the firm restocked on caffeine or bought candy and chips and soda from the half-stocked vending machines.
Terry turned and didn’t catch the man’s face at once. He nearly bumped into him, except that the size of him was enough to warn him that something huge was looming, like he had driven his car around a curve and a mountain had suddenly reared up before him. He wore dark trousers, and something bulged so big at the crotch that the zipper looked almost to be fighting to stay fastened. The tent of material fanned out smoothly across his narrow hips, but flared thick as it fell to drape whatever sort of melons he was carrying on his thighs.
A voice said, “Oh, sorry. Didn’t see you there,” in a tone so deep that Terry swore he could feel it in his own chest. Looking up with the simple intension of answering the man eye-to-eye, Terry was overcome with an unsettling and unfamiliar sensation.
During the course of his life, Terry had experienced intimidation before. He’d been confronted with much larger men on the football field, been confronted in bars or even while driving and he knew that emotion well. But this wasn’t that. At the time, and during the entire encounter, Terry couldn’t have pinpointed what the feeling was, but he certainly could identify what was happening to him physically as he gazed at the face of John Smith.
Immediately, he felt the warm rush of blood into his cock. His throat went dry and his tongue seemed to inflate and his heart rate increased alarmingly. His hands went cold and clammy and as his cock grew harder and thicker and longer with every beat of that impassioned heart, his entire body grew hotter and hotter.
John Smith was quite simply the most beautiful individual that Terry had ever seen. He was almost inhumanly attractive. It wasn’t just the physical presence or appearance of the man, it was something both deeper and more profound than that, as if John Smith glowed with an aura of power and command.
Physically, there was no denying the man’s incredible beauty. From the clear shining blue of his eyes to the noble, proud nose to the jutting, sculpted chin, the man was literally breathtaking. It was almost hard to look directly at him, and at the same time it was impossible to look away. That aura shone from him and drew Terry to him and he wanted then and there, more than anything else, to kiss John Smith full on the mouth and rub himself against his giant frame and strip the man free of that confining suit to experience the perfection of form and body that surely lived beneath.
No woman had ever had this effect on Terry. No person in the world was as attractive, as sexual, and as powerful as John Smith.
He spoke again, smiling now, which only increased his beauty and made Terry’s steel-hard cock press painfully against his suddenly tight pants. “You okay?” he said simply, and he started to lift his powerful arm to reach toward Terry’s shoulder as if to steady the man.
Terry knew innately and completely that if John Smith so much as touched him, he would erupt with a load of hot cum so full and powerful and thick that there would be no doubt in anyone’s mind who observed his sopping crotch what had happened. He bolted from the kitchen with a frightened immediacy that was as difficult as any movement he’d ever made.
He wanted John Smith to touch him. Oh, God damn how he wanted that. The merest touch of the man’s skin against his, to feel the power the man possessed, to experience the utter perfect masculine strength that was radiating off him like light from the sun was Terry’s purest and deepest desire. But he wasn’t gay, damn it! He wasn’t gay!
But he wasn’t gay! Damn it, he wasn’t gay!
He kept telling himself that as John Smith pulled out a chair for the woman he had been speaking with before he moved directly to the chair to Terry’s left, even though there were half-a-dozen other chairs available to his perfect ass.
Terry did not look up at John Smith to meet his gaze, this time, so he did not see the smile that lit the man’s face as he sat down and placed his pad of paper and a pen before him on the table. Terry’s gaze stayed focused on the table before him, instead, so he did get to see John Smith’s powerful and perfect hands as they folded against each other. He could see the strength of the man manifested in his hands, the long fingers that could encompass Terry’s hard cock, the shining nails he could feel against the back of his head as John Smith pulled their lips together into a passionate kiss, the small curls of hair across the backs of his fingers that hinted at the dark curling jungle of shining softness that Terry would push his face into, worshiping the deep cleavage between the hard, round hemispheres of muscle mounted on John Smith’s chest.
