I wrote this story for my friend Travis, who hypnotized me while dancing on a bar in San Francisco, setting in motion a series of Dickensian coincidences that continue to unfold. Although this particular story takes place in front of a real-world backdrop, I have fictionalized whatever I needed to suit the needs of the narrative. I hope none of these people or places feel misrepresented in any way.
Don’t look me in the eyes, not if you want to hear the story. Looking me in the eyes can be fairly disastrous if you want to maintain any sort of control. The smartest thing you can do is focus on your notes and make sure you get all my words right, not sneaking glances at me—that’ll just make me want to seduce you, and believe me, you do NOT want that.
Not that I’ll make it easy for you, right? I mean, I’m sitting here in little more than a singlet and a pair of work boots—and my body is probably the most amazing thing you’ve ever seen in your life. I get that. I get that a lot. It’s amazing to ME—I mean, it’s not like it’s been like this forever. Not even a year since…
Well… that’s the story, right? You don’t need me to give it away in the first minute, do you? Where’s the literary fun in that? Besides, I like the idea that I’ve warned you—it makes your inevitable seduction that much more of a challenge. I mean, it’s not like you’re not gonna look—it’s a lot of muscle. It’s hard to miss.
And of course, I don’t even try to hide my cock. Why in God’s name would I? When you’ve got a monster like this…
Now don’t look, I just told you…
I know, I know—it’s safer to look at my cock than it is to look in my eyes, sure, but I can’t guarantee that, either. Some guys are so… what’s the word?… cock-centric that they don’t even need me to have a face. Their loss, I suppose, although I think it’s hot that guys just want me for my body, or that my body can seduce a guy without any help from me. It’s hot—it’s fuckin’ hot.
Well, it’s ALL hot now—everything’s fuckin’ hot—that’s the side-effect of whatever’s happened to me. I’m not gonna call it a “curse” because if it’s a curse then I fuckin’ love it and that goes against the definition of what a “curse” is, you know? There are others like me, but it’s not like it’s vampires or werewolves or some-such shit—it doesn’t get passed on, not in the traditional sense, anyway. Me fuckin’ you isn’t gonna make you turn into somethin’ as awesome as me, sorry to say. If that was your hope when you set up this little… interview… to live out some kind of Anne Rice scene, let’s just say you’re gonna be let down. Not by the fuck, cause that’s gonna be awesome. But if you think you’re gonna end up being anything more than a desperate and willing recepticle for my cum, well, you need to get rid of that fantasy right now—that’s why you don’t want to look in my eyes.
So maybe I should tell you the story, while you’re still in control, before you throw yourself desperately at me, begging to be fucked. That’s what’s gonna happen—and unless I miss my guess, probably within twenty minutes, certainly no more than a half hour. You think you’re strong—and I respect that—but already you got a hard on, don’t you? I mean, I see you sneakin’ glances at my bod when you’re supposed to be focused on my words. Again, I can’t blame you, but I will warn you again, you’re the one who wanted me to tell you my story—I didn’t seek you out, remember?—so you should let me tell it while you’re still able to think logically.
I’m not trying to be a dick, buddy. I just know what’s gonna happen—I’ve only seen it a couple thousand times. Guys bigger, guys smarter, guys with iron-clad wills, gay guys, straight guys, all of them reduced to sniveling beggars, aching for me to fuck them, willing to do anything for a taste of my cock. (And if you only knew how happy I am to give it to ¬ëem.) It’s crazy, but I fuckin’ love it!
Which doesn’t tell you anything about my story now, does it? Okay, twenty minutes… maybe less. Let’s see if I can do this.
It starts right here in your own beautiful city of San Francisco. I don’t live here—I was a New Yorker here for business when all this happened—happy to say I’m back with a different profession this time—and hoping my stay will be of a more… permanent kind. We’ll see how it goes—Timorrow’s the first day of shooting, so I don’t know much of anything beyond that. Anyway, I was in San Francisco and I was kind of bummed because I’d been here two days and I hadn’t gotten laid, yet. I mean, I’m from New York, where you can find a guy and fuck him before you even introduce yourself, so I wasn’t used to this… attitude I was getting.
Not that I’m having any trouble THIS trip—hell, I had sex before I got out of the airport! Of course, quite a lot has changed. The first time I was here, I only weighed two-thirty—I know, right?—but I tell you, I was proud of that weight. I worked my ass off at the gym to get my skinny-shit self up to that size—to get the respect from the big boys. I used to parade around like I was really something—well, I mean, six-one, two-thirty, a nice eight-inch piece, I was never hurting for action. In the gay world, a good top is always in demand, right?
But in my own mind, I was small. No matter how big I’d gotten, when I looked in the mirror, I still saw that same pathetic scarecrow that I’d been as a teen. Funny, isn’t it? Here I am a year later about to become the newest BUFF Agency model—the guys I used to look at in magazines as I jerked off, fantasizing about being magically transformed into one of them. They¬ëre the big fuckers, you know, the pinnacle of muscular achievement, the big hairy Daddies and Coaches and Laborers that make you realize THAT’S why you’re gay—to be with MEN, not those plucked and processed pretty boys that clutter up the gyms and the dance floors. (Which is not to say I wouldn’t fuck them—because I have, more times than I can count—but when you walk away from sex smelling like the other guy’s trendy cologne instead of sweat and spunk, there’s something wrong there.)
I’d “friended” a couple of the BUFF models on Facebook, too, you know?—marvel of the twenty-first century. Although most were on there for self- promotion, posting pics, announcing club dates, and hawking their wares, there were a couple of guys who were genuinely friendly and responded to posts and played sillly apps and stuff. Not that I ever expected to meet any of those guys—much less become one of them—but we take the stuff of fantasy from where we may, right? We all have our favorite jack-off sites—mine happened to be BUFF.com.
I was in San Fran for work, but I extended my stay to include the weekend in hopes of taking in some of the local… flavor. And like I already said, I was disappointed that I’d been there two days and still hadn’t hooked up. Now, I wasn’t staying in the Castro, but I was working out at the Gold’s in SOMA, so you’d think I’d have had some luck. They were cruisy, but non-committive—the locker room was hot in a show-off, teasy kind of way, but nobody was fuckin’. At least, nobody was fuckin’ with ME.
