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Stephen Cunningham wasn't supposed to be on that bus.

He rarely took the bus to school. His roommate usually picked him up, but today his roommate went to visit his parents, and Stephen's alarm didn't go off. He overslept. He got ready in a hurry, rushed out of the dorm at 8:47, threw an unwashed hoodie over his shoulders, and ran to the bus stop.

The bus pulled up a minute later.

Steven didn't pay attention to the number or the route. He was looking only at his phone, opening a lecture on quantum physics he hadn't finished yesterday. He hopped up on the step, swiped his student ID card at the validator, and plopped down in the nearest window seat.

The bus pulled out.

Only a minute later did Stephen look up and realize: the bus was empty. Absolutely. Not a single passenger. Just him, the driver's cabin behind the tinted glass, and the cloudy, scratched windows.

"Strange," he muttered. "An empty bus at rush hour?"

He wanted to get up and go up to the driver, ask where they were going. But then he felt something strange: his legs wouldn't obey him. Steven looked down. His legs and arms were starting to tingle and go numb.

Steven had time to think, "Cramping? I need more potassium." And then his spine cracked. He let out a cry of surprise. Steven watched as his height increased, his hands changed right before his eyes. His thin, pale fingers thickened, the skin on his palms became rougher. Veins stood out on the backs of his hands. His calves and thighs strained against the fabric of his skinny jeans, and the fabric dug painfully into his crotch—Steven felt himself growing bigger there too. He felt his muscles begin to bulge and grow larger. Not enormous, but still, he was becoming more athletic. His biceps and deltoids grew, straining against the fabric of his hoodie. His back broadened. Rounded pectorals and six-pack abs appeared.

His buttocks rounded out, straining against his jeans so tightly that he could hear the fabric crunch.

"What... what the...?" he choked out in a strange voice. Low. Hoarse.

He jumped up. The pants were his favorite jeans. On his feet were some white sneakers with dirty laces. A bomber jacket replaced his hoodie, and a necklace appeared around his neck. A ball appeared in his hands instead of a phone...

And then he realized: this strange bus. He had to get out...

He ran for the exit. His body was unresponsive. It felt heavier. Broader in the shoulders.

The bus stopped at a traffic light. The doors opened. Stephen tumbled out, sprawled on the pavement, scraping his palms. He jumped up. He ran. He tripped over the curb and fell to his knees in front of a flower shop window. He raised his head. And he saw his reflection in the glass.

A stranger was looking back at him.

Steven had never had red hair. His was dark and long. A boy with a short, sporty red haircut stared back at him in the reflection. A pale, frightened face. The face was still his, but now it looked slightly more masculine.

Steven touched his cheek. The reflection repeated the gesture.

"No," he said. "What happened? How?"

Then Steven felt a slight twinge in his neck, dizziness, and caught a glimpse of two uniformed figures above him.

INCIDENT SUMMARY

Date: May 17, 20■■, City of [DATA EXPUNGED]

A subject named Steven Cunningham was found by agents monitoring the STR-793 anomaly immediately after his transformation. He was tranquilized and brought to the facility. He was interrogated. The subject is fully aware of his personality and memory. He expresses deep concern and anxiety about his new appearance. He notes behavioral and cognitive changes, namely a desire to exercise, a craving for light alcohol, and a desire to get onto the field to play football. He actively suppresses these desires, successfully. He was informed of the threat of information dissemination. Protocol 47 was used to contact civilians. He was released for observation.

RESEARCH PROTOCOLS

[DATE: 08/14/20■■]

SUBJECT: D-4472 (female, 34 years old, weight 72 kg, height 163 cm)

METHOD: Subject instructed to enter STR-793 to test the selectivity hypothesis.

RESULT: After 7 minutes, a man 188 cm tall and weighing ~102 kg of muscle mass exited the bus. When asked, "Do you remember your name?" he replied, "My name is... Margaret," after which he burst into deep baritone tears. After 20 minutes, the subject began performing voluntary push-ups, commenting on his condition.

DURATION OF OBSERVATION: 3 months. Referred to the PSI Threat Unit for further research. Report pending.

4. TECHNICAL DEPARTMENT CONCLUSION

Object STR-793 cannot be destroyed without risk. Two detonation attempts resulted in [DATA EXPUNGED] being released to all personnel within a 500-meter radius. Containment is safe unless the anomaly is interacted with.

Containment protocol recommended: secure parking in Zone [DATA EXPUNGED].

Lewis loved the great outdoors. He loved camping. He loved to just get away from it all. He barely got cell signal out here, and his friends all knew to leave him alone unless it was an emergency. This was a vacation not just from his job but from the hustle and bustle of modern life.

As Lewis stepped out from the woods and into the clearing, he quickly downed the last of his beer and then chucked it onto the nearby pile. This was it. This was his favorite place – a small clearing in the forest known only to him.