“Terry, isn’t it?” the deep rumble asked. The hands unclasped and one started toward Terry’s own before he pulled them both under the table where they found the insistent hard-on throbbing in his pants. Terry nodded slightly, licking his lips and swallowing into a dry throat. “We almost met the other day,” the voice continued, its tone light and easy, its level soft but powerful. “I’m John. John Smith.” The hand opened and awaited Terry’s own.
Terry tried to find a smile and found it hiding in a grimace. The heat was unbearable. Would no one else turn up the A/C? Could no one else feel the radiance of this man, and how every word, every movement, his mere presence in the room had driven the temperature up several degrees? Terry had the presence of mind to wipe his hand on his pants before slowly pulling it up to meet the man’s grasp.
The heat increased as their hands slowly approached each other. Terry wondered when the shock would occur, he was certain the man’s body was filled with electricity, he could feel it in the room like ants on his skin. Terry tried to think of words to say, but none seemed adequate when addressing a God. The effort to overcome his fear of what might happen to him was overwhelmed by the desire to touch John Smith in any way possible.
Terry finally looked up and met the other man’s gaze, and as their hands moved into contact, his entire body shuddered as his balls delivered a copious flood of cream inside his Fruit of the Looms.
It was all that Terry had desired and more than he had feared. The contact wasn’t just orgasmic, it was a supernova of sensual bliss. The man’s skin felt like nothing Terry had imagined. A shock of something powerful and ultimate and unyielding entered his body through the touch and it detonated through his body and lit him up from the inside, gathering in on itself and building like a thunderhead, growing immense with power and size and then with a suddenness defying logic or reason or reality, it exploded out from the tip of his hard, hot cock, splattering Terry’s groin with a wealth of hot cream he didn’t know he had.
It all happened in less than a second, in the momentary touch of flesh to flesh, and Terry gasped deeply and shut his eyes as if in pain, looking for all the world as if he was suffering some cataclysmic palpitation, when he was as far from pain as pleasure permitted.
John held onto Terry’s hand as the event passed through the other man’s body. He could feel the occurrence reverberating through his own powerful body. He knew what had happened. He was only partially surprised.
Because the exact same thing had happened to him.
John stood up, still grasping Terry’s palm, and leaned toward him and said, softly, “We are one,” before rising to his full height and stating to the rest of the shocked room, “Don’t worry, I’ll take him back to my office.” He looked down at Terry’s sweating and shuddering form and said, “I’ll take care of everything.”
He moved behind Terry’s shaking form and put his hands under his arms, lifting him easily from the chair. It was evident that something had happened to the man, but it was far from clear to any observer (except the man offering him aid) exactly what that was. A wide, dark stain appeared on his pants and he was sweating profusely. In addition, his slight shuddering was turning into profound shaking as he exited the conference room, and he was having a lot of trouble using his legs to move. He appeared, more than anything, a ragdoll in the larger man’s capable grip.
“I’m sorry,” John whispered in his ear. “I should have known. I wouldn’t have done this to you here. I would have… Nno, no,” he announced loudly as he passed down the hallway, “he’ll be all right. He had some shellfish for lunch and I suspect it is not quite agreeing with him. A little rest and he’ll be shipshape in no time.”
The voice was still reverberating through Terry’s body as if he was a bell. Any embarrassment he was feeling about the unfortunate but agreeable orgasm staining his pants was forgotten in that sound, and he ached to touch the man’s warm flesh again.
John Carried him through the door to his office and deposited Terry on the executive chair behind his desk before shutting the door and announcing, “No worries, I’ll have him back on his feet in no time!” to the dispersing crowd outside. Once the door was closed, he rested for a moment against its surface before moving quickly toward Terry and commanding him to “Take off your clothes. All of them. Now.”
Terry didn’t feel compelled to obey, but he was hoping that this would be a mutual disrobing so he stood and began to slowly strip himself of his clothes. His hands had a difficult time grasping anything and his arms and legs felt like weak noodles. John stood across the room from him and watched, his face interested and his gaze penetrating. “I’d volunteer to help, but I’m afraid I’d only make things worse for you.”