I know, right? It didn’t jibe with the San Francisco I’d heard about—I couldn’t have come all the way across the country just to jerk off by myself in a spacious king-upgrade. Nobody in New York would believe it!
So it was my last night in town and I was at this bar called the Powerhouse that this guy at the gym recommended—it was small but comfortable and cruisy and had this slutty little backroom that made me nervous, but kind of hot, too.. Anyway, I was there at the front bar, proudly shirtless, showing off the big pecs and shoulders—two-hundred thirty pounds, remember, bigger than your average bear. Sure, my abs weren’t perfect—I had a little belly going on, but almost everybody conceded that I looked more manly with it. Maybe it was because nobody ever thought I’d have the abs I have now and they were trying to make me feel better, you know? All I know is I’ve seen grown men weep in ecstacy as they stroke and lick my abs now—I’d flex them for you, except we still got story to get through and I’m not ready to lose you, yet.
Oh, look at you set up your iPhone to record—very clever, you kids and your technology. That’s a good idea. I still think you should avoid looking at me, though—I mean, I see that hard-on you’re sportin’ already. Believe me, I want to get through this as much as you do. We’ll fuck, don’t worry—one thing at a time.
Hello? Is this thing on?
So I’m in the Powerhouse on the corner of the front bar—“Prime Real Estate,” I call it, because it affords me the opportunity to see everything (and for everything to see me), plus I have access to the bartenders. I’d been there a while, but it was early, some polite chit-chat but nothing much else, when suddenly, and unexpectedly, a guy climbed up onto the bar directly in front of me. To say this guy caught my eye would be a massive understatement.
Everyone has a “type,” right?—a certain kind of guy that always turns your head and catches your breath. I had two—two general types that always got me: the ponderously big, hulking bodybuilder type (like I am now), and the very short, wrestler type—you know, with the big traps and the solid neck and that tight, muscular little ass that makes you want to tear a hole in their singlet and ram your cock into them until they scream like the little jock-whores they are?
Yeah, that type…
Oh… sorry. Well, if it makes you feel any better, I got hard from that, too. Look, pal, it’s only gonna get more intense from here and you haven’t even met all the characters yet. Probably a good thing you got the iPhone on—I doubt you’re gonna last through the exposition at this rate.
So it’s a wrestler that climbs up onto the bar—and I’m not exaggerating when I say this: he was my fantasy made flesh. I know how that sounds, believe me—especially because so many guys have used that line on me in the last year—but it’s true nonetheless. He couldn’t have been more than five-four, five- five—it was hard to get an accurate take when he stood above me on the bar—but he had a body that left me breathless, ripped and rugged like he’d just stepped off the matt at the Olympic games, not a trace of fat—he was muscle, a roadmap of veins, and smooth, perfect skin. And clearly blessed by God when you looked at his package. Soft, his dick was as big as mine was hard—though he obviously had some kind of cock ring on (or at least I’d hoped that)—dude was wasting his time if he wasn’t doing porn somewhere.
And then there were his eyes.
I wish I could tell you how it felt the first time I looked up into his eyes. That sparkle… that hypnotic… well, like mine are now. I guess the effect he had on me was the same one I have on guys when they look in my eyes now, right? Sometimes I forget how overwhelming that is. To say he had me in his power from the get-go would also be an understatement—I was completely his from the very moment our eyes met. I didn’t know until much later that everyman was his as soon as their eyes met.
He was a red-head, shaved down to a military high ¬ën tight, a scruffy, square- cut beard on his chin that made him look like a college-boy trying to be a man. He saw the effect he had on me and smiled at the corners of his mouth, turning his attention to the older, chunkier man beside me who waved a five- dollar bill in the air. The little wrestler squatted before this man, his knees on either side of the man’s head, and he stared the man in the eye, then leaned in and whispered something in the man’s ear.
The man reached down suddenly and grabbed his OWN dick, adjusting it uncomfortably through his tight jeans as it sprang to life without warning. The wrestler gently took the money as the man nervously reached up and caressed the wrestler’s spandex-clad ass, their eyes never parting. The wrestler smiled and winked—and the man had an orgasm that I swore was gonna cripple him. He moaned and his legs buckled, so he had to hold himself up using the bar—and as soon as it was over, he beat an embarrassed retreat toward the bathroom, to clean up.
All at once I realized what was going on—there was no “connection” between us. This hot stud on the bar was just a business man with some sparkly eyes and a kickass body that was trying to make a living. I reached for my wallet—if he would just let me look in those eyes again, he could have everything I had. I completely understood why the old guy had cum. I bet I would, too.
“I don’t want your money,” he said with that same seductive smile. “I just needed to get rid of that guy so he wouldn’t bother us. I don’t want us getting distracted.”
“Okay,” I said, pushing my wallet back down in my pocket, forgotten because he said so.
“Watch me dance,” he said. “You like watching me, don’t you?”
I stammered. “You’re… you’re… beautiful. I’ve never seen…”
Then together, at the same moment, we said, “You’re exactly my type!” He smiled, gyrating his hips, that crazy sparkle in his eyes as he showed me his perfect little ass. I was rock hard, hypnotized by him—the rest of the bar ceased to be as I watched him perform, as he seduced me with movement. The masculine Salome.
I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted any man in my life. I wanted to feel him beneath me, his muscle and heat—I wanted to look in those mesmerizing eyes as I felt myself inside him, his tight, muscular ass form-fitted to my swollen cock. Sex with him could be nothing less than perfect—HE was perfect.
He squatted down in front of me, the same way he had before with the older man, with his knees on either side of my head, giving me a clear view of his prominent package—his own half-hard cock held out and proud by the obvious cockring beneath his singlet. I could smell his glorious scent—I suddenly desired to lick out his armpits.
Wrapping his arms around my head, he said, “I’m Teddy—what’s your name?”
I hoarsely whisper, “I’m Tim. You’re incredible—I want you so bad.”
