Description His lover doesn’t seem to mind, but Quinn decides to try out some pills that are supposed to grow his dick anyway while Diego’s away. The fact that they work is less surprising than the two unexpected side-effects that soon develop.
|Updated||21 Mar 2020|
Quinn hovered his index finger over the “Complete Purchase” button on his smartphone screen for several long seconds before decisively mashing it. A revolving “wait” symbol appeared, lingering for a tense moment before being replaced by a happy “Your purchase is complete” screen telling him (a) his Discover had indeed swallowed the hefty price of the treatment and (b) a box would be winging its way to him via second-day air for arrival on Friday, just in time for Diego’s three-day shoot in Antigua. He’d have the loft to himself, with no partner around to trigger those embarrassing sitcom moments where Diego discovered incriminating packaging in the trash or walked in on Quinn popping strange pills.
Quinn gave his crotch a rueful smile. Operation Get Quinn Hung was on. “Hang in there, little buddy,” he told it. “Your salvation awaits.”
“You talkin’ to me?” said the Uber driver. Quinn glanced up to see that the driver, who he’d already noticed when he’d got in at the mall was the size of maybe one and a quarter Dwayne Johnsons, was glaring steadily at him in the rear-view mirror. Quinn himself was not a small guy—he was above-average tall, fit and very well-proportioned, with especially decent pecs for someone who wasn’t otherwise “built”—but he looked like a tall twig compared to this guy.
“Oh, uh, I didn’t mean you,” Quinn told the behemoth. “Obviously.”
The driver managed to keep up the stare-down in the mirror all the way to Quinn’s building, and it was with some relief that Quinn climbed out of the dark SUV and headed up to the apartment. Diego greeted him warmly, of course, and after a nice jointly prepared meal they settled into their deep, comfy, extra-long couch for a random-movie-watching session that soon devolved first into smarmy provocations, then into steamy lovemaking. Yet even as he lay there with a smiling, caramel-naked Diego sprawled sleepily on top of him, the skin between them slick with mingled spunk and the lube they kept in the end table, Quinn worried, as he always did, that he couldn’t possibly be truly satisfying his lover.
Sure, Diego had been the first guy in ages not to smirk at his undersized endowment or bitch at him for wasting their time. (“Tall, lanky guys are supposed to be fucking hung!” one hook-up app rando had yelled at him, genuinely angry. “This is fucking false advertising!”) In fact their unexpectedly sweet first encounter had deepened into love and commitment that was now nearly a year old. Quinn believed Diego loved Quinn’s stubby uncut cock as much as Quinn loved Diego’s. But… surely Diego couldn’t really be happy being fucked by a cock half the size of his own pouch-fillingly impressive endowment?
It didn’t help that Quinn’s hormones had been off the charts since puberty. Even now at age twenty-five he got hard from a look or a touch from the right guy (Diego was always the right guy), and sometimes he spilled into messy orgasm from a saucy lick to his earlobe or a lingering, languid caress up his long, softly defined, slightly hairy abs. And if anyone even breathed on his sensitive nips, which hardened as easily as his dick and were just as attention-seeking, forget it. Maybe it was to his advantage that his boners generally wouldn’t be noticed under his pants, but somehow Quinn didn’t feel like he’d lucked out on that score.
The box arrived on Friday as scheduled, a couple of hours after he’d dropped off Diego for an early-morning flight. It was a white, thick cardboard contained the size of a box of taco shells, nondescript apart from a demure HiPhyte NeoPharma over a P.O. box address in the top left. He shook his head. So shady. He was used to wistfully but resolutely ignoring cock-enhancement email spam, but his buddy Dave from his old job after college, who’d fucked him once and therefore knew that such a product was (ahem) relevant for him, had interrupted his usual string of memes and catty dms about demented relatives to send him the links with a note that swore that his new lover, who’d had the same (ahem) problem, had tried it and it really worked. Like, really, really, “I couldn’t walk the next day” worked.
And sure, Dave was flighty and often full of it, but—come on. There was no way he wouldn’t at least try it after a friend testimonial like that. He sighed and cut through the tape sealing up the box.
