Description That story that Who Wants to Be a Boytaur? grows the people that watch it as well as the contestants is probably just an urban legend.
|Updated||27 Jun 2020|
“C’mon, we’re going to be late for Who Wants to Be a Boytaur?—hurry up!” Jeff said, half sprinting up the stairs to his apartment building, two bags of groceries in each of his four strong hands.
“Oh, is that why you were half-hard in the grocery store,” smirked Jay, running easily up the steps behind him and enjoying the view of his best friend’s hind ass above him as Jeff’s luscious glutes shifted around in his tight, threadbare old four-legged jeans. Jay had thought about getting him a new pair, but he didn’t know where boytaurs shopped and, anyway, he liked the view just fine this way.
Jeff had transferred the bag in his front right hand to the back one and was fumbling with apartment keys. “I swear, they’re all like two inches bigger since I started watching,” he said, practically forcing open the apartment door and ducking through the doorway.
“It’s a myth,” Jay said tiredly, following him in. Jeff had dumped the bags on the kitchen table and was ransacking them for fridge and freezer stuff. “I’ll get that, you get the tube.”
Jeff smiled brilliantly and rushed past him into the living room, kissing him quickly on the cheek as he did so. He was gone so quickly that his over-the-shoulder “thanks” seemed to hang in the air behind him. Jay felt a little weak in the knees just from that little kiss and steadied himself on the edge of the counter. He was having a little trouble dealing with just how arousing he had been finding Jeff lately. They’d been friends since grade school. And when they’d gone through puberty and Jeff, as all the firstborn sons in Jeff’s family did, had sprouted arms and legs and started growing muscles all over the way most teens grow zits, it had been no big deal for them. But lately—for some reason—just brushing against Jeff as they got into the car to carpool to work had been giving Jay a serious, unstoppable boner.
Just looking at him, sitting in the passenger seat in the boytaur version of corporate drag, his front legs relaxing on top of his hind legs, filling out his slacks with muscle, four big extra-fingered hands in his lap, occasionally adjusting his tightly packed crotch or his longish blond hair where it tickled his lower neck, his upper arms straining against the fabric of his crisp white dress shirt, was suddenly driving him nuts. Just that morning at their regular Starbucks stop Jay had nearly blown torrents of hot cum in his boxer briefs just standing on line with him watching him put one of his right hands innocently in his pocket.
Jay was not sure what he was going to do, because it felt like sooner or later even gorgeous, sweet, clueless Jeff would notice him getting flushed and boned all the time, and Jay was afraid of fucking up their friendship.
He was hard now, too. Fuck.
He put away the milk and frozen sweet corn and headed reluctantly into the living room, adjusting his thick boner as he sat down close to his bud. Jeff was sitting cross-legged on the sofa (distracting Jay with Jeff’s four big, newly bare six-toed feet lounging in his own lap), looking relaxed but staring raptly at the screen. His four battered sneakers were strewn on the floor before him.
“It’s just starting, we got here in time,” he said. Sure enough, the funky theme music was starting and the animated shirtless hunk was once again suddenly growing into a thick-muscled boytaur like Jeff. “And it’s not a myth,” Jeff was saying, half turning his head. “All my guys are definitely bigger. Everyone who watches the show gets up to a half inch a week. I just wish I hadn’t missed the first five episodes.”
“Yeah, but I’ve been watching right alongside you—” Jay started to say.
“You’re not a boytaur,” Jeff said dismissively. Then he turned and smiled at Jay in a way that made his cock pump a big dose of precum into his briefs. “But who knows? Maybe it’s affected you, too, somehow. You have been looking pretty buff lately,” he added, winking, before turning back to the show.
“I’ve been working out like a fiend so I’m not embarrassed to sit next to you,” Jay said softly, but Jeff barely heard. It was true, Jay had been hitting the gym hard. And he knew inside it was to try to get Jeff to notice him. And he kind of had. But all he got was an offhand, You’re not a boytaur. Jay looked longingly at his oblivious friend, wanting to rip off his clothes, then turned to watch the show as well, brushing a hand against the throbbing extra-wide boner in his jeans.