“I don’t under…” Terry stopped when he got to his belt and remembered the gush of cum that had grown cold and dripped down his legs.
“Don’t worry about that, Terry. In a few minutes, that will be the least of your problems.”
“What do you mean?” His voice sounded hoarse. His tongue felt thick and lethargic.
“I suppose we have some time. Less than we might need, but under the circumstances… no, don’t stop. You really need to get those clothes off your body. You’ll be a lot happier if you do.” Terry managed to work his boxers off his prick, and it bobbed up and bounced, still hard as a rock, slick and glistening with cum. “Well, maybe not a lot happier. I can’t imagine… no, actually, I can.”
“Tell.” He was down to single syllables. His body ached intensely. He could feel the movement of every muscle like knife cuts.
John stood before him as Terry slowly continued stripping off his clothes, his body growing increasingly awkward and stiff as he did so. “I’m afraid what’s happening is my fault. Mostly. I mean, it’s not… fuck, this is harder than I thought.” The word ‘fuck’ seemed to strike at Terry’s libido like a red hot poker. It sank into his head and shot through his body and forced his cock to an even harder erection. A sudden guzzling spurt of cum erupted from the tip and flowed across the veiny skin. “Sorry. Forgot that part.”
“Tell!” He could hardly get the word out. His eyes felt heavy. His body was both freezing and burning up. He felt nauseous and wanted badly to sleep.
“In short, you’re sick. You have a disease. A very rare, very unusual and very difficult to catch ailment that only affects one in a million people. Always men. I have it, too. I gave it to you. And you’re feeling its effects now. Soon,” he paused, glancing at his watch, “very soon, you’re going to be realizing its full effects.” He passed his blue-eyed gaze along Terry’s now naked form, smiling slyly. “Socks, too. It’s important.”
When Terry looked up again, John was loosening his own tie and unbuttoning his own shirt. “This is going to be something of a shock. I’d prepare you if I could, but take it from me, there is no preparation for this.” As he revealed the body that lay beneath the suit and tie, even in his confused and ailing state, Terry was dumbfounded, shaken and painfully aroused.
John Smith’s body was nothing short of spectacular, perhaps even more beautiful than his face. Taken together, the appearance of the man’s perfection of form and inhumanly magnificent face caused Terry to approach a level of temptation and sexual stimulation nearly too powerful to accept or endure.
The man before continued slowly to strip himself of his clothes, and with every inch of flesh revealed, it became more and more difficult to bear the utter superhuman masculinity and overwhelmingly powerful display of muscular perfection being exposed. Every movement as he unfastened his belt and unzipped his fly and stepped free of his shoes and pants highlighted the supreme and outright sexuality of the man, with the muscle flexing and bulging and shoving beneath his flawless flesh.
The fibers and cables of power, deeply defined and faultlessly developed, was accented to male perfection with a network of veins running down his forearms and across his densely muscled thighs. Fat veins traversed the bulging balls of his biceps and clung to his thick neck. His waist was almost absurdly narrow, creating a taper of such dramatic flare that it appeared the man might topple over, given the huge slabs of meat mounted on his chest and the wide, high, firm beauty of the brawn swelling across his shoulders.
He stood now naked before Terry’s helpless form, and it appeared, now, that all that muscle, all the curves and bulges and cables of power, were pointing directly toward the one feature that came to dominate every other abundantly masculine characteristic with which the man was gifted. There, at the center of his body, as if springing from the absolute core of power that had developed such a monster of muscle, was the biggest cock that Terry had ever encountered.
It was not only long, but massively thick. It arched out with a proud perception of its own significance, its fat shaft tightly wrapped in a vascular network that wound around and fed the beast, for it was pulsing and throbbing visibly, obviously growing toward erection. The fact that such a monstrously large prick was not already at its largest size was not lost on Terry, and he found his heart rate increasing with every pulse of John Smith’s enormous meat.