Inside on top was a folded-up paper that turned out to be one of those long pharmaceutical sheets of instructions, warnings, and disclaimers. Take two tablets every four hours, up to four times a day… Do not take more than the recommended dosage (Quinn smirked—he had read enough muscle- and cock-growth fiction to know better than that)… A small percentage of our trial population encountered the following rare side effects… yadda yadda yadda. He set the sheet aside and pulled a green pill bottle from the formed foam packaging filler. Apart from the silvery label, which just had HiPhyte DX3 and abbreviated set of cautions, it might as well have been a bottle of echinacea he’d picked up at Walgreens.
Heart fluttering slightly, he opened the bottle, removed the cotton, and shook out two flat, oval yellow tablets. Before he could change his mind, he slapped them into his mouth and swallowed them.
Inevitably, he glanced down at the crotch of his jeans.
Nothing. Not even a twitch.
Quinn scoffed at himself, shaking his head. Of course nothing, because pills don’t work that way. Resisting an irrational urge to down another pair of the yellow pills “just to make sure”, he recapped the bottle and returned to his office in the back end of the loft to work on his current freelance coding project.
An hour later he was typing away, immersed in constructing a utility routine for use throughout the app he was building, when he suddenly realized he was completely hard. He frown down at it. Normally he had to be at least thinking about guys to sprout wood, but this boner had happened while his mind was focused entirely on datetime variable casting. Licking his lips, he unzipped his fly and let out his cock, embracing it in his left hand while he tried to keep typing with his right. He stroked himself absently, trying to keep up the momentum on his coding. Only… of course, his nips were twitching, demanding attention even more insistently than normal. With a sigh he abandoned his code and began using the fingertips of his free hand to brush and caress his left nip through his tee shirt.
Electricity shot through him. Five strokes in and he was already close. Quickening his pace slightly on his cock, he moved to his other nip, giving it a gentle tweak… shit, he was going to cum. Hastily he pulled up his shirt, expecting his release to spatter across his pale, defined abs as usual. Only this time, his release was much more intense than he was used to, his whole body seeming to spasm with pleasure as he shot huge, thick spurts of hot cum all over the Ubuntu logo across his chest. Heart still pounding hard from the orgasm, he stared down at the gooey mess, astonished that a random mid-day hand-job could be so… epic. He opened up his left hand and focused on his cock, still mostly hard and looking like it was encased in a cummy cocoon. He shuddered with an aftershock of pleasure. Was it… did it look a little fatter? Fuck, it was definitely fatter. And longer? Maybe? He grinned. He might have to find a ruler later. His orgasm-euphoria mixed with warm anticipation.
Maybe Dave wasn’t full of it after all.
He got up and washed his hands. After that he pulled off his shirt to soak in the washer, then he came back to his desk and, with a slightly shaking hand, he set the alarm on his phone for the next dosage in three hours. No way was he going to miss taking every one of those pills he was supposed to.
The rest of Friday was more of the same. He took the pills on schedule. He took breaks to eat. Mostly he worked on his coding gig, only he kept getting interrupted over and over again by these spontaneous, unprovoked waves of powerful arousal that heated his blood, sent tingles through his skin, and caused his dick to spontaneously spring to rigid, aching hardness. In the past Quinn had already had occasion to liken his tendency for sudden turn-ons to being flipped like a switch, and now it was even more so. It was like “code code code code bam hard as fucking rock and hot all over”. He was thinking about it, too, a low rippling current in his heads even while he was trying to concentrate on work—that probably fed it, he guessed.
Every time the sudden dick-stiffening arousal hit him he fished it out and felt a shiver of uncomplicated awe as it hefted just that little bit longer and thicker and heavier in his hand.
Once his dick was out he immediately began jerking it toward release, getting off on the rush of a bigger dick in his hand on top of the deep pleasure his easily stimulated cock always loved to give him. He was now automatically reaching for his nips, too, not even trying to keep working once he was in “switched-on” mode. They felt even more sensitive than before, almost uncannily eager and responsive, both of them big and hard and hungry for his caresses and especially for that little pinch that almost always hurled him straight over the edge into a crazy, cum-spitting orgasm. He started to think of it as three points of stimulation, an erogenous triangle of accelerated, mounting ecstasy. Even his balls were feeling swollen and subtly intensified, like he was spitting out more concentrated spunk and in greater quantities—that, at least, seemed obvious from the high-pressure spray of hot, thick jizz spattering across his bare chest every time he came, and came, and came. (He was working shirtless now—no need to risk staining any more of his favorite geek tees.)
