Jackson Fredericks had a mission. He had a project: helping to spread brotherhood, as he thought of it. Having struggled and succeeded against the odds, which were stacked against him from an impoverished childhood, he had been educated to the very highest standard in both biochemistry and psychology. Big, lucrative jobs came his way in rapid sequence. By age 36, he had amassed a tidy fortune through careful but inspired investments. He owned his own big house, freelanced when he felt like it, did as he pleased.
Not bad for a brutha from the projects, he thought—not for the first time—as he lowered his big frame in a chair in front of his computer. Settling, he stretched his arms wide and then cupped his hands behind his head. Nobody knew yet quite how remarkable his research and experimentation into human physiology had been. Nobel territory? Could be. No point rushing, though. Got to keep a good work/life balance, right? And there was the project.
Watching the on-screen images while his computer powered up, he wondered again if his new project was going to be worth the effort. There were certainly big risks. The complex formulae and unpredictable psychological aspects could always go wrong. He knew precisely how to get the exact results he wanted on himself, but moving on to others would be, well, challenging.
Jackson loped into the kitchen to fix a drink, catching sight of himself in the floor to ceiling mirror in the corridor. Always a pleasure to see in my natural state, he commented inwardly, grinning slightly at his own narcissism. He was dressed in the singlet and baggies he had worn to the gym earlier. His dark brown skin, where it showed, still glistened with sweat from his workout. Despite the arsenal at his disposal, he believed, it was better to keep the natural body right up to scratch through plain hard work, not to mention the endorphin high which strenuous exercise invariably produced in him. And it kept paying off. At 6' and 185 pounds, Jackson's lean body was covered in toned muscle. The damp material of his gym shirt clung to his broad shoulders and his nipples stood out visibly on his chest. His kept his hair cut to a close fade, his large green eyes were framed by naturally arched eyebrows and high cheekbones. A trimmed moustache and goatee surrounded his full lips. Yes, he thought, the basic body is always very gratifying.
Jackson returned to the computer in time to hear the voice telling his he had mail. In a minute, he muttered. He wanted to check first that the site was up and running properly. He had argued endlessly with the site designers about getting it just right. If it had gone live overnight as he had been promised, he should be getting some traffic very soon.
He clicked on his favorites list, selected his own site and waited. After a moment, the screen flooded with an graphic image of a naked black man, superimposed with the words “Nubian Transformations”. Jackson scanned the front page banner he had composed:
“Welcome to Nubian Transformations, where you will get the chance to meet the phinest black men presently available in town. Check out our escort catalog. There is a very wide range of sexy black men here to suit many desires. We aim to offer an experience which will change your life, no less. Competitive rates. In calls only.”
Under the banner message was a cartoon graphic of a pulsing, outsize black dick with an 'enter' arrow beside it. Hmm, Jackson thought, maybe that was a rather coarse touch But he would probably get more hits that way.
Inside, the catalog page displayed an assortment of black men, all very different from each other: none of them was entirely naked, all wore provocative clothing. Site instructions urged potential customers to e-mail the webmaster with their choice of man, a brief explanation for their choice and basic personal physical details. Further exchanges would then follow about time, place, terms and conditions. Could be any one of a hundred escort sites peddling sex, Jackson thought, but he hoped that a certain type of man would be intrigued by the suggestion of transformation. He just had to weed out the exact type of fantasies which would suit his purposes.
He leaned back in his chair and clicked on his mail b ox.
Derrick James finished his last rep of bench press and stood up. He looked hard at his reflection in the mirror of the gym's free weight area, then turned away in evident disgust. Shit, what would it take?, he wondered. Just turned 28, he was becoming resigned to never getting the breakthrough he wanted at the gym. Although 5’11”, not at all bad looking and obviously toned from regular workouts over several years, his body just wasn't going anywhere. It seemed to satisfy his sex partners when he occasionally scored, but it didn't satisfy him. All he had to do was look at some of the really big lifters at the gym to feel almost sick with envy.
