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Part 1

Mike dodged through the crowds, his breath loud in his ears as he tried to catch the bus. The city streets were like a river pushing him in the wrong direction, but somehow he managed to fight the current, slowly making progress.

He wouldn't make it, though. As he ran, he saw the bus pull up to the stop, the doors open and people started getting off. If he'd managed to leave that meeting thirty seconds sooner—

But there was no point in wishful thinking. He put more effort into the run, sweat dampening his business suit. If he'd been in better shape, maybe, or imressive enough to cause the crowds to part—

He was almost at the bus stop when the doors began to close.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed, but then his hope was rekindled as he saw the doors open again. Standing just inside was a large, handsome sort of man who waved to him. Mike nodded greatfully and stepped onto the bus.

“I saw you running,” said the man, following him to the rear of the bus where, miraculously, two seats were free. “I guess I got the driver to take his head out of his ass just in time.”

Mike took a moment to get a better look at the guy who'd saved his afternoon. He was large, muscular, his black suit strained to its limits by his biceps as he lowered himself into the seat. The cloth seemed specially designed to drape itself across his huge back, making an almost perfect “V”

with his narrow waist. The man's face was almost as impressive as his body.

Full lips and a hwak-like nose were positioned -just- -right- on his square-jawed face. He seemed to have a day's growth of stubble that added just the right texture to give him an aura of danger. His short black hair looked carefully maintained, but what really struck Mike was the man's eyes.

They seemed almost black, twin pools that he could not help staring into.

“I'm Michael Abriel,” Mike said, suddenly feeling compelled to introduce himself to this man.

The men took his hand before he was even aware he'd offered it, and with a steady, confident shake replied “You can call me Alex Dervish.”

“Thanks again for the—”

“Oh, I am certain it was no problem. In fact, I can't help but wonder if there isn't another way I could help you.”

As Alex talked, Mike realised that maybe this man -could- help him with something else, although he couldn't quite think of what that might be. Odd, how Alex's eyes seemed to dance that way…as though there were tiny specks of light being swallowed by his oh-so-dark eyes. Mike thought he could see a pattern there, and found himself trying to stare even deeper.

“What is it you do for a living, Mike?”

“I'm a lawyer …” Mike trailed off as the flecks of light twirled and spun as they were swallowed by Alex's eyes. Deeper and deeper he looked.

“A lawyer, how dreadful. But then, we all must do our part. Some of the best deals are to be made with lawyers.” Alex's lips twisted in a half-smile. A part of Mike felt a shiver of fear, but a larger part just wanted to keep staring into Alex's fascinating eyes. He didn't even notice when the bus passed his apartment. “And do I have a deal to offer you. Do you really like working as a lawyer, Michael?”

Mike realized then that he didn't.

“It's boring, isn't it?”

“Yes, it is,” strange, how Mike's thoughts seemed to echo Alex's calm, soothing voice.

“I can offer you something better. You would like that very much, wouldn't you?”

Alex did. Very much.


He did not remember going to sleep, in fact, he didn't remember very much at all after getting on the bus. But somehow he had managed to get home, where he now sat up and yawned, stretching. It was morning, but instead of that daily dread he used to feel at going to work, he felt oddly carefree.

He felt pretty good, actually. He hopped out of bed and went to the window, opening it and enjoying the feel of the breeze on his naked chest. Laughing at how wonderful life was, he turned around and started making himself some breakfast. He wolfed it down, with a voracious appetite, and then picked up the phone.

Today was too wonderful to waste inside an office, dealing with idiots who either were too greedy for their own good or didn't know when to quit. He'd never felt this irritated before, and he knew that he just couldn't go in to work. He dialled the office.

“Janice, could you tell Mr. Harolds that I won't be coming in today?” Mike asked the secretary when she answered.

“Are you sick, Mr. Abriel?” She asked.

“No,” Mike answered, and suddenly an odd feeling came over him. “I just think I've had enough with working in that dump.”

“Pardon me?” Janice replied, shocked.

“You heard me.” Mike answered. He sneered into the phone, but inside he felt wonderful. Wasn't this the -real- american dream? To one day just quit? Wait … that wasn't the dream. “But maybe I should tell Mr.

Harolds myself. Patch me through.”

“Are you drunk?” Janice asked, suddenly concerned. “Mike, are you alright?”

-Shut up, you bitch-, Mike thought, but instead he said, “Sure I am. Just reassessed my priorities. Now patch me through.”

