Description Even when he’s home sick, Stefan’s ability to dream up new transformations on his schoolmates is a big pain. Make that, especially when he’s home sick.
It’s a very weird feeling, being created. You still have all your memories, you’re still you, but one minute you’re pulling your books out of your locker getting ready for first period, and the next you’ve suddenly jumped a few inches to the left, with your empty hands up in the air, looking like an idiot, while the other you stops what he’s doing and looks at you like you just spit on him.
“Hey, it’s not my fault,” I growled the last time this happened, which was yesterday morning. The other me managed a smile.
“No, you’re right,” he said, finishing pulling his books out and stuffing them into what until a couple seconds before been my bag. Well, fuck, I guess it was still my bag, but—man, being cloned is really disorienting. And don’t even talk to me about sharing stuff when it gets past bookbags and football practice.
“C’mon, let’s go find that dickhead before anything else happens,” I said, but the other me just snorted as we fell into step jogging down the main hall. He was right, too. Usually cloning was just the beginning.
Sure enough by the time we got over to east wing of the school, which is where all the freshman homerooms are, we were already a foot and a half taller than everyone else, our tee shirts yanked forcibly out of our too-short jeans and inches of ankle sowing at the other end. “Man, he’s getting faster,” I muttered, as hundreds of geeky freshmen filed past us, risking only the occasional nervous glance at the intruding seniors. (Oh too many past experiences had taught me—us, whatever—that no one paid any attention to our transformations, so I knew these kids were just reacting to a couple of seniors descending from Olympus to slum with the ninth graders.)
“Maybe he’s rushing past the usual stuff cause he wants to try something else,” the other me said, hurriedly poking his head into doorway after doorway on the right side of the hall (I was taking the left).
“Whatever it is, I’ll bet it’s fucked up,” I growled, brushing my suddenly long blond hair out of the way.
“I wish he’d at least remember to grow our clothes,” the other me said, scratching his exposed navel.
“Yeah, we should shuck these before he gets started with the muscle,” I mused absent-mindedly, looking in the last empty classroom on my side. “Fuck! Where the hell is he?”
Suddenly our shoulders started broadening—just the shoulders, weirdly enough. Sometimes he did that, concentrating on one part of the body at a time. It was a bad sign because it meant he was taking his time with this part of the transformation.
I exchanged exasperated looks with myself. “Shit!” we both said, peeling off our shirts with some difficulty.
We stood there in the emptying hallway, half-naked, the chill air-conditioned air hardening the nips on our (so-far, naturally built) pecs. At least our newly bulging shoulders were warm, as our long blond hair cascaded down to our shoulder blades. “Where the fuck is he?” said the other me.
I ran forward a few steps to grab the shoulder of a guy just now coming out of a classroom, even though the bell was about to ring. He seemed really distracted. “Hey buddy, do you know Stefan Koenig?”
He looked up at me with piercing ice-blue eyes, barely registering what I was saying. He kept rubbing his front arms and his back arms together, like he wasn’t used to having them. His fists flexed spasmodically.
At last, however, he was able to surface out of his own thoughts long enough to speak. “Stefan—no, he’s home sick today, maybe all week,” he said. “He’s got strep or something. He called me up this morning, sounding all doped up, asking me to get his books for him.”
“Fuck!” the other me said.
I tried to remain calm, unlike the other me, who had dropped to his knees and snatched up his shirt and was ripping it apart to vent his fury. I suddenly realized I was a very impatient person. Well, especially when some fuckhead is fucking around with my body.
I watched him for a second, realizing we had been too distracted to notice our arms were now bulging with muscle (well, that should make it easier for Other Me to shred the tee shirt, I thought snidely), then turned back to Stefan’s four-armed friend. “Do you know where he lives?” I asked, trying to sound calm over the semi-comical grunts and growls of the other me ripping his shirt to shreds.
“Yeah,” the guy said. “Listen, do I look … weird to you?”
“What are you talking about?” I said, irritated. “C’mon, I need to find your friend. He’s fucking with us and he probably doesn’t even know it. OW!” My head had suddenly slammed, very hard, into the plaster ceiling. I looked down at my body, but suddenly my pecs entirely blocked my vision.
“What’s wrong?” Stefan’s friend said, cocking his head to one side, still rubbing his six arms together like they were brand new or something. What is it with this kid? I ducked slightly to pull out of the actual two-inch-deep impression I’d made in the plaster. The other me was pointing up at me laughing (man he looks hot, I want him, I want to make out with him so fucking bad I can taste his mouth on mine already). Bet he felt vindicated now—his little tantrum had saved him a knock on the head (he’s so handsome, so fucking beautiful). I felt inclined to give him one, just to even us out (or just fuck his brains out). Damn it, I was boning up. And that would make Other Me bone up too, as soon as he stopped chuckling and noticed mine. Which would be hard to avoid soon, knowing that dip Stefan.