Especially the big black bodybuilders, He could swear that some of them got visibly bigger every time he saw them. Images of their big dark bodies flooded his mind now whenever he jerked off, and even during sex with other men he found his thoughts turning to how incredibly sexually potent they were. But the sad fact was that they looked right through him as if he wasn't there. Just as well, maybe. If any of them had stopped to notice him they might have objected to the look of mingled envy and lust on his face as he watched them swagger through their workout routines, his dick never less than half hard. He thought that even if he ever got that big he would be too embarrassed to wear such revealing gear as they did in the gym. Some of that lycra shit looked like it was painted on to their muscle bodies.
When Derrick got home, he went straight to his computer and once on line, starting surfing some of his favorite bodybuilder sites. Looking through the new links section of one site, his eye was caught by a listing for an escort service called Nubian Transformations. The site description promised an illustrated catalog. Hmmm, that could be interesting, he thought, feeling his cock twitch in anticipation.
Barely two hours later, he stood in front of the computer, trembling slightly and trying to catch his breath. He sure as hell couldn't afford to hire an escort, wasn't sure he should even be exploring such an option. He had looked through the NubianTransformations photo gallery with growing interest—there certainly were a wide variety of types there, not the usual assortment of porn magazine clones. Then he had been stopped in his tracks by a page devoted to a massively muscled black bodybuilder. The man had obviously trained to serious competition standard. He stood legs wide apart, powerful arms crossed over his glistening pecs, thick knotted muscle straining in his bull-like neck. His expression was challenging, even intimidating. He wore only a yellow pose pouch which hung low under the weight of his prominent package. Apart from a pair of thick eyebrows which emphasised his low forehead, he appeared to be shaved completely hairless.
Derrick had been unable to believe quite how powerfully horny he found the man's image and knew at once that he would have to take the leap and arrange an appointment. He had fired off an e-mail to the webmaster without any expectation of a quick reply. In it, he explained that he was very interested (I'll say, he thought to himself as he typed) in meeting the model listed as Number 9 in the agency's catalog. He went on to describe himself and said that he had always wanted to be with a black bodybuilder just like this one. (Funny, he noticed when he checked the message for spelling before sending it off, he had written “always wanted to be a black bodybuilder…” the first time around. He hastily inserted the missing 'with'.)
To his surprise, an answer pinged into his online mail box barely an hour later. The reply confirmed that Nubian Transformations had been able to secure him an appointment with the bodybuilder the following Friday evening in his own town. He was given an address and a time. He should bring a credit card with him and dress “however you like”. Derrick was a bit breathless by the end of these exchanges, not quite sure what he had done. But he reasoned that he had waited too long already for this. He guessed he could wait until Friday.
Jackson Fredericks spent much of the following two days preparing for the first appointment on Friday evening. He was pleased that things were working out so easily. He had done all the necessary research about Mr Derrick James. The first subject's choice of escort was a fairly straightforward temporary transformation for Jackson to accommodate. Just a question really of putting the appropriate mass in all the right places on himself to approximate the model from the catalog. Hardly any cosmetic fiddling around. Good. He had mixed a cocktail of dilute transform compounds to achieve the required result. Washing it down with his breakfast, Jackson calculated that the timed release should be completed by late afternoon. He changed into a pair of baggy shorts and an extra large T shirt—room to grow, he observed, grinning to himself—and set about preparing the materials for the more fundamental changes he hoped to offer his customer. He felt occasionally the not unpleasant sensation of progressive alterations to his body as the day passed, but he knew he would wait until he had completed the process before looking in the mirror. It was always more fun that way.
Derrick walked quickly when he got off the bus on Friday evening in a neighbourhood he did not know at all. It was a chillier evening than he had bargained on and he wore only a tight, white t-shirt and some cargo pants against the cold. When he arrived at the street address he had been given, he wondered if he had made a mistake with the house number. The big house was in complete darkness. Taking a deep breath, Derrick pushed the doorbell, his hand shaking slightly in anticipation. After a minute, the door swung open on a darkened hallway. A figure standing partially behind the door intoned in a rumbling bass:
“Come on in, man”, a deep voice said.