The -real- american dream was to tell off your boss, and Mike did just that. A sense of power slowly filled him as he first started insulting the company, ignoring Mr Harolds' confused replies. His heart rose when he finally awakened his boss' anger, gleefully shouting back and the man's angered accusations. By the time the conversation was done, Mike realized two things: that he had forever damaged his reputation at that firm, and possibly every firm in the city, and that he had a raging hard-on.

The exhileration quickly passed before he even fully realised what had happened. Slowly the breathlessness and pleasure he had felt was replaced with dread. Did he just quit his job? Ruin his career?

Still, hadn't it felt good? He replayed the event in his mind, and as he did so, his dick got hard again. He'd never been so assertive, and it had been great to tell Mr Harolds how tired he was of sucking ass. The power he'd felt had almost been physical, filling his body with a sense of strength. He tried to savour the feeling as he pulled down his boxers and started to jack off, pulling on his dick with an intensity he hadn't felt in years.

With that finished, he started feeling more like his old self. With nothing to do, he puttered around the house, straightening a few things up, but he realised that he didn't really want to be here. Something nagged at the back of his mind, something about yesterday. Stray thoughts kept pulling his mind back to the moment when he got off work, as though a part of him was trying to tell him something, but strangely his thoughts kept slipping past that period of lost time. He felt a little concerned, but not really. Still, it bugged him.

Restlessness, he decided. It was time to go out.

He showered, taking a little longer to soap up his solid 5’11”, 170 pound frame, taking much longer to soap up his dick, jack off, and then rinse off.

He whistled as he stepped out of the shower, toweling himself dry. He felt good.

And looked good, he realized. His short dark hair was spiky after his haphazard attempt at towel drying, his green eyes sparkled. His nose was well-proportioned, over lips that weren't too thin or too pouty. He wondered if he should shave the dark band of stubble, but postponed the decision until after he'd done everything else: he kinda liked the look the stubble gave him, almost dangerous.

Mike kept himself in good shape, and he took a moment to admire his lean, tight body. He knew he was good looking, even though it had taken a few years of being hit on by the guys at the bars for him to realise it. He considered himself lucky that he didn't have to spend any time at the gym to keep his form.

Although now, as he looked, he realised that maybe he could do with a little gym work. He felt like he was looking a little scrawny. He looked exactly the same, he supposed, but maybe he was in need of a change. Flexing his arms, he decided that yes, he could stand a few hours in the gym, pumping iron.

Still, this didn't dampen his mood too much. After musing over this, he grinned at himself in the mirror, his old, familiar grin. Except, didn't it look a little different now? Maybe it was the way he felt, the rush from telling off his boss, but didn't that small curve of his lip, the tilt of his head, give him almost a -predatory- look? Dangerous seemed to be the word for the day. The odd thing was, it kinda felt sexy.

He grinned again, his old grin this time. “Fuck, I just need to get out of here.”


He chose jeans and a white t-shirt, not really noticing his choice. He guessed that since it was his day off, he might as well dress like a slacker. Not that he looked like a slacker: the t-shirt was a little tight on him, and the jeans hugged his thighs and crotch, showing off his assets.

It added to the sexy feeling he was having.

Without any idea of where he was headed, Mike grabbed his keys and wallet and left. The day was still bright, and Mike felt that it was loaded with possibilities. It was around lunch time, and his stomach growled, so he headed to a small streetside cafe, just a few minutes from his apartment.

Amadeus was well known as a cruising place, where men could pick up men with the added benefit of being well-lit. Mike had eaten there before, but he usually tried to go with a group of friends, although today he felt different. Perhaps today was a cruising day.

He found a small tabel where he could see most of the patio, and where most of the patio could see him, and he watched. It wasn't long before his eyes settled on something.

The man looked familiar to him for some reason. His dark hair, full lips, and dark, almost black eyes filled him with fascination. This man was gorgeous. But why did he look so familiar?

Mike felt a thrill when his eyes made the first tentative contact with the other man's. He smiled, trying to look nonchalant, but then suddenly changed tactics. He tried out his new, dangerous grin, as if to dare the man to look at him. And his eyes held! Time seemed to stretch, and Mike realized how turned on this guy made him. He seemed to bring on a predatory side to him, making him feel like taking risks, sexy. His dick hardened in his pants as he stared, his gaze seeming to fall into the man's twin black hole eyes. He saw him stand, a tall man with a large build, a black business suit that seemed to stretch over his immense muscles. Mike could sense power in the man, and he felt a sort of hunger for that power. The man started to walk over.

“Excuse me.”

The voice startled Mike out of his reverie, and he broke eye contact with the stranger to look up and to his left, where the voice had come from.