The tool was already obviously firm and heavy, an uncut beauty of gorgeous perfection even given the cock’s freakish dimensions. Even so, mounted on that hyper masculine body, it seemed absolutely perfect. A thin, tight cowl of skin climbed over the flaring edge of the cock’s helmet and ended just short of the tip. The plum inside, its size and proportions obvious, seemed to gleam or glisten as if wet. The head was redder than the rest of his dick, and as it slowly developed, the foreskin was peeling itself back from the head and revealing its true extents.
John Smith merely stood there silently, a smile on his stunning face, his meaty arms folded across the fat globes of his pecs, slowly breathing as his cock grew. The head was lifting as if its own weight was difficult to suspend, and the whole of the member was swelling thicker as it lengthened. John’s ballsack was revealed as his cock neared 90 degrees, and Terry’s eyes grew wide in shock upon seeing the fat balls dangling in his hairless scrotum.
They appeared to be as large as two farm fresh eggs, hanging far down between his powerful legs. It was only the sheer size of the cock that could hide them, and Terry could tell that they were moving inside their loose skin. And, impossibly, they appeared to be growing in league with John’s nearly erect prick.
The head was fully revealed now, and the glistening appearance was no illusion. It gleamed like glass, the skin pulled tight and shiny as the whole of it approached full erection. It was already two feet long, at least, as the head rose higher and higher, crawling up John’s cobblestone belly toward the inches-deep cleavage on his chest.
John lowered his arms as his cock rose to its full majesty, fat as a third arm rising from between his veined, muscular legs. His nutsack dangled now nearly to his knees, and each of his balls had swelled impressively, now as large as oranges. “Are you ready?” he asked softly. His entirely body seemed to be massively swollen with strength and power, every muscle hard as steel and bulging starkly against his skin. “I won’t lie to you,” he said, perhaps knowing that the power of speech was no longer Terry’s to command, “this is going to hurt.”
John moved the palm of his right hand onto the hot, hard surface of his mammoth erection and slowly moved his touch down its length. When he reached the bottom, his balls appeared to seize up slightly and as he brought his hand back up, a wealth of precum began to pour from the tip. The clear honey flowed out and down the enormity and John used both his hands – they could not completely encompass his girth now, even as large as they were – to move the precum over the surface of the red, throbbing monster. The precum was coming in thick surges, drizzling down his cock like a warm thick tide. Terry could smell the sex in the room, it was emanating from John Smith like cologne. It smelled like leather and wood and the gorgeous, salty stink of a sweaty asscrack.
Terry’s own cock was painfully hard, feeling all its eight inches and then some. John’s phallus was at least 30 inches high, the drooling tip topping out at his chin. “I’m afraid,” he said, “that you have no choice.” John walked slowly toward his naked prey, his huge cock swaying and all his muscles bulging fat and powerful, and he lifted Terry’s body up easily and turned him over, positioning the man prone before him, holding him up effortlessly.
John Smith lifted Terry’s ass in the air. His erect cock moved of its own volition, seemingly, dipping itself toward the tight, warm hole before it and John kissed Terry’s ass with the drizzling tip of his cock. A fierce heat suffused Terry’s body from the point of contact, and he felt something give or snap, as if he had been held tightly inside some cocoon and was now feeling its hold give way.
John Smith sighed with utter contentment as he slowly moved his monster cock inside Terry’s body. A searing pain ripped at Terry’s ass as the enormity of the colossal beast moved inside him, inch by inch. The heat and pain erased sensation from his head, he felt only the pain and a kind of throbbing swelling through his body. He did not cry out, he had no voice.
John Smith watched his cock pushing inside Terry’s body, and felt the final stage of the disease kick in, met now with the essence of its source and fed with a flood of power. Terry’s body began to change before his eyes, only the second time he had been witness to this since his own evolution. He could see the outline of his cock moving inside the man’s body and watched the skin split along his back, starting at the crack of his ass and working upward like a faultline. Terry’s metamorphosis had begun.