The clearing had signs of his previous visits. There was a patch of dirt that had significantly less plant growth due to him repeatedly setting up his tent there. There was a small pile of rusted cans that he kept telling himself he’d clean up but had so far not felt the need. There was even a ring of stones marking the spot he typically set up his campfire.

There were a few differences since last he had been here. The clearing was damp and muddy. There was a layer of some sort of white, goopy substance spread across the grass. It looked and smelled like jizz, but there was far too much of it to be that. Most likely it was some kind of fungus that had started to take over the forest floor. However, it didn’t match any fungus that Lewis was aware of. He just had to assume that it was harmless. After all, he was up to date on all the poisonous flora and fauna in the region and this slime-like substance was not on that list.  

Lewis dropped his pack and sat down on a nearby stump. He was just about to crack open another cold one when he heard something rustling in the bushes nearby. He didn’t think there was anything dangerous in these woods, and most wildlife had enough sense to leave people alone. He had half a mind to ignore it, but it sounded close and getting closer. He figured, just to be safe, he should take a look.

He crept closer to where he had heard the noise. As he approached, the rustling stopped. He had half a mind to leave things well enough alone, but something was nagging at the back of his mind. Just what was it that was hiding in that brush? Most likely it was something harmless like a frog or a badger, but what if it was something dangerous? If it was a snake, he would need to nip it in the bud before the thing decided to jump him as he slept.

He grabbed a nearby stick and used it to poke through the underbrush from a safe distance. His jabbing didn’t seem to have any effect. If there was something in the bushes, he either was not poking in the right area, or whatever it was knew enough to not lash out at the stick.

Lewis was just about to call off the search, but just before he could, his stick seemed to poke something soft. It didn’t feel like dirt. It felt squishy in a fleshy sort of way.

Lewis balked for a moment as he tried to parse what this could mean, but before he could decide on the next course of action, the thing he had just poked decided to make an appearance. The thing moved with blinding speed. It leapt from the bushes and launched itself straight at Lewis’s face. Lewis opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. His mouth was completely plugged by the strange creature.

Lewis could feel the thing trying to force its way through his mouth and down his throat. He had no idea what its end goal was, but he knew he did not want that thing inside him. He grabbed at the long. Fleshy tail and struggled to pull it. All the while, the constant pressure against the back of the tongue threatened to trigger his gag reflex. He thought for sure he’d either pull the thing out or barf it up, but before that could happen, the slippery, slimy tail slid from his grasp and the creature wriggled past his tongue and down his throat.

Lewis immediately doubled over and pressed his fingers against the back of his tongue to try and force himself to puke, but his gag reflex had never been the most pronounced. Try as he might, he just could not force the thing up. That meant he had to find some other option.

If his gag reflex didn’t work, he did know something else that tended to make him puke – beer, and lots of it! He quickly opened his backpack and pulled out a six pack and began quickly slamming beer after beer, but by the time the third beer was down his throat, he started to feel very weird, and not in the way he expected from over-indulging. He felt light-headed and extremely warm. His clothes felt stifling. The fabric clung awkwardly to his damp, sweaty flesh, but it wasn’t just the sticky sweat that made his clothes feel so weird. It was almost as if his clothes were a size too small.

Lewis grabbed at the front of his shirt. He tugged at the flannel causing the buttons on the front to burst. His shirt fell open in the front which gave him a little bit more breathing room, but even through the odd haze that now clouded his senses, his chest and abs seemed off to him. He liked to hike. He was pretty fit, but he wasn’t that kind of fit. He wasn’t a gym rat. He had a low BMI but low muscle mass as well. Today, however, he had a nice set of pecs above a defined set of abs. When had he gotten so fit?

Lewis didn’t have time to ponder this though. He felt hot and feverish. He knew he needed to get some help.

He pulled his phone out of his pack and quickly tried to text his friends, but of course, there was no signal out here. He’d have to get closer to the edge of the woods before he got signal.

Lewis took a step towards the edge of the clearing. As he did so, he felt a pain in his feet. It wasn’t a sharp pain. It wasn’t like he had stepped on something. Rather, it was an intense pressure that threatened to crush the bones of his foot!

It took him but a second to clock what he was feeling. His shoes were so tight that they were squeezing his feet like vice grips!

Lewis was just about to bend down and untie his shoes, but before he could, he heard the telltale sound of leather stretching to its breaking point. The tough leather of his hiking boots groaned and creaked. The stitches holding the shoes together popped and frayed, and then, like a roll of store-bought cinnamon rolls in an air-tight cylinder, the leather on his shoes burst, revealing the sock-clad feet that had swollen inside.

Lewis could do nothing but stare down at his feet and the wreckage that were his boots. How had his feet swollen so much? Was this some kind of allergic reaction? It didn’t seem right. It didn’t feel right. Now that he no longer had his leather hiking boots clenching down around his feet, they didn’t feel swollen. They didn’t feel itchy or anything like that that would indicate an allergic reaction. If anything, his feet felt kinda nice. The removal of the intense pressure was a godsend.