“Is that seat taken?” The man was fair-haired and blue-eyed. His features seemed to blend into a strange look of sexiness and innocence that caught Mike entirely off-guard.

“Um…no…no, I guess not,” He looked back to her the man had been, and blinked. The dark-haired guy had vanished. He looked around wildly, but there was no sign of him.

“Thanks,” the newcomer said, sitting down. He extended a strong-looking hand, “My name's Gabe.”

“I'm Mike,” he answered, shaking hands. He found Gabe's smile contagious, and found that he was grinning himself.

“Can I get you something, Mike?”

Mike shrugged, then smiled, and said, “Sure.”


Somehow, Mike and Gabe wasted an entire hour just talking. Mike didn't know who was more surprised when the conversation suddenly turned into something more. At one moment they were talking about careers (Gabe owned a book store, Mike just said he was in law), and the next they were exchanging phone numbers, with the promise of a first date.

By the time Gabe left (he had a doctor's appointment), Mike had already forgotten about the darkly-featured stranger. He found himself replaying the hour in his mind, and even when he thought he was over it, something would remind him of Gabe's smile, or a joke Gabe had told. He wondered how much Gabe had planned the encounter, wondered if the man had tormented himself wondering if he should ask Mike if that chair was free. He kept feeling like despite how he'd felt earlier that day, meeting Gabe was like a burst of sunshine through a cloud. He felt refreshed.

Refreshed, but still restless. He hung around a magazine stand for a little while, looking to see what was new, but nothing seemed to catch his eye. He was about to leave, when he heard laughter coming from around the corner, the alley.

It was a child's laughter, and he almost dismissed it, except that it sounded so musical. Intrigued, he followed the sound, hoping to find its source. Besides, he reasoned, a kid shouldn't be playing in an alley alone, not in the city.

He turned the corner, and heard the sound sneakers smacking pavement as he caught a glimpse of the kid running around another corner, still laughing.

He couldn't get a good enough look to get any details, so he followed, sort of jogging through the newspaper and trash that littered the alley's floor.

Turning that corner, he stopped, and looked around, confused. The alley ended with a tall wooden wall, but there was no kid to be seen. He looked around, but there was nothing big enough for a child to hide behind or in, and no doors through which he or she (for some reason he felt it was a he, a boy, although he hadn't had a close enough look to be sure) could have escaped. Mike walked to the wooden fence. If he jumped, he could just about reach the top, but there was no way a kid could scale this thing.

“Just my imagination,” he muttered, but even as he left the alley, he caught himself looking back, his brow furrowed with confusion.


The afternoon wore on, and Mike, at a loss for things to do, decided to see a movie. He chose some action movie, trash, maybe. There was bound to be a few half-naked men in the film, along with a lot of mindless explosions.

Sweaty, naked torsoes as men hefted huge guns was good enough for this afternoon.

As he opened his wallet to pay the cashier, something red caught his eye.

It was a plastic card, with a black stripe, like a credit card. Something tugged at his mind, and the next thing he knew, he was using it to pay for the movie. It cleared, but for some reason he hadn't doubted it would.

As soon as he returned it to his wallet, it was almost forgotten, his mind more intent on the film he was about to see. He didn't even notice that the dangerous grin was back, or that a sort of power had begun filling his limbs again.


The movie went well, until about halfway through. Then things got really bad.

The movie was fine. Mike's problem was the group of teenagers sitting right behind him, the big, stupid, ignorant asshole jock in particular.

The ape had come into the theater, groping some cheerleader ditz, his oafish voice already grating on Mike's nerves. The first words he uttered were, “What kind of loser sees a movie by himself?” Mike felt an unfamiliar anger build in him, not entirely unpleasant but more than a little frightening.

Somehow he kept his mouth shut, his face facing the movie screen as the movie began.

The jock, whose friends kept calling “Ice” for some innane reason that would probably elude anyone who wasn't a teenager, sat right behind Mike. It wouldn't have been so bad, if the asshole didn't put his feet up against the back of Mike's chair, thumping loudly everytime something blew up.

“Ice” had seen this movie about five or six time, Mike judged. At least enough to have some of the lines memorized, especially the ones at critical points, but not enough to get them right half the time.

“'Take this, you asshole', wait, I mean, -this- is where he says 'Die, whore,'…he calls him an asshole just before he kills him and blows up the computer!”

Mike wasn't that great at lip reading, which meant he had to take Ice's word for it.

Anger slowly worked its way into Mike's mind, with every annoying guffaw from the boar behind him, with every irritating movement, with every comment that drowned out a piece of dialogue. Mike clenched his fists, but for some reason that only made him angrier. His own fear grew, too. What was this?