He pulled my head toward him and kissed me—and I was lost. I was teetering on the edge of orgasm as it was and this fantasy-given-life thing was overwhelming me fast. As if sensing this, he broke the kiss and pulled back. “Not yet, Tim. We’ll have time for all that later.” He stood up and began dancing again.
“You just like teasing me,” I said, unable to help but grab my own hard-on through my jeans.
His smile grew and he flicked his eyebrows—his eyes, his damn beautiful eyes! I watched him helplessly as he strode the bar—I was rooted to my spot, transfixed as he worked the men for tips. And they were just like me—they’d watch him for a few minutes, then blindly reach for their wallets, handing him whatever bill they’d happen to grab. He took the hundreds with the same gratitude with which he took the ones. I don’t even think the guys were aware of what they were giving him—they seemed happy just to get his attention. He left them all with the same, hungry erection that I had, the entire bar under his spell.
Time was a bit of a blur. I watched him dance—I looked in his eyes—I answered his questions: where I was from (New York), how long in town (leaving Timorrow morning), what was my fantasy guy like (You!), that sort of thing.
“No, really,” he said. “Tell me about your fantasy guy.”
“Really,” I said, smiling, not breaking eye-contact. “Cocky little wrestlers with hard, tight asses—one of my favorites.”
“What’s another of your favorites?”
I laughed a little, like I’d misspoken, and glanced down. He put a finger under my chin and lifted until I was looking at him again, swimming in his eyes. “Tell me.”
I had to—there was no resisting him. “Jacked-up, over-confident musclebears.”
“Really?” he asked, then smirked. “This is gonna be your night, then.”
One of the bartenders came up and slapped him on the ass, hard enough to be heard over the music and even over the spell he’d cast on me. I wanted to leap to his defense and pound the shit out of this guy—touching my beautiful little go-go boy like that—but Teddy only smiled and gently stroked my neck, like he knew. The bartender whispered something in Teddy’s ear, looked me in the eye and laughed to himself, then beat it back to work.
“I wasn’t paying attention to the time,” Teddy said to me, still squatting there on the bar. “I gotta go make a costume change.”
I was disappointed. “I like the wrestling gear,” I said, sounding a little too whiney—a little too true.
His eyes never lost that sparkle, that playful control. “You’ll like me in whatever I put on,” he said, and that was true. “Or whatever I take off.” He smiled, then kissed me again, once again bringing me to the point of orgasm. “Stay here—I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Okay…” I said—wild horses couldn’t have pulled me away.
And just as suddenly as he’d appeared, he was gone—and the fog lifted. I was suddenly a guy standing shirtless in a strange bar on the other side of the country. I was able to look around, to focus. Where had all these people come from? How long have I been standing here? Why did I have a fading erection and the beginnings of blue balls? I felt like I’d awkwardly stepped back into real-time—there was no other way to describe it.
That little wrestler had hypnotized me, right?
It was funny, because I’d written enough stories about that sort of thing—but I didn’t BELIEVE in it, you know? I mean, it’s great as an erotic device in a short story, but in real life, hypnotism was the stuff of clucking chickens and desperate smokers.
Not that I was moving from my spot.
Then all of a sudden, stepping into the service bar beside me, my fantasy- made-flesh—my OTHER fantasy-made-flesh—this ridiculously huge bodybuilder. (Probably even a little bigger than I am now.) He’s shaved bald, but had a thick, black beard—even in the loose black t-shirt he wore, it was clear he was massive, and his camouflage pants only emphasized his round, lineman’s ass. Even in his mirrored sunglasses, he was gorgeous, if I can use that word to describe a man so large—just breath-taking.
Then something else occurred to me—I knew this guy.
I mean, there was something familiar about him—I’d seen him somewhere before. And after he’d ordered a beer, he turned and looked at me, smiling a little—and I recognized him! He was one of the BUFF models! He was a porn star with the BUFF Agency! And I knew him.
And because the evening had been about the impossible, I spoke to him. I mean, what the fuck, right? “I’ve sucked your lollipop,” I said.
“On Facebook,” I said. “We’re friends on Facebook. I’m Tim.” I offered him my hand.
“Oh, sure,” he said with enough sincerity that I actually believed him. “I know who you are. You’re hot.” He didn’t shake my hand, rather he pulled me in for a hug. “Very hot,” he said, cupping my ass with his strong hands. I flexed it for him, and he snorted.
“I’m nowhere near your size,” I said, laying my hand flat on his pec, but not breaking the hug. He seemed very comfortable with his arms around me. “But I’m working on it.”
“What do you weigh? Two-thirty or so?”
“You’re good—exactly. What about you?”
“Around two-eighty,” he said, then he smiled. “You wanna see it.” It wasn’t a question. “Well, why don’t you help me take my shirt off?”
“Are you kidding?”
He pulled his sunglasses off and looked at me—his eyes! They had that same sparkle, that same overwhelmingly hypnotic power as… as…
He chuckled. “Do I look like I’m kidding? C’mon, help a brother out.” He raised his arms in the air and never broke eye contact.
I grabbed the bottom hem of his t-shirt above his hips and slowly pulled it up, initially exposing only his abs—and they were far better than they should’ve been on a man of his weight. At 280, his torso should be like a block, his abs distended from steroid abuse, but instead of a roid gut, he had this tight little waist, like a superhero, or a musclemorph.
Getting the shirt up over his lats took some effort, his back was so wide and thick—especially compared to his waist. It’s no wonder he needed someone to help him, there was no way he could’ve done it himself. (I’ve seen those videos on YouTube where bodybuilders are trying to be sexy wearing a shirt they bought in the boy’s department and they get stuck trying to get it off—they started off being sexy and end up as wonderful comedies.) I had to stretch it to get it up to his armpits.
And exposing his skin exposed his scent—he smelled like he just stepped out of the gym, or out of the bedroom—this entoxicating aroma of sweat and masculinity. Overwhelming—there, I’ve used that word again.
He had a light fur on his bulbous pecs and his nipples had clearly been toughened by hours of use (or hopefully, abuse). Every muscle was full, but he was carrying almost no bodyfat, like he’d competed a few days ago and just reintroduced carbs.