More than the release of his feet, though. Lewis was feeling pretty great overall. His cock had stiffened in the tight fabric of his denim jeans. His head was fuzzy. His cheeks burned red with arousal. He was horny as hell! But he knew enough to know that this was not a good thing. He had nothing to be horny about. This was probably an effect of whatever it was he had just swallowed. Many poisonous plants or fungi caused euphoric feelings or hallucinations. That had to be it. He wasn’t growing – he was tripping balls!

Lewis tried to clear his head and march towards where he knew the edge of the forest was. He was dazed, but he still knew the region well enough to know that there was an old farmstead not too far from here. He didn’t know if it was still occupied, but at the very least, it was a known landmark, and cell service would probably be better there.

He turned and started to stagger off into the woods towards the old farm. With each step, his skin burned hotter and his clothes clung tighter to his body. At first, he thought it was just the sweat that caused his clothes to cling to him, but as he staggered along, he could tell there was something else at play.

His muscles strained against his shirt. The front was open, but his bulging biceps pressed so hard against the sleeves that they threatened to burst, and his jeans were similarly stuffed. His quads strained audibly against the seams of his pant legs, but perhaps more shockingly was how hard his cock strained against the front of his jeans.

It wasn’t just that his cock was rock hard. His cock seemed impossibly large. Even through the tight fabric of his jeans, he could see the outline of his cock and balls. His package looked obscene! He had to have a cock that would make even a porn star blush.

Lewis had no idea what was happening. Some part of him wanted to stop his trek and take a moment to take stock of his transformation, but something spurred him on. Call it instinct. Call it terror. Whatever it was, he knew he needed to keep going. He knew he needed to find help.

As Lewis staggered through the woods, his body kept swelling. It wasn’t long before he was so thick that the sleeves of his shirt burst against the swelling mass of his beefy biceps and triceps.

Lewis knew he needed to keep moving. He knew he needed to get help, but the sheer act of bursting out of his shirt was so jarring that he couldn’t help but stop and gawk. It was like he was in a trance. He was absolutely transfixed by how huge and hunky he had become. His biceps now bulged like softballs, and his triceps were equally swole. His delts bumped up against his ears. His chest jutted out in front of him like a shelf. His abs were so dense and so defined that there were deep trenches between each individual muscle of his rippling eight pack.

Lewi’s dick gave a lurch of delight within his overstuffed pants. How had he gotten so huge? This was amazing? He was so huge! He was so hot!

Lewis hands began to grope and grip his sculpted muscles as if they had minds of their own. He could feel the dense muscle beneath his fingertips. That still didn’t fully rule out a hallucination, but they felt so damn real! They felt so damn good!

Lewis’s hands drifted lower, across his pecs, down his abs, over the dense V-shaped bulge of his Adonis belt, and towards the button at the top of his fly. If felt so good to let his pecs out… he could only imagine how great it would feel to let his cock air out too… after all, his cock was feeling so cramped in the tight confines of his denim jeans. He wanted to get that out too. He needed to get that out too. He wanted nothing more than to just whip his dick out and stroke it with both hands as he continued to grow and grow and grow…

Lewis managed to fight the urge, but he could feel his resolve slipping. It was getting harder to think about anything other than how huge and horny he was, but something in the back of his mind spurred him to keep moving. If these euphoric feelings were the result of some sort of toxin, he needed to do everything in his power to not give in!

He forced himself to move on. He gritted his teeth and struggled to clear his head as he lumbered awkwardly into the forest. He was dazed and borderline delirious, but his years in the forest still served him well. He was headed the right way… he was sure of it… he had to be…

As Lewis lumbered awkwardly forward, he could feel himself getting bigger. He could more than feel it, he could hear it! His jeans were tearing. The seams along the pant legs were so thoroughly strained that large swaths of bare flesh poked through. It wasn’t going to be long before his quads burst through his jeans in much the same way his biceps had burst through his sleeves. Some part of him wanted to stand there and watch as that happened, but he knew he needed to keep moving.

It didn’t take much longer. After only a handful of steps, his quads and calves burst through his overstuffed jeans. He quickly reached down and tugged the few remaining bits of denim away from his swole form and continued his march in just his underoos.

Lewis took a few more steps, but he just couldn’t resist the siren song of his own enhanced body. He needed to stop and take stock of his bod. He just felt so good. He wanted to drop onto the floor right then and there and whip his dick out and begin stroking.

As he took stock of his body, his rock-hard dick gave a lurch of delight inside his overflowing boxers. His boxers had previously been very loose, but now, his quads and glutes strained against them, but more shockingly was how his enormous cock and balls filled the front of his boxers. His nuts were each the size of grapefruit. His cock was as long as his forearm and just as thick. His dick jutted out so far in front of him that it caused the waistband of his boxers to be pulled back several inches from his midriff giving him a direct line of site to his thick shaft and heavy nuts.