As he lay in bed after taking his fourth and final dose of the day, he tried counting back through the number of times he’d gotten abruptly turned on and worked himself to a chest-coating climax since he’d first opened the box that morning. He wasn’t sure—there had been so many—but it had to be something like thirteen times. The idea blew him away. It also… turned him on. In seconds his dick had leapt up as fast as an obscene gesture and was back to being as stiff as a board, like he hadn’t cum in weeks. Fuck, even as a teenager he hadn’t been this horny—relentlessly, unquenchably, like he had infinite reserves of arousal. Was this just for while he was taking the pills, or would it last?
It didn’t matter. The pills were working! With a disbelieving grin he reached for his bigger, weightier hard-on with his left hand, and his thick, hard, incredibly touch-hungry nips with his right, wondering just how much improvement he’d be able to show his hot, beloved Diego. This time, the mental image of Diego wrapping his sweet, sexy, stubble-ringed lips around his newly embiggened dick was what made Quinn blow his load, and this time his release was so huge his spunk splattered over his neck, his chin, and open, panting mouth. He reached out his tongue in time to taste his own bitter, wonderful spend, erupted straight from his own unstoppable prick.
His heavy cock was raging hard again when he woke up Saturday morning. That wasn’t so unusual, but what was strange was that his lower face, neck, and chest felt weirdly stuff and crusty, as if… wait, he’d cleaned off the cum from last night, hadn’t he? No, he definitely had. He’d climbed out of bed, wet a washcloth with warm water, and stood in the front of the bathroom mirror scrubbing cum out of his dark brown stubble and sparse chest hair, all while tossing himself the occasional sardonic “Can you believe this?” look. And yet now it was like the whole clean-up hadn’t happened, or…
He licked his lips and tasted his own cum, some of it still warm, though other swaths of his spunk had clearly had a chance to dry—he could feel it pulling at his nascent beard on his jaw and neck, and on the skin of his lower cheeks. Criminy, there were layers of the stuff. He had to have cum at least twice in his sleep, all over himself. Maybe more than twice—maybe a bunch of times. Good thing he tended to stay on his back when he was tired, he thought wryly, or he would have painted the whole room.
Man, he was thirsty. Thirsty… and horny.
As was now almost automatic, he reached for his slowly expanding dick with one hand and his ultra-happy nips with the other. He took his erection in his grasp and groaned—it had grown more in his sleep, and was almost half again as girthy as it had been the previous morning during Diego’s “I’m going to miss you” pre-departure blow-job, and palpably an inch, maybe even an inch and a half longer. He wanted to look at it closely later, tracing the veins and coloring and admiring the new shape and size. He was making progress; another day on the pills and he’d have a real cock, big enough to make both Diego and his ass very happy.
Just the idea of a hefty, proper-sized Quinn-cock had his pulse speeding up and his skin warming in a second, his more-considerable-than-before balls tightening and roiling in readiness as he gripped his shaft hard. He touched his fingers to his left nipple—and stopped.
Something else had grown in the night. His stomach dropped as he moved his hand across to his other nipple, irrationally unsure what he wanted to find. No—two somethings had gotten bigger while he slept.
He glanced down nervously. At the bottoms of his naturally firm and defined pecs were two protrusions that were rather too big to be called nipples anymore. They were purple and firm and as big as the top half of his thumb, and as Quinn stared at them he realized they resembled nothing so much as the blunt, stubby head of his old, pre-improvements cock, with only the missing foreskin to distinguish them from the original equipment he’d just yesterday started upgrading. Fascinated and appalled all at once, he gave the left cockhead-shaped nub an experimental brush and gasped. Fuck, they were sensitive! His balls felt like they leapt up in eager reaction to the touch, and his iron-hard dick jerked in his hand. Most shockingly of all, a tiny pearl of precum was even now emerging from the tips of both of his ex-nipple cocknubs as he watched in stunned amazement.
“Ho… holy shit,” he breathed. His head swam, but he’d never been so aroused in his life.
Unable to wrench his gaze away from his two new stimulus-points, Quinn reluctantly uncurled his other hand from around his cock, and, heart slamming against his chest, he drew both hands up to his new cocknubs. Barely daring to breathe, he gave them each a gentle, feather-light twist, mirroring the turn of his fingers so that the simultaneous twists were in opposite directions.
