Scott woke with a start. The kitchen timer had been ringing for some time, but it had entered his dreams as the incessant ringing of a doorbell from a milkman who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Vaulting off of the couch, he sprinted into his little apartment kitchen and threw open the window. Gingerly, he opened the oven and thick, black smoke poured out, stinging his eyes. Dinner was ruined—and Logan would be over in just a few minutes!
It was lucky he had picked up a few boxes of macaroni only a few days earlier. The cheap pasta wouldn’t be as nice as the casserole he had been planning on serving, but it would do in a pinch.
In a few minutes, Scott had the water boiling and the macaroni well on its way to completion. In an attempt to class it up a little, he had set out several extras to be added to the finished product—a few spices, various kinds of cheeses, and even a jar of truffles. It was like he had planned this all along.
Scott checked his phone—still two minutes until six, when Logan would be arriving. He would have a little time to breathe, rest, and convince himself that the dinner would be a success after all.
But it seemed that Logan was early. Scott was jolted out of his momentary respite by a loud pounding on his front door. It sounded urgent, and not like Logan’s usual knock at all—he must have been quite hungry, to pound like that. Scott hurried over and pulled the door open, only to be shoved up against the wall by two men who stood nearly a full head taller than he. A third held Logan, arms behind his back, and dragged him into the apartment. Scott opened his mouth to yell, but one of the men gagged him before he could say much at all.
Scott made frightened eye contact with Logan, who was also gagged, and felt himself being lifted bodily off the ground. The two men carried him into his living room, where they bound his hands and set him on the couch, next to Logan.
“Find something to mix this into,” the man holding Logan said, and handed a small bag to one of Scott’s captors. ”Anything they can eat is fine.”
The man nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. Scott felt his heart sinking—what would they be eating? Surely they wouldn’t be forced to consume some kind of drug packet and shipped across the border. He had heard of drug lords doing this, but what were they doing so far north, in Illinois? It didn’t make any sense.
The second man re-entered the living room carrying the pot of what was by now very overdone, poorly-drained pasta. It had a strange, grayish color, and Scott and Logan made eye contact again. What had they mixed into the food?
“All of it?” The first man took the pot and sniffed it, looking suddenly fearful. ”You used all of it, right?”
The second man nodded and bit his lip. “I poured the whole thing in, like the instructions said. This better be worth it—what do you think it’ll do?”
The first man shook his head and put the pot onto the coffee table in front of the couch. ”Not sure, but let’s get this over with. We’ll find out soon enough.”
Scott closed his eyes, determined to close his lips against whatever had been mixed into the pasta. He felt the gag being removed and he closed his mouth promptly. Shouting would give them an opening, and he wasn’t about to offer that. Still, the men didn’t seem to mind. Scott felt a strong pair of fingers pinch his nose shut and he waited, holding his breath for as long as he could. He had seen this before in movies and on television—he knew what would happen the moment he needed to breathe.
He was right. After his head began swimming, Scott cracked the corner of his mouth to gasp for air, only to feel a finger push its way in and force his jaws open. He tried to bite down, but the hand was so thickly gloved that he could barely close down. In desperation, he opened his eyes, only to feel the pasta forced into his mouth and down his throat.
Scott gagged, choked—and swallowed. Immediately, he felt a burning sensation fill his body. Next to him, he heard Logan gagging and then gasping, as the same feeling surely overwhelmed him. Scott sagged against the couch, momentarily overcome by the heat he felt coursing through him.
“What’s happening?” he heard one of the men say. The first man—seemingly the one in charge—replied uncertainly. ”Not sure. We—we should get out of here while we can.”
The strong hands holding Scott down loosened, and he opened his eyes as the men ran from the apartment. Miraculously, they were gone. He was still bound, the cords restraining him tight against his skin, but he could escape. Logan could help him. They would be okay. It didn’t matter whatever had scared the men off; they were gone.
He gasped again as a surge of pleasure wracked his body. He tightened his muscles, tensing his body, hearing Logan cry out next to him. He looked over to see his friend straining against his wrist binding, face twisted in pleasure. What was this?
The pasta lay abandoned on the coffee table, still predominantly there. Scott leaned toward it, unsure of what was happening, and overbalanced and fell forward as the next wave of heat and pleasure traveled down his spine. He lay on the ground, panting, as he felt his body began to change.
It began with his muscles. They felt like they were growing, swelling, larger than they had ever been. It was like coming down from a good workout, only instead of the cooldown, he kept heating up, growing bigger, straining against his shirt. He heard the rip before he felt it, and suddenly his arms were free of the restraints, his wrists now too thick to be contained by them. His shirt was next—his now-massive pecs ripping it apart, where it lay in shreds on his heavily muscled frame. He was huge.
But it wasn’t over. Even as he began to flex, amazed at the changes he had gone through, he felt his legs buckling. He fell to his knees as they reshaped themselves, becoming shorter, thicker, and bowed. He stared down as his feet flattened out and his toes lengthened. What was this?
His shorts gave way to his changing shape, falling off his frame as his legs continued to shorten and bend. He felt his shoulders broadening further, his arms lengthening, and his hands growing rougher and larger. Now his cock—it burst through his underwear, too huge to be real, and swung heavily between his misshapen legs, hard and throbbing. Scott had never felt such pleasure before. He reached out to it, tentatively, and wrapped it in his freakishly large hands. They felt clumsy, but perfect around his newly swollen cock.
He heard a shout and turned around. Logan was on his hands and knees behind him, but shrinking. He was smaller than he should have been, and his arms looked too long for his body. Behind him, a tail was snaking its way out of his torn underwear, long and prehensile. It was a monkey’s tail, Scott realized with a start, and Logan’s face—his nose was growing larger and flatter, and his ears stuck out from his head like they hadn’t before. This was madness.
He reached up and felt his own face, which felt alien and unfamiliar. It was still his, he knew, in some ways—there were the familiar eyes, the same cheeks and jawline, and his hair—but the nose was flatter, his forehead was bigger, and his ears were growing too. He tried standing up to walk over to Logan but fell forward, catching himself on his hands. He wasn’t made for upright walking anymore—instead, he shambled forward, using his knuckles for support, and reached out to Logan.
“Lo—gan?” he asked, his voice strangely deep and slow. He could think just fine, he knew, but speaking came more difficultly than it had before. His tongue felt clumsy and unused to human speech, but he tried again. ”Lo—gan? You ooooh—kay?” Logan looked up at him, his newly-changed face almost adorably monkey-like, and grinned.
“Yeah. You—look—good,” he said, tail drifting lazily behind him. ”What—what is this supposed to be?”
Scott shook his head. ”I—I don’t know. We can’t—can’t go out—like this.”
“No, you certainly can’t,” a voice said behind them. Scott spun around, tensing for a fight, but felt a sharp pain in his shoulder as a tranquilizer dart pierced his skin. He swayed for a moment, catching sight of a young, well-dressed scientist—and collapsed.