The handsome boytaur host, Ryan Treborn, was introducing the show. He had a handsome boyish face, dark untamed hair, a hint of stubble, and dark green eyes, and a way of cocking his head that just gave you chills. He was four-armed and four-legged like Jeff, and his muscles (usually outlined in a tight, long-sleeved Abercrombie jersey and slightly looser light-blue jeans) were fitness-model perfect.
“Hello boys and boytaurs,” Ryan was crowing. “And welcome to this week’s show. We’ve got a great challenge this week—and a special prize for everyone watching. If both our new contestants complete today’s challenge, not only will they get a bonus—but all you guys in the audience at home will too!”
“No way!” Jeff shouted. Jay could tell his boytaur buddy was fully hard now in his worn old jeans (actually, in the case of his huge, upward pointing front cocks, he was fully hard in his worn old Green Lantern tee shirt). Jay tried to scoff at this blatant exploitation of the myth, but he was pretty turned on by the idea himself—could they really change Jeff somehow?
The camera pulled back from Ryan to show the big, dark, empty set with the show’s logo hung high above. Standing toward the back partly in the shadows were two guys—obviously buff from the way the shadows showed off their bumps and bulges, but not boytaurs. Jay wondered what the odds were of winning an episode—only a couple guys had gone home from the show with enough points to actually be turned into boytaurs (written up rapturously in the check-out line magazines alongside the lotto winners and the celebrity pregnancies). On the other hand there had been some wicked cool consolation prizes.
As the theme music tore loose again the two guys stepped forward into the light—and Jeff and Jay said together, “No way!”
The guy on the right seemed like a generic gym bunny, but the guy on the left was hot, smokin’ hot. Blond hair, a bit longer than Jeff’s, beautiful hazel eyes, and a beautiful face that Jay immediately recognized, because he’d grown up in and out of Jeff’s house and recognized Jeff’s kid brother as easily as her would his own, even if he was twice as built as the last time he’d seen him.
“What the fuck is Kevin doing up there?” Jeff said.
Jay looked at his friend, realizing he knew something that Jeff didn’t, or hadn’t until now. Jay and Kevin had helped Jeff move to the city, and they’d all gone out for pizza afterwards. After Jeff wandered off to the bathroom, Kevin had confessed to Jay that he was jealous of Jeff’s boytaur body and his athletic accomplishment and brains (an intelligence/creativity bump seems to come with boytaurness in Jeff’s family—Jeff was a brilliant pianist and had already sold a short story).
Kevin was pretty bummed it only happened to the firstborn sons. Jay had tried to commiserate, saying at least now Jeff wouldn’t be around all the time, but Kevin had just smiled and said it would probably make it worse, because at least when Jeff was around he got a vicarious feeling for what it was like.
Jay realized he knew now what Kevin had meant, even though he hadn’t at the time. Sometimes when he was with Jeff and feeling really close to him, it felt like Jeff was being a boytaur for both of them.
And now he might not have to be. Jay glanced at Jeff and saw a profoundly mixed expression on his beautiful face—Jeff loved his kid brother more than anything… but maybe Jeff liked being the only boytaur in the family…
Jay sat forward on the couch, suddenly full of anticipation. His stomach fluttered a little as his mind started racing. Just seconds earlier, watching this insane reality series with Jeff had been all about sharing a little eye-candy appreciation with his best friend and secret crush, while at the same time giving Jay a chance to gush with impunity about the hotness of various boytaurs—none of whom he wanted to jump as badly as he did Jeff. His friend was always so caught up in the show that he didn’t seem to register Jay’s smoldering sidelong looks or how close he was sitting on Jeff’s cozy couch, and both of them ignored how totally boned they were.
For all Jay might scoff at the shameless fanservice and relentless hype, Who Wants to Be a Boytaur? had quickly become the highlight of Jay’s week—though not for the reasons Jeff probably thought. Jeff most likely cheerily chalked it up to the parade crazy-hot guys, boytaur and not, that appeared on the show, maybe mixed in with some wistful dreaming about becoming a boytaur himself for good measure. That wasn’t it, though, not really. After all, Jay saw plenty of good-looking hunks all day long—they were everywhere these days, especially in the financial services industry—and none of them made his hormones boil quite the way Jeff did.
