I don’t always wish to cause a commotion. Sometimes it’s more fun—more…satisfying—to make my changes without anyone even noticing my presence.
Toning myself down, reducing my attractiveness, my size, my perfection, isn’t easy. Creating the man I am now, using terms like “most beautiful,” and “most powerful,” and so on, that’s easy, isn’t it? It’s describing the far-end of the scale, and I can add in things that amplify and correct any mistakes I might make along the way. Saying “the longest penis in the world” takes into account every penis on every creature. Limiting it to “the longest penis of any human male in the world” makes my cock lengthen, but it doesn’t improve its girth, does it? Because my words create a new reality, but only as far as my actual words are concerned.
Saying “I have the largest human male penis in the world, both by length and girth,” finally creates the monster that normally hangs so proudly from my loins, a fat shank of sex longer and thicker than any other man possesses. Then I can finesse myself and create the gorgeous, perfect, mouth-watering beauty that makes men crave to set their mouths to it, an enormous and brain-sizzling length of cock that makes men and women spontaneously orgasm at the sight of it. A cock that can rise and lengthen to twice its size and pump out endless thick streams of hot, sticky cum that I can make do the most amazing things if it simply touches your skin, feeling like the deepest sexual bliss you’ve ever experienced, or causing your own muscles to begin to swell and bloat with strength—or anything else I wish to happen.
So you can see that altering myself to be the most beautiful man on the planet is easier than trying to create, well, the most average man on the planet.
I stand before a mirror and reduce my super-human dimensions and mind-bending muscular development into someone you might not even notice standing in the corner, watching the crowd amuse themselves, perhaps unaware that I am among them. Just another guy.
The thrill of watching my changes manifest surprises even me. Being the focus of so much worshipful attention and making it impossible for anyone else to compare to my magnificence can throw such a damper on things. Watching someone else become the center of attention, and watch them understand and accept their own glorious perfection and begin to wallow in it—it’s positively addictive.
And if I hand the reins to someone else and watch the results, it’s often much better than anything I could have created with my own imagination.
That’s not to say that I don’t return to my usual physical perfection and incredible muscular size and power afterwards, of course. It is who I am now, and the other appearances I project are the artifice. I exist as the most beautiful man on the planet. The most powerful, the most sexual, the most muscular and capable, and being anything less is now impossible.
I’m not sure what drew me to you. You were with some others, probably friends, you were smiling, laughing, flirting, having a good time. But I wanted to watch you fulfill your fantasies, because the man you dream about, your perfect lover. So I approach you and have to smile when you don’t even notice me at all.
My masquerade is perfect, like everything else about me.
“Hi,” I said. My voice is thin and high and lost in the noise of the crowd and the loud, pumping rhythms of the music. The bar is wet with beer and gin and the bartender, a shirtless, hairy-chested man with a ready smile to get more tips thrust into his tight jeans, answers me first.
“What can I get you?” he asks. He doesn’t even look at me as he wipes off the surface of the stainless steel bar.
“Just water,” I say.
He looks up, disappointed. But he nods as he loses his smile and gets my glass of not-a-cocktail to me. “Thanks,” I say, smiling back. Normally my smile would have the man pumping cum inside his shorts, but not this time—at least, not yet. He nods and turns his attention to other patrons, more handsome and more drunken than I am.
I look at you again and you still ignore me. “You want to kiss the man to your right,” I tell you, and I watch you shift your eyes to your friend, whose muscular arm is hung across your shoulder. You lean towards him and close your eyes, but he isn’t aware of your desire and he’s got his eye on the hottest dude in the room, a guy who could have walked off a fashion runway with carved abs and defined pecs and piercing blue eyes. A dude who works hard to look that good and is unwilling to waste that work on any of you.
He is the fantasy. The man everyone else wants.
Until I change that.
I move close so you can hear me, hear the words I speak that will change everything in an instant, even though you hearing them will make no difference in their power. I merely need to speak, anywhere, at any time, to change reality to my whims. But I want you to hear me speak them, I want to watch their effect on your head as I start to change your body.
“You’re measuring every other man in this room. That’s okay, we all do it, even me. You’re weighing your opportunities and options, gauging which ones might say yes to a night with you, or even ten minutes in the alley while you suck their dick. By the way, you are an expert cocksucker. You’re adept and talented and very, very accomplished at sucking dick. Any dick. Every dick. You know exactly what your partner wants, often before they do, and you’re equipped to fulfill their desires in unlimited capacity. With your lips, and your tongue, and your hands, and your spit, all these things combine in some seemingly magical manner and you can bring a man to erection with a slight touch, and then keep him there as long as you need him there, even delaying his eventual explosion until you want him to come, and when he comes he comes hard and thick and full and you swallow it all.”