Derrick slipped inside and was immediately struck not by what he saw—or couldn't quite yet see—but by the strong musky smell of fresh sweat. His eyes finally adjusting to the half light, he now took in the man standing just feet away from him. Mark was stunned by the presence of the massive black bodybuilder who towered at 6’3” over him. Powerful muscles semeed to surge and ripple all over his body when he moved even slightly. Hairless but for his thick eyebrows, he wore only a yellow pose pouch which strained to cover his crotch. His thick full lips seemed to fill his lower face completely. He stepped a bit closer to Derrick and looked him up and down.
“Why dontcha come on in here?, he said, motioning Derrick through another door. “I jus been getting a quick pump on the home gym.”
Derrick tried to squeeze past him as they both headed for the door but the big lifter was too big to avoid brushing up against him on the way through. Derrick felt electrified by the brief contact. As he entered the room, the black muscle giant planted his feet at shoulder width and folded his arms across his chest.
“You like what you see, man?” He opened his arms in an expansive gesture, pulled one arm up into a flex, turning his face close, letting his long pink tongue lick slowly across the pumped bicep, while cupping his crotch with his free hand, regarding Derrick from under hooded eyes.
Derrick stared fixedly at the erotic vision in front of him, felt his cock hardening in his pants. He noticed how the big man's brown nipples, centred on wide discs against his pecs, were bullet hard and pointing nearly face down towards his bulging, defined abs.
“Well, do you?, he prompted.
“Oh yeah, man, I really do”, Derrick whispered huskily, his mouth dry.
“Good, I knew you would. Have a seat on the couch, man. I'm gonna grab a protein drink outta the fridge. I'll get one for you, too. Then we can get busy.” It wasn't a question or an invitation, more of a statement. Derrick watched the man's massive back as he left the room—flaring lats, bulking deltoids which merged into his bull neck, a high hard butt of chiselled ass muscle. A sigh of urgent lust escaped raggedly from Derrick's mouth.
The muscleman returned after a minute and flopped down beside Derrick, the weight of his body hitting the couch making it shake while its springs complained. Derrick took the tumbler from him and started to sip absently from it while he tried to get used to the waves of heat and the heady smell coming off the man sitting so close to him. Working one big hand over his chest while he spoke, the man starting saying in his low voice how much Derrick must admire his body to be willing to pay for his company. He said how much he got off on that kind of admiration in this job.
The words began to tumble out of Derrick with this prompt, about how much he loved big black bodybuilders, how he would love to be as big as them. “Just like you”, he ended a little breathlessly. The big man grinned sexily and nodded as if privately satisfying himself of something. He leaned over Derrick, clasping one big hand around the base of his neck, pulling him close. “You like my big blackman body, dontcha fella?”, he murmured teasingly.
Derrick leaned into the man's chest and found one hard nipple with his tongue. He licked and chewed for a long time, pausing only to finish his drink to wet his dry mouth. He returned to attack the other nipple, his hands meanwhile searching the man's hard muscles. He was glad to hear the man begin to groan with pleasure at this treatment, occasionally grunting “Yeh, man, that's right, that's how to do it.” Derrick noticed that the yellow pose pouch which had barely covered the big guy's crotch before was now stretched to obscene proportions. Derrick started to peel back the brief to release the swelling dark dick which was aching to spring up. He lowered his mouth hungrily to within an inch or two of the big man's thick member when he felt the beginnings of dizziness and a sense of great tiredness. His last surprised thought as he lost consciousness was that he was being carried in the man's huge arms as if he were weightless.
Jackson Fredericks stood over the single bed in an upstairs room of the house the following afternoon, looking intently at Derrick's body. Although he was absolutely still And sound asleep, Jackson had clamped his wrists and ankles to the sides of the bed as a precaution. He was pleased and rather excited by the results of Derrick's transformation so far. Last night's cocktail of carefully calculated and blended compounds had certainly worked impressively.