His shirt got stuck again on his arms, so I popped his head through the neck hole, so he could at least lower them. He smiled. “We always get stuck on the guns. Twenty-three inches of solid muscle.”
“Must be hard to get shirts,” I said, pulling the sleeves over his bis. “Or at least not destroy the ones you have.”
He chuckled, taking the shirt from me and tucking it in the back pocket of his cammies. “My arms are a little out of proportion,” he said, flexing them in front of himself, “but I like ¬ëem too big. Sort of like another part of me that’s out of proportion and too big—but maybe you’ll get to see that, too, if you’re good.”
I made eye-contact with him again—green, sparkling eyes, like crystals, so clear and deep—he was so… I don’t know… it was so difficult to think…
“It’s okay to worship me if you want,” he said, flexing his right arm and pushing my head toward it with his left. I began kissing it, licking it, this melon-sized muscle, holding on to his triceps like a thick slice of watermelon. My cock was rock-hard, living out a fantasy like this.
He took his arm and wrapped it around my head, pulling me into his pec, inviting me to take his nipple. Gladly, I did, allowing myself to be a little aggressive with it because of his size and its condition. “Nice,” he growled in my ear, then tilted my head and brought me in for a kiss.
I tell you what, I gave that kiss everything I had—I wanted it to be the best kiss of my life. Making out in public with a bald, bearded bodybuilder, realizing he wasn’t exaggerating when I felt his mammoth cock start to harden against me, it was everything I ever dreamed. He broke it, whispering, “Good kisser, too. I’m Stu.”
His eyes! His irresistible eyes… “Tim,” I said, not even trying to look away—I’d already forgotten everything but him. Nothing mattered but Stu’s pleasure—how badly I wanted to BE Stu’s pleasure.
Today, of course, I completely understand his power over me—I have it myself. You’re feelin’ it now, aren’t you? I’ll tell you what, as hot as it is for you, it’s just as strong for me—if there’s a curse associated with what I’ve become, that’s it. The stronger the… passion my target has, the better the sex is for me—so naturally, I tend to seek out guys who fight it, straight guys, rednecks, closet cases. I take advantage of every opportunity, believe me.
But I didn’t know that at the time—I had no idea that I was under his spell, a victim of his power—I just know I would’ve done anything he commanded if I could’ve just gained his approval, much less kneel at his feet and worship him.
We kissed again, this time even more passionately, if that were possible. As we did, there was some noise on the bar behind us, as if someone were climbing up onto it…
Stu broke the kiss, but I couldn’t look away, even as he glanced up above us and broke into a smile. “Here’s the reason I came,” he said, gesturing for me to look, as he reached up in greeting.
There stood Teddy in his new costume: a military theme, in camouflage hot shorts and an olive wife-beater—the shorts exposed enough of his ass that it was easy to see his olive-colored jock-strap—a cammy cap, mirrored sunglasses and dogtags—his ripped-up musculature made him more diesel than any marine. One glance at him and all of my former feelings flooded back into me—without even trying, he had me back in his spell.
“Hey, private,” Stu said to Teddy, reaching up to Teddy’s neck and pulling the boy down to our level.
“Hi, Sarge,” said Teddy—and the two kissed as deeply as we had before, Stu still holding me with his free arm, gently rubbing my ass as he kissed Teddy. “I see you’ve met Tim.”
“This hot guy? Yeah, we’ve been getting to know each other. Didn’t know you two had already had the pleasure…”
Teddy laughed. “We haven’t had ¬ëthe pleasure’ yet, but I get off at Last Call. And then, depending on whether you showed up or not, I was gonna figure out what to do with him, next.”
“Well, I showed up—what are you gonna do with him next?”
“I’ll leave that up to you, Sarge. I have to go dance.” And he was up, and working the crowd around us. Stu and I kept our arms around each other as we watched him—I wondered if Stu was under the boy’s spell, too.
“Look at that ass,” Stu said. “Isn’t that the most amazing ass you’ve ever seen in your life?”
Without even thinking, I rattled off my response. “I’ve been wanting to tag that all night—no offense.”
“Why would I take offense?”
“Well, you and he are obviously…”
“So? How does that make his ass less hot?” Stu turned me so I faced him, our rugged torsos pressed together—when our eyes met, I lost what little control I had. I was completely hard again, pressing my erection into him—he clearly liked that, too. “I wouldn’t think you were much of a man if you didn’t want it—trust me, it’s worth it.”
“There’s something about him. I can’t put my finger on it—something magical. Same with you—something about your eyes…”
Stu smirked. “Maybe,” he said. “But you need to stop thinking about things so much, Timmy. It’s just sex.”
“I don’t imagine sex with either one of you is ¬ëjust sex.’”
“That’s not what I mean,” he said, as we played with each other’s nipples. “Yeah, sex with me is great—and sex with us together is pretty much off the charts—but there’s a difference between love and lust, right? So just relax and allow yourself to enjoy it for a change. That’s what I say.”
We kissed then—me sort of amazed that he’d read me that well—we made out for the whole bar to watch until Last Call, when Teddy showed up in street clothes pulling a tote bag. He greeted us each with a kiss—my first time with him not on a bar above me, I had to bend over to plant one—but I still found him irresistible. “So, what’s up?” he asked Stu.
Stu placed a hand flat on my pec. “Timmy’s gonna show us his hotel room. Where you staying, buddy boy?”
“Just a few blocks from here,” I answer, eager to please. “I’ve got a king- upgrade at the Wyndham.”
“Very nice,” Stu said, pinching my nipple and turning back to Teddy. “You got everything we need?”
“Sure do!” said Teddy, reaching over and affectionately patting my ass.
“Then let’s get the hell out of here!”
And that was how I found myself having the best sex of my life on my last night in San Francisco—well, the best sex of my life up to that point, anyway. Hell… now, barely a year later, EVERYTIME I have sex, it’s the best sex of my life—and I have sex five, six, seven, I dunno, eight, nine, a dozen times a day, easy. Ever since that night, with Stu and Teddy—the hulking bodybuilder and the go-go boy…
They both had porn star dicks, that’s for sure. For a short guy, Teddy was packing the meat—shame he never fucked with it, but he was the first to claim exclusivity on bottom. “I like to ride those big cocks too much,” he said while we kissed. “I love to get fucked!”