I paused to look at your face as my words took effect, watching an expression of both need and confidence appear. Your lips seemed slightly to pillow, and when you licked your lips as you gazed now at every crotch in the bar, it was long and slick and wet. You smiled and you looked at the man you want to kiss and you move your fingers towards the crotch of his jeans and brush your fingers across the bulge of his potent manhood and he gasps and his eyes roll up and he staggers as you cause his cock to inflate in record time.
“Good,” I say. “And you enjoy that. It raises your own libido, pumping sexual bliss into your head as you experience the sensation of growing erotic need in measure equal to dealing it out.” Instantly you suck in a shuddering breath as your own cock pulses and swells in concert with your companion’s.
Now you rest your palm against your friend’s loins and you slowly knead his tumescence to full bloom. “Yes,” I add to my instructions, “your touch on a man’s prick is nearly the same as your mouth, a warm, slick embrace that pumps him to fullness and makes his balls sizzle and his skin heat.
“Now,” I say, “look at the man you had focused so much desire on earlier. The tall, beautiful, muscular, confident man who is the focus of every man’s desire, except mine.” Your head turns but you continue to pet and rub your friend’s crotch, and a new idea enters my brain. “If you want to, but only if you want to, you can make his cock grow larger with your hands or mouth. You can make it longer, or thicker, or harder, or any combination of those instructions.” You smile and I know that you have instantly decided to push inches of new growth into your companion’s dick. I lean out and look down and I can see it swelling thicker and longer, pushing itself up his body until the head emerges from behind his belt, nudging its way up his body, and he swoons and gasps as he feels himself growing bigger and bigger.
“But let’s look back at that man you want so badly. Tell me why you want him.”
“He’s gorgeous,” you explain.
“There are several gorgeous men here. If you wanted to, with your special talents, you could have any of them. Why him?”
“I have always wanted him. I see him in here and he never pays any attention to me. He’s…perfect.”
“I understand,” I say, though only I am truly perfect. But beauty is in the eye of the beholder. “Is it only the way he looks?”
“No, it’s…everything. His smile. His eyes. His confidence.”
“But you,” I say aloud, “are far more beautiful than he is. Taller, broader, more muscular, more powerful. You inspire lust and desire in every man you see.” Each words alters reality and I watch you change before me, your body swelling with muscular beauty, your chest pushing forward with two distinct globes of powerful meat, your shoulders growing broad and thick, your biceps inflating like balloons. Your body becomes the source of wet dreams, an impossibly gorgeous collection of marvelously carved muscle, now a full head taller than I am in my altered state of ordinariness, and your clothes can barely hold your newly swollen body inside.
I look at your face and it has already altered as well. Men will come just to look at you. You will glance their way and smile and their cocks will grow swollen with desire and their balls will inflate with cum and they will shudder and swoon and erupt gouts of thick, warm cream your mouth craves like water.
“You can have him easily,” I say. “So what more do you desire?”
“Only him,” you state, because I have not erased that from your reality. “I want him to want me.”
“He does,” I state.
The man turns towards you but does not move. He and you have now switched places. His desire for you overwhelms him. “He comes in here just in the slight chance that he might see you, but he is scared of your rejection, because you are the focus of the attention of so many others in here, and who is he? He is also aware of your prowess, he has heard from others how your hands and your mouth can do things to his cock that would seem impossible. He wants to experience that, to know if it is true, and he hopes you will grow his cock in the same way you have grown so many others.
“You have grown the cocks of many of the men in here,” I state, smiling. “If you look around, you can see which ones you have been with, because their cocks are huge, monuments to your powers, and they wear them with pride and honor, like steeds in your stable.
Your eyes, like jewels, dance around the room and on the handsome men you find with your discerning gaze, you alter our reality and gift them with monster cocks, thick with swollen inches that tingle and sizzle as you spot them. They experience your sensation of growth, your special gift to them, and each now remembers the night when they were with you, and how good you feel down there as if your mouth is still applied to every cock in the room, sucking and licking and stroking them, your tongue dragging along their hard inches and pulling them longer and thicker with your mouth.
Now the room is filled with men whose pants are overflowing with cock. Zippers are strained to the breaking point and button flies burst from the cargo they have been forced to try to contain, but your talents have no bounds and their cocks swell and lengthen. 12, 13, 14, 15, 16 inches long and some as thick and wide as your palm where you stroked them and coaxed them bigger and bigger.