He'd never been this angry before in his whole life! And over some dimwitted, steroid-popping asshole? For some reason that made him even angrier. It was like there were two sides in Mike, one side growing and gaining strength, just barely reined in, ready to explode, the other side watching and cringing away, realising how much Mike seemed to like the power his anger gave him, and not wanting to see things get any further.

Finally, things crescendoed, as “Ice” practically shouted, “Kill the faggot!” when the villian was about to do in some effeminate character who seemed designed to die.

Mike stood up and whirled around, his fists clenched into fists. Blood rushed to his face and sweat began to bead on his forhead. “Would you mind shutting the hell up?”

The jock's face clouded, then he stood himself. He had a sort of half-grin on his face, as if he couldn't believe this idiot would dare challenge him.

“What did you say, asshole?”

Mike snapped. His fist came up, almost as if it wasn't his, and plummetted into the jock's fleshy face. Mike felt a rush of power fill him, lending strength to his punch, so, before “Ice” could recover, he hit him again, feeling even stronger. The jock's friends were stunned into silence, but not Ice. He blinked, and then a low growl began to emerge from his throat. He lunged at Mike, half climbing over the row of seats that separated them.

Mike dodged, and hit the oaf again, his arms tingling.

Ice made a swing, catching the side of Mike's jaw, but Mike barely felt it, taking the chance to hit him again. He felt an almost sexual thrill as he realized the jock's nose was bleeding. Then Ice hit him again, and he went down.

He might have lost consciousness, because it seemed as if time skipped. One second a fist was flying at his face, the next he was struggling to stand, while a 230-pound ape tried to punch him back down. Suddenly he felt that his strength had left him. The theatre seemed to fill with sound—shouts of surprise and fear from the other movie-goers, most likely—and a flash light beam swung through the theatre as the ushers began to try to find out what was going on.

Mike got to his feat and turned to run toward the screen, toward the emergancy exit.

“You ASSHOLE!” He heard the jock shout after him, but the voice was far away, and soon a heavy door was between him and the idiot. Mike gasped for breath, every limb shaking, but he felt -good-!

“Fuck!” He gasped. “Fuck! Fuck!”

Sweat ran down his forhead, and his t-shirt stuck to his flesh, feeling tighter than normal, but then, he was -pumped-. His blood pounded in his ears, every part of him felt completely alive. He felt a strange power suffuse his being, fill him from head to toe. He laughed, his voice sounding raw and wild.

He hadn't been in a fight since grade school. Back then he'd tried to avoid combat, since he'd always been smaller than most of the other kids. He'd gone into law because that was a way to fight without relying on physical strength, but now … he'd held his own! Against a man over sixty pounds heavier than he was!

His cock was hard, straining against his jeans, emphasising the feeling he had that he was big all over. He felt like a bigger man, like his clothes were tighter. It was almost like he'd undergone a physical transformation.

As he left the building, finally emerging into an alley, he rubbed his swollen bulge, feeling sexy and horny and hot. He wiped away the trickle of blood from his nose and grinned. He felt -wonderful-.

“Fuck.” He said again. His breath was coming back to him, but the euphoria hadn't left. If anything, he felt more restless, like a tiger on the prowl.

He wandered out of the alley, still dazed. He wouldn't have noticed the black limo that pulled up in front of him if the door hadn't opened. But it did, and the dark-haired stranger, the man with the almost-black eyes, motioned to him from inside. Mike's cock swelled a little more, filling his crotch with almost painful heat.

The euphoria increased, along with horniness. He knew that this man wanted him, and suddenly he felt the same way. He grinned dangerously and slid into the car.

“Mike,” the man said.

“Alex,” Mike didn't understand how he knew the man's name, but he did. He felt strange in his presence, a jumble of emotion. He felt the sexual tension, true, but underneath there was a bizarre mixture of comfort and fear, like he could tell this man anything, but that maybe he shouldn't. The air tingled with the man's power.

The inside of the limo was dark, just light enough for Mike to see Alex as the large man shrugged out of his jacket and undid his tie, a wry smile flitting across his lips. He stretched, or at least tried to in the confines of the car, and Mike could see corded muscle ripple and flex underneath his shirt.

“You feel comfortable, Mike,” Alex said, and suddenly all of Mike's fears bled away. He knew that he was going to have sex with this man, and just then that was all he wanted. A thought of Gabe fluttered at the edges of his thoughts, like a phantom. But like a phantom, it was weak and powerless, unable to touch him.