The pain suddenly gave way to an equally intense pleasure. Terry suddenly experienced the unstoppable entry of John Smith’s huge prick as a cascade of tingling sexual bliss emanating out from where it touched him and he could feel something within his body changing.
Subtle at first, than increasingly powerful, it was as if his organs and bones and muscles were shifting and swelling and bending. His body was not only making allowances for the massive intrusion, it was welcoming it and pulling it inside.
At first, the sensation was one of bloating. He could feel the hugeness of the other man’s cock as it entered and continued to fill him up, then something shifted suddenly, and the cock was grabbed and shoved downward and he felt a pleasant pressure at his groin from behind his own rock-hard erection. Another gush of cream erupted as John Smith’s cock was suddenly shoving itself inside his own.
John smiled and closed his eyes and felt the rush of orgasmic contentment surround every inch of his cock that was burying itself inside Terry’s ass. He felt the familiar and agreeable thump as his cockhead found the entrance to Terry’s prick, fitting like a key inside its lock. Terry’s body surrounded John’s enormity and began to pull on him, tugging hungrily to swallow every last inch of John’s nearly three-foot cock, and join them forever in the small brotherhood of men infected with this unique disease, if that’s what it truly was.
The split along Terry’s back was joined now with another along the front of his body. The skin, thin as paper, was pulling itself apart and the new form of Terry was slowly emerging as John’s cock continued its inexorable entrance. John watched Terry’s old skin curling and ripping as his new skin emerged. The muscles of his back were growing fast now, bulging and separating into distinct mounds of thick, hard power. His cock slid forward, lubed by its continuing flow of precum, shoving itself inside Terry’s small dick and bringing his change to fruition.
Nothing in his life ever felt as good as this. It was as if he had been held inside a tight cage all his life and was now emerging into the light of freedom. Something constricting was ripping from his naked body and he could feel himself swelling inside it. He felt heavier, stronger, and more naked than he had ever imagined possible. His sense of sexuality was growing thick and powerful, as well, as if everything about himself and everything and everyone he touched would grow more powerfully sexual. His muscles buzzed and bulged. His ass was split wide but felt tight and hot and utterly erotic.
But it was his cock where it felt that feeling most intently, and looking down now, he watched himself swelling like he had seen John Smith do. His foreskin was stretching to encase his blooming helmet. He watched his own cockhead grow like a mushroom, the flaring ridge expanding and refining, the plum of his helmet moving further and further from his body as he was filled from within by John Smith’s magic prick. He could see the other man’s cock entering his own, and feel his cock growing enormous to allow it inside. He felt an enormous load of cream in his balls. Like nothing he ever felt before. He could feel its weight and swollen power and feel it building and building inside his nut sack.
He watched his old skin splitting along a seam that traveled down the center of his chest and belly, and he could see his new body emerging from within. He could see fat, perfect nipples rubbing along the underside of his old skin as it split, could see the deep shadow of the cleavage between the heavy, thick mounds of muscle blossoming across his chest.
John Smith’s cock was almost all the way inside Terry’s body now, and it gripped him like the tightest, most perfect ass he’d ever encountered. He knew what Terry was feeling, for it had not been so long ago that this had happened to him. He moved his hands down onto Terry’s body and gripped his old skin in his grasp and pulled it apart like paper. Terry’s new body swelled into power before his eyes, the muscles suddenly inflating with power and size, and Terry’s entire being shuddered once as it attained its full glory.
Something happened to Terry, something set him free, and he felt himself grow immensely powerful and huge. Everything snapped into place and John’s fat cock was fully seated inside his own now enormous prick and a double flood of silver cream fountained from the end of it. His cum was changed like the rest of him, an incandescent shining mercury that splattered out in abundant magnificence and shook him with the power of his orgasm. He was a changed man, now more than a man, and the feelings of sickness and fear and constraint were replaced with feelings of perfection and power and a masculine energy that could explode a mountain.