They ache with need, these owners of prize-winning meat, and the heat of your gaze upon them reignites those memories and they each swell and lengthen towards hardness, growing to 18, 20, 24 inches long and thick as a forearm.
“But you have never been with him,” I state.
You shake your head and look again at that handsome man, who steals glances of your overwhelming beauty and muscular power. You swallow and lick your lips and take your hand from your friend’s prick, now grown to be one of the largest in the room, its massive mushroom pulsing at his chest, thick pumps of glistening honey pouring from its gaping mouth and he grasps his newly emerged monster in both his hands and slowly stroked himself, shuddering with intense sexual bliss.
“That was kind of you,” I say.
“He’s my friend,” you answer.
“So you gifted him with the biggest cock of all.” You nod and smile and look over at your handiwork, a massive, beautiful, superhuman cock that shakes and throbs with constant need.
I have another idea. “I like your bar,” I say, instantly transferring ownership to you. “What do you call it?”
You smile. “The Coxswain.”
I nearly laugh. I had not taken you for such an erudite gentleman. “Also known as…”
“The Cocksman. The man who sits at the bow of the rowers and urges them on, controlling where they will go, and how fast, controlling the speed, timing, and fluidity of their movement.”
“Fluidity,” I repeat, looking over at his friend’s drooling prick, veiny and red and throbbing as he concentrated his attentions on his new toy, undoubtedly sending thick cascades of pure bliss through his body. He leans his head forward, sticks out his tongue, and licks himself before sucking the plum of the helmet inside his own mouth.
You smile, enjoying the play on words. “Welcome,” you tell me, and you start to move your hand to my own cock.
I allow it, curious as to how this will feel, and how far you will push me, and how big I will become.
I can feel the heat of your hand even before you reach me, like the furnace of some forge. My cock throbs as if it knows you, recognizes your touch, understands what you can do. You look down and over towards me, pivoting slightly to focus your talents on me. Your shirt tears along its seams as your new muscles swell and flex. Your nipples are distinct and mouthwatering along the lower edge of two massive globes of pectoral might banded with hard cables of power. Your face is almost too beautiful, if such a thing could be said to be true—and I could make it true with a whisper.
You place your hand on my groin and instantly I can feel your power manifest as you merely wish for me to grow bigger and I do! My cock twists and swells and pushes angrily against its confines as you unleash yourself on me, stroking me and rubbing me over my jeans and you look like an artist, a painter or, no, a sculptor! A master sculptor with just one object of your talent and unlimited resources at your beck and call.
You keep one hand on me and use your other to undo my belt and pants, wanting more direct access to the source of your talented attentions. I swell fatter as you alter your skills and make me grow thick and hard and suddenly you pull my pants open forcefully and I spill forward, already inches larger than I designed and not slowing for an instant, gaining inches with your magic and stretching towards you.
You gaze upon my cock with excitement, and you slowly fall to your knees before me and look up at my face and smile. In your grip I swell and lengthen with voracious size, and I can feel my prick sizzle and pulse with power and hunger.
Then you open your mouth and suck me inside.
It is…miraculous…inside your mouth. Better than any sexual sensation even I have ever encountered. And as you begin to exercise your complete hold over me, I feel myself swelling massive with inches of prick. You swallow me down and bathe me in bliss and I am overcome with some insane, perfect, powerfully sexual pleasure that radiates out from your mouth on my cock until my entire body feels like it wants to come.
You growl as you urge my growth on, and I swell larger and larger, the end of my monster pushing deeply inside you and your hand grabs my ass and you pull my groin at your mouth, making me fuck your face as I grow bigger and bigger.
I must be absurdly huge by now. The weight and heft of my prick is pulling from my groin like an iron barbell, and I can feel the mother of all loads shimmering along the fat inches of my dick lodged down your throat.
You live for this, this is all you want or need, now. Cock in your mouth, swelling and lengthening and blooming with size and power because you will it to happen.
I need to come, now. I need to, with a need stronger than anything else. I squeeze my eyes shut and ball my hands into fists and curl my toes with that need but you aren’t done with me, yet.
How big am I now, inside you? How far does my prick reach, surrounded by the wet warmth of your mouth and throat? My balls bulge and ache with a load so heavy and thick that it feels like they’re being inflated with hot lead.
I need to come. I must come.