“Shame to waste a big dick, is all,” I said, wrapping my whole hand around it.
“No one says you can’t suck it,” Teddy said, so I did—hard, it was nearly the size of mine.
Stu was sliding off his cammies, exposing an olive green jockstrap like the one I’d just taken off Teddy. For the amount of juice he had to be taking to maintain that size, Stu didn’t show any atrophy in his nads—quite the opposite, in fact. Big, goose-egg sized balls hung there, fighting for the nonexistent space between his thighs.
And his cock was the kind of thing I’d only seen in movies and magazines. Even soft, it completely dominated his physique—it was like they were posing together—you couldn’t look at him and NOT look at it. He barely had his horse cock out of the jock when Teddy scrambled over to the side of the bed and took it in his mouth, kneeling on the mattress in front of the massive Stu. “That’s impressive,” I said, unable to stop playing with myself.
“That’s why I’m a star, buddy.” He leaned his head back and moaned, pinching his own nipples as Teddy sucked away.
Stu looked a little confused—it was the first time I saw any expression on his face that wasn’t pure confidence and security. He studied me, to see if I was fooling around. “Do you know who I am?” he asked.
I sighed, exasperated. “Oh, this is one of those moments when I really embarrass myself, isn’t it?”
Even Teddy took his mouth off Stu’s dick long enough to ask, “You don’t recognize him? You don’t recognize his COCK? Do you NEVER watch porn?”
“I read more than I watch…”
Stu smiled, clearly amused. “I’m a model for the BUFF Agency—I thought you knew that. Isn’t that why we’re here—isn’t this an audition?”
Teddy pulled himself off of Stu’s (apparently) famous dick and sat up, still cupping Stu’s balls in his hand as he spoke to the big man. “Uh, Sarge, I haven’t told him about that, yet.”
There was a moment when I wasn’t sure what Stu’s reaction would be—the two of them just looked in each other’s eyes—(maybe they’d hypnotized each other)—like they were communicating on a different level, no matter how ridiculous that seemed.
Finally, Stu snorted cuffed the boy lovingly upside the head. “You said I get one,” Teddy said.
“I know what I said,” Stu said, then looked at me and nodded slightly in agreement.
“You said I’d recognize the right guy when I saw him.”
Stu laughed and pushed Teddy back onto the mattress. “I know what I said,” he said again. “Now why don’t you let him in on it, while I go get everything… ready. Or were you gonna surprise him with that, too?” He turned away from the bed and took Teddy’s duffel bag with him to the bathroom.
“Don’t be mad,” Teddy called after him.
“I’m not mad,” Stu said, leaning back into the room. “I think it’s hot. But you know me—I think EVERYTHING’S hot!” And he was gone again.
Teddy slid up on the mattress till he was sitting against the headboard, flexing his magnificent abs, gently toying with his own half-hard cock when he looked up at me, that sparkle so obvious in his eye—I looked away.
“Aw,” he said. “Don’t be like that. Come over and join me.”
Not even wanting to, I found myself climbing onto the bed, crawling over till I was on top of him. He wrapped his legs around my hips, crushing our cocks together and slid down till he was directly beneath me—I couldn’t help but look in his eyes, so beautiful…
My erection returned.
“So…?” I asked, fighting the urge to kiss him, the even stronger urge to fuck him.
“So… he’s a porn star, under contract with the BUFF Agency. Well, so am I, but my contract doesn’t go active for another six months. He’s been a BUFF guy for like, fifteen years, which is why it’s so funny you’ve never heard of him, or seen him: Stu Sargeant, or Sarge Stu, like his fans call him? Hell, man, you can buy dildos molded in the shape of his cock!”
“Sorry, man—I’ve heard the NAME… Maybe if I saw some of his work…”
Teddy laughed, reaching up and toying with my nipples. “Oh, you’re gonna see his work all right. You’re gonna co-star in it.”
“You heard me. So listen, here’s the deal…” He held my head by either side, so I was forced to look him in the eye. “Stu is allowed to… recruit for the Agency, if he comes across some… unrealized talent or incredible body—that’s how he met me. I was dancing at some event he was celebrity MC for and he was turned on by my little military outfit—the one I told him I’d be wearing tonight if he came by to pick me up after Last Call.”
“Not as hot as your wrestler outfit.”
Teddy smirked and put a finger to my lips. “Whatever,” he said, and kissed me. “Anyway, when he… recruited me, he tried to sweeten the deal by telling me I could pick a guy to recruit myself, no questions asked.”
“So… you’re offering me a job?”
“No, we’re offering you a career,” said Stu, re-entering the room and standing by the side of the bed—as big as his muscles were, it was impossible to look at anything but his magnificent cock. “We’re offering you a whole new lifestyle.”
I rolled off Teddy. “I don’t understand,” I said.
Stu showed me the syringe he was holding—it was capped, but loaded with a green liquid, the same complex green of both Stu and Teddy’s eyes. The same sparkle.
“What IS that?” I asked—I’d seen plenty of steroids in my time, but never anything like that—that color.
“You commented before on our eyes,” Stu said, gesturing with the syringe, but picking at his cock with the other. “How you felt Teddy hypnotized you just by looking at you—well, you were right. He did.”
“I did,” Teddy said, smiling slyly—that same twinkle in his eye, even more pronounced now that I knew what to look for.
“You’ll become nearly irresistible,” Stu said, holding the syringe so I knew what he was talking about. “You’ll get the body of a god, the cock of your dreams, an inexhaustible sex-drive, and to top it all off, the ability to put men completely in your power with nothing more than eye-contact. And that’s just the personal bennys. Professionally, you’ll be represented by the BUFF Agency—you’ll do personal appearances, movies, photo shoots, bodybuilding contests, however the Agency decides to market you. It’s a great way to make a living. We are the biggest, hottest, best hung men in the business—and that means on the planet. It’s the best place you’ll ever work. I promise.”
“And you’re offering it to me?” I asked, glancing back and forth between them. “Why?”
