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Series: You and I

You and I: The restaurant

By Also Known As

Description Another dual perspective between a man with godlike powers and a man who seeks him out, this time leading to audacious transformations right in the middle of a busy restaurant.

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AddedJuly 2016
Updated20 Jul 2016
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Part 1

My heart was pounding when I entered the restaurant. I had specified a public place to meet with you, and you had suggested this venue. You had agreed so ready that at first I wondered whether this was a place you frequented—a place that was used to your presence and your reported….

What should I call what you do? Assuming that everything they say about you is true, of course. It seems impossible, but a lot of things seem impossible until you witness them firsthand.

I walked in a few minutes early, hoping to witness your entrance and your effect on others. I wondered if half of what I had heard was true, and I hoped to be able to record it. I told the maitre’d that I had a reservation under your name, and he looked at me and smiled—not in an unusual way—and took up two menus before showing me to a booth. It was lunchtime and we were meeting downtown, the place was packed with dark-suited business types or start-up dudes in gingham shirts and beards. No one paid any particular attention to me and I sat down to await your arrival.

My heart was already beating fast. Certainly I was excited, how could I not be? You were becoming something of a legend, though actual reports of you were hard to pin down. Someone might see you from a distance, and they knew it could be no other except you because of your…unique manner of dress.

Or undress, to be more accurate.

Odd, I thought, how that could be. But perhaps it had something to do with what you told me you were capable of.

The impossible.

There was a stir near the entrance and people parted like the Red Sea before the hand of God. I could see you easily, because of your stature. Funny, I thought, I expected you to be even bigger! The reports from some who had met you were staggering, particularly concerning your size and dimensions.

Then again, there was some confusion about that, with those reports varying wildly from the unusual to the superhuman.

You were head and shoulders above everyone else, and of course you were also naked.

For some reason I found myself avoiding your face. I had been told to expect to have a very strong—even unavoidable—reaction to it. “His body is remarkable. Certainly beautiful, and probably more beautiful than anyone, man or woman, that I have ever seen. But it’s his face….” And then this look of, I dunno, worship? Adoration? Lust? Would come over the speaker.

You moved through the crowd and people were touching you. You would speak to some of them—I could…sense your voice rather than hear it. I had been warned about that too. “When he speaks, there’s something…magical about his voice. Something irresistible. You want to hear him speak. You crave to hear him.”

Everyone turned to look at you and it seemed like some sort of wild, uncontrolled orgy would break out at any moment. Just your presence in the restaurant had raised the erotic temperature and I was feeling it, too, even from the other side of the room. Then, just as quickly, that sensation eased or dissipated, like a fog, and people still remained interested in you but no more so than if any celebrity was walking among them.

Then you were at the table, standing before me. I tried but could not avoid staring at your cock.

I think my mouth fell open. It was…magnificent. That is not a word I would generally apply to another man’s equipment, but no more apt description seemed appropriate. It was amazing. It was colossal. It was stupendous. But more than anything else…it was enormous.

A thick, heavy, proud, formidable cock that jutted forward over a pair of perfectly formed, absolutely identical, completely beautiful balls swelling fat inside your scrotum.

My vision of your equipment was suddenly interrupted by a hand—your hand. Your perfect, large, manly, powerful hand as you held it towards me and spoke.

The words did not immediately register to me, but whatever you had said seemed to ring a bell inside me that resonated like a tongue on my dick and I felt myself growing extremely aroused and very hard all at once. Perhaps you recognized this effect you were having and you said, softly, “Pardon me,” and then the sensation of pure sex lessened, but did not disappear, and your hand was on my shoulder and I looked up.

Then I came. My dick inflated and I came. There was no decision that I played in it. I looked at your face and I came.

You smiled and I came again, and then I watched your lips—your supple, beautiful, kissable lips—say “Sorry about that.”

I think I tried saying something, and then you said, “Thank you for showing up naked. I enjoy looking at beautiful naked bodies like yours.”

I remembered that I decided that I wouldn’t wear clothes to greet you. Was it something you had suggested? I couldn’t quite recall, but I was suddenly somewhat abashed that I had just launched a volley of cum at the underside of the table. “You’re welcome,” I told you.

“You have a remarkable body,” you observed kindly adding, “and so powerfully built.” I felt your beautiful eyes moving over my torso. I stood up so you could see all of me. “You’re proud of being so muscular and well-developed, I’m sure.”

I was, and I said so. I could not possibly compare to your masterful level of muscular size and beauty, but I had worked hard to look like I did. “Will you make a muscle for me?” you asked.

“You want me to…?”

You nodded and showed me what you meant, illustrating your request by lifting your own arm and pushing your biceps and triceps to full glory. I felt my dick throb at the sight of so much beautiful power. I felt humbled and even slightly shamed that I could never compare to your glorious size and power, but I nonetheless lifted my own arms and flexed as hard as I could.

“Impressive,” you remarked. “Are those twenty-inch arms?” you asked. I looked from one to the other and beamed. Twenty-inch arms! “No,” you amended, “more like twenty-four.”

They were! They were each twenty-four inches around exactly. I admired your discerning eye. “Yes,” I answered.

“Your entire upper body is quite remarkable. Even though your arms are so large, so strong, your shoulders and chest match the size perfectly. And your lats spread like wings!” You narrowed your gaze, adding, “ordinarily an upper body of such proportions would make a man look odd, but it’s a good thing you’re so tall—six-ten?” I didn’t think that was true, but…. “Six-eleven?” Yes, that was it. Nearly seven feet tall, and naked as the day I was born.