Mike reached over and touched Alex's huge arm, feeling the strength beneath the thin fabric of the shirt. Alex leaned back and sighed with pleasure as Mike leaned into him. Mike pressed his head into Alex's chest, gently tonguing his nipples through the shirt, his actions coming as naturally as if he was being guided, but Alex only leaned back, his eyes closed, his mouth forming a small smile of pleasure.

Mike grabbed and squeezed Alex's arms, his hands not even wide enough to cover the mounds of muscle, while at the same time he buried his face in Alex's pecs, feeling the massive crease where the slabs of muscle met, returning to the nipples, exploring the entire territory of his chest.

“Michael,” Alex purred. “My dear, dear Michael. You like my muscle, don't you?”

Mike moaned gently in ascent.

“You like to feel the power, the strength and size. You want it for your own,” Alex spread his legs, and Mike moved so that he knelt between them, his face now feeling its way around Alex's abs, his arms roaming the massive expanse of chest. His fingers, seemingly of their own volition, began to unbutton Alex's shirt, and he felt a thrill of pleasure shiver down his spine when he felt Alex's large hands start to rub his back.

“And you will get it,” Alex's hands found their way beneath Mike's t-shirt, carressing his flesh with strength and lust. Mike could feel Alex's power seeping into him, coming from a seemingly endless store. “We've made a deal, you and I, and you've already begun to pay your half.” Alex's voice was soothing, Mike enjoyed listening to it as his head went lower and lower. He touched Alex's belt with his teeth, his chin grazing across a lump that could only be Alex's cockhead, trapped within his pants.

“And so I will begin to give you your reward.” Alex cooed.

Mike felt a weird separation occur inside his head. One part of him seemed to be screaming, pent up emotion struggling to get out. Lust and anger and fear and hate all boiled just beneath the surface, his cock was hard, and all he wanted was release. Another part was lulled by Alex's voice, giving the entire scene a dreamlike quality.

Alex's hands left Mike's back and brushed back Mike's hair. Then Alex undid his pants, giving Mike access to the huge, almost inhuman cockhead. Alex's dick seemed to crawl, snakelike, from its lair within his pants, slithering and straightening until it was erect, its tip just shy of Alex's rib cage, as thick as Mike's wrist. Mike licked it gently, and then encircled the cockhead with his mouth, sucking gently.

It seemed the perfect dick. Even though it was huge, it fit perfectly into Mike's mouth as he took it in, almost as if it was made for it. His throat seemed to widen just to accomodate its expanse. He felt Alex's hands on his head, pushing him deeper, and he half expected to gag, but he didn't, and soon even that fear faded away. Everything vanished in the flood of feelings, the sensation of power, flooding from Alex's dick into his body.

He gave head like a pro, Alex's hands guiding his movements, coaxing out an instinct never before realized. Power filled him, electric, making him complete.

“You're good,” Alex shuddered. “But you will get better.”

Alex shuddered again, and then Mike could feel the man's come filling him.

His own dick throbbed in synchrony, filling his jeans with his own sperm.

Mike pulled his head away from Alex's dick and sighed. He felt like a baby, finally sated with his mother's milk.

He leaned his head against Alex's abs and closed his eyes. As he fell asleep, he thought he heard the man say “You're already bigger.”

Part 2

He woke up in an alley somewhere, his head aching and the inside of his mouth felt fuzzy, like he'd been drinking. One hell of a hangover. What had happened? Where was he? The alley was already completely dark, and by the light coming from the street he could tell it was almost sunset. Mike managed to move, barely. His head pounded with pain, and every muscle seemed sore. He felt achy all over, and his clothes pinched. He staggard to the edge of the alley, squinting at the fading sunlight and the neon signs as he tried to get his bearings.

He was close to home, he guessed. Maybe a fifteen minute walk. As he moved, the stiffness worked its way out of his joints, and his head cleared of pain, but it was replaced with a sort of dizziness, a high. It didn't feel bad, though, and Mike was almost able to enjoy it, except for the vague feeling of unease, the feeling that he'd done something he would regret.

His clothes pinched, though, like they'd shrunk a little. His jeans felt too tight in the thighs and crotch (this was a mixed feeling, both unpleasant and sexy), and his t-shirt felt like it was sticking to his flesh, the sleeves only coming down a third of the way of his biceps, dimpling the skin. A chilly wind blew and he shivered.

Fifteen minutes? He was probably a little further away than that. The cool wind nagged at him, and although he started to feel a little better, maybe even a little stronger than usual, he felt an overpowering urge to avoid the cold.