“Nothing,” I said. “Look, we really need—“
“I’ll take you there,” he said, but he didn’t move. He was staring at me, his mouth a little open, and I realized I was turning him on.
I’ll take you there,” he said, but he didn’t move. He was staring at me, his mouth a little open, and I realized I was turning him on. My transformations may not be noticeable, but when I’m like this, I become more and more irresistible (to myself too, as I was already noticing). Gay or straight, doesn’t matter. I once had to fend off my own buds on the football team, and I know for a fact most of them are straight. But they all wanted me so bad I had to run for it. They caught up with me behind the bleachers and fucking sucked … me … dry. Then the next day I was back to normal and it had never happened. Though ever since then Joshua has been really touchy-feely, always playfully grabbing my ass or putting his arm on my shoulder or whatever, acting like it’s “guy stuff,” but I know better. He caught a taste for my cock that day.
Speaking of which—“Dude, put those away, will you? Didn’t your brothers ever teach you your cocks go inside the pants?” Which was a little unfair, those monster boners of his were a good six inches too long to fit back inside his jeans. He must have been having that problem every day since puberty, I thought distractedly. Hastily he pulled his dark green polo shirt out from behind his monster poles and dropped it in front of them. He turned and started walking, and we followed, crouching in the too-small, deserted corridor, hand in hand, listening warily to the burbling of classes in the rooms we were passing. By the time we got to the main entrance we were bent almost double. Our clothes were long gone, but of course, that was normal.
“You really should go to a bigger school,” the kid said blandly, glancing up at us as we squeezed through the doors. He was totally serious, like we were the 18-foot-tall dorks who cluelessly decided to go to a school with 10-foot ceilings.
“Ha, ha. Is it far?”
“Yeah, actually. Hey, do those things work? Cause it’ll be faster.” It took me a second to realize he was pointing at our fucking wings. Huge, strong, golden-eagle wings. I turned and looked at the other me (god, I really wanted him, looking at him made me so boned, my arm-sized cock was wedged in the bottom of my pec-cleavage, and so was his, I wanted it inside me so bad I ached for it) and laughed.
“This is new,” we said together.
I effortlessly picked up the eight-armed hunk and wedged him behind my raging cock (he fit very well there!) and gave the wings and experimental flap—they were really strong, just that one pump had lifted me a good ten feet off the ground. My twin was right beside me. We grinned at each other, and pulled our heads together suddenly for a long, hot, wet kiss. I felt eight muscle arms squeeze our cocks together—they were the size of an actual person now, but our new friend’s arms happened to be longer than usual and he was able to hug them both and rub them as we kissed, flapping gently to stay in mid-air. Man, what a release to be free from the relentless pull of gravity. My legs seemed to loosen and relax just from not having to bear my weight, and I knew the other me felt the same way.
I was so turned on by my new giant muscle-angel body—which felt as awesome on my twin under my roaming hands as it did to be in it—and by our new friend’s inexpert but still hot stimulation of our man-sized cocks that it was mere moments before we felt our orgasms building up—we could always feel both orgasms, stacked on top of each other, his and mine, and we were building, building, and then suddenly we were exploding—an orgasm supernova. The mind is just not built to experience two orgasms simultaneously, and certainly not while you’re already feeling the heart-pounding exhilaration of defying gravity.
We blacked out, but I guess our wings kept us aloft autonomically, and when we came to together we were still in the air, embracing each other, our powerful wings spread wide and gently pumping to keep us aloft.
The kid, absolutely covered in his cum and ours, was grinning up at us with one head while the other was happily engaged in licking cum off my ten-foot still-hard boner. I wondered idly whether he jacked off like everyone else, or if he usually sucked off both his cocks at the same time, but then I saw the third cock sticking out of the collar of his cum-soaked shirt and realized he still had to beat off at least one of his cocks. Or share.
“We should get going,” Other Me said. I smiled ruefully—I was almost enjoying this one. Suddenly we heard applause and cheers from below. I glanced down and realized we were floating over the soccer field, and the entire team was out there—evidently our lovemaking had interrupted a practice—and they were all standing there, clapping at hooting happily at us—at least with their upper torsos: the arms of their lower torsos were
all busy stroking the cocks erupting from their shorts, one in each fist. I wasn’t sure which was hotter to see on a teamfull of teenage jocks all at once—the smooth abs of their upper torsos emerging from the shoulders of their lower torsos, or all those triplets of legs, three across, lithe and muscular and looking ready to run a hundred miles. The all looked beautiful in their horny jock glee. We separated and waved, and a few guys suddenly came at the full exposure of our giant muscle angel bods, to the delight of their friends. As we flew off they turned to each other, making out and wrapping their upper arms around each other while they stroked each other off.