You close your eyes and I feel your deep growl along every inch of my augmented monster and you do something, release something, and I am coming so hard, now, pushing a fat gushing flood of cum along the fat inches of cock you’ve given me and I nearly pass out from the intensity of the sensation.
You take it all and want more, so I give it to you, every drop I have. You milk me with your mouth, squeeze me with your throat, massage every bit of warm, salty cream I have to give you and then you pull away and I begin to extract my newly grown monster prick from you and am amazed and thrilled and staggered by what you’ve done.
Your jaw nearly unhinges to allow me from you and I watch in awe and disbelief as inch after inch after inch of the glistening swollen beauty of my enormous cock emerges like a butterfly from its cocoon.
Twelve inches. Fourteen. Sixteen. Eighteen.
Still it comes, its glistening surface lines with fat veins. It’s like a sex muscle, fat as my wrist and long as my arm.
You are reticent to allow me to escape your mouth and you watch my face as my eager bliss and anxious surprise shows. I reach down to grasp myself and I am thick and firm and warm and slick with spit and at last the bulbous head pops free from your lips and my new dick, a two-foot long beast that feels like it weighs fifty pounds, slaps against my leg, the fat helmet dangling past my knees, still drooling a stream of honey from its gaping mouth.
The whole thing throbs and tingles and vibrates with sex. Do I even have enough blood in my body to erect this monument to male power? Can it arch its mighty head upwards, or is its sheer size and weight too much to allow it to swell to its zenith and proclaim its power to the world?
You stand up and lick your lips then lean down and press your mouth against mine, and the kiss reignites my passion and I feel my monster pulse hard and sudden and I feel the familiar sensation of my unquenchable sexual appetite rushing into it and it heats up and swells and begins to rise.
Impossible, I think, but I can feel it. I can feel what you’ve given me, this marvelous and unbelievable sexual tool and I know that it will grow bigger still on its way to its fully erect state.
You release me from my kiss and stroke my cock and then turn your attention to the rest of the bar, smiling your gorgeous smile, hungry for more cum.
You zero in on that one guy, the beautiful man, the man of your desires. I am nearly overcome with the sensation of my new prick continually swelling and lengthening towards erection but I need you to hear my words, now, I need to alter just a few more things.
“You are the cock worshiper. The god of cock. Every man’s prick throbs with need and swells with desire and pulses with sex when you’re near. Your power radiates from you like heat, wrapping its hand around every man’s hungry prick and squeezing and massaging and milking it for its delivery of cum. Because cum is your food, your fuel, the source of your power, and your strength, and your beauty. You stride this world in naked perfection, your own prick the most beautiful of all.”
I watch your clothing disappear and now you stand before me, muscles swollen, skin smooth and flawless, like a god among men. You turn to look at me, breathing hard, and show me your cock.
It is…beyond beautiful. Truly, you are the god of cock.
I swell in sudden and uncontrolled tumescence, my own monster rising in salute to your beauty and perfection, and you lean towards me and kiss the throbbing tip and I swoon and shake and push forth a thick, hot fountain of cream to worship you, and you surround the purple, gleaming head of my yard-long cock and swallow my offering to your beauty and power.
We are all coming, now, in the presence of the god of cock, worshipping you with cum, our pricks swollen and hard and pumping load of cream to honor you, to exalt and to praise and to idolize you, our new god.
You walk to the center of the bar and we are all your flock, in the church of the god of cock, huge and perfect, and you raise your thickly muscled arms overhead and open your mouth and we come and we come and we come.
Is it a skill or a talent? I like to think it’s both. My talent is that I can make cocks grow. My skill is that when I do it, I create massive beautiful works of art that are a dedication to the power and passion of men.
The god of cock, I’m called. You called me that when I was done with you, when I had given you the most magnificent example of my skills so far, that towering and gorgeous edifice branching from your loins, raising its plump and handsome head higher and higher, pumped thick and firm with hot blood and drooling a stream of warm, slick, delicious honey draining down its gleaming neck.
I’ve met men who told me they love cock, but that’s before I show them what loving cock truly means. Some men, I give them a few extra inches and they’re satisfied. I can do that so easily, you see, barely a brush against them with my fingers and they’re lengthening in their shorts and swelling thick and fat. I know that sensation intimately because I feel it too.
Did you realize that when I was growing you? That experience of your prick swelling, that delicious sensual sensation of a hard-on that just keeps growing, throbbing and pulsing and stretching longer and longer and longer, the feeling of masculine power the erupts from your dick when you’re getting hard and rising to show off your beauty and prowess, I feel it, too.