He couldn’t hold back a yelp as he suddenly came, hard, the gouts of cum erupting from his cock painting his face with blood-hot spunk, so that he had to close his eyes, squeezing his lids shut only just in time. But the deepest thrill came from the tiny twin answering releases spitting little jets of fresh, hot cum across the insides of his palms. Quinn panted, stars drifting against his closed eyelids. Fuck, he was soaring, floating miles in the air over the city. He might never come down. That had to be the biggest orgasm he could remember having.
It was a while before he could even think again. Those cocknubs—they were… fuck, they were amazing. Were they just temporary, a weird ephemeral side-effect like the serial hair-trigger orgasms? Or… maybe he’d get to keep them? He was torn, completely unsure what to hope for. Would Diego… like them? Would Diego like to brush his lips over them, a dry touch at first until moistened by their little beads of pre, before parting those sweet lips, exposing the tip of his wicked, worldly tongue and the teasing tips of his white teeth…?
Quinn realized he was not only fully hard again but ready to cum without touching himself anywhere if he pushed that fantasy even a moment longer. No, he didn’t know if that was what he wanted to hope for, but he’d certainly be imagining it from now on, in Technicolor and Sensurround. He was kind of shocked at how extreme his desires and fantasies were becoming. Was he jazzed about being hung… or was it a byproduct of the pills? For the first time he wondered what else the pills were doing to him that he couldn’t see. Maybe nothing, but in that moment he wasn’t sure what he knew about himself. The thought intrigued him, somewhat to his surprise, and his thickening tool and newly spring cocknubs all tingled with curious desire.
Well, he knew one thing. He had a goal, and he was going to make it happen. He needed to get up, take a shower, go take his pills, chug probably that whole carton of o.j. in the fridge, and generally get started on day two of Operation Get Quinn Hung.
He smiled. He couldn’t wait.
Quinn had woken up very horny and very thirsty, in that order, but by midmorning he’d developed a phenomenal appetite as well. “Must be all the cum I’m ejecting,” he mused happily to himself as he took his scheduled dose of DX3. It stood to reason, after all. If he’d been cumming through the night, it really was more than just a matter of losing liquids, he thought as he downed his third bottled water of the morning. He’d better put some protein and carbs back into the system.
A brief tour of the kitchen cabinets revealed that there wasn’t too much food in the house, though, which meant shopping. It occurred to him that his wardrobe didn’t quite accommodate cock-nub nipples exactly, but he wasn’t too fazed—he and Diego ordered their groceries in most of the time. A sudden urge for frittatas struck him, and he decided this was a good plan, so he sat down on the long, comfy couch in the living room and commanded the grocery app to bring him what he needed: eggs, milk, cheese, and spinach, plus a few other incidentals he’d noticed were missing. Like coffee! How could he have let them get so low on coffee? And… sure, sausage. Sausage sounded awesome.
Schwing! His dick was already hard again, and his nipples were begging for touch.
Just the suggestion of dick, he thought wryly, and they’re so ready they’re practically leaking. Sausage—really! Well, it did always remind him of cock.
His dick and his nips vibrated with need at the attention. “Hold your horses!” Quinn told them, stepping through the rest of the order process. He clicked submit and tossed down the phone, responding to his impatient libido with an eyeroll. “Okay, geez, here I am!” he said. He grabbed his uncut erection in his palm, and already in the space of a day it felt like it was starting to fill his hand the way Diego’s did. Maybe he’d end up bigger than Diego! Just the idea threw him close to the edge, a hot wave of arousal sizzling through him. His nips cried out for touch, or… no, they wanted more than touch. His dick did too, but for the first time he was imagining Diego’s stubble-ringed, magical lips wrapping around his cockhead nips, licking and pleasuring him first one side, then the other. The vision was so intense that it almost eclipsed the twisting, tweaking, and stroking he was doing with his fingers, and it felt like mere seconds had elapsed before he was spurting crazy amounts of cum from cock and nips alike as he gasped in wonder, his mind spinning into a white haze of shuddering, toe-curling orgasm. He lost focus on reality for a bit, not quite blacking out but melting into the couch and disassociating his drifting mind and body for a pleasant interval before they naturally fell back together and snapped in place and seated within each other, like a foot inside a good, snug boot.