And Jay loved his tight, rangy, increasingly built bod the way it was. He didn’t want to be a boytaur, he wanted to be held by one, fucked by one, snuggled by one. Visions of his tall, gym-hardened physique wrapped up tight from behind in Jeff’s slightly taller, four-sculpted-arm embrace, both of them decked out in—well, anything: corporate gear or sweaty gym togs or nothing at all—that was the kind of thing that kept Jay rock-hard and chasing his third or fourth self-gifted orgasm deep into the night, night after night.
So no, it wasn’t the guys, and it wasn’t the it-could-be-you-ness of the show’s premise. No, the real benefit for Jay of watching the show together was the way it created a safe space for him to share a bit of blazing-hot, heart-thudding, damp-dicked, grinning arousal with the sweetly gorgeous, warm-skinned, eight-limbed muscle Adonis he was forced to be platonic best buds with the other 167 hours of the week.
Now, though, reality had shifted onto a new track. Kevin was on the show, and that changed things for Jay as much as it did Jeff. Everyone else—all the various contestants, whether bashful or overconfident or calmly determined; the celebrity boytaur cameos; even the slightly smarmy boytaur and ex-teen idol Ryan Treborn—had been basically pixels on a wall-mounted big screen to him. But Kevin—Kevin was real. He knew Kevin, and he also knew exactly how much being a boytaur meant to him. Jay found that it was suddenly very important to him that Kevin win and achieve his dream.
Jeff was leaning forward, too, tenseness practically radiating off him. He butted his shoulder against his buddy’s. “He’s going to be okay, you know,” Jay teased.
“I know,” Jeff said, eyes fixed on the screen. “It’s just—what’s he doing on the show? I don’t get it.”
Jay kept his shoulder pressed gently against his buddy’s doubled counterpart, enjoying the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of their tee shirts. “Really, big brother?” Jay said. “No idea at all?”
Jeff glanced at him, comprehension flickering in his sea-green eyes, but just then Treborn started talking about the challenge facing the segment’s two contestants, and Jay and Jeff both turned to watch.
“He’s what our guys Kevin and Paulie will have to get through to earn themselves—and you at home—that special bonus,” the announcer was saying, his automatic TV-host smile dimpling tanned and stubbled cheeks as the camera homed in on him. Jay felt a little bad he hadn’t even picked up on the other player’s name during the intros, but only a little.
Treborn continued: “We’re going to temporarily gift each of our guys with a genuine chest-high boytaur permaboner. Then they have to spend exactly one hour without touching it or blowing their wads!” The huge studio audience roared its approval, while the camera angle shifted to show Kevin and Paulie looking simultaneously nervous and excited before cutting back to Treborn. He held up a hand to still the raucous audience long enough to add, “And make no mistake, we won’t make it easy on them!”
The audience hooted and hollered. Jeff huffed a laugh, and Jay said, “That is a challenge, huh, bud?”
Jeff grinned, eyes still on the screen. “You have no idea,” he joked. “That permaboner thing, though—that’s such a myth. I mean, you know my guys aren’t boned all the time.”
“No, not all the time,” Jay agreed, still lightly mocking his friend. Of course, Jay was, at least around Jeff—especially lately. Man, Jeff’s bare feet were right there in his lap, inches away. He could just reach over and—
Jay made himself focus on the screen. The angle shifted to a three-shot as Treborn turned to the two players. “You two think you can handle that?” he asked.
“I’m ready!” Kevin said earnestly.
“Bring it on,” the other guy, Paulie, seconded.
Jeff was watching intently, as caught up as always. “I wonder what they’re going to do,” he said.
