The room smelt sterile. Every surface was clean: long lines; white walls; white ceiling; white tiles on the floor. Everything else contained in the room was stainless steel: the chair Merck was tied to, and the long, raised object that was centered in front of him. It looked a little like an enormous toolbox. Beyond that there seemed to be the outline of a door, made of the same white material as the walls. What was behind him he couldn’t see: his head was fixed forward. The only sound in the room was the low hum or the air-conditioning coming from the vents placed high in the walls. His wrists, ankles, chest, and forehead were restrained with bands of surprisingly strong iridescent pearl coloured fabric that had a light sheen to it. His lithe form was naked except for a pair of cotton underwear that barely contained his cock within them. He couldn’t budge. He wasn’t strong enough.
He was unsure of long how he had been here, or how he had got there in the first place. He had been out between classes on campus with his friend Natalie, taking about their recent class—human evolution—when there had been some commotion on the street. They had turned to check out what had been going on and saw… a brawl of some kind, out near the street by some black vans… and that was the last thing he remembered before he woke up in the white room. He wasn’t sore. He didn’t feel like anything had been injured. The chair, although it was cold and hard, was unexpectedly comfortable. He was more confused than afraid, at least for the time being.
“Hello? Can anybody hear me?” he called.
There was silence for a moment, and then the static-click of an intercom. “You are perfectly safe, Mr. Traven. Proceedings will commence soon.”
“What am I here for? Was there an accident?”
“Questions cannot be answered at this time,” the monotone, sexless voice responded. “Please do try to relax.”
The voice refused to answer any more of his questions. He sat in silence. He tried to move again, with little effect. Possibilities began to run around in his head: it seemed medical, wherever he was. Perhaps he had been exposed to something dangerous. Perhaps the town had been exposed to something dangerous. Quarantine. He might be in quarantine. He started to get nervous and could feel his heart starting to race.
“Calm down, Mr. Traven. Getting yourself worked up will do no good. Try and relax.”
Merck started to feel suspicious of the electronic voice and what it was telling him to do; and how it knew that he was getting excited. He waited, listening to the beats of his heart in his ears.
Then, without warning, the chair swiveled smoothly to face the portion of the room that had at first been behind him. It stopped with a faint click. He was staring at a large mirror that dominated the wall. It showed him a young man of twenty three, thin but not emaciated, with nice, long muscles down his arms and legs, a flat tummy, and a bright shock of sandy blonde hair and pale grey eyes, staring back at him. He was still cute, if a little afraid. He didn’t look damaged. The chair he was attached to was oddly designed and kept his limbs separated from one another as well as from his torso. He looked worriedly into his own eyes. From the ceiling hung a variety of stainless steel devices with tapered ends, mounted on what looked to be movable arms. He couldn’t see the PA system anywhere.
“We are ready to begin,” said the voice, and Merck heard the door slide open behind him.
Some soft footsteps approached. He didn’t see any sign of them until a pair of hands reached around to grasp the cotton underwear and cut a clean line down them with a pair of scissors, then whisk them away, leaving him completely naked. Then, a sharp pain in his neck: he barely noticed a syringe being retracted from his throat. Some more footsteps followed, the sounds of a few switches being turned, and the door closing.
The air was cool around his cock and balls, making them twitch, and the pinch in his neck began to warm, and spread outwards, down the side of his neck, spreading into his torso. When it reached his cock, he immediately felt it rush right into its head, powerfully and definitely sexual. It sprang to attention, coming all the way up to brush against his navel.
“Very nice,” the voice said without inflection. “This bodes well.”
Feeling more embarrassed than afraid now, he demanded again “I have the right to know what you are doing to me here.”
“Once we’re done with you here, your demands will be of no concern,’ said the voice. “You may even thank us.”
He regarded himself in the mirror, splayed apart, his dick standing at attention, in front of god knows who, and a buzzing sensation tingling through his body was making him feel pretty good—against all his better instincts. He stretched his toes and fingers and let out a little moan of reluctant pleasure.
Then the sounds started, from behind: the metallic chick-chink-chink of machinery unfolding itself. There was a whirling, and steel fingers clamped lightly down on Merck’s head, holding it absolutely still. Then the chair itself began to move, separating his legs further, bending them, and the whole thing turned up and then down through space so he was staring at the floor. He had a sense that his seat at the back had opened wide and he could feel the move of air against his rectum, but he was comfortably supported, even as his arms rotated out above his head to end parallel to the floor. His engorged penis bounced and slapped against his belly.