A thorough rinsing off seemed like a good idea before the grocery delivery arrived, so Quinn headed into their master suite bathroom and turned on the shower, sticking his hand in to feel for the extra-hot water he liked. While he waited his eyes drifted down to the tub, and he gave it a longing look. He’d been promising himself a long sudsy evening of red wine and movies in the tub for the next time Diego was away. No time for that now, though, but he’d definitely pencil it in for tonight. He stepped in under the hot water at last and grabbed the shower scrunchie, squeezing some of the body wash gel into it and letting the scent waft up to him as it mixed into the rising steam. The first thing he’d noticed about Diego was this low-key spicy cinnamon aroma, and part of that—but only part, because the rest of it had been all Diego—had come from this body wash.
He began running the scrunchie over his frequently complemented chest, and—whoa, fuck. It was like an electric shock of pure pleasure flying through him. He passed the scrunchie over his nipple again, and wham! The same thing. With a shaking hand he moved the scrunchie over to the other pec, one quick scrub—holy shit! He wobbled on his feet, throwing out his free hand to slap against the tile so he could recover his balance. Extra-hot water pounded down on his back, and he knew instinctively that if he turned around right now, his nipples were so sensitive that one buffeting from the hot shower spray might just risk tearing him apart.
Judiciously he moved the scrunchie down, away from his nips, though they really, really wanted not to be ignored like that just now. Instead he ran the scrunchie down his long, taut abs, scrubbing away the dried jizz that had worked its way into his treasure trail. And below that… he tried skirting around his erect-again dick, brushing the scrunchie-lather across his drawn-up, heavy-seeming balls and taint, then moving on to do his slightly hairy legs in a bit of a daze. Was this a by-product of the dosing period? Was it going to wear off? Sure, he was used to being horny all the time—he’d always been springing boners from a light breeze and crooked smile—and yeah, having it turned up way past eleven to, like, fourteen was wild and kind of exciting. But his dick sure was demanding, and he’d never dreamed of nips wanting to explode with spunk, not just once but over and over and over again…
Distantly, he heard the doorbell. Criminy! The delivery!
He turned off the shower and hurriedly started drying himself off with the extra-large fluffy white towel that was always waiting on the rack by the sliding shower door, barely noticing the way batting his dick and cocknubs around as he rushed to dry off was only propelling him toward higher and more heated stages of arousal. Wrapping the towel around his waist and shoving the end underneath against his hip to secure it, he trotted out to the front of the apartment just as the doorbell rang again. He threw open the door, offering a cheery “Sorry to keep you waiting!” as he did so—and then he remembered his bigger-than-he-was-used-to unstoppable erection, not to mention the fact that he appeared to be growing dicks out of the places where his nipples should have been.
The delivery guy was Cam, the usual courier for this neighborhood. “Sure, no problem,” Cam said. He was responding to Quinn’s greeting, but he seemed to be reacting on autopilot based on the way he was staring fixedly at Quinn’s cocknubs like he would never, ever look away from them.
Quinn wasn’t quite sure what to say. “Uh… Hey, Cam,” he said awkwardly. His dick flexed hard under the towel, threatening to loosen it from his waist and bring the whole thing crashing down.
“Hey, Quinn,” Cam said automatically, not diverting his eyes for an instant. All the staring was only making Quinn hornier, and it didn’t hurt that it was coming from Cam in particular.
The joke in the gay world was that hot delivery guys only happened in porn, but it turned out that the couriers from Augie’s Megamart, and Cam in particular, in Quinn’s opinion, somehow all managed to live up to the original trope. Cam was short (Quinn liked being taller), good-looking, and heavily muscled. He looked like a rugby player—the one they begged to do all the calendars because he had a handsome face, awesome shoulder-length wavy dark hair, and a killer smile, he filled out his jersey with hard, defined, hairy muscle, and down below he showed off a firm round ass and hot, powerful legs as well. Cam dressed like an amateur athlete too, in thick, durable tee shirts (and the occasional rugby shirt) and sturdy, butt-hugging jeans. Even shoulder straps from the delivery cube on his back seemed designed to highlight his delts on either side of them.
Quinn blinked him, struck hard by how hot he was. “You, uh, want to bring that stuff in?” he asked, gesturing toward the apartment interior.
“Sure,” Cam said distantly. He seemed mesmerized, almost as if Quinn’s upgraded, intensified body and hormones were somehow affecting Cam like pheromones, intensifying the usual attraction Cam had for him and removing all resistance. He stepped into the apartment, moving in a shallow arc until he was standing in the middle of the living room, having managed the entire maneuver without once diverting his hungry stare.