They didn’t have long to wait. A deep-black, sharply rectangular cuboid, like a phone booth only made of what looked like light-repelling obsidian, was rolled onto the stage. The audience responded with hushed murmuring—usually the “TF Box” wasn’t seen until the end of an episode. The two contestants were asked to step through the seemingly solid artifact left to right, Kevin first. When Kevin stepped out the other side the audience gasped and cheered, and Jay felt his own extra-wide slab of a dick jerk with desire and admiration as a rush of heat flooded through him. Underneath the obligatory contestant’s skin-tight sleeveless muscle-shirt—a rich cobalt blue in Kevin’s case—the outline of a mighty, wrist-thick, sternum-nuzzling erection had joined all of the other bumps and bulges the shirt was designed to highlight rather than conceal. Jay thought he could almost feel the heat and musk coming off it straight through the screen, and his breath caught as Kevin moved to one side and the shift in lighting revealed there was already a small, penny-sized damp spot exactly in the middle of Kevin’s thick chest, just where the giant cock ended in a wide, no doubt very lickable tip.
The camera lingered on him a moment as Kevin stood there, cheeks pink with arousal and embarrassment. “Wow,” Jeff and Jay both said in unison as the audience clapped and cheered. Then they broke into snickers at the silliness of responding in unison.
Paulie did the same. His hunter-green muscle shirt didn’t hide his new giant erection any better than Kevin’s did, though seeing as his inch-thick pecs were a little flatter than Kevin’s the ungodly boner didn’t seem to protrude quite as much as the monster Jeff’s brother was sporting. Like Kevin, though, he too already had a small damp spot near the apex of his towering dick, and as the camera held on him the iron-hard megaboner flexed and shifted under the super-snug fabric as if seeking an avenue of escape, and the damp spot got a little bigger.
A count-down clock appeared in the bottom right corner of the screen, ticking off how long Kevin and Paulie had to outlast their own clearly overpowering need to touch and to explode with cum.
“Jesus,” Jay said, his own thick cock throbbing hard in his pants. “They’re not going to last ten minutes, let alone an hour.”
The show moved on to the first part of the challenge. Each contestant was positioned on stage, facing the audience and about twenty feet apart, while Treborn withdrew to a secondary platform adjacent to the stage to commentate. At first nothing happened apart from whistling and hooting from the audience. Then… the most extraordinary man stepped out from stage right behind Kevin. He was a boytaur, all right, possibly the most handsome and well-muscled one Jay had ever seen, his well-trimmed beard—unusual among boytaurs, who tended to be clean-shaven—and modest body hair accentuating his dark beauty. But whereas most boytaurs Jay had seen with more than two arms had a Jeff-style tightly stacked chest, each set of pecs with their own set of shoulders and a single arm on each side, this dark, half-naked, profoundly sexy man had two arms on each side for each of his three stacked rows of pecs. Even wilder, though, he had another set of arms emerging from just above his hips, as if they’d been put there specifically to reach anything the other arms couldn’t. Which, Jay realized, was exactly why they were there. With all the superfluity of arms it seemed a little shocking that only two enormous cock-pillars erupted from his dark blue high-end sweats to tap wetly against his heavy, rounded lower pecs.
He positioned himself behind Kevin as dramatic and slightly sultry music started playing. The first one pair of hands gently grasped his thick, pale, sculpted arms, then another, then another. Kevin shuddered and closed his eyes, and the damp spot that marked the tip of his giant new dick grew a little bigger. The audience was screaming with excitement.
“Shit,” Jay said, his own hard-on squeezing uncontrollably in sympathy. “Forget ten minutes—he’s not going to make it thirty seconds.”
“C’mon, Kev,” Jeff shouted at the screen. “You can do it!” Some of the guys in the audience were chanting the same thing—You can do it! and Hold on! competed with the din of yells and whistles. Meanwhile Jay realized he’d been so fixated on Kevin he hadn’t checked to see how Paulie was being tempted. But of course, the conditions had to be the same, and it turned out the olive-skinned rival with the twitchy erection was being ministered to by Triple-Stack’s twin brother, who was exactly the same apart from being decked out in green-trimmed sweats instead of blue.
When he looked back at Kevin he saw that his Triple Stack had all fourteen of his hands on his rangy, big-muscled body and was massaging and caressing him everywhere except along the outline of Kevin’s giant boner. Kevin’s own strong-looking hands were squeezed into tight fists as if to keep them from any mischief.