Stu smiled and shrugged. “You’re hot, and you’ll only get hotter,” he said. “Plus the boy wants you—simple as that. You’re over-thinking again.”
I looked at Teddy as he lay there so beautiful, muscular and submissive. “And why me?” I asked him. “Of all the hundreds of guys that you must meet…”
“…you’re the one I chose,” he said simply. “Look, we had a connection, one that transcended even my powers. And if I’ve learned nothing else in my life, it was to trust those feelings. You’re the one—I’m sure of it.”
“So, Tim,” said Stu, fiddling with the syringe, “you wanna be a porn star?”
And doesn’t every man ever born have a secret fantasy of porn? Maybe it’s the ultimate rebellion from Puritan heritage—I don’t know—all I know was that I made my decision pretty damn fast, considering how completely it changed my life. Not that I regret the choice—because I do NOT—but had I known how it would affect my relationships with family and friends… well… I probably would’ve only thought about it a second or two longer before I said, “Hell, YEAH!”
Teddy clapped when I said it, a big smile breaking out on his face—an obvious bump in the hardness of his cock, too, like the idea turned him on. Of course, there was no denying—or ignoring—the sudden growth in Stu’s monster, no questions, there.
“Excellent,” Stu said, sitting down on the bed next to me. “Looks like we’re gonna have a hot time tonight, after all.”
I motioned to the syringe. “So, I just take that and I… transform into you?”
“I wish,” said Stu as Teddy simultaneously said, “Wouldn’t that be hot?” as he knelt next to Stu and wrapped his arms around Stu’s massive shoulders, resting his chin on Stu’s trap. “No,” said Stu, “unfortunately, it takes a little longer than that. I mean, there’s a radical initial change, sure, but the complete transformation takes some time. Most guys get through it in around six months, depending on how often you have sex, but the Agency gives you a full year before they expect any productivity out of you—just look at it as time to hone your craft.” He laughed at his own joke—Teddy laughed, too. “Hey, man, think of it like this: everytime you have sex, you’ll get bigger… better…”
Teddy chimed in. “Hornier!”
Stu shrugged, the corners of his mouth curling up in a knowing smile, his cock twitching again. “Do it, Tim,” he said. “Join us.”
Well, that line got all three of us hard, so I had to do it. Both Stu and I had done enough steroids in our time to know how to handle an injection, but he seemed really into it. “My ex and I used to give each other our gear when we were cycling,” Stu said. “It used to turn us both on, giving each other the grow juice, and we’d fuck like animals afterwards, as if the shit affected us that fast. Of course, now that I’m with the Agency, I don’t need that stuff anymore—but I still miss those hot injections scenes.”
I stood before him as he sat on the edge of the bed, wiping the top quadrant of my right glute with an alcohol swab. He was clearly turned on. I played the scene. “Yeah, man,” I said, low and growling, “hit me up with the grow juice. Make me a porn star! Make me a big musclewhore!”
“Yeah?” he asked, smiling mischieviously, tightening the needle then popping the cap. “You ready for a cock like mine? You ready to start splitting the asses of a bunch of little twink bottoms? You ready for the worship and the attention and the never-ending sex?”
“Gimme the shit, man!” I barked. “Give me the power!”
I swear, when the needle hit my ass, I was rock hard and leaking. “Yeah,” Stu murmured, slowly—so slowly—emptying the syringe in my muscular ass, “Here’s the stuff—gonna make you a freak—gonna give you the cock—the craziest fucking cock…”
“Gimme it all!” I growled. “Make me the biggest fucking fuck-freak on the planet. Grow me, muscle bro…”
“Aw, fuck,” he said, leaving the empty syringe in my ass to jerk his big cock—it took both hands. “That’s fuckin’ HOT!”
I continued to play the moment, enjoying the fact that I had this big bodybuilder beating off before me—I made sure my ass (and the syringe sticking out of it) was right in his face. “Oh, man, leave it in!” I growled, stroking my rock-hard cock. “Turning me into a muscle freak!”
Stu was pounding hard, until he suddenly threw his arms out to the side—as if giving up on his dick—and yelled, “BOY!”
Teddy appeared almost out of nowhere, knelt between Stu’s legs and took that ponderous dick in his mouth. Stu patted the boy’s head, mumbling, “Good boy,” then he looked up at me, still with a smirk on his face. “You almost made me cum,” he said.
“That was my goal.”
“I got better places to put my cum,” he said, reaching for the syringe in my ass and pulling it out, pressing the alcohol pad over the puncture wound. “You did the scene real nice, though. If I’d been a different man, you woulda got me.”
I laughed, taking over the pad from him—he handed me the empty syringe after he’d recapped it—Teddy just focused on giving head. “I’ve always wanted to be an actor,” I said. “That’s why I originally moved to New York.”
As I headed to the bathroom to dispose of all that shit, Stu called after me, “Well, now you’re gonna be a star! You’ll just win different kinds of awards!”
When I got back to the room, Stu had laid back on his elbows, forcing Teddy to stand and lean over to continue working—it gave me an extraordinary view of Teddy’s ass. (It was easy, with all of Stu’s unbelievable muscle, to overlook Teddy—who had only “been with the Agency” for six months—but let’s not forget who first had who under his spell.) And to in any way downplay Teddy’s unbelievable ass would be a let-down to any tops who may ever hear this story, right? A tight little muscle ass, with no bodyfat and clear striations, complete devoid of hair so one could clearly see his pink, puckered boyhole. It was nearly as hypnotic as his eyes—as distracting as Stu’s cock.
And just as I was about to ask, “When will this shit hit me?” I felt this wave of… I don’t know… power, I guess—masculine power—wash over me, but sort of… settle in my balls—like when you haven’t jacked off for a few days and you NEED to and your balls are all swollen and achy. That’s what it felt like. But it was stronger than that, too.
My cock stretched out into this beautiful, comfortable erection, big and thick, ready for anything. All I knew was that I needed to fuck—and that beautiful, perfect ass was right in front of me.
I stepped up behind Teddy placed a hand flat on his lower back, while gently stroking my cock with the other—I was aware that I felt thicker than normal, but that just turned me on more. I looked at Stu and raised my eyebrows, as if asking his permission. Smiling, Stu made a “go ahead” gesture with his hand, then began idly playing with his nipple as he watched.