Quinn swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He was running up against something he had never thought to anticipate as a side effect of setting Operation Get Quinn Hung for Diergo’s three-day absence: Temptation.
A darkened stage, eleven months ago. A spotlight, showing the end of their bed and nothing else. Diego stands in the spotlight, shirtless and smiling, looking like sex on legs.
Quinn enters, prowling around Diego with obvious ardor. Weirdly, he is wearing only a large white towel, as now, though his nipples are normal on his large pecs, and his erection is less obvious.
As Quinn circles him, Diego smiles wider. “Again?” he purrs, sounding both amused and stimulated. “You really are insatiable.”
“Not quite,” Quinn says, dragging a finger along Diego’s honey-brown collarbone. “I don’t know what I’ll do when you’re away on your next shoot.”
Diego grabs Quinn’s arm by the wrist and draws him to him. “You don’t have to wait for me,” he says tenderly, kissing along Quinn’s jaw.
“I won’t,” Quinn says, tilting his head to allow Diego access. “My hand will be very busy while you’re gone.”
They’re turning gently under the spotlight, almost dancing. “No,” Diego says. “I mean, a libido like yours, it’s okay if you get some help with it when I’m not there.”
Quinn stops them turning and looks Diego in the eye. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“It’s okay,” Diego says, with a toothy smile. “I know I’m your guy.”
“You are my guy. You’re the guy,” Quinn says seriously.
“So it’s not an issue. It’s like getting in a plumber to fix a clog,” Diego says.
Quinn wraps his arms around Diego’s bare torso. The spotlight it fading. “I’d rather wait,” he says, pulling Diego close.
“Your choice,” Diego replies, moving in for a long, slow kiss and the spotlight fades to black.
Quinn had never thought that conversation would ever be revisited in his mind, but… the way Cam was looking at his cocknubs, licking his lips, was starting to become more that he could take. He was already panting softly. Pretty soon he would start moving, and if he did, it would be toward Cam.
He actually said you could do this, his libido told him, reasonable but urgent. You need this, and Diego’s already okay with it. And… fuck, look at him!
Quinn was about to move, breaking their standoff, Cam beat him to it. He slid the delivery cube easily off his shoulders onto the coffee table behind him, then took a step forward. No longer hidden by the straps, Cam’s heavy, thick pecs pushing out his heavy tee shirt stole his attention for a moment, but it wasn’t long before his lust for contact drove his gaze back up to Cam’s full lips and the tongue that kept sliding along them, as if priming them both for what came next.
Then, all at once, Cam’s mouth was around his left cocknub.
Quinn gasped and shuddered. The towel shifted and fell around his ankles, exposing his enlarged, uncut cock, and Quinn barely registered Cam’s hand wrapping around it instinctively. All of his attention was focused on Cam’s mouth and what it was doing there. It was a revelation to Quinn, and in more ways than one.
For one thing, he could now feel, thanks the lathing of Cam’s loving tongue as it moved around and under his new appendage, that the cockhead that had emerged from his pecs had pushed out more than he’d realized, exposing half an inch of sensitive shaft behind the head. As Cam licked and worked his short new cock, thrilling with the amplified pleasure, Quinn was experiencing thanks to the newness of the skin and nerves there one of the most intense and exquisite blow jobs he’d ever received.
Reaching up and holding Quinn by his flank, Cam shifted from licking to sucking, and Quinn was unable to stop a cry of pleasure. With a juddering breath he whispered, “The other…” He couldn’t squeeze out any more words than that, but it was enough. Cam switched to his firm right pec where another blunt new cock awaited, and as Cam slid his mouth around it he release a long, loud moan.
The second realization is what truly took him be surprise. It was now blindingly clear to him that what he’d been doing with his hands in stimulating his upgraded junk was only a fraction of the pleasure and arousal he could experience. Cam was stroking his dick right now, and the pleasure from that was almost incidental to what Cam’s mouth was giving him.
His growing cock and emerging nipcocks didn’t need hands—they needed mouths. Hot, sucking, mind-melting mouths, lips, and tongues to drive him screaming into a next-level organism, beyond the stunning but mundane repeated climaxes he’d been marveling at all this time. And that was the real shocker. He didn’t need a mouth—he needed mouths.