I lowered my arms, letting them hang from my sides. They had to hang out from my body because my lats were so wide. I could hardly see beyond my chest to the rest of my body. It was something else I was proud of, and your notice made me swell. I puffed up my chest to show you how large I was.

“You’re highly aroused,” you observed.

“Yes,” I answered. Because I was.

“It shows,” you agreed, smiling as you cast your gaze downward. “I love that about men, how we cannot hide our desire, how our sex is on display so obviously. How many inches?”

“Inches?” My waist? My chest?

“How big is your cock?” You reached forward to touch me. I was hard as stone, and your hand surrounded me. “It feels as thick as your wrist.” I surrounded my wrist with my other hand and realized it was true, though I had never made that comparison before. My cock was absurdly thick. “And it must be…fourteen? No, fifteen inches in length.”

“When it’s hard,” I said, nodding.

“And when it’s not?”

I thought about it. “It’s always fifteen inches long,” I said. It was one of the reasons I enjoyed being naked for him now. It was difficult managing my cock into pants, let alone underwear.

“That must be why you are always naked,” you said to me, echoing my thoughts. “You are always naked.”

Always naked. Yes. “Yes,” I agreed.

“I admire that,” you told me. “I don’t suppose anyone ever objects, given how handsome, how muscular you are.” That was true, too. I was always naked, and no one ever said anything about it. You removed your strong grip from my wrist-thick cock and moved to sit beside me in the booth. I sat back down, taking my napkin to clean up the wealth of come I had erupted upon sight of your face.

You set your larger hand on my own and said, “I wouldn’t worry about that. Something tells me there’s more where that came from.” I felt my balls throb and tingle. They seemed to swell eagerly at your words, as if responding to some order. “Now then,” you said, turning towards me, “what did you want to talk about?”

I thought about what you asked as I looked at your impossibly beautiful face. Your eyes were kind, but also fiery with lust. Your lips were begging a kiss, soft and warm and full. Your neck was thick with power, stretching out to shoulders so wide that I had to turn my head on my own neck to see from one end of you to the other. You were head and shoulders above me, even sitting, and I was in awe and strongly, nearly irresistibly attracted to you. “About…”

You smiled and I came. You had been correct. I felt a hot, wet splatter on my thickly muscled, naked chest as my dick swelled and my balls pumped out a fat fountain. You dipped your fingers to the suddenly physical manifestation of my lust for you, gathering a thick gobbet of my cream onto your fingers before moving them towards your lips and pushing it inside your mouth.

I came again as I heard you moan. It was a feral sound, animalistic and needful. I closed my eyes and sighed and came again, splattering a fat load on my neck and chin. Your mouth—your warm lips and tongue—lapped at my neck and slurped my cum inside.

“You said you’re a writer.” Your warm breath on my skin.

I opened my eyes, trying to focus my attention on speech rather than pleasure. Just being near you was keeping me at the edge of exploding. “Freelance journalist,” I said.

“And you wanted to interview me.”

“Yes,” I verified.

“Why me?”

I had already written the introduction to the article I intended to write, so I repeated it to you from memory. “You are the epitome of male beauty—human masculine perfection in physical form. No other man on the planet is as handsome, as strong, as powerful, as unique as you are. Your pure masculine beauty is unmatched, as is your muscular development and perfection of physique. Reports of your sexual escapades, erotic talents, and carnal abilities approach unimaginable extents. You define masculine perfection in every aspect of your being, from your voice to your face to your body. It’s said you can make someone experience a powerful orgasm with nothing more than a look. The world allows you—demands, in fact—to remain totally naked so that we’re permitted the gift of looking upon the unyielding and total perfection of every unbelievable inch of your physical presence.”

You shrugged, as if this was commonplace. “I’ve been lucky,” you admitted.

“Is it all true?”

“More than you know. And do you know how this is all possible? How I became the man I am? The man here with you in this place?” I shook my head, speechless, enamored and enthralled by the tone of your voice, the deep masculine power in every utterance, the way your supple lips moved, the play of your long, wet tongue and my imagination running wild in carnal directions about your lips and tongue on my body.

“I am able to alter reality. I only need utter what I want, and it becomes real. It’s a talent I discovered purely by accident, and one I can’t explain, other than to say that it is true, undoubtedly so, and there appears to be no limits to what I can do.” You paused as I absorbed all of this, about to ask for further details, when you placed your finger on my lips and added, “Only no one in the world but me knows that.”

“Knows what?”

You smiled and I nearly came. My dick swelled and throbbed and jerked with a spasm of pure happiness. “I suppose you’re a better judge of that description than I am, but I can confirm that I never wear clothes—but then neither do you—and my sexual appetites and experiences may extend well beyond what most others may be capable of, and, yes, admittedly there have been times when someone else has experienced…let’s say a rather dramatic reaction to my glance.” Your eyes zeroed in on mine.

I gasped and groaned and sighed and came again. Hard and thick and powerfully. I shot a rope of cream above us in the booth and it struck the wall behind us with a resounding splatter. Something about you when you looked at me. My breath was ragged and I was having a difficult time concentrating on anything beyond the godlike pulses of pure sexual pleasure that were engulfing me.

You parted your lips and I hoped for a kiss, but you said, “Let’s talk about you.”

“Me?”