There was lube on the nightstand—as I dribbled it on my cock, I recognized the heightened sensitivity almost at once, from the temperature of the lube, to the soft, slick texture. Putting my dripping finger on the boy’s hole, though—well, I almost shot my load just doing that. He was so soft, yet firm, pliable, yet resistant—it was the stuff of fantasy.
He moaned as he blew Stu, when I had two fingers inside him—Teddy squirmed on my fingers. This boy was hot to go. “Fuck me,” he mumbled as he sucked Stu’s cock. “Please Sarge, let him fuck me—someone get a cock in me!”
I obliged him, pushing my big head into his bud—I swear to God, he swallowed me with his ass—he sucked me in like a vacuum cleaner. I had never felt anything like him and I had a pretty big cock, even then. He was so tight, but had this complete and crazy control of himself—you could push in so deep, and it felt like you were the first guy to ever get that far, like his ass was MOLDED to your cock.
And you could just fuckin’ POUND him and it just made him hungrier.
Honestly, I don’t know how long I fucked him, but I was getting close—and he and I both knew it—when Stu put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Don’t cum. Don’t cum in my boy.”
It was Teddy, panting, who said, “Oh, fuck no” for me, still sliding himself up and down on my rod. Reluctantly, I pulled out—I owed Stu the respect—here was another man letting me fuck his boy. He got to call the shots—literally!
I pulled out of Teddy and stood up, literally bumping into Stu. When had he gotten out from under Teddy? Must’ve been sometime when we were fucking—God, that kid had an amazing ass! I pressed my back into Stu’s muscular torso, rubbing against him like some slutty pig—I was so hot! “You’re really feeling it now, aren’t you?” Stu teased, reaching around me and pinching my nipples—they were on fire! “Wait’ll you feel what happens next.”
“Anything,” I panted. “I’m so fucking hot!”
I felt Stu’s fat finger slip between my ass cheeks and press against my hole and I knew what he wanted. I must’ve tensed up, because he immediately growled in my ear, “Relax, Timmy. You know how bad you want it.”
Whether I really did, or whether it was the drug he’d injected me with or the hypnotic sparkle in his eye, I couldn’t say—but I knew he was right. I knew how horny I was, how badly I wanted him, how badly I wanted sex.
He nodded. “I know—but you’ll be able to now. Just trust me.”
And so I pushed my ass back against his hand and his finger slipped inside—oh my God, it was good! “Good man,” Stu said. “Here comes another.” It was still hot, but it started stretching me a little beyond my comfort zone. Stu slapped my ass with his free open palm. “Relax,” he said again, thrusting into my hole with his two fingers, fucking me with them. “Boy,” Stu ordered Teddy, “get over there and help him.”
Stu bent me over, so I was kneeling on the mattress with him standing on the floor behind me—I was adjusting to his fingers, thick as they were. It was feeling pretty hot.
Teddy knelt on the mattress across from me and started kissing me—as soon as we made eye-contact, I felt my will drain away. I gladly let it. I was so horny.
When Stu pressed his third finger against me, I let him right in. “Now you’re getting it, Timmy,” he said. “You’re almost ready for my big god-cock.”
The words poured out of my mouth—words I never expected myself to say. “Please fuck me,” I said, knowing how desperate I sounded. “I’ve gotta feel it—I have to feel you inside me. Please fuck me! Please!”
“You ready for my big cock?” he asked, slapping my ass again. “You ready to be a big musclewhore?”
“Do it, Timmy.”
“Yes!” I yelled. “FUCK ME, Musclegod! Fuck me with that big porn star cock! Please! PLEASE fuck me!”
He smirked. “I like it when they beg,” he said, kneeling up on the mattress behind me. “Here it comes, musclewhore! Here comes the cock you always knew you’d be a fag for!”
He didn’t ask my permission, the way I had when I waited for Teddy to take my cock inside him. No, Stu took the hole like it was an enemy to be defeated—he deliberately and purposefully rammed himself inside.
It was ecstacy.
No pain—like I’d read about in all the stories of guys being forced to bottom—there was no pain, just bliss. Simple, unadulterated pleasure—it echoed through my groin, my heart, my brain—he filled me so completely, yet he wanted to go deeper. “Relax, Timmy,” he purred. “Let me in.”
I was being fucked by the biggest porn star bodybuilder in the world—I was about to BE one of the biggest porn star bodybuilders in the world—THAT thought pushed me into the abyss. Wave after wave of ecstacy crashed through me, timed perfectly with his thrusts. He assaulted my prostate with his thick mallet.
“Yeah,” I panted. “Harder!”
“Yeah, you’re fuckin’ turning me into one!” I squeezed my ass, feeling it grip his thick shaft. He moaned. “Like that, big man?” I asked, massaging him during each thrust. “You like how my virgin ass feels?”
“I can tell when a virgin’s turned into a slut!” he shouted, spinning me over and slamming me onto my back. He stepped off the mattress and stood on the floor, lifting my hips up and shoving his cock back into me. He REALLY hammered my prostate from this angle.
I was moaning, screaming from the assault—Stu didn’t let up a bit—he just went harder and more aggressive. Teddy’s ass was suddenly in my face, as he right knelt above my shoulders, facing Stu. When Teddy bent over and took my cock in his mouth, his own beauty flopped right across my face, leaking a little precum on my cheek. With a hunger I was only beginning to know, I took him in my mouth and sucked him till he filled my throat.
Stu changed his tempo, thrusting slower, longer, deeper—apparently, he’d tenderized the ground and was now getting ready to plant his seed. “Gonna shoot, Timmy,” he growled. “Gonna fill you with my fuck-juice and turn you into one of us—you ready?”
I let Teddy’s cock slip out of my mouth and panted, “Yes! Oh, God—YES!”
What happened then I swear happened in slow motion—at least, that’s how I remember it. Stu’s cock slid into my prostate like a oil-tanker crashing into shore, utterly demolishing everything in its path. That drove me over the edge—my orgasm started then. (I say “started” because that orgasm went on so long that I thought it would never end—never in my life before or since have I experienced anything so powerful.)