“I really don’t like this,” he started to say, but the robotic arms were already in motion, coming down in front of the mirror and starting to insert probes fed with wires and tubes into his shoulders, his neck, temples, biceps, triceps, joints. They didn’t hurt but they felt hard and cold going in: straight hard rods under the skin.
His lower half received much the same treatment. Most of the main muscles were installed with cool, hard chinks of metal, and some kind of unknowable apparatus had worked its way in around his anus and then expanded to draw his butt cheeks apart. None of it was painful—just unpleasant—but also bizarre as he felt his body being installed with sensors and probes, he was still feeling—fighting—the vaguely sexual rush he felt from the first injection. He made little attempt to struggle.
There was quite for a while as the machinery retracted to it’s restful state, then the door opened again—Merck watched the black shoes of three people walking about him—and soft, low voices could be picked out:
“Good specimen. An Alpha in the making.”
“Don’t get your hopes up too high.”
“No, look at him. He half likes it already.”
“He’s in shock. He may very well be another Epsilon.”
They laughed. Someone reached under, a woman’s hand, and attached a rubbery feeling suction cup to his left nipple, and then the other. He got the impression they were attached to another tube of some sort. Once both were in place, there was a sharp penetration, like a little needle, into the nubs of his chest. His cock twitched. His nipples warmed.
“I’m still staying Epsilon.”
“Please, what’s going to happen to me?” Merck asked.
“You’re serving the cause,” said one, before they continued to ignore him.
Next, there was a cool, smooth pressure against his asshole, and it started to the press forward. The residual warmth of the shot they gave him seemed to respond to the motion, and sensation flooded down to meet the intruding object. Merck could feel his sphincter open up, almost letting itself widen all the way to accommodate what felt like a very large, porcelain cylinder that came up in him. It felt almost good: stretching him out, making him widen to accommodate it. But he also felt shame. All he could think was that Tracy would never want to date him again if she had known he’d been penetrated up the ass like a fag. And what for? He was bound and degraded, poked and wired up for some unknown purpose. Secret experiments? A government pogrom? Was he going to die? When it was done, he felt full—wrapped around something impossibly large and, if possible, more immobile than before.
Last was his mouth. “Open,” they said, and he complied. They fit him with a bite guard, told him to close, and left. Silence followed, leaving him supported but suspended above the floor, attached to a web to tubes and cables; and still his boner was rigid, dangling below his belly toward the floor.
“Initiating phase one,” said the neutral voice.
Merck’s body jolted as wave after wave of energy started to enter him from all sides, every point of access. Each cell in his body came to full attention and seemed to be absorbing light, as if every tissue beside his bones was now burning with a low, incandescent radiation. He bit down into the mouth guard, and the waves intensified. He could feel every inch of his skin, every nerve opening up with a transmission of stimulation. In addition, he could feel subtle, thin treads of cool liquid injecting into his body during this onslaught: silver liquid leaking into the buds of his nipples, into the base of his scrotum; his balls felt as if they were filling with mercury and being pulled heavier, further and further down toward the floor. The object up his ass warmed to a pleasant heat, making his legs and abdomen feel like a warm pudding. His muscles started to clench and release involuntarily, and his fingers and toes curled in pleasure. Through it all his cock kept pumping, straining to the beat of his heart, until he felt it was almost ready to burst, but he couldn’t. It went on. For how long he couldn’t say, but at some point it finally stopped, and he passed out into a dreamless slumber.
When he woke, his position had changed. His face was sill toward the floor, but his arms and legs had been retracted to a short of doggy-style pose, though he was still suspended from the ceiling, hovering over the floor. He felt restrained still, but his body was flush with gratification, as if he’d had be best sleep of his life after spending a week at the gym. It took him a moment to remember his predicament, and realize that he was still, every inch of him, wired up to some unknown purpose.
He looked down at his arms. Besides the fact that they were punctured at regular intervals with electrodes, they looked okay. In fact, they looked better than okay. There seemed to be muscular definition there that he hadn’t noticed before. Tempted to look down at his lower half, he found that his head restraint was still in place, though he spit out the mouth-guard.
“Do I get explanations now?” he asked the floor.
He heard the door open and another pair of black shoes walked out in front of his field of vision. “If you like,” said a female voice.