“Yes,” you said, licking my cream from your lips. You leaned closer to me. I could smell you. I could smell your masculine essence. You smelled like a locker room. You smelled like a football field. You smelled like leather and sweat and muscle and ass. “You’re a very handsome man,” you remarked, and then you leaned towards me and set you wet tongue to my skin and sucked my cream from my neck. I felt myself grow hot under your scrutiny, but hot from lust as well. I ached to lean towards you and press my lips to yours. I ached to taste myself inside your mouth. I could feel my cock pulse and my balls tighten and I knew I was close to another eruption.

You looked down, noting the hard, gleaming redness of my prick. “Are you going to come, again?”

“I think so,” I answered.

“You’re going to come inside my mouth,” you told me.

“Yes,” I agreed. Nothing would have pleased me more.

“And when you come inside my mouth,” you said, leaning your brutally beautiful face towards my throbbing meat, “you’re going to come harder and thicker and with more pleasure and satisfaction than you have ever experienced in your entire life.”

“Yes,” I agreed. Of course I am.

You opened your mouth and I could feel the warm, wet heat of your breath against me. I sucked in a long breath and sighed and closed my eyes. I could feel your soft lips against the tip of my prick. You were kissing me, there in the restaurant. Your large hand grasped my wrist-thick cock and your tongue bathed the head with slick wetness that drained down my fifteen inches like warm honey.

You teased and caressed me, you worshiped me, as I longed to worship you. Then I felt your mouth envelope me entirely and my balls seized up and my toes curled and my hands balled into fists and every muscle on my carefully developed body flexed into tight power and I exploded inside your mouth.

I clenched my jaw shut hard to stifle the scream of absolute bliss that built inside me and wanted release. I squeezed tears from my eyes against the utter joy of the sudden and complete orgasmic satisfaction that originated from my hard meat and resonated through every cell of my body as I shot a fat, thick, hot load of cream inside your mouth.

I heard—and felt—you groan with pleasure as you swallowed the sudden thick jets of cream I was somehow unleashing, harder and thicker than I had ever experienced in my entire life.

It felt like an explosion. It felt as if, had your mouth not been there to swallow my load, I would’ve shot so hard out of my cannon that I’d have blasted clean through the roof of the restaurant. It felt as if my soul was leaving my body through my cock. The intoxicating level of sexual bliss was nearly overwhelming.

I pumped into your mouth over and over and felt the burden of my balls empty inside you as you moaned in satisfaction and your throat swelled with every fat fountain I came.

How long did it go on? How much cream had I managed to produce? Did I black out? Did this happen with every man you met?

I opened my eyes only when I felt your mouth on mine, and your tongue pressing against my lips, and I opened my mouth and you slid your warm, wet, pliable tongue inside and bathed my senses with the taste of my own cream, as if I had magically managed to suck on my own cock and fulfilled a fantasy I never knew I had.

When you pulled away, I said as much, savoring the flavor that filled my mouth, saying how I wished I could taste it like that. “But you can,” you told me. “You’ve always been able to pull the length of your fat cock inside your own mouth and deliver the same level of sexual bliss, the same explosive wealth of hot, delicious cream down your own throat.”

I remembered doing so only that morning. How I had practiced to allow my body to bend in on itself and the curve of my huge prick was exactly perfect to slide into my mouth and down my throat and I would suck my own prick and come over and over, feeling a sense of warm satisfaction that nothing else could deliver.

My dick was still hard and now I felt the cooling air on its spit-slick surface and you stroked me with loving tenderness. “Your cock is incredible,” you said. I looked at it with unbridled joy and happiness, enraptured by my wonderful cock. “You can come like that whenever you want to,” you said, “and you can become hard when you wish it, or stay limp and allow your fat prick to dangle like a promise over those magic balls that are always filled with delicious fat loads of warm creamy come.”

I looked at my beautiful fat prick as you slowly stroked my thick inches and felt pride and vanity. I loved my cock. I loved what it could do—what I could do.

You bent your soft lips to the mouth of my prick and kissed me with gentle devotion. “But whenever we are together,” you said softly, “your level of sexual gratification—your utter orgasmic bliss—is compounded ten-fold.”

I realized it was true. With others, I would always feel fully satisfied. Even when I used my own mouth on my marvelous and majestic cock, when I came it was like the stars exploding. But when I am with you—and only you—nothing else compares.

You looked at me as you leaned back in the booth, spreading your arms along the back and relaxing into the soft leather. “What would you care to do with me, now?”

“Everything,” I said.

You smiled. My cock plumped and a thick drool of cream ran down its sides. “Everything is a lot. Let’s see if we can’t focus on something we’d both enjoy.” You reached over to stroke me. I watched your hand move up and down my towering erection and I pumped another thick wealth of cream to help lube your grip. You squeezed me hard in your vice-like grip with approval. It was pain and pleasure in equal doses. “How do you feel about these other people here?”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re acting as if this is all normal. That two naked, well-muscled, thick-dicked men always wander into this place and sit in this booth and pleasure each other. We’re having a very public sexual encounter and yet no one here is bothered in the slightest. Would you like it to be shocking to them? Do you want someone to object? Would that excite you?”

I thought about what you said. No, I thought, I loved this. I loved the fact that naked men wandered freely, and engaged each other openly, and could expose their marvelous, beautiful bodies and cocks so wantonly. “I want others to do it too,” I said.

“Others? Anyone in particular?”

I looked beyond the fat shank of sex you were engaged in stroking, sending continuous throbs of hot sex into my massively muscled frame, and I pointed towards a waiter I had noticed when I had entered earlier, wandering in from the street in my unashamed nakedness, my fifteen-inch prick hanging like another limb over my pumping balls. “Him,” I said, and then I pointed towards a pair of business men in suits, talking quietly to each other with their phones in their hands. “And them.”

