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Description A night out at the bar leads to a series of changes to a very happy young clubgoer.

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I don't really know when it started. But I noticed it for the first time one night in December at WetBar.

I'd come with my buddy Derek but he was in full prowl mode, so almost as soon as we'd checked our coats he was off on the hunt. I watched his bubble-butt vanish into the milling throng with a wistful smile. Derek and I had made out a few times for fun but nothing had really happened in the eight months we'd been working together at Starbucks. I wasn't his type, though he was considerate enough of my feelings to seem to regret this.

But I wasn't there to obsess about Derek, I was there to get sweaty and rock my body. The DJ was on fire and before long I was having a blast and forgetting everything but the adrenaline buzz I always get out on the floor.

I noticed I was dancing pretty close to this really hot, lanky number who'd already doffed his shirt to reveal Abercrombie boy perfection. His torso was delightfully long and his legs were longer, and there was a small curlicued tattoo over his belly button that only served to call further attention to eight-pack abs I wanted to lick there and then. I glanced up at his grinning face. He was grooving on me as much as on the music. My dick pumped a little in my jeans. I get hard pretty easily, as you can tell—especially when I leave my Calvins at home.

I grinned up at him and said, “hi,” inaudible over the insanely loud music. I saw his lips move in a “hi” back at me and then shift to another easy, confident grin. Suddenly there wasn't another soul in the room.

“I'm Evan,” I shouted, offering my hand while I danced a little closer. He smiled wider as he took it, not letting go right away, and he kept dancing as well.

“John,” he shouted back with a smile, but the music had got to a good bit and had kicked up even louder, and so I really only caught the end if it. I wasn't sure if he'd said John or Sean. I guessed it sounded more like the second one, so I said, “You said Sean, right?”

“What?” he shouted down at me, slight confusion only making him cuter.

“You said your name is Sean, right?” I said, and he got it this time and nodded. “Sean, right,” he bellowed.

Exhausted at this arduous method of communication, I just grinned up at him and decided to drop my eyes closer to home—I wanted another look at those luscious abs right in front of me. As I was taking them in, enjoying the glistening of gleaming and dripping sweat on those cobblestone muscles, I started to get the strange sense that something was—strange, different, about these beautiful abs. As the two of us danced I suddenly realized what it was.

The tattoo was different.

This seemed impossible but was easy enough to check, so I held off getting creeped out for a moment. I have a close to photographic memory, so I was easily able to call up my first image of the tattoo, and the difference was obvious. In fact, now that I was paying close attention I could tell exactly what the difference was.

Before, the tattoo had been an ornate, heavily stylized letter J.

Now, it was an ornate, heavily stylized letter S.

I glanced up at him, startled, and he reacted with surprise and a touch of anxiety at the alarm on my face. I made an effort to smooth out my features and shouted, “I love your tattoo,” pointing to make sure he understood.

He listened, glanced down, and then nodded with a grin. “Yeah,” he yelled over the music, “I got my initial tattooed last month for my birthday.”

“Your what?”

“My birthday!” he shouted with a laugh, leaning down at me and pointing at his melon-pecced chest.

“Today?” I shouted over the music, smiling back and totally misunderstanding him. He seemed really proud of it, so I joked, “What did you turn, 18?” Actually he looked about 25.

He nodded, suddenly very excited. And I watched him get younger! In front of my eyes! The shape of his face changed, and his muscles shrank into his body as he lost, between the space of one minute and the next, seven years of workouts. Now he looked less like a twentysomething hunk and more like a gangly, beanpole teenager, with the face of an angel. My cock was totally hard in my jeans, and his bright green eyes danced around my obvious boner with youthful glee.

I wanted not to believe any of what I'd seen. But my memory had never failed me. It didn't know what I'd just seen was impossible. All my memory knew was that I'd met this guy a few minutes before when he was 25, and I was now dancing with the same guy, only he was just turned 18 today.

I did the only proper thing. I pulled him down for a big deep kiss and then said, “Happy birthday!” He straightened back up with a huge, elated grin on his face, a grin that was less confident than before, but making up for it in raw, unbridled enthusiasm.

The song changed and the music actually ramped up to another level of speed and volume.