The hulking 6' 3” figure on the bed, whose shoulders spanned its whole width easily, bore little resemblance to the young man who had entered the house 18 hours earlier. His thick corded neck and muscle-knotted shoulders, 50” pecs, awesome flaring lats pushing his 23” biceps away from his body, rock hard bulging abs, huge thighs with prominent veins running into his crotch all proclaimed him the very image of a powerful bodybuilder. His heavy low hanging balls over which flopped a thick uncut dick—unhard at least six inches long—suggested that he would be a powerful player in bed as well. He was perfectly hairless all over but for his eyebrows and a shock of blond hair on his head. The rags of a white t-shirt and a pair of cargo pants which had been ripped by their seams hung from his body.
Very, very nice, Jackson told himself. Nice, but not quite finished yet. Now came the delicate part. He moved near to the bed, laying a hand on Derrick's cool forehead. A slight exertion of pressure with his fingers and the sleeping man began to struggle up to consciousness. Derrick's eyes opened slowly, blinking in the light. He gradually took in the man standing patiently over him. Instinctively he tried to sit up, only he could to move his arms. He felt panic starting as he tried to work out what the hell was going on.
“What the fuck!?”, he shouted, glaring at the man.
“How are you feeling today, big man?”, Jackson asked. Derrick was struck by how soothing the man's voice sounded and thought better of starting to shout again. But who is this guy?, he wondered. What had happened last night? He remembered just getting started with the amazing black guy from the escort agency, then barely ten minutes later—nothing else.
“Umm…. Who are you?”, he asked, trying to focus on the nicely built rather handsome black man standing over him.
“Well, I guess you could say that I am your benefactor”, the man replied. “I'm certainly your host for the time being”.
“What the hell happened to me last night? Where did my date go?”, Derrick muttered, more to himself than in expectation of an answer.
“He'll be along before too long, I suspect”, said the man, a faint smile passing over his lips. “But right now, I want to show you something I think you will like.”
Oh shit, thought Derrick, I hope this isn't some kind of come on. This is all weird enough already.
The man fingered a remote control he had extracted from his pocket. A panel in the ceiling slid noiselessly back to reveal a mirror.
“Look up now, Derrick,” the man suggested.
Derrick's eyes flickered upwards towards the ceiling. He stared hard for a full minute at the image he saw reflected there, his jaw dropped in stunned amazement.
“Fuck, man, what's happened to me? This can't be real!” Even as he spoke the words, he realised that he was already longing to touch the body he saw.
“Oh yes, it is very real, I assure you. Are you not pleased? This is what you always wanted isn't it? Or at least, part of what you wanted.”
Derrick didn't know what that last part was supposed to mean. He was now completely transfixed by the image of himself as a massive bodybuilder. And it clearly turned him on. He watched as his new improved dick—shit, it couldn't be that big—hardened until it lay, ten fat inches, against the inside of his thigh, oozing precum.
Derrick muttered, entranced: “But how?”
Jackson laughed. “That is sort of a secret, my friend. Let's just say that the protein drink you were given last night was more than just a fitness supplement.”
Derrick shook his head slowly from side to side. “But, it will, like, wear off soon, right?”
“Not at the concentrations of compounds you have absorbed. These changes are permanent. Your fundamental biochemistry has been altered now at a genetic level.”
“Fuck, man.” Derrick didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He went quiet for a minute.
“Man, I really wanna touch myself”, he whispered. “Let me loose so I can touch myself, please!”
The man circled the bed, looking appraisingly at Derrick.
“The thing is, Derrick, we are not quite finished yet. Nubian Transformations offers a total service and I wouldn't want you to go home half—umm—done, shall we say.”
Derrick shuddered. “Look man, I think this is just completely amazing, but it's enough. I look great like this, just what I always wanted. Any more and I would be some sort of freak.”