You stroked and squeezed me, teasing another fat delivery of cum from my balls. I moaned in utter bliss. “The waiter is quite handsome,” you remarked. I looked at him again and was struck by his features. He was amazingly beautiful! “He is not as tall as you or me, but he has a well-developed body and a fat prick. You can see it bulge in his pants,” you said. I looked down at the young man’s full basket. It looked like he had stuffed a salami in his pants along with two tennis balls. “I like that they wear leather pants here,” you said. “I like that they’re so tight, so expertly fitted, that nothing about a man’s anatomy is left to the imagination.”

I could see the heavy outline of the waiter’s massive meat pressing along his thigh. I could even discern the flared edge of the head of his cock, as well as two swelling round balls split at the center of his groin. When he turned to pour water into someone’s glass, the bulbous beauty of each mound of his bubble butt seemed to jump out like beach balls.

I heard your voice again, like a tongue in my ear, like the growl of a lion. “I’m not sure that shirtless waiters are quite as sanitary as they might be, but it would be a shame to hide his thickly muscled torso—that handsome chest and those six-pack abs, so well-defined and expertly honed—under a shirt, no matter how tightly it fit.”

I had to agree. The waiter’s torso, while nowhere near as thick and heavy as my own, was nonetheless quite beautiful. He looked like an Olympic-Level gymnast, with smoothly developed lobes of hard power everywhere. “He reminds me of a Tom of Finland illustration,” I remarked.

“Yes,” you agreed. “As a matter of fact he does. It’s almost comical how perfectly that description fits him.”

I remembered the picture that matched his features, and as you said it, I did laugh slightly because he was an almost exact match, even down to the absurdly over-sized nipples and the oddly out-of-date hair style. He even had a “porn ‘stache” on his upper lip, but the overall effect was both highly erotic and deeply sexual. “I bet he can fuck like a stallion,” I remarked.

“I bet he can,” you agreed. At that moment, the waiter turned towards us and leered in our direction with a lasciviousness that made me cum again. He reached down with his free hand and moved it along the thick shank of cock forced along his thigh, winking at us both. He even shoved his hips forward, mimicking the action that I had just spoken.

“What about our other friends?” you asked. I looked at the businessmen with their phones out. They did not appear particularly remarkable. I was even about to comment on it when you said, “Don’t you think the blonde one on the left is beautiful? Do you like long hair on a man? I think it’s quite becoming on him.”

It did frame his face rather well, And now that I looked again, he was a beautiful man. “How old do you think he is?” I asked.

“Twenty two,” you said. “Young and hung and full of cum.” I watched the man on the left as he adjusted in his seat, seemingly uncomfortable for some reason. “And his companion, the red-head. Don’t you think that full beard is handsome? And I wonder how he managed to find a suit to fit such a broad and muscular frame. It looks almost as if his thick and furry chest is stretching the buttons of his shirt to their limit.”

The red-headed man’s shirt was, indeed, nearly ripping itself apart just to try to contain the obviously massive pecs mounted on his chest. His shoulders were very wide as well. “Why would he buy his shirts so small?” I wondered aloud.

“Particularly when you and I are nude,” you observed. I looked at you and you leaned over to kiss my mouth again. I came a fat fountain that shot some distance above us and splattered on our naked flesh. “What do you think will happen next?” you asked.

I looked again at the shirtless gymnast waiter in his painted-on leather pants with the massive length of thick cock along his thigh. “The waiter looks so uncomfortable in those pants,” I said.

“Perhaps our blonde friend can offer some relief,” you offered.

I watched the blonde man turn and summon the beautiful waiter over to their table. I could not hear what they said, but the waiter smiled brightly and set his water carafe on the table. “What do you…?” My unfinished question was answered when the waiter thrust his over-burdened groin forward and I watched the blonde man begin to undo the waiter’s pants, unlatching his belt and unzipping the tight leather until the man’s thick prick practically sprang forward, relieved at last to be uncaged. “My god,” I said, marveling at its size and beauty.

“Yes,” you agreed, “he owns quite a prodigious tool. How big is it, do you think? Is it as big as yours?” You squeezed and stroked me, and I throbbed and swelled under your attentions.

“Bigger,” I whispered.

“Really,” you asked. “How big?”

“Seven…eighteen inches.”

“The waiter owns an eighteen-inch cock?” You seemed to laugh but it was undoubtedly true. We both watched the blonde welcoming the waiter’s ungodly and impossibly huge prick into both of his hands, looking at it with lust and hunger. “It seems impractical,” you observed, “to own a cock so large.”

It stretched forward from the man’s body like a sausage, the head a swollen plum. “I’ve never seen one so big,” I agreed.

“Even mine?”

I looked at you and shook my head. “No other man’s prick is as large or as beautiful as yours,” I admitted.

“That’s true,” you agreed, though I heard no boastfulness in your voice. It was simply a fact. No one else in the world had a cock so huge and beautiful and perfect as yours. I was going to look down at it, lying in your lap, to marvel at is size and beauty when you called my attention back to the waiter and his attentive friend. “What will the blonde man do next?” you asked.

“Kiss it,” I said. Almost in response to my spoken instructions, the blonde leaned forward and pressed his lips reverently to the massive shank. “He’ll kiss its entire length, starting at the top and working his way to the waiter’s groin.”

“He will,” you agreed.