“The tricky part’s going to be at the end of the challenge,” Jeff said knowingly, having paid close attention during all the earlier episodes. Sure enough, when Treborn called time—somehow fifteen minutes of this had passed, though to Jay it had felt like seconds, and also like an eternity—the identical tormenters came out from behind the two contestants and took a bow as the audience hooted and applauded deafeningly.
Then they turned and wrapped each other up in all their powerful arms, and they’d been holding and stroking each other’s necks, backs, and butt for no more than ten delicious seconds before torrents of spunk were visibly arcing up between them, some of the jets spattering on their lightly bristled jaws and cheeks. “Fuck,” Jay said. As the audience responded predictably, Jay’s eyes shot to where Kevin stood watching unself-consciously, mouth agape, his hands loosed from their fists and creeping up toward the stiff, colossal jutting up under his muscle shirt.
“Stay strong, bro!” Jeff urged the TV, even as Jay cautioned in his best Admiral Akbar voice, “It’s a trap!”
Just in time, though, Kevin realized his danger and looked down at his hands with a scowl as if mentally scolding them. They bent into fists again and dropped to his sides. “That was close,” Jay said.
Two more challenges followed—a long, sensual lap dance performed by a guest celebrity boytaur (Kevin got Billy Waltham, star of Riverdale: The Next Generation, and Jay was almost jealous) and a dramatic shirt-removal unveiling performed by five eager audience members each (one cheeky devil got in a lick along Kevin’s now sweat-dampened neck before they were all ushered off waving and begging for more playtime with the contestants). Somehow the two players got through both challenges unscathed, though Kevin was clearly impossibly aroused and in sight of the edge, and Paulie, with his constantly moving uncut cock that actually seemed to have somehow crept an inch further up his pecs over the course of the tests, looked frantic and close to breaking, constantly looking down at his now-bare torso and the monolithic, girder-hard wang shifting restlessly against it before looking hastily away.
Then Treborn turned to camera and announced the final challenge. Kevin and Paulie were to take center stage and tightly embrace… for two full minutes. They could caress each other, they could press their bodies together, they could even kiss—but they must not touch their cocks with their hands, and they must not cum!
“Oh, that’s diabolical,” Jeff hissed, on the edge of his seat.
They were huddled close, and somewhere in the last few challenges his upper right hand had found its way onto Jay’s right shoulder. Jay wasn’t even sure Jeff knew it was there, and he sure wasn’t going to tell him. “What do you mean?” Jay said, distracted.
“That’s why they planted those massage guys groping each other after the first challenge!” Jeff said. “They’ve already seen two guys cumming from what they’re about to do, and right away, too!”
As the excited crowd cheered, the two men nervously approached each other, their giant cocks visibly slick with precum. “Here it comes,” Treborn intoned, and Jay wondered if the word choice was intentional. “The final challenge. Could you do it?”
Jay thought of himself with a cock like that, achingly hard and after all those rounds of stimulation, approaching a close, two-minute hig and possible make-out session with Jeff. “Hell no,” he muttered as he stared at the screen, unable to look away.
Paulie and Kevin reached the center of the stage and their long arms slid around each other naturally. The boisterous cheering reached fever pitch, some audience members calling out encouragement while others chanted out Cum! Cum! Cum! as the two tall, humpy would-be boytaurs let their hands glide slowly across their broad, well-tapered backs as the camera wound around them, the time counting down the last two minutes in the corner. Jay could tell Kevin was getting close. Paulie, for his part, looked like he’d been fighting off orgasm for several minutes already as they stared at each other, drinking in their rival’s good looks even as their powerful, impossibly aroused bodies held each other and their desperately hard cocks writhed in the tight space between them.
“Sixty seconds left,” Treborn intoned over the noise of the crowd. Kevin gazed at Paulie as they held each other close, a crazed look in his eye telegraphing his imminent, surely unstoppable and no doubt cataclysmic release. Then, seemingly out of desperation, he moved in suddenly for a kiss, only it quickly became clear that he had deliberately chosen to make it slow and sweet rather than urgent and fevered. Paulie, catching on, responded in kind as the camera continued its relentless revolutions around them and the audience roared its approval.