“What’s going on?”
“You fit a profile, and you saw something you shouldn’t. Those two things together mean you get brought to us.”
“Are you the government?”
There was a scoffing sound. “Please. The government has no idea what we can do here. We represent a Plan.”
“What sort of Plan?”
“Oh, it’s very important.”
“You said I get explanations.”
“I didn’t say how good those explanations would be.”
Merck thought for a moment. “Are you going to kill me?”
“Goodness no. You’re an investment. Quite possibly a prodigy. We’re going to take very good care of you.”
“I doesn’t feel like it.”
“Our readings suggest that your body might disagree with you.”
Merck took his thoughts through his body, noted how pleasant it felt, even in this awkard position, filled up with pin and needles and god knows what else. He grunted.
“It gets a little trickier as we go on, but I think you’ll be alright.”
“Do I get out of here?”
“The signs are good.”
“And what’s to keep me from reporting whatever it is that you do here?”
“No one will keep you from doing anything you don’t want to if you realize our hopes.”
“Is that a promise?”
“That’s a certainty.”
The next time it started from the rear. The insertion, whatever it was, started to pump something into Merck. It was slow, and smooth, and felt like it filled in some empty spaces in his abdomen, almost like the squirt of some internal gel. And just when that started to feel pretty good, his nipples came back to attention, as if they were being sucked towards their centre to perk out like the nubs of erasers into their rubber caps. His cock filled with blood and began to shake. The air felt cool against his warming balls. Then the rest turned on: from the souls of his feet to the crown of his head: every hair stood on end and rustled a symphony of whispers to his skin; the rippling touch of every follicle shivering its own pleasure. He clenched his fists and could see his biceps bulge against the strain, a thick vein popping up, visible beneath the skin. It must be the stress he thought to himself, but what are they doing to me?
And then high gear. Everything went up a notch and he screamed in helplessness, in ecstasy, as it continued without any way to tell the time. It just went on, until it stopped.
He assumed that the wires and tubes were feeding him. He wasn’t hungry. He didn’t have to go to the bathroom, except for when on of the pair of black shoes came in to get him to pee into a cup, and even that wasn’t very much. The sessions continued. He lost count somewhere after seven. Each was slightly different, each he began to look forward to, as they seemed to get him closer and closer to a state of purely sexual bliss that he had never experienced before. He stopped worrying about the world before he had come to this place. He stopped worrying about Tracy. He started worrying about how his body felt, because after every session, or “treatment” as they called it, he was sure that he was feeling better, stronger, more solid. His chest felt like a barrel under the restraints. His arms, he was sure, were bigger. His cock, one of the only things unattached to a wire or a tube, felt heavier, like his balls, like it was swinging lower to the ground. Like it was massive. And his glutes clutched around the invading cylinder now. He liked to grasp its circumference with the muscles of his ass, milk it fiercely when it was humming, or thrusting, or discharging some unknown fluid into him. And as much as he was becoming addicted to the sessions, he seemed to be learning too: something in the way he had been thinking was changing. Into what, he didn’t know, but as time went on he began to feel part of something greater. Something that he had been chosen for. He began to have faith that this purpose would be revealed, in time; and that he would be ready.
He woke one morning, long after he lost count of how many times he had woken there, only to find himself on the floor, unattached to the chair, his body only trailing the irregular webbing of tubes and wires than ran from the machines into him. Whatever peace he had been coming to feel towards his predicament evaporated when he realized that he was free to move around. He immediately started disengaging the mechanical attachments: pins, hooks, succors from his body. Gingerly he reached behind and eased out the plug that had been inside his rectum for so long. It was not as big around as he had imagined, but was a smooth, long, bullet shape made of some material he couldn’t identify, a thick cable running from the end of it into the giant toolbox, and with a little hole in the tip. He placed it aside. The small nipple needles came out without a fight, as did most of the other insertions. It was only when he finally stood up and looked at himself in the mirror that he was truly shocked.
He was utterly different. If he still be considered an accurate judge, he was taller, though not by much; but his body. God! His body was something out of a fantasy. His legs were like sculpted tree trunks, solid all the way up to a narrow tapered waist, before his upper body flared out across the indentations of perfect abs into broad-flat pectorals and wide fans of lats across his back and from the round caps of shoulder muscles hung massive, well defined arms. He flexed to watch them wripple into a curl, noticing the definition of each muscle popping up from the bone. His face had broadened slightly, his chin become slightly more square, and his eyes were a dark, stormy blue. And his cock! His cock was a massive, pendulous piece of meet hanging between his legs, with a deep, purple cockhead peaking out from the folds of his foreskin, and two, big, low, heavy balls hanging behind.