He did so, just as I had predicted, The waiter bent his head back and opened his beautiful mouth as if this simple action felt as good as a blow-job, that finally allowing his monster free to be worshipped so openly was causing him great sexual pleasure. “He loves it,” you observed. “He loves when someone else allows him to show off the massive cock in his pants. He has to hide it so often that when he’s finally allowed to release the beast, it’s like sex to him.”

I watched the waiter experience something like an orgasm as the blonde man kissed his cock. I came in unison, pumping another fat fountain from my own thick prick that bathed it in wet warmth as you continued to stroke me. “But he’s not coming,” I said.

“Not like you,” you said. I came again. Your voice seemed to draw it from my balls. I pumped a fat fountain that shot upwards and splattered on my thick chest like hot rain. “No, when this happens, when another man is worshiping his amazing cock, he experiences a level of orgasmic pleasure that feels like he’s coming, but he can contain his load.”

“Is that possible?” I asked aloud.

“Anything is possible,” you answered.

I looked at your impossibly beautiful face, realizing that was true. “Does it hurt?” I asked.

“Not at all,” you said, looking back at the two of them in the center of the busy restaurant. “It feels exactly like he’s coming, but he’s not.”

“When does he come?” I asked, marveling at this unusual talent.

“Only when he wants to,” you said. “Like you.”

I wanted to come as you said it, so I did. I pushed up a thick flood that poured from the mouth of my fat dick like honey and drained down the sides where you continued to stroke and pleasure me. “The redhead looks unhappy.”

“That’s because he’s a bit jealous of his companion. What do you think would make him happy?”

I licked my lips and said the first thing that came to my mind. I felt free to express my fantasies with you, to tell you what I wished could happen, no matter how silly or impossible it seemed. “To grow,” I said.

“Taller?”

I nodded my head. “Bigger. Stronger. Like…like the Incredible Hulk.”

“Is he the Incredible Hulk?”

“No. But…but he can grow when he wants to. That’s why his shirt is so tight. He…he’s in love with the blonde man, but he hasn’t told him. He…when he got dressed to come here, he looked in the mirror and decided he wanted to impress his friend, to make his friend want him.” I came again, pleased with my description and eager to watch it.

You gripped me hard as my come coated your hand. “So he grew?”

I nodded. “He grew muscle. He grew bigger.”

“And now…?”

“He can’t help himself. He wants the man’s attention back. So he’s going to grow again.”

You leaned towards me, to watch him alongside me. You whispered, “How big can he grow?”

“Huge,” I said softly, excited by the prospect. I watched the red head slowly stand. Already the seams along the sides of his suit were splitting. Buttons popped off his shirt like bullets, flying across the restaurant.

“Describe it to me,” you said. “Describe to me what happens between those three men in this restaurant here today. Your words will make it happen.”

I felt something odd come over me. I felt suddenly powerful, or empowered. I felt…magical.

Part 2

I took a chance on you. Who could blame me? Your imagination was so strong, so…vivid. Perhaps being a writer helps. You were so excited by what was happening around you! You never showed the slightest hesitation or fear, at least not to me.

I’m not clairvoyant, you understand. No one can predict the future, for the simple reason that it hasn’t happened yet. Even I can’t predict the future, I can only alter it, change it….

Improve it.

I could practically smell your excitement when I entered the room. Of course, all eyes turned to me. I was unavoidable. Once you look at me, you can only stare, unable to fully comprehend what you’re seeing. Even as you stare, your eyes opening wider to let all of me in, every inch of this body, every facet of this beauty, you are unable to fully believe that I am real.

But I am. I am real. Everything is real.

As I sat next to you stroking that mammoth ever-spurting prick you had chosen for yourself, with its impossible girth and unwieldy length, I understood that you did not want things to remain “normal.” You wanted more, so much more.

I knew that desire, of course. I lived it daily.

When I pushed my mouth over your fountain of cream and swallowed your sticky, rich flow, I knew you would be as unsatisfied as I was with the world, and would be eager to change it—and yourself.

That’s all I needed, really. Belief is halfway to reality. It just takes a slight nudge and there we are, together, you and I, in the world which we create.

You took my nudity in stride and welcomed it into your world with equal facility. Some balk at it, find it odd or uncomfortable, but you didn’t. Not for a moment. And then you added that second notion, of a monster cock you could make come on command, and I wondered how far things would go today.

I had to define a few things to allow your imagination to kick into gear, to allow you to begin to believe your own words. The hair color of the gentlemen. The leather pants. But you were soon off and running, suggesting Tom of Finland and The Hulk as jumping off points. Nothing wrong with that. Something familiar before moving into terra incognita, allowing your own ideas to bloom. A few commonalities to get the juices flowing, so to speak.

And by god, did your juices flow! They exploded from you, let’s be honest.

I felt your huge new muscular body shudder with every orgasmic release you allowed yourself. You became insatiable, sinking into the realization that you could now sit there in public and pump gallons of come up the thick inches of your new cock and wallow in its power. No more sitting alone in your room with your dick in your hand and stroking until your body tired of it, now you owned a massive cock that would fountain a sticky load anytime and anywhere, displaying your overwhelming sexual power because you were pleased.

I realized that now you would stride the world in your naked glory, that absurdly thick fifteen-inch prick at the ready to plump to erect attention and start exploding cream because you wanted it to. You could dip your mouth to its flowing fount and drink deeply of the salty spunk your overflowing balls would pump down your throat because you wanted it, you needed it, you loved it.