Lewis balked. His jaw dropped. His dick lurched. He was so huge. He was so hung. He was so hot!

He tried to resist. He tried to fight back, but he couldn’t. He felt too good!

Cum erupted from his cock with such force that it sprayed through the damp layer of cotton that covered his dick. He came again and again. With each spurt, his dick swelled and his muscles surged. His boxers strained after the first spurt. They frayed after the second, and they burst completely after the third. The tattered ribbons of his boxers fluttered to the ground like confetti leaving him completely nude.

Lewis’s nuts now hung down past his knees. His cock was so huge that it would have hung to his shins had it been soft, but now that it was fully hard, it jutted out in front of him like a battering ram. Had he been his old size, the beast would have been nearly as wide as his hips, but he had packed on so much muscle mass that he was easily twice as wide as he had been this morning.

Lewis wanted to stop right then and there and just rub one out until he got ahead of his hard on, but something in the back of his mind told him he had to move. He would never be able to get ahead of his rager. Whatever had infected him would keep him in a permanent stage of euphoric, hormonal ecstasy. He would always be hard. He would always be horny. At least, until he got rid of whatever it was that had crawled inside of him. His only hope was to get out of the woods and get to where there was enough of a signal to call for help.

He forced himself to move, but not before reaching down and picking his cellphone out from the wreckage of his jeans. The screen was cracked, but the device seemed to still work… aside from the fact that there was no signal. He just had to hope that he’d get service as he trekked away from the heart of the forest.

Lewis staggered in a daze. One step in front of the other. Left foot. Right foot. Walking was all he could do. He could barely think. His mind was clouded by the sheer intensity of his own arousal and the knowledge that with each step he took his muscles and cock and balls continued to grow. His huge cock drooled pre unceasingly. His massive, heavy nuts swung between his shins.

At some point, Lewis heard the telltale chime of multiple text messages coming through. It wasn’t that everyone was trying to get ahold of him at once. It was that every message he had missed over the past several hours had all come through at once.

Lewis didn’t even look to see who he was texting. He clicked pop up after pop up and texted gibberish. He didn’t care who he reached out to. He didn’t care what he typed. He just needed to blanket as many people as possible with as much bullshit as possible for them to realize something was wrong and come get him.

It didn’t take long for his phone to start buzzing with an incoming call. Lewis instantly answered. He heard a familiar voice on the other are.

“Lewis? What the fuck? Are you ok?” the familiar voice asked.

Lewis opened his mouth to respond. He tried to formulate words, but all he could do was moan and gasp and writhe as cum spurted forth from his cock.

“Dude. What the fuck?” the voice on the other end said.

“S-sorry… I’m… I’m just… so horny…” Lewis croaked between cumshots.

“It’s way too early to be this drunk…” his friend grumbled before hanging up.

Lewis groaned in frustration, but his groan gave way to a moan as he came again. He gritted his teeth and started hitting random contacts on his list. Each time, the phone would ring. He’d either get a person or a voice box, and each time, he’d croak out the same warning.

“I’m just so horny…”

With each failed attempt at contact, Lewis got more and more frustrated. Eventually, he reached a breaking point. He flung his phone aside and continued his staggering march towards the old farm on the outskirts of the woods.

By the time he cleared the trees, he was so huge that he couldn’t even lower his arms. His nuts were so massive that they dragged along the ground at his feet. His cock was so huge that it was nearly twice as long as he was tall. All he could do was waddle awkwardly from the sheer size of his muscles and balls, but he was close now. He could see the old barn. He just had to make it there. If nothing else, he’d have protection from the elements until someone found him. He just had to hope that his growth stopped soon.

He couldn’t imagine it was possible to get much larger, but he never should have gotten this large to begin with. This was clearly not natural, but despite the fact that he knew he should be disgusted at the changes, his cock was as hard as ever. Pre oozed so heavily from his colossal cock that it turned the dirt to mud at his feet. He was just so huge. He was just so hot. He was just so hung. He was just… so… horny!

Lewis staggered forward and managed to slam his way through the doorway of the barn. He was fortunate that the doors were already open. He shuddered to think how he would undo the cross bar in his current state. Sure, he had massive muscles. In theory, he was strong. He was powerful, but he was also nearly immobilized by his own cock and brawn!

The trek was so tiring that once in the barn, Lewis collapsed. He fell face first into his own cock. The behemoth was wider than even his massive, muscular body, and his nuts were quickly reaching as large as his whole body! It was just so surreal… it was so unnatural… it was so… sexy!

Lewis came hard all over again. With each massive spurt of cum, he felt his muscles ripple and his cock lurch and his balls swell. He was getting bigger, and bigger, and bigger… and bigger… and he loved every second of it!

He moaned and writhed and groaned and flexed. All the while, he could feel himself growing. He knew he should stop. He knew that he shouldn’t give in. He knew he should fight it, but it felt so good. How would he even fight it anyway? His whole body was working against him! Every pound of his ton of muscles wanted more. Every inch of his several yards of cock wanted more. Every ounce of the thousands of gallons of spunk swelling in his sack craved release. All he could do was cum and grow and grow and cum and hope that someday… someone found him.