Suddenly, fate smiled upon him. He stopped in front of a picture window of some clothing store. There, on display, was a black leather jacket, the lights glinting dimly off its surface. It looked heavy, and he suddenly wanted the weight of it on his shoulders.

He remembered the red card in his wallet, and had the feeling that it contained as much money as he would ever need, but he shook his head with disgust. That would be too much hassle. Besides, a part of him urged, wouldn't it be fun to do something else?

He grinned his new grin. Looking both ways, he saw no one on the street.

He pulled his arm back, and punched the glass as hard as he could. It cracked straight down the middle, setting off an alarm, but didn't break.

So he punched it again, wincing at a sharp pain in his knuckles.

That did it. The glass shattered. Mike reached in and grabbed the coat, laughing as he ran away. As soon as he was safe, he put it on, enjoying the feel of it on his shoulders, feeling like it made him bigger. He caught his reflection in another window and realised that he did look bigger. He stopped for a moment and admired the stud reflected back at him, wearing tight jeans and a t-shirt, a black leather jacket completing the image. If he didn't know any better, he'd say he looked like a dangerous muscle stud.

The jacket did wonders.


When he got home, he was beginning to feel really uncomfortable. As soon as he'd taken the jacket, he'd begun feeling that strange power rush through him, filling his body with a strange sort of feeling. His mind even buzzed, sending on some mysterious high where he felt better than he had in his life.

The downside was that his clothes started to feel tighter. In a way, it was kind of sexy, like he was getting bigger, but it was more annoying than anything else. His shirt sleeves dug into his flesh, his chest felt too restrained. He just wanted to get out of these clothes.

The moment he entered his door he took off the jacket, hanging it carefully on the back of a chair, and headed to the bathroom. After he'd peeled the shirt off his chest, he gaped at his reflection.

Looking back at him was a man with the body of a serious athlete. Swollen muscle covered his body, giving him a sleak, powerful look. His torso had taken on a “V” shape, his upper back having widened and his pecs grown. His shoulders were wider, bigger, and his biceps stood out even when he wasn't flexing. His wide, strong chest narrowed to a slim waist, his abs clearly visible under his flesh. A line of pubic hair drew his gaze down to his crotch, where the bulge in his jeans was far larger than could be explained by his growing hard-on. He felt the denim mold itself to his ass, could see by its tautness that his thighs had grown, but his eyes kept returning to his dick.

He undid his belt and slowly peeled his jeans off his legs. He could see his dick clearly through the precum-soaked underwear. It was almost unreal, to see such a massive piece of flesh. He'd always been on the upper side of average in that department, but now it looked like he blew average away. He stripped off his underwear, freeing his hard cock. He held it in his right hand, feeling the weight as it pulled on his groin. With his other hand he reached up and touched his pecs, at first hesitantly, and then with growing lust.

Whatever had happened, he wanted more of it. He slowly began to stroke his cock, trying to guess at how big it must be. Maybe ten inches? A little more? It was so wide that his hand could not get all the way around it. He had ample precum, and soon his dick was lubed, his hand sliding over its mass as he stroked his own chest, squeezing his nipple gently, before moving down to feel the mounds of his six-packed abs.

He threw his head back in pleasure, and made his way to the couch where he lay down, feeling a buzz in his head like he was high on something. It was unreal, and he stroked himself until he came, his come splattering all over him, feeling hot against his warm flesh. A burning began in his groin, almost painful, but more like pleasure. He felt it spread over his body, and he could almost feel it -changing- him. He had an image of fire, as the heat spread. A fire that purified and transformed whatever it touched.

Down to his toes it went, and up through his muscled arms. It touched his head, and suddenly the image became real. He seemed to be standing over an ocean of fire, in a cavernous world. He felt a power suffuse through him, and he knew that he held dominion over this burning land. There was only one that he had to answer to, and he knew that he would always be a servant. Lust filled him as he imagined serving his Master—

And then the image faded away. The burning left his body, and he dismissed it all as an overactive imagination. His thoughts slowed, he felt drowsy. He forgot about how he'd found the leather jacket, about the changes that had transformed him. Instead, he slipped into sleep. It was there that Alex's face was recalled, and only there that he realised the peril he was in.


The phone rang, suddenly pulling him from sleep. Groggily he went to the phone. He felt strange, like the way he moved had changed, like he was heavier. His drowsy mind could not put this change into context before he had picked up the receiver and muttered a bleary “Hello?”

“Mike?” Mike recognised the voice, but could not name it. He blinked, trying to get his vision back. He felt sore, so he sat back down on the couch.

“Yeah?” He groaned. He -did- feel heavier. What had—

“Are you alright?” Suddenly Mike recognised the voice as Gabe's. Knwoing this cleared his head like a ray of sunshine through dense fog.