We sat beside each other there, you in your new form, me stroking your dick, two naked muscular behemoths engulfed in our desires, and I told you, “Describe to me what happens between those three men in this restaurant here today. Your words will make it true.”

A few limitations, yes. Those three men, and no others. In this restaurant, and no further. Today, in this moment, as I watched in case you truly went too far. I had misused a simple word before, ‘now,’ and had learned a lesson from it. Now was forever. It was always now. And now I was the most beautiful, the most powerful, the sexiest man in the world.

There is such a thing as going too far, believe it or not. I know, because I have been there. Luckily for you, I was able to bring us all back from that madness to where we are. Reality can be a tricky bitch sometimes.

I hung my right arm across your broad, muscular shoulders and with my left hand, I continued to stroke your monster, the contact of my skin against your sending vital, unyielding, powerful sexual pulses into your body as your balls continued to manufacture the warm, wet cream that you would pump and fountain at irregular intervals. It coated our skin like paint, and puddled beneath you and drained to the floor. The smell of sex permeated the space, now, rank and delicious.

We looked at the tableau we had conceived together; the shirtless hunk in tight leather pants with his foot-and-a-half long prick extended before him like a dousing rod, the beautiful blonde reverently worshiping that monstrous phallus with strokes and kisses that were making the waiter experience an orgasm of immense size, and his musclebound red-headed companion who was growing both jealous and more muscular, as if one was feeding the other.

And then I handed you the keys, and let you drive for a while.

“He…”

“Be specific,” I told you. “It’s important. Which ‘he’?”

“The redhead, he stands up and he’s already starting to grow.”

“Grow how? Be specific.”

“It starts with his muscles. It always starts there. He…he couldn’t control it when it started happening to him. But now he can.”

“Good,” I said, squeezing your dick. You pumped up a fat fountain and I leaned over to capture it in my mouth. You taste so good. You shuddered and moaned as my face appeared before you and you came again. A nice reward for me. I appreciate it.

“He…the redhead, he can tell it’s starting so he closes his eyes to channel it.”

“What does that mean?”

“He’ll grow too fast—too powerful—if he doesn’t control the growth.”

“Good,” I praised. Limits are necessary. Things get out of hand too quickly, otherwise. “It starts with his muscles,” I prompted.

You nodded. “They begin to swell, both with size and power. He is even stronger than he looks, because the muscles, they’re super strong.” I looked at the man in question. He was standing with his feet wide, his arms held out, his hands balled into fists. He was breathing hard, his eyes closed. I could see his chest pushing against the shirt, and suddenly the buttons were flying off like bullets, torn free and firing across the room. “His chest is growing, and his arms and his legs. Every muscle is growing.”

The seams of his suit were beginning to rend. The material was trying to hold together while the threads that held the pieces together ripped open. “Does he grow taller, too?” I asked.

“Yes,” you said, and then he was. I could see his neck swell with power as his head began to rise. The hem of his shirt was being pulled out of his pants and the sleeves of his jacket looked like sausage casing filled with too much meat.

“He’s furry,” I said, because I wanted him to be.

“Yes,” you agreed. Now that his chest was pushing forward from his open shirt, we could see a thick carpet of that same copper hair in thick curls across the growing expanse. “Now that he has control, he opens his eyes,” which he did, “and he looks at his lover and the handsome waiter.”

“Is he angry? Is he sad?”

“He’s turned on. He’s massively turned on.” There was a sudden prominent bulge in his pants, pushing hard against his zipper. “The bigger he grows, the more turned on he becomes.”

“Describe his size for me. How big are his arms? How tall will he become? How much will he weigh?”

“His…he has…his arms are only twenty inches now, but they can swell to thirty.” I tried to hide my surprise and pleasure. Such imagination! “He can grow as tall as eight feet, if he wants to.”

“If he wants to? Do you want him to?” I asked as he stretched his arms out to his sides and another resounding rip sounded as his jacket split and his massive arms began to emerge.

“Yes.”

The redhead bent his arms and his face took on a look of intense concentration (which, may I add, increased his handsome visage rather perceptively). A smile came to his lips which increased into a toothy grin as he pumped increasing power into his arms, inflating them with muscle. The material of his jacket and shirt ripped itself apart under the sheer strength of his increasingly powerful muscular onslaught and he was then standing there at the edge of the table with the cuffs of his shirt clinging to his wrists, but the remainder of his swelling upper body now as naked as the waiter’s.

It was now clearly evident that he was swelling with power and growing in stature and width by the second. The muscular development crawled across his body beneath his furry skin like thick bands, pushing outward from the deep indent between his pecs and blooming across his shoulders and around his arms in ever increasing size. He was coated in a dense forest of copper curls and his skin began to gleam with sweat as he strained to contain his power.

“So beautiful,” I said, almost without thinking, but my words still possessed their usual capability and I watched him change again before my eyes, increasing in magnificence.

“He has control,” you said, gifting the growing man with jurisdiction over his own body. “And his cock….”

Here it comes, I thought. You had already given yourself a 15-inch, constantly spurting monster and the beautiful waiter owned eighteen inches. How large would our redheaded friend get? “His cock?” I repeated, amused and interested to hear your desire.

“Even bigger than the waiter’s,” you predicted.

“Bigger than eighteen inches?”

“Much bigger.”

The bulge in the growing man’s pants suddenly lurched with prominence and a thick length of meat shifted and began crawling down his leg beneath his tightening suit. Its expanse continued to swell and I realized that we needed some more specifics here or it threatened to become uncontrollable. “Twenty inches?” I asked.