Merck ran a broad hand over his left pec and felt the rasp of pleasure. He took his other hand and cupped his balls, lifting them and feeling their weight, as his monster cock grew, and grew, and grew to crest over his belly button, as thick as a Coke can and rigid hard. He jacked it with two hands, six, twelve, eighteen times and blasted! Came for the first time since he had been abducted, spewing long, gluey ropes of pure white cum all over the scattered equipment in the room, and fell back against the mirror.
After catching his breath, he turned to face the mirror, knocked on the glass. “Do I get an answer now?” Even his voice sounded deeper to his own ears.
He moved to the end of the room and pressed on the door. It slid open automatically. Stepping through he looked right and left, down a long, featureless hallway, lined with doors just like the one closing behind him.
He went left. Naked, amazed, and proud of his new physique, he was ready to run into some lab-coats and start demanding some answers. Anger had been there, even when he had come to enjoy the machine and it’s sweet tortures, but now, with this outcome, he was more curious. He wanted to know about this Plan. He passed two doors and then opened the third door at random. He stepped in.
The setup wasn’t quite the same. The apparatus this man was strapped to was a little different: his arms and legs were spread out like a star-fish, and he was titled away from the mirror at the back of the room.
“I think they’ve abandoned me,” said the man wired into the various steel shapes. “They haven’t been back in over a day.”
“You can keep track of time here?” Merck asked.
“It’s been six weeks, as far as I can tell. But the last two days, no one.”
The man was stockier than Merck. Bigger, all round, actually. Massive tree-trunk legs, barrel chest, and even with his arms in the air big, heavy pecs dropped low on chest hairy with a dusting of dark fur, deep troughs of abs. His penis wasn’t quite as long as Merck’s, but thicker, hanging fat and semi-hard between his legs. Merck’s dick stirred at the sight. “You escape?” The man asked suddenly.
“I think so. But the place seems deserted.” Merck looked at the man again. At first he’d thought that he’d never seen the guy before, but there was something familiar; something from his first year biology class at university. “Jeff?”
The swarthy man’s head snapped to. His face screwed up in confusion. “Merck?”
“What happened to you?” They both came out with at the same time.
“Time for that later,” Merck said, and started working on his old friend’s bonds, first freeing his hands, and then the strap across his chest. Jeff started tearing the connective wires out of his body, all the while asking if Merck knew why they were there, what had happened to them.
“Have you looked in the mirror, buddy?” Merck asked.
“What? No—“ and he turned around, and froze. “Jesus Christ, what’s happened to me?” And started checking his body with his hands.
“Whatever’s happened to both of us,” Merck said, and stepped up close behind him. He could feel the heat radiating off the surface of Jeff’s skin. He put a hand on his shoulder. “They’ve changed us for good.”
“With all that pain? And the torture? And they made us look like this?”
“I didn’t find it all bad,” said Merck, his voice getting huskier.
“It was like being dipped in acid!” Jeff said, trying to reach around to grap ahold of his anal device, but shaking as he did.
“Here,” Merck came around and carefully took ahold of it, easing it out and dropping it too the floor. “Better?”
“A little better,” Jeff said, turning to Merck. “A little…”
“Empty?” Merck slid a hand around and slipped two fingers into the well lubricated hole. Jeff gasped.
“You don’t want me to, or don’t because you think I shouldn’t.”
“Don’t,” he said again, bucking back onto Merck’s hand. “We gotta get out of here.”
“In a minute,” Merck whispered and leaned in and kissed him, fingers still moving slowly in and out of his back side. Jeff gasped, but kissed back, bringing his hands up to hold onto Merck’s pecs, thumb his nipples.
“I can’t control this feeling,” he said as pushed his ass back onto four of Mercks fingers. “Arrggh.”
“They’ve done something to us,” Merck whispered into his ear, grabbing around the massive width of Jeff’s shaft.
“A hunh,” was the reply as he thrust into Mercks hand.