—

Dirk’s situation was a bit more different. He was in the living room when it happened. His younger brothers were playing the GameCube emulation with a revamped old Mario game collection disk. Not much to do on a summer Sunday than hang around in the house in one's skivvies. Such was a tradition passed down by their dad, who was currently knocked out, still asleep in bed still.  However, Dirk had brought his gaming chairs into the living room so his brothers could play.

“I want to be player 1!” Tommy shouted.

“No, I want to be player 1!” Willis yelled back.

Their voices argued like that often and frequently especially when they were passionate. Dirk stood between their chairs and rubbed their heads, before he gently moved their heads in circles, and his brothers played along, “Little dudes, stop fighting. You’re going to wake dad up.”

“Sorry, Dirk.” They said in unison.

With a satisfied smile Dirk pushed the gaming chairs closer to the TV as they held to their respective arm rests laughing. He set up the game for them and made sure they knew exactly how to play. Then Dirk collapsed on the couch behind them, laying down, his favorite book in hand: Escape from the Dragon keep.

Snuggled up reading, he let his attention drift every so often to keep an eye on his brothers. The two were still arguing at a lower level. 

“You keep dying.” Willis said

“Stoopid, that's you!” Tommy said back.

Then Dirk got to a really good chapter, the hero had to escape Dragon Island. An intense chapter with magic and action, on every turn of the page. His eyes didn't leave the book. A squeak of his gaming chairs, a snide remark thrown between his brothers, Time passed on. Then there was a small grunt, didn’t even sound like his brothers, but the chapter was over, so he took a peek. They knew better than to put hands on each other. Looking up, he didn’t spot them throwing hands, the game was still going, and their legs dangled calmly off the floor. He turned his attention back to his book. 

The next chapter was slower. A big come down after a fierce fight. More squeaks as his brother’s bodies slid in their chairs. They just couldn’t stay still. He could tell because when he glanced their feet were closer to the ground. Back to his book, the slow pacing of the chapter got him yawing. His brothers coughed a few times, soft and quiet to start, then harsher and deeper a few minutes in. Were they having a cough competition?  Their coughs sounded fake, like they were trying to enhance them. The two were prone to spur of the moment contests like that so Dirk wasn’t surprised, otherwise he’d have gotten the medicine out. The coughing faded into the background as Dirk’s eyes grew heavier. Before he knew it, he was asleep.

When Dirk woke up, he gave a silent yawn stretching. He stood, headed directly for the kitchen, then poured himself some water, wiping sleep from his eyes. Only when he was heading back into the living room did he realize it: he hadn’t heard his brothers fight once, not even in a hushed tone. Maybe they actually had gotten sick. He grabbed the cough medicine and headed back to the living room.

Tossing and catching the bottle he asked, “You guys feeling o—-

The bottle clattered to the floor and rolled away as Dirk froze. Sitting in his gaming chairs, were not his little brothers. Jocks had taken their place. Sure, their faces held some vestiges of Willis and Tommy, but their bodies were more akin to athletes. They had pecs, arms, abs, and legs that stretched across the floor. Their bodies had been sculpted in a way Dirk only thought was possible to see in museums. These weren’t boys, these were bros. They looked older than him. They were older than. Their presence translated that to Dirk. Their bodies, the way they sat, the lack of arguing, all of it gave off a mature air. Only contrasted by their sky-blue underwear with images of a teddy bear on the strap. Which was immediately contrasted by the bulges in the front, how the fabric stretched to the back, and the huge sets of thighs coming out the leg holes.

Dirk was lost studying Tommy’s tattoos, wondering how upset dad was going to be about them when he heard, “Bro, you okay?” 

Tommy’s voice was deep, smooth, and rich. It flew into Dirk’s ears and settled into his chest.

“I think he’s better than okay,” A cocky smile sat on Willis face as he nodded to Dirk’s boxer’s. Dirk's eyes flew down; his cock had come out of his boxer’s fly. It was at full mast and there was no debating the reason why. He fumbled, trying to stuff it back in, as it just bobbed all over the place. He had to be having a weird dream. Maybe he imposed the two guys in his book onto his brother's positions.

“No need to hide it lil bro, just the guys here.” Willis added. His voice was much more abrasive, and booming, pure distilled jock in nature.

Dirk knew it wasn’t a dream, when his cock leaked precum onto his foot and the floor. He didn’t even sense it coming, just heard Willis’ voice, and was already amped up by Tommy’s voice, and like a trigger lost it. His cock bucked and there was just a slime trail running down. Dirk had never had that issue in his life growing up. Not in P.E., Not in the locker room, not even in the showers. Guys were hot, but they were never as hot as his brother’s now. His cock had turned faucet.