“Twenty…,” we watched that bulge swell even larger, and then you corrected yourself, “Twenty-four. Two feet of massively thick uncut cock,” you said. The beautiful bearded redhead was still smiling as he felt his equipment surge with impossible size, pushing urgently towards his knee and making that pant leg rip itself open. He reached down and ripped the pants from his legs entirely, revealing his still-swelling mind-blowing monster with pride and arrogance. This seemed to please him, because his massive prick began now to visibly throb and rise.

As we had already agreed that no other man on the planet had a dick larger than my own, I suddenly felt mine swell and extend beneath the table, its weight and burden compounded by its new size, probably now exactly 24 inches and one millimeter in length. Already attuned to be super-sensitive and always ready to go, I felt its hunger and need sizzle in like growth, the luscious burden of its gargantuan size like a perfect, welcome burden of unlimited sex. “Are you sure it’s that big?” I asked, a bit concerned. I moved my cum-coated hand from your massive erection and placed it gingerly upon the fat shank of sex I now owned, thrilled at the rush of intense sexuality it delivered. There were often unforeseen ramifications when one tampers, but rarely did they impact my own carefully crafted perfection.

But you nodded and whispered, “Yes.” No matter, I could fix this later, glad that I had the foresight to set limits to your imagination’s reach. I summoned my perfect self-control over this mighty and magnificent appendage and resumed slowly stroking your drooling prick.

“Keep going,” I urged, interested to see how this would play out. “What about the blonde man, his companion?” You shifted your gaze away from the continuously swelling, nearly naked, hugely-hung man to his seated companion, still reverent in his worship of the waiter’s immense manhood. “What’s special about him?”

You looked at the blonde-haired man who now appeared almost petite between the massive 18-inch cock he was worshiping and the swelling mass of muscle and an even larger cock behind him. “He….”

You seemed hesitant to speak your thoughts. Were you scared, or ashamed? There was no need for either with me, so I prompted you. “Go ahead,” I said, squeezing your hard-on so the helmet turned shiny and red, “speak your fantasy. Put it into words. Tell me what it is about him. Why is he with the redhead, and why does he worship the waiter’s prick so intently?”

“He’s my twin.”

“Your brother?” You hesitated again. “Your clone?” Your mouth twisted up as you considered your answer. “Tell me,” I prompted.

“My twin. He’s me, and I’m him.”

“You exist in….”

“Two places at the same time. There are two of me.”

“There are,” I confirmed, and watched him change from one moment to the next. Indeed, he now looked to be your exact double, because he was you, also. “I wondered about that when I came in,” I said. “I wondered what that was like, to exist as two people, two beautiful men, sharing the same handsome face, the same powerful muscular body, the same tall frame, the same majestic and beautiful cock. And I see you both enjoy public nudity with equal relish.” Your other self was stripped naked and glorious before us, showing me what you looked like from a distance, your doubled glorious perfection on display for everyone to see.

“We share everything,” you said. “I can…I can feel that man’s cock in my mouth. I can feel it sliding in and out, rubbing its rubbery head against the back of my throat. I can feel its heat and hardness, every vein and ridge. The taste of him.”

“And vice versa?” I asked, stroking your dick with more gleeful force and pulling a fresh delivery of your endless cream over my grip.

“Of…of course,” you managed to say, and I looked over to watch your twin’s eighteen-inch prick pump out a fat rope of cum in response to my manhandling of your cock.

“Do you make love to him?”

“Yes.”

“And when that happens?”

“All our sensations are doubled. I can feel him inside me and I can feel me inside me. He feels my bliss and I feel his.”

Clearly, this was some secret fantasy you had been considering for some time. Perhaps there were even stories about this sitting on your computer at home, but with me there was no more need for fantasy. Your twin lover, naked and perfect, was now standing before you and you were watching him deliver an expert blow-job to an 18-inch prick with ease and efficiency. “And the red-headed man?”

“My…our lover. The jealous kind.”

The hulking brute now looked over at us together, and his body seemed to swell out with intense power. His heavy brow darkened and his eyes flashed. He was gripping his huge hands into fists, making think veins bulge on his ham-sized forearms. “Jealous of us?”

“Jealous that he is not with us.”

I smiled. How perfect! “He can be with us, if you want him to be.”

“No,” you said, “he wanted to be there, with my other me, and the waiter. He wants to fuck the waiter.”

“With his two-foot-long cock?”

You nodded and came. A fat gusher of pure open perfect bliss as your beautiful sexual fantasies bloomed into reality before your eyes. We watched the red-headed, brutally beautiful monster of muscled power stride toward the waiter and wrap an arm around him. He towered over the smaller man and pressed his hard body against him and his towering prick looked frightening next to the object of his lust. “Is it possible?” I asked aloud. Even I was surprised that this was what you imagined.

“Yes,” you said, making it possible. “The waiter is capable of pleasing any man, regardless of his size or desire. It’s his special talent. He is the perfect lover.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, hungry both to see your imagination realized and to hear your description of what that meant to you.

“He knows instinctively what you want. He can fulfill any carnal wish you have, any desire for sexual pleasure using his body or yours.”

“He can,” I agreed, wanting to make this a permanent change.

“He can accommodate my lover’s prodigious tool—or yours,” you added, somewhat generously I thought, “and make him explode with a brain-bending orgasm as his two-foot tool builds up to its inevitable and overwhelming crescendo, pumping thick, warm, sticky ropes of cum as he howls and growls and groans in utter bliss.”