Anyway, my orgasm caused me to clench my ass around Stu’s heavy rod, pushing him over the edge. I could feel him filling me the same way I filled Teddy’s mouth—the same way Teddy was just as suddenly filling mine, blowing his own load well deep in my throat.
It was overwhelming—there’s no other way to describe it. Completely and unquestionably the most incredible sexual encounter of my life, delivered by a porn star and a go-go boy. My whole life since has been dedicated to making it that good again.
I know it’s lame of me to say I passed out from the ecstacy—but I’ve come to learn that it’s fairly common for a guy going through the initial transformation to be emotionally overwhelmed and black out. I sort of remember disentangling, some jocular banter as clothes were hunted down, some promises made and kisses goodbye, but mostly fighting the heavy weight of darkness pulling me into unconsciousness.
Honestly, the next thing I clearly remember—aside from a hazy wet-dream about being onstage during a bodybuilding contest and getting off on the way the audience (all male) cheered when I confidently flexed a big double bis, when my huge cock broke out of my posers and shot hot streams of cum over them—the next thing I remember was the hotel phone ringing with my wake-up call.
I couldn’t have gotten more than two or three hours of sleep, but I felt energized and enthusiastic—I was in a good mood even before my first cup of coffee. I laughed at that lame joke, I felt so good.
And I hadn’t woken with a morning boner THIS insistent since I was sixteen. Without even stopping for consideration, I reached down to grab it—immediately feeling how much bigger it was, how much more sensitive—and the whole evening before came crashing back to me.
I LEAPT from the bed to see myself in the mirror, praying that the fantasy had come true, that I’d been transformed! And I HAD!
There’s no way to accurately describe how I felt when I first saw myself—I mean, I’d fantasized… dreamed of that moment my whole life, from teenaged jack-off fantasies to the stuff that’s come to be the central themes in the many musclegrowth stories I’d written. Joy mixed with profound gratitude—I would’ve cried if I hadn’t been so curious, so… ATTRACTED to myself.
I wasn’t anywhere near as big as I am now—I mean, that was twelve months and a whole lot of sex ago—I weighed around 215 (down from the 230 I’d been only hours before), but there wasn’t an ounce of fat on my body. I looked bigger than I had when I was actually heavier—every muscle was hard and cut, beautifully full, but with incredible separation. And my abs—holy shit, mother of fuck, my ABS! I hadn’t had a six-pack since I was a skinny frosh in high school, much less the over-worked obsession that I had now. More, as I flexed them, I noticed my lower abs were actually stronger, more pronounced than my upper abs, the opposite of what normal people experienced. The hip flexors, the saddle, all of it designed to lead the eye to the best new part of me—my porn-star cock.
I knew it was bigger when I’d touched it in bed—and of course, it was impossible NOT to see your cock when you’re flexing your abs, right?—but laying out like it was, half-hard and ready, it was simply beautiful. Even at that point, it was bigger than it had ever been—and I’d been blessed with a good eight inches to begin with—and twice as thick. It wasn’t the ponderous club that Stu had, but it was a good, solid dick—I wouldn’t get kicked out of bed.
I was in love with it as soon as I couldn’t wrap my hand all the way around it, how thick and meaty, how sensitive. Stroking it felt good—stroking it while looking at my body in the mirror was even better!
And I hadn’t even glanced at my face, yet, so consumed was I with the changes my body had gone through that when I looked at my face and saw how… handsome I’d become, I was nearly shocked. The little double chin, the puffy cheeks—gone. In it’s place, a square jaw and cleft chin, high cheekbones and strong forehead. I was still me—but I was a WAY HOTTER me!
And when I saw that my formerly brown eyes were now the same shade of sparkling green champagne as Stu and Teddy’s, I orgasmed.
Seriously, I shot all over my mirrored self, dosing my reflection in a torrent of thick white cum. They hadn’t been kidding—somehow they’d done it. Somehow they’d transformed me into a porn star! I was delirious!
From the moment I got back to New York City, I was a changed man—literally and figuratively, right? My entire transformation took a little less than six months, all told—just about sixty pounds of muscle, a decrease in bodyfat (which was a concern to my Doctor until I fucked that care away) to the four percent I carry now, and a cock that’s just over eleven-and-a-half inches.
Didn’t matter if I missed a workout—didn’t matter if I ate bad—didn’t matter what drugs I took—my body kept getting bigger and better. All that mattered was that I had sex—the more sex, the faster I grew—the more I grew, the more I wanted sex. It was a fantastic cycle to be caught in. I didn’t care what people thought—their judgements were unimportant next to getting sex. Let them “poo-poo” the outfit I’m wearing, let them stare at a man in his prime on display—they don’t want me, well, maybe they should look in my eyes and say that. I bet they can’t—no one has so far.
So, it’s been a year—a year since I became this prime BUFF specimen. And now my contract is “active,” so I’m back in San Francisco at the behest of the Agency to make my first movie. Stu’s doin’ it with me. It was my idea—these two big straight bodybuilders who work out and juice up together accidently give themselves a formula that turns them into these horny gay musclesluts. Hot, isn’t it?
I can see you think so. You’ve been working so hard to resist that thing for the whole story and here we are at the end and I didn’t think you’d make it. You earned yourself a good fuck for that—let’s see, we got about twenty minutes before Teddy picks me up, so maybe you better get workin’ on my cock, get me good and wet…
Yeah, you got a nice mouth for a reporter. Don’t worry—guys gag all the time. It’s a big fuckin’ cock, but if you look up in my eyes I’ll make sure you can take it. There you go—yeah, you can suck my cock and look in my eyes at the same time! It’s easy for you now, isn’t it? Yeah, just look in my eyes and I’ll make sure it’s all easy.
You ready to get fucked? You ready to get fucked by the biggest cock you’ve ever seen? Well, why don’t you get those pants down and bend over the desk there, bitch. Yeah, turn the fuckin’ iPod off, I don’t care—we’re done with storytime. Now it’s fucktime.
And I’m fuckin’ horny as…
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