We were staring at each other, dancing like maniacs even so but never taking our eyes off each other. Finally I felt a crick in my neck and I shouted up at him, “Geez, how tall *are* you?”

He laughed giddily and, not even trusting himself to shout and be understood, held up fingers—first six, then nine.

I laughed and shook my head vehemently. He just had to be taller than 6’9”. I was looking up at him and I was 6’2”! I was sure he had to be a whole foot taller than me.

He laughed again, still dancing, and raised his eyebrows in a question, inviting my estimate. I shrugged and held up fingers—seven, then two. He laughed in surprise for just a second… And then he *popped* up, again between one heartbeat and the next, and now he was nodding and giving me the thumbs up. 7’2” was the right guess!

My cock was beyond hard and was leaking nonstop, drenching the insides of my jeans with precum. Naturally my eyes gravitated down his long bulging chest and endless abs to his package, which looked packed with promise. Without even thinking I blurted out, “How tall are you down there?”

I didn't yell it very loud, but he knew what I was asking. He shrugged sheepishly and gave me a crooked grin, which I couldn’t tell meant he was unhappy with what he had or modest about having a lot to offer. “I'll bet I can guess!” I shouted, and he laughed again and looked at me expectantly, his eyes alight.

I bit my lip and rapidly tried to figure out how far to go. I could feel what was going on now and I could tell I was getting intoxicated by what was happening to this hot young god right before my eyes. Tentatively I put my hands about a foot apart, watching his package out of the corner of my eye.

It jumped.

My cock flexed wildly in my jeans, squeezing out a cup of precum. I looked up and he was grinning like crazy, giving me the thumbs-up again.

What the hell, I thought. Choosing this time to misinterpret him, I opened my eyes in wonder and shouted, “Bigger? Really? Like so?” And I put my hands about 18 inches—no, fuck it, two feet apart. I looked down at his package expectantly. It only got a little bigger and it took me a second for my disappointment to give way to heart-pounding awe because I could see the shape of his massive cock bulging down his pants leg, past his knee. It was all the more obvious because instead of the tight black jeans he's been wearing before, which would never accommodate this monster, he was now wearing clingy black sweats.

My mouth hung open and I stared, wondering what I'd done. Then it dawned on me. I'd made it two feet long *soft.*

I felt like all the breath left my body and all my blood was in my ears. I thought, This is insane, that's monstrous, I have to undo it. But I looked up at his face and it was a mix of simple pride and apprehension—he was starting to become afraid I'd reject him as a freak. Once again I did the only thing I could think of—I pulled him in for another kiss. I had to reach up farther to pull his head down and kiss him this time. So I didn't let go for a while. When I did, though, I pulled him down just a little bit more and said into his ear, “You're beautiful and sweet and everyone loves you.” He straightened back up and offered me a smile so warm and perfect that I was overcome with happiness for him that he'd accepted himself. Because I did love him.

By the time we were done kissing I realized that Derek must have been standing there for a while grinning at us. I noticed he was frankly admiring Sean and felt a twinge of jealousy. I'm not sure what motivated what I did next, apart from maybe feeling that if we were more alike, Sean wouldn’t have to choose between us.

I wrapped my arm around my hunky best bud (he did the same) and shouted, “Sean, this is my identical twin brother, Derek!” Sean's eyes bugged out as he nodded at my buddy, now my brother.

I guess I didn't have the end result firmly pictured in my head. If I thought about I probably would have expected him to end up looking like me. Instead we averaged out, getting the best of both our bodies—his perfect bubble butt, my obsessively built pecs, his big feet, body hair halfway in between his near hairlessness and the thick hair I had from the waist and elbows down. My brown hair and his blond mixed to become an ash blond with killer highlights. My cock was still hard in my jeans but now it was longer even though it was the same palm-filling torpedo thickness I'd had before. I looked at Derek's face and saw that the combination of our features had come out making us model-handsome. We traded swift, easy grins of love for each other and shared love for Sean.

Damn, this new body felt good. It felt good to touch, too. I groped my twin brother a bit with the hand I'd had slung around his shoulder, and he grabbed my bubble ass.