“Yeah … yeah, I was … napping.” Mike looked out the window, and was surprised to see it was daylight. He'd slept the whole night away? Was it morning? He looked around for a clock.

“Oh.” Gabe hesitated. “Well, I was just wondering if you'd like to get together sometime.”

Mike stopped, his eyes glued to his r eflection.

“Mike?”

It all came back to him, or at least most of it. He still couldn't remember what had happened on the bus, or yesterday afternoon, but he remembered coming home, seeing his reflection, the extra mass that shouldn't have been there. He was still naked, and his cock began to stir from where it lay against his thigh.

He hadn't grown any bigger since last night, but he did look different. He still hadn't shaved, but his stubble hadn't grown out much more than before. It -was- darker, but that only seemed to give him a squarer jaw, a more sexy face. His skin was darker, too, as if he'd just spent a couple weeks in a sunny part of the world. The tan seemed to emphasize his increase in muscle, making him look bigger and sexier.

“Mike are you there?”

“Um…yeah. I am, just…uh…I thought I saw something outside the w indow.”

“So?”

“So…um…sure, I'd love to do something,” this, at least, was true.

Gabe seemed to touch a part of Mike that needed to be touched. He'd only spent an hour with the man, but he suspected that there might be something there between them.

“How about dinner? Tomorrow night?”

Mike forgot about the sudden changes, when he realized just what was happening. Gabe was asking him out!

“Sure! Where will I meet you?”

“How about I pick you up?”

Mike agreed and told Gabe his address. They talked a while longer, but Mike didn't hold up to well on his side as he began to be distracted by his new body again. They said their goodbyes, and then Mike was alone again.

He was about to jack off again, when something -did- catch his eye outside of the window. He looked out and down, to the street. Playing in the road, he could see a blond-haired kid, a boy. For some reason this child held his attention, and he felt a weight lift off his shoulders. Laughter drifted up from the street, and he recognised it as the same innocent laughter he'd heard yesterday morning.

Grabbing his jacket, he ran down the two flights of stairs and out into the street, but by the time he got there, the boy was gone, only an echo of his carefree laughter remained.


He spent the next day at home. Restlessness gnawed at him, but he had a strange feeling that if he left the apartment he might not get back in time to meet Gabe. He had to pass the time somehow, and so he divided it between jacking off and worrying himself sick over how to hide the changes in his body from Gabe.

Strictly speaking, there was no reason why he -had- to hide. He felt that he could trust Gabe. The thing was, he knew that if anyone saw these sudden changes, questions would be asked, and Mike felt a strange reluctance to answer those questions. He felt like once he tried to explain things, it would lead to more questions. He'd have to talk about his strange impulses, his growing loss of control, his newly-acquired bad temper. He'd have to try to remember those strange periods where his memory seemed to fail, and for some reason he definitely did not want to do that. He felt like those moments were a secret, a private time, and he didn't want anyone to invade them.

He experimented with different clothes, and this was an experiemnce in itself. Anything that used to be somewhat tight on him was absolutely too small now. He ended up trashing half his wardrobe. The other half was a different experience altogether.

Anything he tried on seemed not only to show his assets, but to accentuate them. His shirts clung invitingly to his chest, stretched impressively around his biceps, and molded themselves to his wide back. His pants all seemed to lift his cock and balls, as though he meant to show them off….which, in a way, he did. If he hadn't been so concerned about Gabe's reaction, he probably would have been in the streets half-naked by now.

Just the idea made his dick hard. He ended up jacking off 9 times that day, the ninth time mostly because he had never been so horny, and the idea that his sex drive was up made him hornier.

He was just finishing up when the buzzer sounded. Gabe was here!

In a panic, Mike grabbed jeans and a clean white t-shirt. Putting on his leather jacket, he realised this was the best he could do. The jacket seemed to have a dual nature: it hid the changes, but seemed to accentuate them at the same time. He looked like the old Mike, only bigger, more dangerous. He grinned his new grin while he looked at his reflection, and his dick throbbed. He rubbed it through the denim, a sigh of pleasure escaping his lips, and then Gabe knocked at the door.


The bistro that Gabe took them to was unfamiliar to Mike, although he'd heard some good things about it from his more cultured friends. Gabe had made reservations, and so seating wasn't a problem. Their table was small, with a candle burning in the middle. The lights were dimmed throughout the restaraunt, giving the whole building a romantic air.