Willis reached over, with his thumb and forefinger and grasped the tip of Dirk’s cock, squeezing it before stealing the precum. “Fuckin sick, bro,” he said as if it were the coolest thing ever lifting the shimmering line up in the air. He tilted his head back, opened his mouth wide as he dropped it in, then swallowed. Dirk watched Willis’ Adams’ apple move and guide it down.

“Mmmm!” Willis licked his lips, “Tommy you gotta get a taste of this, Dirk’s really on it today!”

“Yeah sure, after the game.” Tommy said casually as he motioned to the screen. Dirk’s internal system crashed, hearing a much calmer and reasonable voice still claim to want his cock. 

“Someone’s in a bad mood,” Tommy half stood up and swatted Dirk’s ass, “Go stand next to him little bro might cheer him up.”

Dirk found his legs responding before he even processed. Then his cock was just there next to Tommy's face.

“No thanks, I just want to game.” Tommy said as the two got back into it. Willis stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do. But then a pause came when they won a level and Tommy’s fist found Dirk’s cock and stroked it. After that every time there was a lull or pause, Tommy’s hand was on his brother’s cock. The world's worst edging as Dirk’s cock wanted to rebel whenever it was let go. Dirk could have sat down. There was nothing physically stopping him, but then Tommy pressed his face on Dirk’s cock, nuzzling and kissing it. The way Tommy’s eyes looked at Dirk was too powerful to pull away from. Then Tommy would let Dirk’s cock hang there pressed against his face. 

Another level on the screen was won, but Dirk wasn’t looking because Tommy had fully stuffed his brother’s cock in his mouth for celebration. Footsteps came down the stairs, heavy weighted. Their dad was up. Dirk panicked that his dad was going to see him getting blown by strangers. And yet even knowing that, he couldn’t pull out. Their dad stepped into the living room, seeing all of them.

Willis gave a lazy wave, “Hey.”

“Good afternoon, sleepy head,” Tommy pulled off Dirk's cock. His warm mouth left Dirk’s dick in the cook air twitching.

“Dad!” Dirk shouted, his cock inched forward and bumped into Tommy’s face. It was too fucking much. His cock blasted all over his Older younger brother’s face, plastering it in white. Some shot into the air and landed on Willis.

“Oh shit,” Tommy said, noticing the hot jizz on his cheek. “Give a warning, next time,” he chuckled, tapping Dirk’s thigh, then Tommy slurped at the cum pouring out.  Dirk’s legs shook as his load was extracted out of him.  Meanwhile Willis looked unbothered by the cum on him. 

“Boys make sure you leave the living room clean at least.” Their dad groaned, walking into the kitchen. No questions about the strange men, or where Dirk’s brothers were. Their father wasn't bothered at all. 

More than his brothers’ ages were altered. Their entire family’s reality was changed. A world where Dirk was the younger brother to two post-college studs. Their lazy afternoon Sundays had devolved into unofficial ‘bro time’. No expectations of personal space with them as the older ones in charge. Surprisingly though with all the closeness, there was no more fighting between the two. Later that night, Dirk scrolled online, lying in bed. He should have gone to sleep hours ago but he was reading all about the Vintage gaming backlash. There were thousands of comments from people posting their stories. Dirk didn’t even know where to start. Stories ranged from people being aware to others denouncing the whole thing as a hoax. The changes had truly run the gambit of altering people's memory or simply adding to them. Dirk wondered where his brothers fell in that regard.

A crash came from downstairs. Dirk crept out of bed, and down the steps. Hushed voices came from the kitchen where the light had been turned on. The young man rolled his eyes, imagining his father must have come down for another afternoon snack. He strolled into the kitchen, eyes going wide at not finding the situation he imagined.

Tommy’s naked figure pounded into Willis, who was laid out on the table, beneath him. The two were fucking in the open. Hard to believe such strong bodies could be so quiet as they rutted, and yet not betray an ounce of the power each executed. “What were you thinking, getting Dirk all hot and bother with that voice of yours.”

“You’re just mad, you couldn’t make him leak.” Willis combatted, pecs jiggling with Tommy’s thrust.

“Leak? Dude, he literally nutted on my face.” Tommy bragged.

Dirk watched astounded from the shadows. They hadn’t outgrown fighting. They were fuck-fighting. Every grievance and displeasure sent by the meeting of their hips.

Tommy’s body convulsed with a soft, “FUCK.” Three loud slaps of skin then stop. He gently grabbed Willis' neck in a mock choke. “Say you’re not going to make Dirk precum again.”

“Shit,” Willis shrugged, sucking his teeth. “Wish I could, but this body’s got hormones and needs. The only reason I’m not up in his bed now is I’m afraid I’d break him. Luckily, I think you and I were made pretty even.”

Tommy dropped his hand, shaking his head. “Same. Dirk was so good with us before and all I could think about was demolishing his pelvis. Didn't want him to think I was some sex demon.”