A heavy flow of pre-cum was now emitting from the bearded red-head’s cock. I could smell his sex from our booth, and you came again as if in response—and so did your twin. “Does he enjoy it, too?”

“God, yes. There is nothing he would rather do than please another. His hands are magical.”

“Be careful,” I advised. I knew you meant it in general terms, but with the power I had granted you that simple remark could lead almost anywhere. “You mean that….”

“I mean that when he places his hands on you, your skin tingles with warm bliss. When he strokes your flesh, it is as if he strokes your dick. His tongue against you is warm and wet and when he pushed it inside your mouth, it has some strange and wonderful capability to make you cum as if he is lapping at your ass.”

“And he does that too, no doubt.”

“Of course, and there is no one on earth better at making you feel completely sexually satisfied.”

“Except me,” I added, unwilling to give in.

“Except you,” you agreed. “Because there is no one on the planet more wonderful and perfect than you.”

“And that’s a fact,” I said.

I turned my attention back to the trio and watched your lover rip the leather pants from the waiter’s magically accommodating ass and push his two-foot monster’s drooling mouth towards the world’s second greatest lover’s backdoor. Holy fuck, it looked as long as the other man’s entire torso! I had not imagined anything of this sort before, but watching your imagination blossom before us was starting to make my own gargantuan manhood swell and throb. I could feel it tingle with bliss and shove against the underside of the table, physically lifting it from the floor. I began to leak a flow of pre-cum like warm honey from a spigot.

I clutched your dick in my hand and you exploded with a fountain of cum, gasping and groaning from the intensity of your orgasm. “You have more?” I asked, teasingly. I knew the answer but I wanted to hear your version.

“I always have more,” you said, and I leaned my mouth down to your fountain and you rewarded me with another gushing surge of your warm cum, which I swallowed with ease and eager happiness. It filled me with pleasure, and an idea popped into my filthy mind as you came and came.

Finally, gasping for breath, your massive muscles flexing with the effort of your unending orgasms, I pulled my lips from your cock and said, “I want to see you fuck yourself.”

Your eyes were still closed and your chest heaved as you struggled to recover from the intensity of my mouth on your dick. You smiled and nodded.

“And I want to feel it like you feel it,” I added, slowly stroking the hard inches of your constant erection. “I want to feel your cock in my ass, and my ass around your cock. I want to feel the sensation of fucking myself, kissing myself, loving myself—while I watch you make love with your twin.”

You opened your eyes and moved from the booth, standing to your full height as your cock twitched and throbbed with anticipation and need. A fat flow of honey dripped from the mouth of your prick and you looked at your mirror image across the restaurant, your desire building, your anticipation rising.

I could feel it, too, now. Your emotions were my emotions. Your desires were my desires. And you looked at yourself as your twin looked back. The desire and lust redoubled inside me, and then again as my own desire for both of you was wrapped around it all.

My monster cock began to rise, splitting the table with its power, I leaned back in the booth and spread my muscled arms across the back of the seats and allowed my cock to swell higher and higher, breaking through the wood with its strength, rising like a tree that could not be stopped. You had created for me a two-foot long monster, wrapped in fat veins feeding its size and power, swelling thicker and heavier as it rose to its zenith, the head blooming from its thick cowl of foreskin like a fat plum dripping with seed. I could smell myself, the heady, sexy musk of my perfect body, a rich and powerful masculine perfume swimming inside the thick warm honey drooling down my massive meat.

You met yourself on the floor and wrapped your arms around yourself, and wrapped your arms around yourself, and pressed your lips to your lips and kissed yourself with unfettered and unlimited lust and love. My mouth warmed to that kiss, the sensation of kissing and being kissed, the feeling of your heavy, hard, strong arms surrounding me, the hard heat of your own cocks rubbing against mine, and against each other.

I had never experienced any sensation like this, the total awareness of other men making love before my eyes as my body sank deeper and deeper into that joined perception. You and you, together, the same and different, and you allowed me in and I could feel every drop of emotion, every press of muscle against muscle, the increasing lust and desire and then you were coming, and you were coming, and I was coming, blasting thick fountains of hot cream from our cannons.

By now, the redheaded Hulk was plowing the magically expanding ass of the beautiful waiter, pushing him across the table and thrusting deep inside him, growling with lust and release. The waiter, gifted now with sexual capacity and capability that approached my own overwhelming talents, surrounded the giant’s meat with warm throbs of pure sex, moaning as his smaller body was filled up entirely. The restaurant had come to a complete stop, all eyes focused on the giant and the waiter, or the twin “brothers,” or my unstoppable and devastating beauty as my own two-foot long cock towered from my loins and shot thick volleys of cum all over.

I decided to make a gift to you and your imagination. “All that you have said is true,” I spoke, “and it will continue to be true,” making it real, making your twin powers reality forever, creating a world where you would now wander in naked glory, able to cum as you wished and be with your twin self in perfect love. Allowing the redhead to swell with muscle and cock whenever he wished it, and making of the handsome young waiter one of the world’s most talented and magical lovers.

“I will continue to be the most beautiful and powerful man in the world, a vision of perfect physical beauty, and of overwhelming muscular size and strength,” I said, “and no other man’s cock shall surpass mine in size or beauty or perfection or ability.”

I smiled and grabbed myself and came hard, shooting fat creamy fountains of delicious cream from my balls to splatter against the walls and tables and people, all yielding to my utter perfection.

Description Another dual perspective between a man with godlike powers and a man who seeks him out, this time leading to audacious transformations right in the middle of a busy restaurant.

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