“My change has something to do with you,” spun Jeff around and in one clean stroke fucked his massive tool right up to the hilt in Jeff’s ass. Jeff reached out to stabilize himself against the frame he had been tied to, frantically pushing back into Mercks forceful strokes. Jeff moaned out in pleasure, and Merck could feel waves of euphoria unlike any of the treatments he had received wired into those mysterious machines. His cock was the focus, but his entire body was fucking, wave after wave of energy into his old friend, as if he could feel some part of himself bundling up and then finally, firing into Jeff’s guts. He came and it was like a detonation, deep inside.
Jeff felt it and began to buck about against Merck’s prick, pressing back into it and convulsing, hands clutching at the metal framework. As he held, Merck watched as Jeff’s body rippled, and expanded. He inflated that much more, his ass filling out into two massive rounds of muscle clutched around Merck’s phallus, his back swelled out, and his calves knotted and thickened. When it was all over, and Merck pulled out, Jeff was easily half-again bigger than he had been before Merck had come inside him. He was wide and enormous, beautiful and heavy; but his eyes had washed out of anything but hunger. The spark that had been there earlier to escape was gone. He took a step back, fingering his hole with one hand and playing with his half-hard phallus in the other. “You’re the fucker,” he said slowly, grinning. “Let me suck you now,” and dropped to his knees, taking Merck into his mouth, and sucking it down in single minded appetite. Merck’s knees almost buckled against the force and tried to steady himself.
“You see? We have an Alpha,” said a voice by the door. Merck turned his head to look and saw a professional looking woman with glasses, white lab coat, black shoes. She was speaking to a handsome older man beside her with his hands in his coat pockets, watching the two men’s sexual act passively.
“Yes we do. See if you can’t disengage that Epsilon and get him to holding.” Then he looked Merck directly in the eyes. “You, I’ll have to see next.”
Curtis was running late. He left the door to the apartment he shared with Denise, his girlfriend of three years, almost at a run, and rushed through the city streets, bobbing and weaving his way toward the subway station. His boss was going to kill him. This would be the third time in the past month he’d be rolling into the office at least fifteen minutes late. Although Mr. Carbine didn’t seem to notice much else, he did manage to keep track of every minute “lost” when members of his team were not where he wanted them to be. Curtis didn’t want to be fired from his first real job in the city. Although he hated it, but it was a step in the right direction—no need to burn your bridges, however shoddy they happened to be.
Clutching his backpack, he made it to the stairs of the station, only to notice a commotion gathered at the top of the steps. A small group of people were milling about. Half of them seemed to be commuters, fidgeting in place as they answered questions being directed at them by tall, imposing figures dressed in dark grey uniforms Curtis didn’t recognize. His heart sank as he imagined being caught up in some sort of inquiry, having to stand and deliver answers about something he knew nothing about. He slowed his approach and tried to inch past the throng to make it to the stairs.
“You there,” said a statuesque woman in silver sunglasses.
Curtis rounded to face her, “Yes, officer?” he managed as politely as possible, trying not to grind his teeth.
“Captain,” she corrected him. He searched her clothing and could see no insignia that might have designated rank: it was just plain; well tailored; dark. “Bound Uptown?” she asked, scrutinizing him from behind her shades, and checking something on a metal clipboard she was holding.
“Carry on,” she said, and stepped aside.
What a relief, Curtis thought bounding down the stairs and passing through the turnstile. Still more people were being detained on the platform, by additional impassive, grey-suited captains; or officers; whatever. Many of them seemed to be in heated discussion. A woman was screaming at one of the suits, saying that she had a very important meeting to attend, and that she had to be there on time.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’re going to need to hold you for questioning just a little while longer. It’s a matter of security.”
The woman threw her briefcase down to the floor in disgust, just as the train pulled in to the station—and here was another oddity: the train itself was only half sized, three cars long. Those who had been cleared to board by the authorities crowded close to the doors and piled in with haste as soon as they opened. No one wanted to take the chance of being held back by the stern forces in grey. They boarded, and caught sight of the anxious and excluded through the windows, trying to push past the barrier of outstretched grey-jacketed arms. The chimes sounded and the doors closed.
Aware of just how odd and worrisome the event he had just walked through was, Curtis was still far more relieved to be on the train than concerned about the what, why, and who of whatever it was he had just waltzed through at 8:45 in the morning. He checked his watch. Yes, it was 8:45. He might just make it in by ten past. That would almost certainly gain him a stern look of reproach, but not a talking in Carbine’s office. He un-slung his backpack and sat down as the train started to move.