“Ha, I think he thought that, when you attempted to suck his soul out his dick.” Willis sat up, then made a circle motion with his hands that Tommy understood. Within seconds, Tommy's hands were behind his back, and Willis had a firm grip on them. “Now, it’s time for your punishment for draining our new little bro without me.”

Dirk watched dumbfounded. They remembered he had been the older one just that morning, but their bodies needed and craved more than their former older brother could provide. Perhaps if he worked at it one day he could keep up with them, but for now he could wait in the shadows.

—

Some stories were much simpler.

Steve Moran was at a loss. He had got the PS2 system re-release and was excited to introduce his nephew to all the games he’d grown up with in his childhood. Steve’s older brother, Geoff, had never been much of a gamer and always preferred to be outside than in a chair. Steve was the common nerd beloved by his family, but still an outcast in some ways. For some reason the cross pollination of gamer & jock never took hold of Geoff, as it did with his other friends, he was too cool for video games. He’d pick up a controller looking lost as a lamb. Always asking for Steve to help out. It was never Geoff’s element; he needed a ball in his hand to excel.

His entire life Steve wished him and his brother could bond over hobbies, but they were diametrically opposed between games and sports. But then like a miracle deferred, Steve’s son, Charlie, was born and had a strong passion for games. There was finally someone for Steve to unload his passion onto and Charlie ate it all up eagerly. 

When the re-release was coming Steve had personally built up the hype, getting Charlie invested. Geoff was going on a personal vacation with his wife, which meant Steve and Charlie had a whole week to lose themselves in game after game.

The PS2 was ready in the living room, when Steve dropped Charlie off. There was a bit of small talk between brothers, but Steve’s thumb twitched the entire time; his x-button masher was ready. The moment Geoff left, Steve practically flew to the couch. He tossed a controller to his nephew and told him to start the game. But then he remembered he had popcorn and soda ready to go waiting in the kitchen. He hopped up, for a second going to his counter. The familiar ‘Whoosh’ of the old system startup and it struck the nostalgia in his mind. He happily snatched up the bowl of popcorn and soda, dancing back to his TV and nephew. 

His body went rigid upon seeing Geoff in his living room. Awkward as hell, Geoff knew Steve was a nerd but never seen his brother at unrestricted display. If that wasn’t weird enough, Geoff had somehow walked back in and was standing in his underwear. His older brother’s furry chest and stomach were out, but what captured Steve’s attention wasn’t even Geoff packing heat with the bulge in his underwear. Rather the game controller in Geoff’s trained arms was the true center piece. In all his years on earth, Steve had never seen his brother pick up a controller. And yet there he was holding it expertly in all his jock-dadness.

“You ready Uncle Steve?” Geoff asked

Steve blinked, upon hearing that as he slowly began to register the man in his apartment was not his older brother, just looked very close to him. Then came the thought of Charlie’s whereabouts, his nephew was nowhere to be seen. Eyes going to the ground, Steve spotted ripped clothes Charlie had on moments ago at the man’s feet. His eyes went back up, mouth agape, realizing his nephew had turned into an almost exact replica of Geoff. 20+ years pushed on him and that’s what Charlie grew into. He even had his dad's beard, the same angles for his face and everything!

Steve finally got to see what it’d be like if his older brother had been into games.

—

Stories witnessed by chance had a place in the news cycle too.

Preston was not into gaming in the slightest. He didn’t like the noise or the sounds. Digital water gave him nausea for some odd reasons. Timed missions made him anxious. Pure Overstimulation. He preferred the company of a good book. Never once would he be found outside or behind a screen. His next-door neighbor, Marques, however, had no qualms gaming or having late nights yelling with his window open. 

Based on the position of their windows, Preston could peer right into Marques’ room. He’d see his neighbor, making countless expressions, jumping around, or yelling at the screen. Needless to say, Marques was very into gaming. They had co-existed in this way for years. No arguments or fighting. Preston was used to turn Marques into background noise. Not that it would matter to Preston much longer because in a few weeks he was out of here. 

This neighborhood. The town. Always spinning the same cycles, he read a book like that once. The point being, his graduation had come and gone, and college was coming to take him away, while Marques and all the rest had another two years to suffer.

Was it not obvious the bookish nerd, never would have known what the vintage release was? Or why Marques rushed into his room that day. Eyes up from The Last Petal Dropped novel, he watched the black teen drop his stuff and swivel in his chair. Marques happened to look over at Preston, not one of his usual moves, and gave a head nod. Preston gave a playful two finger salute then was back in his book. 

He only looked up briefly, when Marques stopped speaking. Normal curiosity. He expected to find his neighbor blowing his nose. But how wrong he was. Marques body erupted outward as if it were a dam keeping back a torrential force. However, water was not what came surging out, rather an insane muscular physique made Marques’ clothes explode and burst right off his body. The young man stood up at once, gaming chair flying back to his bed. 

Preston’s mouth dropped upon seeing the hard cock pointed directly at him.