Quinn keened as Cam twisted with his lips and sucked at the same time. “Close,” he gasped, and Cam hummed against his nipcock, twisting and sucking as he licked. Rocketing toward the edge, Quinn grabbed Cam’s other hand and shoved it at his remaining nipple. Cam, understanding, brushed the damp nipcock and began caressing it with the fingers and thumb, massaging the sensitive flesh by pulling outwards like a crane before changing suddenly to a twist, synchronized with a powerful such-twist with his mouth on the other side.
“Fuu-u-uuck!” Quinn cursed, and suddenly was cumming hard, blasting jizz from three fountains, the pleasure tearing through him like he hadn’t cum at all in months, instead of his having practically lost count of how many times he’d cum in the last 24 hours. He shook and gripped hard onto Cam’s burly, stone-hard shoulder as he shot more and more hot cum into Cam’s mouth and over his two hands. Cam tried to keep up, swallowing as much as he could in big, audible gulps, but before long Cam had to break free, pulling back at letting Quinn’s nipcock spray still more spunk all over his handsome, ruddy face.
At last Quinn’s orgasm started to die down, and Quinn, leaning hard on Cam now, looked down at him in wide-eyed wonder. “That was fucking unbelievable,” he said. Then, before he could think about what he was saying, he asked, “I don’t suppose you know two other hotties who might be interested in the other two open positions?”
When Cam looked up at him, it was with a big, wet, messy grin.
Quinn stared at the closed door a beaming Cam had just left through with promises to be back after his shift (and not alone), and wondered if he’d fallen into a delirious dream. He could almost believe he’d imagined all that had just happened. Except he was triple-hard again just thinking about it, and that felt very real. Just a few stray images of the all-too-brief encounter—
Cam’s luscious, talented mouth
his broad, thick, muscly shoulders
his wide, handsome, jizz-covered face smiling up at him
Damn, Quinn was all the way to near-climax again. And this after seemingly shooting more cum this weekend than he had in his whole extremely spunk-filled life. Now he felt ready to massively splooge all over himself again from three different nozzles like he hadn’t blown his wad once in a month.
He looked down at his naked body. It was the same, mostly, and yet… He’d always been the tall, good-looking, long-limbed dude, with the nice smile and the kind of proportions that looked good kind of by default, and attracted even more intrigued attention with the tight, campact muscle he put on naturally with a regular low-impact gym routine. His firm pecs were square and nicely thick with just a bit of soft, dark brown hair between—and they were actually an inch or two longer top to bottom than Diego’s pecs, thanks to Quinn’s as-if-a-bit-stretched torso, giving the impression of a curved expanse of hard pec-muscle that Diego had spent plenty of time exploring with his fingers, his tongue, and even his leaky, hard cock. It wasn’t massive, but with the right shirt—or no shirt—Quinn’s chest pulled in the roving eyes that stayed to admire the whole package.
It was an enticing bod in an everyday-guy kind of way; but at the same time, Quinn had always thought looking like this had been kind of a liability. A long, lanky physique like his tacitly promised a big dick to go with it, only to let everyone down.
Now, he was hung… and… well, more than hung.
His eyes were glued to himself as he looked down. He couldn’t look away. Two impossible things had happened. That hard, straight-ahead dick he’d been frowning at all these years now looked hige and wide and thick, like a PT boat that had suddenly blown up into an aircraft carrier. And beneath those pecs he was so proud of jutted two stunted echoes of the big raging erection below. They were still only a couple inches long, but they were thick and red with arousal, their wide, stubby heads seeping clear fluid at the slits as if in imitation of his big one below. They were angled down a little now with just the hint of an upward curve, as if they were horns growing out of the very centers of his pecs.
They were as hard as horns, that was for sure. But they were very, very much cocks, and as taut and aching with arousal as the giant boner between his legs, all three of them screaming at him for release.
Right now, he felt so impossibly turned on, he thought he could just cum and cum and cum all day, orgasm after orgasm, and never… ever… stop.
It was a little scary, Quinn had to admit. His brain was saturated with towering, blood-boiling carnal desire beyond anything he’d ever imagined. He knew he wasn’t thinking completely clearly. He was in a cloud. He was a place of arousal and cock and cum. But the sheer intensity of it made him wonder. Would he come down off this super-arousal high once he stopped taking the pills? At least a little?