It seemed to be working, too. The two of them were so lost in the kiss they barely seemed to notice Treborn counting down the final seconds—or anything else. “That’s ten left to go,” he cried out. “Will they make it?” The crowd joined in as Treborn counted down the last seconds. “And five! Four! Three! Two! One! ZERO!!” The audience erupted in an ear-splitting din as a veritable truckload of reflective confetti showered onto the stage from the rafters above. Over all this the handsome boytaur host, as if he were officiating a very strange wedding, turned to the two contestants and gleefully announced, “You may now blow your loads!!”
On stage, Kevin and Paulie, their broad, bulging shoulders glinting with scraps of the endless mirrored confetti, broke their kiss in a daze. Kevin looked questioningly over his shoulder at Treborn as if fearing a trick, but when the host nodded and gestured for them to get do as they liked, Kevin grinned and turned back to Paulie. Without loosening their close embrace in the slightest they locked gazes—and that was all it took. As if dropping all barriers between them as one, Kevin and Paulie simultaneously erupted in tall, rocketing spurts of hot spunk flying up in the air between them. Both of them tilted their heat-red faces back as if giving in utterly to their shared release, their clinch likely all that was keeping both of them standing; but splats of jizz still smacked against their jaws and faces as they either shot up or arced and fell back down.
“They’re not going to let go of each other anytime soon,” Jeff rasped, and Jay realized his friend really was as heat-flushed and turned on as he was. Then Treborn turned back to camera. The picture framed him from the chest up, reminding Jay and everyone else of his perfectly hewn shoulders and chest, the soft, long-sleeved heather jersey seeming only to accentuate his ideal form, messy dark hair, and boyish good looks.
“It’s official. Kevin and Paulie both passed today’s test, which means they get to keep their boytaur cocks,” he said. “And—” The camera crept in slightly, and Treborn continued, “that also means you at home get to keep yours—if you can blow your own loads within the next five minutes!”
A strange, multicolored, extremely bright pattern fluttered briefly on the screen… and suddenly Jay was feeling excruciating pain in his jeans. Quickly he jumped up and started urgently unbuttoning yanking the denim off him, not an easy task as his recent excessive workout schedule hadn’t ignored his legs and butt and he was fast approaching the point of needing new pants just on account of his thighs and glutes.
Finally he got them down enough to free his screaming erection, which leapt up, rigidly hard—only to smack hard against his chest, sprinkling precum all over his close-fitting, brick-red tee shirt. He stared down at it, then at Jeff—who had risen to his feet in alarm at Jay’s distress, and who now also very clearly had three chest-high boners under his Green Lantern shirt, the just-arrived interloper nuzzling in atop of the original twins behind.
Jeff gaped at Jay’s newly gifted, fully exposed chest-high boytaur cock—and slowly started to grin.
He met Jay’s gaze, and to his wonder and relief Jay saw a fire in those vivid, sea-green eyes for the very first time, as though after years of intensely enjoying each other’s company his once-clueless friend had suddenly awoken to what they felt for each other and was finally, truly seeing him.
“Think you can get that thing off in five minutes?” Jeff asked him, his voice rough with desire.
“Take off your shirt,” Jay panted, “and I’ll be ready in five seconds.”
Jeff’s bright smile was now positively wicked. “Back atcha,” he said huskily. In no time at all their shirts were whipped off and flung aside, and the two friends were mashing into each other in a hard embrace. Even as they dove into a passionate, frenzied kiss they were already exploding together in a cataclysm of spunk… with, Jay realized in some cum-immersed, still-functioning thought process, minutes to spare. This was his mighty tool from now on—and this was his fantasy boytaur boyfriend, made real at last.
The cheers of the TV crowd filled the room, seeming to celebrate with them as the two men entered into a new phase of their friendship, one full of kisses, lovemaking, lots of cum, and genuine chest-high boytaur megacocks.