“I’m amazed the league lets three-legged guys play,” Other Me said as we flew.
Our passenger frowned up at us with one of his heads. “I thought all soccer players looked like that,” he said.
My clone and I exchanged confused looks. Did they? I wasn’t sure anymore.
The house he guided us to looked tiny—but they all looked tiny. My clone and I were twice as tall as the house, which was a two-story colonial in a quiet neighborhood. I started to suggest to the kid that he go in and find Stefan for us, although at ten feet tall with ten arms and six legs he’d have a little trouble fitting through the front door himself. Anyway the kid pointed with one of his long, buff arms to the nearest second-floor window, which was slightly open.
Suddenly it dawned on him why we were here. It took an effort—Stefan’s transformations are set for strict user-awareness only, but there could only be one reason why we’d wanted to find Stefan as much as he did.
He looked up, one face looking at each of us, and said with the one looking at me, “You guys aren’t normally like this—are you?”
We shook our heads.
“Should I get him to change you guys back too?”
I frowned at the “too”—what had Stefan done to the kid?—but said, “That would be great.”
He nodded and I walked him over to the window, which he opened easily with three arms, and crawled carefully through the too-small opening.
Other Me and I bent down to peer through the windows. Yep, there was Stefan, lying in bed dozing, all six of his arms wrapped around his boner. How he got anything done with a permanent six-foot boner as big around as his waist was a complete mystery to me.
Our young friend stood over him, crouching slightly. “Stefan, wake up!”
Stefan’s eyes fluttered, and he first glanced down at himself, as if he was changed somehow too, and then at our two-headed friend. His eyes widened and suddenly his cock bucked and Stefan cried out, spraying a huge burst of cum on the wall behind him, which was already covered with wet and drying cum.
“God, Stef, do you have to do that every time you see me?” said one head. “I mean it’s flattering and stuff…” said the other. He tailed off, staring at his buddy’s enormous cock.
“You want me to change you back?” Stefan said hoarsely. He looked weak and drained, especially now that he’d cum a few gallons.
“Yeah. Pretty much. Yeah. And the twins,” he added, suddenly remembering and gesturing at us outside, without taking his eyes off Stefan’s six-foot erection.
Stefan’s eyes bugged a little when he saw us through the windows.
“Hi Stefan,” I said.
“Long time no see,” Other Me said.
Stefan’s cock bucked and another load sprayed the wall behind him, barely noticed. Stefan caught his breath and, nodding wearily, he closed his eyes, and I felt myself starting to shrink, very slowly.
Our friend came to the window. “Look, guys, why don’t you head out?”
“I’m gonna … stay here for a while.”
We nodded and took off hurriedly. Maybe we could get in some more twincest at home before Stefan uncloned me…
Turns out I needn’t have worried. Stefan texted me that night to complain that he was “too weak” from the strep and the meds to make us more than adequately normal. (I suspected nonstop sex with his two-headed buddy was the real culprit.)
So there I was—there we were—in homeroom the next day. I still had a twin, we were still superhero buff, we even still had the fucking wings. But we were only seven feet tall, and our nonstop boners were a manageable forearm-thick 16 inches. And our attractiveness was toned down enough that guys could keep their hands off us most of the time (except in the halls—the guys always stroke our bods in the halls), but we still make everyone, even the guys sleeping in study hall, spring oversized woodies. It’s eerie.
At least all the guys at this school are hot—even the nerdiest freshman looks like a fashion model for some reason—and since the student council banned shirts (for one thing, winged guys like me and my twin can’t wear em) it’s even more obvious how hot our classmates are, so all those footlong boners sticking out of their jeans are a real compliment. Especially from the double-decker soccer jocks, and of course the twelve-pack basketball dudes.
The bell rang and we walked out into the hallway, resigned/excited about the gauntlet of affectionate groping ahead of us, when suddenly our heads smashed against the ceiling, hard.
I looked over at Other Me. And at Other Other Me. My heart shuddered. My mind suddenly filled with concentrated lust, as if having three of us in one place created some magnetic sexual nexus. So beautiful, I thought. So hot. Must fuck now. We moved toward each other, and all the jocks in the hallway started to gather around us, drawn by our suddenly irresistible beauty.
Two-headed boy shouldered through the crowd and stopped making out with himself long enough to shout up at us with his right, or speaking, head (his left head, of course, couldn’t talk when he was turned on, because of the huge beautiful cock he always had erupting from his mouth in place of a tongue): “Guys, I think we gotta go see Stefan!”
We barely heard him. “Eventually,” we said.
Description Even when he’s home sick, Stefan’s ability to dream up new transformations on his schoolmates is a big pain. Make that, especially when he’s home sick.
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