As he spoke, Jackson moved closer again. “No, Derrick. Not a freak at all, just complete. But this next part is a bit tricky and I will need you to be awake and willing. I can help you relax to make it easier.”
Jackson picked up a small metal disc from the table nearby and started to pass it back and forth in front of Derrick's eyes. Derrick watched as it caught the light regularly, listening to the man urging him to relax.
Now, Derrick. You understand that you are hypnotised, don't you?”. Derrick nodded. “I want you to listen carefully to what I tell you and I need to know that you want all this to happen. That you really want it. And when we are finished, I promise you will be very happy. Deal? ”
Derrick nodded with some hesitation. “OK, man,” he said at last.
Jackson paused a moment. He finally asked: “Can you remember, Derrick, what you said to your escort last night just before you passed out?”
“Sure, I said I would like to be just like him. God, he was so fantastic. That body.”
“That's right, you said you would like to be just like him. And you meant that?”
“Hell, yeh. And now I am”, he replied.
“No, not quite”, Jackson answered patiently, as he unwrapped three loaded hypodermic syringes from the bedside table. “You seemed to be trying to say that you would like to be a black man who is also a big bodybuilder. A totally hot, black muscle giant. Isn't that true?”
Silence for a minute. Derrick muttered a reply which was neither a yes or no.
“Well, Derrick, is that what you meant or not?”, Jackson persisted.
Images flooded through Derrick's mind half-conscious mind of all the black bodybuilders he had lusted after at the gym, acknowledging just how much he wanted to be like them. And how the incredible presence of the escort last night had settled him finally in that wish.
“Yes,” he groaned at last, “God yes, that is what I want.”
Jackson gently inserted the first hypo into one of the many prominent veins on the inside of Derrick's forearm and steadily emptied the contents into his bloodstream. Derrick made a face but remained still.
“This first shot is to deal with some basic issues for you, Derrick. Skin and hair, mostly. It won't hurt at all. Shall I tell you about it is it happens?”
Derrick nodded slowly.
“Yes, it is a very arresting sight. Your skin is getting darker all over as I watch. In a minute or two it will have become a dark chocolate brown all over, except for the palms of your hands and the soles of your feet. Very … fetching. And that big dick of yours is several shades darker, almost coal black. Your blond hair has fallen out. Your skull and jaw will gradually grow out in black hair, if you want to let it grow. Personally I like the bald-headed look on a man like you. You have already developed a pair of thick black eyebrows. Short silky hair has formed in your pits and a small patch of wiry black pubes has cropped on your crotch. There is a silky coating on your balls too. You may want to keep them shaved later on—I know lots of bodybuilders like to do that. Good. That is about it for this stage. You now have black skin Derrick. Congratulations.”
Jackson ran a hand over the silky dark skin on Derrick's new chest.
“All right now Derrick. This next shot will go deeper. It will address your basic physiognomy. You may feel a little discomfort for a while. Bear with me, though. It will pass.” Jackson found another vein and emptied the second syringe into the man's arm.
Derrick convulsed slight after a moment and began to thrash against his restraints as his body began to change further. Jackson noticed a perceptible lift to his hips as his glutes swelled and altered to produce a perfect high round bubble butt of two melon shaped halves, which jutted almost shelf-like away from the base of his back. His fingers lengthened on suddenly bigger hands. But the really significant changes were happening to his face and head. Jackson watched in fascinated approval as Derrick's skull rounded at the back and dipped sharply where it met his neck. Derrick's previously rather high forehead seemed to shrink visibly and his brow thickened. His cheekbones became more prominent, his nose flatter and broader with flaring nostrils, his big almond eyes hooded with deeply folded lids. Finally, his lips thickened to a sensual new fullness, dominating his whole lower face.
Jackson's voice shook very slightly when he next spoke. “Derrick, that has worked very, very well. You are without doubt a very beautiful black man now.”
“OK, Derrick breathed and at once flinched in surprise at the sound of his own new gutturally deep voice.