Looking around, taking stock of his fellow travelers—those who had slipped past the barricade for whatever reason—it began to dawn on him that the car was full of men. All men, and primarily dressed for work, except for a skater boy leaning up against the doors and a couple of students with their noses already tilted down into text books. There were maybe fifteen of them in all, and not one of them could have been over forty. Strange, Curtis thought. Young males are usually the first demographic to get pinned for anything. He started to wonder if there had been some kind of baby snatching incident: a woman gone mad and absconding with children not her own. Or perhaps an elderly crime ring getting busted for smuggling drugs through the subway. He laughed a little to himself. Everyone else kept their stoic silence.
The train pulled into the next station. The doors opened with their bell, and a single man boarded. Outside, the platform was empty. The lights were dimmed to emergency settings, and there was no sign of another soul in attendance. The chimes sounded, the doors closed, and the new man sat down, across from Curtis. And what a man! Curtis had never seen a guy so big before in front of him, not even at the gym. He was only about five foot ten, but was as thick and heavy as a refrigerator. His clothes had obviously been tailored to fit him, because no regular trousers would have contained the massive trunks of his legs, which he splayed out before him as he slumped back into his seat, letting his massive arms fall to his sides. The dark skin of his forearms showed a light dusting of black hair across their surface from the rolled up cuffs of his shirt, a shirt which barely contained the straining heft of his pectorals and the round caps of his deltoids. Curtis stared openly in spite of himself. The mans face was handsome: strong jaw; high cheekbones; dark eyes that seemed a little glazed, like he wasn’t quite focused on what was going on immediately around him. When he caught Curtis starting at him, he cocked a saucy grin and brought his hand to the crotch of his trousers—the very hefty bulge—and started to rub it suggestively.
Curtis blushed and turned his head away. The whole thing was too absurd. This whole day was too absurd. And now he was sitting across from some genetic freak who thought he was coming on to him. He kept his eyes focused on the skater boy learning nonchalantly up against the subway doors, watching the lights of the tunnel pass… but Curtis could feel the hairs on his arms beginning to stand on end, and his pulse began to quicken. What was going on?
“Hey, boy,” he heard the hulk of a man whisper across to him. His speech was thick, husky and low. Curtis turned back to look.
The man had unbuttoned his shirt to let his pecs out into the open. Two huge, dark brown nipples stood at attention as he thumbed and pinched them erect between his fingers. The sight of those pert, rubbery nubs sitting out on the vast, round cleavage of muscle suddenly made Curtis’s mouth water, and he felt his dick stir in his pants.
He shook his head. What was this? It was like some kind of nightmare; but he couldn’t stop looking. “You like me boy,” came the slow words from the muscle man, “you like this?” and he reached down to unbutton and zip down the front of his trousers. There wasn’t any underwear containing the massive shlong that fell out over the edge of the seat. It was huge. The shaft itself was big enough around that it would have taken two hands to hold it properly, and crowned with a big, purple, mushroom capped head. The man reached lower to pull out two heavy, low hanging balls free behind it, and then started to flop his meat this way and that while still playing with his nipples with his other hand and licking his lips.
Curtis didn’t know what was going on in his head. Every portion of good sense told him that this was absurd and offensive, that he wasn’t even gay, and that he should be getting up and pressing the emergency button, or escaping to a different car, but instead he found himself coming forward, dropping down on his knees in front of the oversized Adonis, crawling forward to put hands on either side of massive quads, to look at the semi-hard cock that was slowly pumping full of blood. It was engorging, straightening, coming to stand straight out from a bed of neatly trimmed pubic hair. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware that the train hadn’t stopped for its last stop, that it was still moving, that something was wrong.
“Kiss it,” the man moaned, taking his hand away to focus his attention on his nipples.
Heart pounding in his throat, Curtis extended his tongue and licked up the base of the rock-hard shaft. It trembled under his touch, and when he got to the head, a clear, sticky rivulet of precum had already started to leak from it. Curtis swirled his tongue through the warm liquid and then took as much of the head inot his mouth as he could. The taste was ambrosia. It was salt. It was spice. It was sex. As soon as it got into him his whole body warmed, pricked up; his own penis grew instantly hard, and he wanted to drop his hips low to the surface of the car to grind himself into the surface of the floor. But he couldn’t if he wanted to stay with his lips attached to that beautiful prick—and he did; he did want to stay, and he sucked down on it, gaining more and more of that spicy precum down his throat. He could feel the shaft of it pulsing under his lips, and he wrapped his hands around its base to help him milk the massive organ. He closed his eyes. The more of the man’s fluid he ingested the hornier he became, and he started to feel an intense weight in his own cock, as it filled out in his pants, as it started to feel as if it were going to burst through the fabric into open air.