And yet even as he asked himself the question, he found himself thinking, in this moment, that somehow he had been opened up to all new levels of sexual sensation, and the truth was he couldn’t get enough because it felt amazing. It was as though he had never truly known pure, raw, primal joy until now.
Just being like this, incredibly turned on and close to climax but not driving himself over the crazy cliff of his new level of heightened, super-explosive orgasm… Quinn could just do this forever. Maybe he’d have to. Was this was tantric sex was like? The sustained euphoria of almost cumming? Edging effortlessly and indefinitely, floating in a universe of hot, rebar-hard dicks, skirting the brink of release until the end of time. This… this was looking like his life now.
His stomach grumbled, and Quinn smiled at himself. Living like this… that wasn’t just his amazed reverie talking. Okay, getting on with his day, that was what he had to do now! Time to make breakfast with three super-hard, dripping erections!
So Quinn went around to the kitchen table and unpacked the groceries Cam had delivered. He started some coffee; then, remembering his earlier craving for a frittata, he pulled out a few eggs, grabbed a mixing bowl, some jack cheese, and red bell peppers, and got to prepping, all the while as ridiculously hard and hot-cheeked as a three-cocked virgin on prom night. He wanted to laugh as he whisked the eggs and diced the peppers. He’d puttered around naked in the kitchen before, sure, but he’d never been totally, mind-swimmingly boned like this while he did it. And even if he had cooked all boned up at some point in the past, having to worry about his newly huge dick actually getting in the way as he moved around was a novel experience. It kept catching his eye. All three of them did. Just as he had the mixture all ready and was about to pour it into the hot skillet the thought occurred to him that he could just his straining orgasm finally free and adding a whole lot of protein to his meal, and the very idea of it had him spontaneously almost making it happen whether he wanted to or not!
But Quinn was determined now to see how long he could hold out. Holding back with a supreme effort, he tipped the raw frittata into the skillet with a shaking hand and started it frying. There was a little bit of spatter from the hot pan, and he stepped back, thinking with a grin that not going for the side of bacon was a good call this time around.
Moments later he was sliding his meal onto a plate at the sturdy wooden kitchen table. He poured himself a mug of black coffee and sat down in one of the matching blond wooden chairs—and unexpectedly thunked his round, heavy balls hard against the unforgiving seat. Wincing, he glanced down in surprise, slamming his coffee mug down awkwardly on the table with a little slosh. How… how had he not noticed how big and heavy his balls had grown? They were each the size of a nice, round lemon, and the sack of his scrotum was pulled tight and hard over them, taking up way more space between his smooth, firm legs than he was used to. They felt so saturated with sperm, his jizz factories now geared for massive output, like he was a fucking cum machine—
Oh god, oh fuck——
He couldn’t hold back anymore, not for a second! Hastily he slid down the chair so he could slant his torso and aim the geyser-cum from his huge lower dick at his hard abs and chest. But there was nothing his could do with his nipcocks—he tried aiming the left one with his other hand, but they were too hard to move even a millimeter. So he just sort of pointed that one at his breakfast with the last split-second of mental capacity he had, and then let loose.
He surfaced again a few moments later, his heart slamming in his chest, his cheeks burning hot, and his torso covered with cum again. The output of his left nipcock had, amazingly, mostly landed on his still-steaming frittata, though the other one had spattered a long streak of spend across the kitchen floor.
Still buzzing with deep-seated euphoria, Quinn got up, found one of the towels he’d been using, and wiped himself up (working around his still-hard but sup[er-sensitive boners) as well as the mess on the floor by the kitchen table. Then he sat down—being careful of his upgraded balls this time—and had his breakfast, pretending this was how lots of people ate their morning meal every day. Peppers and cheese frittata with spunk sauce—who knew? He’d have to post the recipe somewhere later so more people could enjoy it. It was a little more savory than he remembered his cum tasting, and he wondered as he ate if Cam was, at that moment, licking his lips as he went about his other deliveries, recalling the taste of Quinn’s jizz in his mouth and the feel of it on his face, and wanting more.
And soon, Diego would be home. Quinn pictured his stubble-ringed mouth wrapped around his choice of Quinn-cocks, making those happy, deep sounds he made when he was sucking Quinn off. Quinn didn’t even wonder if Diego would get off on the taste and smell of his new, improved spunk. He knew, and the thought of them both climaxing hard and Diego swallowing his fill with difficulty and leering up at him, demanding more, very nearly made Quinn cum all over again.