Jackson stood admiring the work so far. The white boy who had walked through his door the day before was now transformed into a huge 250 lb black bodybuilder. He leaned close to the bed, noticing the heat and deep musky smell which now rolled off the big man's body. “Just one more shot, Derrick. OK?” An assenting grunt.
“This shot is really just to make sure you have, umm, fun. It will fix your sex drive at a much higher level and also make you more sexually versatile. It will loosen your self-consciousness.” (And wipe selective parts of your memory of how all this has happened, he observed silently to himself.)
The contents of the third needle emptied into Derrick's arm, Jackson sat down on a chair for exactly five minutes before rising to approach the recumbent muscle man.
“Derrick, I am going to end this hypnosis now. When you open your eyes, I will release your restraints, but I want you to be still for a minute or two before you get up. You may feel a little surprised at first. Derrick nodded slowly.
Jackson leaned forward, a smile of triumph spreading over his face as he murmured in Derrick's ear: “Now, wake up, my man.” He loosened the big man's restraints and sat back to watch.
Derrick opened his eyes and looked up to the mirror on the ceiling. Totally freaky, he thought. He grinned with a look of complete satisfaction and wonder at his powerful black body before turning to the attractive man sitting near him.
“Sup Doc?”, he asked, speaking the words in a slight drawl as he tried to adjust to his newly full lips. He started to touch his muscles all over, as if to persuade himself that it was all really true. He whistled slowly, commenting almost to himself, “Would you look at me, man? A real muscle brutha now.”
All this activity produced an immediate response from his steadily thickening dick. “Fuck man, shouldn't I be covered up … or sumpthin…?”, he ended lamely, looking up at Jackson for assistance.
Jackson fished a very skimpy yellow pose pouch from his pocket and offered it to Derrick. “You might just about get into this if you're quick”, he offered.
Derrick struggled into the brief, managing to look more undressed with it on than when he had been naked, his pubes sticking out of the brief where it sagged under the weight of his cock and balls.
“Guess I'ma need to get me some new clothes,” he said absently.
“Yes,” Jackson agreed. “I hope you don't mind, I did some shopping on your credit card this morning. You can try on some of this stuff next door now, if you want. There's a full length mirror in there. I think it will fit you and I think you'll like it.
“Cool, thanks,” Derrick said. He stood and walked experimentally around the room, finding his new centre of gravity and getting used to the slightly rolling gait which his big thighs created when he walked.
“Guess I best had get on home now”, he said finally. His face clouded. “Yo, man? You don't happen to know where I live now, do you? I seem to have forgot.”
“Same place as before, Derrick. The landlord understands you are subletting from the owner. And with your new job managing your old gym- you're due to start first thing Monday, by the way—you should be able to afford to move somewhere nicer soon enough. All the paperwork is in the bag with the clothes.”
Derrick still seemed troubled. “What about my friends, family …?” he trailed off.
Jackson shrugged. “Just go with the flow, Derrick, as I expect you would put it. And have a good time.”
Derrick seemed content enough with this and his face brightened. He threw the bag of clothes over one shoulder and turned to leave the room. Jackson watched his broad back and butt appreciatively. He halted just as he reached the doorway.
Turning, he said, “I guess I'll go try on some of this stuff before I check outta here, man.” He winked. “You wanna help”?
Jackson padded after him a couple of minutes later. He reached the doorway to find Derrick struggling into a white lycra muscle T which looked painted onto his torso. He was about to button the flies on his pants when he caught sight of Jackson. Stepping close to him, he hefted his hardening dick and balls in one hand suggestively, then raised a flexed bicep to his face, licking it slowly with a long pink tongue.
“What do you think, man? You like what you see?”
Jackson stepped into the erotically charged arms of the muscleman, finding his lips for a passionate kiss as he began to fondle Derrick's thick ebony horsedick with one hand and stroke his muscles with the other. Oh yes, he thought, Catalog man No 9 has been a big success. A very good start to the project.
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