And then it did, more or less. His cock had been actually growing with each swallow of the man’s musky precum. The head of his phallus pushed up and out beyond the waistband of his trousers, and he could feel the air on it. He could feel a slimy line of his own excited fluid leaking against his belly. He reached down with one hand to unpop the button and fee it completely, pull his underwear down bellow his balls… his bigger, heavier balls.
“What the fuck?” It was the skater boy, who had come to stand beside the two men locked in the act of fellatio; but the exclamation wasn’t one of outrage, it was one of almost awe. Curtis disengaged reluctantly and sat back on his heels to look at the boy, maybe eighteen years old, baseball cap pulled around back. Curtis started to stroke his now definitely larger dick, oozing its own precum, and smiled at him. “I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s fucking amazing.”
Without another word, the skater dropped his board and fell to his knees, sliding over to the muscle mans towering prick to take it into his mouth. All around the three of them, the rest of the men on the train had gathered. Not one of them was moving to stop it, instead all stood transfixed, and most starting to stimulate themselves through their pants, or even bring themselves right out to start jacking off right there on the moving train. The students over by the window had started making out, and had their hands thrust down each others pants.
Meanwhile Adonis, as Curtis had begun to think of him, had stripped his clothing off completely, and had his legs braced in the air so the skater kid could tongue his dark, puckered hole. “Ugh, it’s warm,” the kid managed to say between mouthfuls. “It tastes amazing.” Curtis came forward to tug the loose jeans off the hips of the kid and buried his own face into that ass, sliding his tongue in as far as it would go. The boy moaned.
Things moved quickly after that, even as the train continued to travel without stopping. Clothing was shed, and all the men began taking turns with one another, kissing and sucking and rimming. Anyone who took a turn with their lips around Adonis’ prick and be rewarded with the taste of his enhancing fluid, and seemed to grow disproportionately larger themselves. Soon the dicks of the attendants all-round were bigger, longer, fuller, which lead to a new tide of excitement. Finally, Curtis found himself with his back to Adonis, and his massive tool, still by far the largest in the room, pressed up against his anus, lubing it up with that constant faucet of slick discharge. Curtis slid his hips back and forth against it, and then, with barely any warning, Adonis pushed. The well-lubed giant slid half-way in. Curtis screamed. “Don’t worry boy,” Adonis whispered in his ear, “you’ll like it soon.” And gave him another little torque which sent it further in. Curtis furiously pumped his own now monster cock: big, heavy and turgid, letting it slap up against his belly, and then grabbing it in his hand. He found he relaxed fairly quickly, weather because of the special properties of his lover or his overwhelming excitement, but the next thing he knew he had his hands braced on a couple of rails and was forcing himself back onto the biggest piece of equipment he had ever seen. Pleasure racked his body. His nipples stood up sharp and erect, every nerve ending seemed to be on fire. He wanted more. He pushed back. He clenched around it. He milked the cock with his ass as best he could; and as he did, his muscles swelled. He watched as his biceps expanded, felt as his shoulders pumped out around his collarbone. His pecs swelled out in the front of his chest. He could feel the strength of his glutes increasing, rounding out, his legs becoming more solid and weighty beneath him. He roared in ecstasy as he felt Adonis’ member buck and fire within him. Slowly, he pulled out with a soft sucking sound. Curtis turned around and found hands from all sides reaching out to touch his newly broadened form, caress the creases between his abs, sliding hands around the new full globes of his ass and sticking a finger or two in to stimulate his hole.
“We’re going to fuck them all,” Adonis said, turning around and spreading his ass cheeks to show his dark, puckered asshole. “But first, fuck me.”