The god of cock. But am I? A god, I mean?
I love being me. I mean I fucking love it. I revel in it. The men I gift worship me and I drink down their delicious offering and grow stronger and stronger. Soon I’ll be able to simply look at a man—just glance at him, and offer a smile—and his cock will leap forward and swell heavy and thick and burst from its cage for the world to see.
I gave you something special. You were standing there, next to me, and something about you was different. I can’t say what it was or why I felt it, but I knew you were different. And you deserved something extra special. Something I knew you would appreciate and welcome and worship. A monument to masculine power and strength.
The cock of all cocks.
Mine, I must admit, is something special, too. I stay constantly hard because that’s how I constantly feel. I am in love with my cock, more than any other cock. Maybe that’s where my talent originates. I have always been blessed with physical beauty, and I am glad for it. But it is my cock that is the true miracle, and all I want is to share my miracle with other men.
I cannot remember a time before I could do what I do. It seems that I have always been able to do this. Was I doing it in high school? Did I approach friends in the showers after gym, my own monster already hard and throbbing, leaking a stream of warm honey down its thick neck, reaching forward towards my friend’s dick and placing my hand upon him, willing him to swell bigger and bigger while I watched him? Did I kiss him as I grew him, feeling his cock filling my hands and stretching longer and longer until he came a fountain of cream that I welcomed inside my mouth?
Did I have a job, once? Did I go to work with my hard-on pulsing and weeping, sending out hot waves of power and resting my hand on my co-worker’s crotch under the table, meeting his gaze as he understood what I was doing to him—for him—feeling his prick tingle and swell to erection, and then keep going, bigger, fatter, longer, shoving down his thigh under his suit and edging towards his knee?
My hands can do so much, but it is only when I invite a man inside that I can do some truly spectacular work.
I suck your dick inside my mouth and your growth instantly accelerates, and I swallow you and urge your growth and feel you enter me and quiver and swell. I look up to watch your face, watch your expression as I continually push more and more and more power, more size, more strength into your dick and feel you inching down my throat, swelling and shaking with need.
Then you come, and your push load after load after load inside me and I swallow it all and it feeds my power, the pure essence of masculine energy, and I take it inside me and it makes me grow stronger, more powerful, more capable, and then I stand up before you, my own cock practically exploding, the whole thing red and gleaming and hard as steel, the mouth of my beast gaping wide and drooling a stream of my delicious, masculine-scented honey.
And you come again, and I grasp you and aim your cock at my mouth and take you inside me.
It has happened so many times, yet I have trouble remembering them. Only this one is burned into my brain, as if you were the first man I had given my gift, and the biggest one I had ever created.
I watched you swelling thicker and higher as I held you. Your face registered shock, at first, and then acceptance, and then desire. More, you told me, I want more. Give me more.
And I could. And I did. So much more. A towering monument to me, and to cock.
And then there they all were, my flock, the men I had grown, now urgently displaying the fruits of my power, opening their trousers and reaching inside and pulling out inch after inch after fat, thick, firm, ripening inch of dick. Cut and uncut. Dark and light skinned. Each one built to its perfect form and swelling longer and thicker before me in worship of me and my own amazing and beautiful cock.
I wish I could make you feel the way that I feel all the time. That pure, perfect, brain-sizzling sensation of pumping an endless fountain of cum up the massive meat that rises in ever-present wonder from my loins. I am coming even when I am not coming, the god of cock experiencing that quicksilver moment of orgasmic explosion forever, and wanting—no, needing to share that with everyone I see, every man I meet.
I stride into the center of my followers, the worshipers of the god of cock, and they stroke themselves and lick themselves and suck themselves, moaning and whimpering and growling in perfect bliss as the colossal cocks I have given them swell and shake and tingle with sexual ecstasy.
I can feel it, too. It magnifies my own power, my own bliss, my own energy, and I close my eyes and raise my mighty, muscular arms and flex them into full bloom and my cock climbs higher and higher, swelling as big as a leg, as hard as steel, the most beautiful and gigantic prick the world will ever know and my balls swell and throb and my load begins its long, long climb to escape my massive monster.
Then I am coming, and you are coming, and they are coming, and we are coming. Pumping thick, hot loads of cum over and over and over, shoving it up the heavy, hard inches I have given you and you point your cock at my naked perfection and I open my mouth and feel your sticky, sweet loads splattering against me and my power swells and my prick grows suddenly massive and shiny and I am blasting my unstoppable load of super cum everywhere.
I am the god of cock.
I am coming for you.
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