John Smith came through Terry’s new prick. It was now the only time he could attain this state of perfect sexual bliss, when fully joined with another of his kind. His ass ached to be penetrated by Terry’s hugeness in kind. He needed to feel the other man’s power inside his own, to be filled utterly by the other man’s vast, altered cock and experience the perfection of male power that two of them could share.
Terry and John’s mutual flood spouted its silver cascade across the desk and carpet and wall, splattering the small space with its copious excess until they had both expended their loads and slowly, achingly, John Smith withdrew his cock from Terry’s massively muscled form.
“Turn around,” he said. “Let me have a look at you.”
Terry stood up easily. The smell of sex permated the office. Strings and cascades of silver cum clung to exposed surfaces everywhere. He noticed that his head now approached ceiling height, and he could see the width and size of his shoulders and the bulging masses of his pecs in his peripheral vision. He felt heavy, and powerful, and looking at John Smith again, he could feel his cock growing thick and raging hard.
John glanced down at Terry’s new cock and grinned. “Yeah, I know. I feel it, too. I wish there was a mirror in here so you could see… what I see.”
What John observed before him was a man every bit as gorgeous, muscular and powerful as he was himself. Terry’s old skin lay discarded at his feet, and in its place he was now covered with a suit of flesh both smooth and soft, a sensual delight that would make another man with a certain genetic anomaly experience the same metamorphosis he had just undergone. Terry’s face was an exercise in masculine beauty. Essentially unchanged, but somehow entirely improved, his face had a growth of beard across his angled chin and his brow was now deeper and darker than before. His nose was slightly wider, and his eyes sparkled more clearly. John Smith wasn’t sure what this disease – if it was a disease – was, but he was certain that he never wanted to find a cure.
Terry’s body was as large as his own, now, with the same wildly radical taper to his torso, the same fat globes of muscle on his chest, the same hard balls of brawn on his arms. His belly was tight as a drum, with an 8-pack of hard cobblestone in perfect array. A dark trail of curls erupted from his navel and traversed the flat, smooth plain of his pelvis before erupting into a thick jungle above his genitals.
And there it was. Terry’s new cock. An almost perfect match to his own. A regrown foreskin tightly cowled the bulbous head and within that copper-burnished skin, his cockhead gleamed like glass, smooth and firm and beautiful. It was throbbing with growth already, the veins along its thick shaft swollen with blood to feed the monster to its full glory, a state achieved only in the presence of another man thus altered.
“What did you mean, before?” Terry asked. His voice attacked John’s libido and sent his heart pumping.
“You said ‘Forgot that part,’ right after you said…”
“Be careful. When we’re together, the sexual power even of words attains a level that’s nearly unbearable. That’s why your cock is swelling already, even though you just came the biggest load of your life. It’s why you had that reaction to me. It’s why this happened, and continues to happen.”
“What is it?” Terry asked, even as his cock swelled higher and higher and he began slowly to stroke it with his right hand. The head of it bloomed forth from its tight turtleneck and a drizzle of precum drooled from the tip.
John Smith shrugged his massive shoulders. “I don’t know. It happened to me three weeks ago. Kind of the same way. This guy I’d never met, a copying machine repairman of all things, felt this unnaturally strong attraction to him. He seemed to sense it too, I know now that he did, and before I could stop myself or him we were in an electrical closet and… you know the rest.”
Terry could smell his own ass, smell the sexual scent of his body, rising like heat all around him. “What happens now?”
John said, “That’s up to you, of course. But I can tell you what I did.” Terry nodded, taking a step closer to the other man, noting that his cock was starting to inflate with steady throbbing pulses, too. “I did what the guy who infected me did. I disappeared. I changed my identity. I left everything behind. I didn’t want to be Lawrence Carrolton of Washington D.C. any more. So I became John Smith, moved here to New York, and started over.”
He laughed gently. “It was the name of the man who infected me. His alter ego as well.”
Terry smiled. “I like it.”
John approached Terry. “I like this,” he said, grabbing Terry’s cock.
Terry wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m ready when you are.”
“Fuck me, Terry.”
“Call me John.”