As they looked over the menu, they made small talk, tentatively feeling each other out, trying to guage what they were getting into. Mike discovered that Gabe shared many of his interests, but had some that intrigued him. Somehow Gabe managed to maintain an air of mystery that only made Mike want to know more, while at the same time, Gabe seemed to really -listen- to Mike.

After the waitor had taken their order, Gabe reached across the table, taking Mike's hands into his own. It seemed an almost casual gesture, except that he kept gazing into Mike's eyes as he did it. Their conversation skipped a beat, and it would have been awkward, except that Mike could almost feel a connection forming between them.

As they talked, Mike took in Gabe's features, memorizing the way he smiled (gorgeously), the way his brow furrowed when he asked a question (adorably), the way he winked when he told a joke (beautifully).

By the time dinner was served, Mike was certain that he liked this man very much, that if he wasn't careful “like” could turn into “love”.

But as he ate, something changed. One part of him remained focused on Gabe, going on as predicted, overjoyed whenever they discovered a common bond, intrigued when a minor chord of tension was struck. But another part of him grew restless.

The restaraunt began to seem cramped to him, too warm and stuffy. He was famished, but the food tasted strange, wrong somehow. One of his forks had a spot on it, and he felt his temper flare briefly. These people were -paid- to clean the dishes, couldn't they put some effort into it?

The waiter kept coming back to ask if everything was alright, and Mike began to resent the pestering slob. He wanted to tell him that the meat was soggy and spongy, that the vegetables had had all their flavour boiled out of them, that the rice tasted like crap.

Gabe seemed to sense something was wrong, and seemed about to ask what, when the waiter came back again, to tell Mike that the dessert he'd ordered wasn't available that night.

Mike stood up and roared, “WHAT?”

He felt the now-familiar tingle spread through his body, power seemed to dance in his veins. He felt like someone had shot him up with some high-octane drug, like crack or speed.

“Mike, calm d—” Gabe stopped as his hand rested on Mike's arm. He had intened to pull Mike down, but his eyes widened as he realised just how large Mike's arm was. “Mike, what's happened to you?”

Mike suddenly came to himself. He saw the waiter, wide-eyed and shivering, take a step back. He saw Gabe looking up at him, his blue eyes wide with concern. He saw the entire restaraunt looking at him, surprise, fear, and curiosity mingled in their features. The strength drained from his limbs, and suddenly he felt like sobbing. Instead, he pushed his seat back, knocking it over, and ran from the shop.


As he ran, rage replaced shame. The tingling began again, stronger this time, as if angered at having been denied in the bistro. He needed to hurt something, to break something. He felt like he'd betrayed Gabe somehow, but gradually he began to feel that it was right to do so. Maybe he had liked the man, but Gabe could only hold him back. A small part of him held out against this, but eventually was defeated. He felt that part wail in despair as if it was ripped out of him

He bent down and grabbed a fist-sized rock. Then, with all his strength, he hurled it at a window. The smash was satisfying, and he felt pleasure course through his body as the tingling changed pitch. It grew into a need, and suddenly he knew what he had to do.

He ran through the city streets. One person found themselves in his way and he pushed them to the ground. This seemed even better than breaking some inanimate object.

He suddenly turned on the man, and began to pound his face in. He imagined the face to be the waiter's, or Mr. Harolds'. The man was crying by the time he stopped, his face a bloody mess. Mike tossed him to the ground, finished with him.

He'd stopped because something had changed. His clothes felt tighter again, his shoulders pushed against the leather jacket, its sleeves stretched when he bent his arms. He was getting bigger!

Suddenly he was filled with lust. He wanted someone to see his new body, suck his new cock which he knew was bigger. He wanted to ram his hard dick up someone's ass, whether they wanted it or not.

Then he saw the strange man again. -Alex- the name appeared in his mind, fseeming to fill his head with its importance.

The world seemed to stop as Alex walked toward him. Alex looked even bigger this time, more impressive, loaded with muscle. Gone was his suit, or most of it. He still wore his pants, that were stretched in the thighs and crotch, but he was bare-chested. As he walked under a neon light, his flesh seemed to take on a reddish hue, but then it was back to flesh colour again as the dark man came closer.

He reached out, as if seeking to embrace Mike with his massive arms, and Mike suddenly found himself kneeling before him. The image of a land of fire returned to him, and he knew suddenly that this man was his Master.

A wind began to gust around them, sending garbage spinning like a cyclone as Mike hurriedly pulled at Alex's pants, revealing a monster cock. He sucked him off while Alex calmly stroked his hair and upper back.

“You are almost mine,” Alex said. “And you will get bigger.”

Mike's world vanished beneath wind and fire, muscle and cock.

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