I sensed a movement and noticed Sean's two-foot python swelling and lengthening in his sweats. We grinned up at Sean's beaming face. “Like twins, huh?” we shouted together, knowing somehow that we were going to say the same thing. He nodded with all the enthusiasm of a horny teenager finding himself immersed in his own wet dreams.

To turn Sean on even more we faced each other and started making out, the music thundering and pounding through our whole bodies, our hands roaming each other's bodies, and it felt like we were melted together, there was no separate Evan or Derek, but an Evan-Derek who was making out with our shared, identical bodies because we knew it would make our Sean happy.

We broke the kiss and glanced down Sean's long, long leg to find that he had three legs—his ankle-thick half-hard cock had emerged from the cuff of his sweats and was emitting a steady stream of precum onto the dance floor!

We smiled up at him, wanting to make him happier, wanting him to blast us with that firehose cock because *we'd* driven him over the edge. “What's the rest of your fantasy?” Derek said, and somehow we could all hear each other now, even though the music was louder than ever and half the hunks in the club were ringed around us, shouting and groping themselves, mesmerized by Sean's beauty.

“We want to be your fantasy,” I said, and he nodded at us, and nothing else mattered but what we could be for sweet, beautiful Sean.

“We *are* your fantasy,” Derek said. And Sean grinned—*up* at us.

We were a good foot taller than Sean now, towering over everyone, the rafters of the club near out heads—we had to be 8’2” at least. Our bodies—the bodies that had ballooned with muscle with barely a visit to the school gym despite having unrestricted access to the weight room now that we were sophomores—were freakishly built, our sweaty, bowling-ball pecs casting dark shadows over ten-pack abs and thirty-inch waists. We were both wearing baggy sweats like our big brother, Sean, because no pants would accommodate the four cocks we had between us, all of them knee-length soft, and flat, but wider than a baseball bat and much wider in the middle like cobras, even soft. We felt a sudden surge of raw erotic power as our balls swelled to the size of grapefruits and we were saturated to the cell with teen hormones. Our cocks hardened suddenly, shooting down our sweats and banging, thump-thump-thump-thump, into the hardwood dance floor, struggling with the fabric as they wanted to rise straight up, meanwhile merging our flowing precum with Sean's.

Sean looked up at us, ecstatic and obviously insatiably horny. He pulled us down for kisses and there was something in his eyes—he wanted to try something—and then his lips connected with mine and it was an electric thrill rolling through my incredible freaky body and even as we kissed it felt like he was going down on me too and I realized that my tongue had become a thick, super-hard cock in my mouth and he was sucking me off and French kissing me at the same time, his cauldron-hot, impossibly long tongue wrapping around my mouth-cock and oh my god it felt so amazing and suddenly and completely unexpectedly I came torrentially out of three cocks, buckets of cum spraying so hard out of all of my cocks that the dance floor was ankle deep in cum and all the hooting shirtless hunks were happily drenched with splashing cum and somehow Sean was swallowing the high-pressure spray of cum that his hot mouth and tongue were eliciting from my aching mouth-boner and oh god, oh god, I came *for real*, more and harder and longer… my sweats ripped and my cocks sprang straight up, pounding hard and erupting overhead in two massive constant fountains that drenched everyone in the club and coated the walls and ceiling with fragrant, pressure-driven spunk.

Then he pulled apart from me, grinning manically, his face wet with cum, and as I felt (with some wistfulness) my mouth-cock turn back into a (really big) tongue, he turned and did the same to Derek, and I came *again* watching them cumming (Sean had been cumming this whole time, since I started, and was just cumming and cumming and cumming—his cock broke free at the same time as Dereks and there were *five* Niagara-strong endless fountains of cum) because they were, we three were, the raw embodiment of beautiful and erotic.

And we now realized as the levels of cum rose around us that Sean's fantasy for us was not these freaky teen bodies, but the ability to keep changing us, to make us into whatever would turn him on at that moment. It's a good thing then, I thought, that we want to be Sean's fantasy, because we love him.

Description A night out at the bar leads to a series of changes to a very happy young clubgoer.

Votes(1)
Talk
Views
14,935
Words
2,751
Updated1 Feb 2009
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