When the train finally stopped, all the men inside the car with Curtis and Adonis had been completely transformed. Barely resembling the average physical specimens they had been before the intervention of the mysterious, sex-crazed stranger, they were all taller, broader, and heavy with well defined muscle. Not on the scale of their instigator, but definitely far and above the average man. They were also naked, having shucked their clothes during the ensuing orgy. The entire group of them hand drifted apart into groups of threes and fours, still lazily involved in coitus, sucking and playing with one another, having lost whatever cares they might have had before becoming infused with an insatiable libido. Curtis was back with Adonis himself and the now husky skater boy, bouncing his perfectly round ass on the shaft of his prick while he ate out Adonis’ ass. He was dimly aware that the train came to a halt and that the doors had opened. He pulled his face from between the cleft of Adonis’ rear to look.
A new man stood near the end of the car: tall, dirty blonde and beautiful. He was dressed in loose fitting cotton drawstring pants and a white cashmere sweater. His painfully perfect physique showed through his clothing in suggestive lines. An outline of his semi-hard monster cock was clearly visible through the thin material of his pants. He stood at the end of the car, surveying the scene with a smile on his face.
“I want all you men to line up down the center isle,” he said in a deep baritone, and started to undo the drawstring of his pants. Without a word, the men disengaged from their fornications to do as the newcomer said. Curtis didn’t, but watched mystified as the skater boy pulled himself off Curtis’ cock to comply and stand dutifully in line.
Meanwhile, Adonis had slumped into a seat by a window humming pleasantly to himself and running his hands all over his body and down in between his legs, still just as blissed out by his own body has he had been at the beginning of this escapade.
One by one, the blonde beauty came up behind each of the men in line, and slid the giant purple head of his long, curved, uncut cock into the ass in front of him, fucked it for a short time and then pounded hard a few quick bursts to shoot a load deep into the recipient. He penetrated each guy with obvious pleasure and the effect was always the same: the already enhanced physiques of the men on the train changed again as the load shot home, swelling outward, becoming more epic, just like Adonis: ponderous pecs; thick, corded quads; riveted abs; arms too large to wrap your hands around. Each of them grunted and quivered in pleasure as it happened, and as the blonde stud disengaged and moved down the line, each used recipient fell back to his neighbour, caressing and fondling the others, resuming their sexual congress with a lazy intensity.
Curtis especially enjoyed watching the unbridled lust fill the eyes of his no-longer-so-little skater boy as his full transformation took effect, as he doubled in size and braced himself with his now gargantuan thighs to fuck himself back against his transformer, jacking his cock until it began to spew long, clean ropes of cum down to the floor of the train. Then he pulled away to lay up against one of the subway poles and closed his eyes with a contented smile on his face.
Curtis had never felt so dominated by sex in his entire life. Every inch of him, every corner of his mind seemed to be enthralled by it. He couldn’t get enough of seeing it, doing it. On some level he knew that there was something wrong with this, but he didn’t care, nor did he care if he would ever return to the way he had been before.
The blonde man finally stood before him. “You didn’t do what I told you to do,” he said.
“No,” Curtis answered. “I didn’t fell the need. They seemed to though,” he indicated the others still rolling about on the floor.
“They’re Epsilon. They’ll do whatever I tell them to do. Like Jeff here,” he said, motioning to Adonis. Jeff looked at the tall blonde and almost purred deep in his throat. “It looks like you’re Alpha, like me. I’m Merck.”
“Curtis.” Merck bent forward and kissed Curtis, deep and wet and long.
“Pleased to meet you Curtis.”
“What’s going to happen to me?”
“Oh, there are plans. First, you should let me fuck you to finish the transformation.”
“I’m not going to lose my brain like the others?” he asked dubiously, looking down at the tangle of man flesh, busy only with itself, obviously not one of them thinking of anything but sensation.
“No. For you it will just be a little bit of perfecting, a little more refinement. You’ll be like me. We’re supposed to be the directors, the ones the others have to follow. It’s bound in their blood now, and it’s part of what we are.”
Curtis stood and wrapped his arms around Merck’s neck, hoisting his legs around Merck’s hips, and angling the head of the immense prick against his hole. “And then what?” he asked, lowering himself down onto the shaft, feeling it press against his prostate, warming his insides as he threw his head back in rapture.
“Then we all go back to the Laboratory,” Merck whispered into his ear, starting a long, slow fucking motion from his hips. “And we starting working on the next phase of the Plan.”
“Argh. The Plan?” Curtis managed to say.
“Yes,” answered Merck, thrusting hard, and Curtis could feel the cum jetting inside him, Merck’s cock convulsing against his sphincter, and then his body changing again, inside and out. Any questions he had left were erased as he convulsed in orgasm. “The Plan.”