A few months later, Preston found himself at college…rooming with Marques. Unbelievable how so much could change yet nothing at all. He waited all those years to escape town, thinking of the people he’d leave behind, but they were here too. Well, he did at the very least have a boyfriend right in his dorm. 

The news came so often that eventually, Preston got tired of answering. Their dorm door was closed until the vultures flocked somewhere else. It didn't matter to the boys though Preston could relax in his chair, while Marques played away. These days when Preston peered up from his book no muscles burst forth. They were already there, waiting to greet him.

“You’re getting that look again,” Marques said.

“What look?” Preston asked innocently.

A quick shake of his head, Marques would casually ask. “You trying to fuck?” lowering his voice for the roleplay.

Preston would set down his book. They could agree there was one thing that was a lot more fun than video games or a book.

—

Parents were blowing up stations to get their stories heard. The legal settlements were going to be insane if they ever figured out what grounds to sue on. Emotional distress was a good starter.

Mr. Delgado was never the type of man who thought about suing anyone. He was a single father and didn't bother anyone. Went to work and picked his son up from school. Same day in day out. Being on the younger side as a father, on account of his wandering dick as a teen, his way to distress was with a nice video game session. Now in his late 20’s it was more than a hobby; it was a fixed part of his schedule. His son Mauricio had even gotten enthralled in them.

When the Vintage re-release was announced, Mr. Delgado knew he was going to download it to introduce Mauricio to all the games he played as a kid. Back when he was just Luiz Delgado, coming home from school, not a care in the world. Sitting on his bed to play the latest game. He’d hoped now he could bond with his boy over how terrible or great the games were in hindsight. There were bound to be bad graphics, clunky dialogue, and yet still narratively heart wrenching dialogue.

Mr. Delgado was the one bouncing on the edge of his seat as the download happened. His son was in his own chair beside him, controller and headset ready to go.  Mr. Delgado didn’t even know if his son needed the headset for the old games, but he wanted everything to be perfect. He went to the bathroom for a second and heard scuffling back in his room. After washing his hands once he was done, strolled back in.

“Hey everything—

“It’s all good, you gonna grab your controller, man?” a man, Mr. Delgado’s age, answered back, gaming already. A man in place of where Mr. Delgado’s son should have been. Oddly enough the young man was in exactly the same outfit, Mr. Delgado had picked out his son that morning. The blue shirt, the hat, even the socks and sneakers. The only difference was the size of the body within them. Even the young man’s face was close to Mauricio’s sans baby fat, and the black undertones of facial hair above his lips. There was one more noticeable thing to that glaring difference: Hairy manspread legs leading to a visible cock print. The underwear was familiar. The cock inside of them? An intruder.

The stranger kept gaming, eyes briefly shifting to Mr. Delgado in the doorway. “Look, you can join or you can blow me if you want, just don’t make me lose this level.”

“What?” Mr. Delgado shook his head.

“Dude, roommates do these things for each other. Don’t make it a whole thing. Remember when I blew you during your Baldur’s Gate 3 Session? Your bros on discord didn’t know what the fuck was going on under that desk.” The young man smirked proudly. 

“What are you talking about, where’s Mauricio?” Mr. Delgado asked.

The guy made a face and paused his game. Pulling down the headset, “Are you feeling okay? I’m Mauricio.”

“Not you, I mean my son.” He stated. “Mauricio Delgado.”

“Son?” The guy’s eyebrows went up. “I’m Mauricio Delgado, and I can assure you big bro I’m not your son.” Then with a naughty smirk, he nodded to Luiz’s pants tenting. “Looks like you do remember me.”

“I…I,” Luiz Delgado said nothing else, staring at his cock, aroused for one thing only.

“Well, whenever you figure out, whatever roleplay you’re doing this cock will be here waiting to get drained.” Mauricio Delgado, returned back to his original gaming position. 

—

There were stories that would never be told.

Alonso was shit at every job he tried. Factory worker, fast food, even the library. Labor was his enemy since birth; his only real skill was gaming and shirking responsibility. His only real job he could manage was part-time at a tattoo shop. It made sense. He had indulged in getting a few tatts himself and completing them on others gave him the same rush as clearing a level. But he was shocked when his girl dropped her son, Paulie, off for the day. Alonso didn’t want to babysit; he wanted to spend the day gaming. However Clariece was a master word spinner, she had to be to date a man like Alonso. And he begrudgingly accepted as Paulie launched into his house, excited, already claiming the couch where his controller was.

“Thank you.” Clairece put on a sweet voice, before leaning into kiss. He walked her to the stairs then watched her go down the unit’s floor, before returning to his apartment. The moment he stepped back in, there was something off about his place. It looked like there were more things in there than before. Odd.

“Who was that?” A man in his underwear asked Alonso.

“Just your sister checking on you babe.” Alonso closed the door.

He sighed, “I wish she’d stop doing that.”

“Why, it shows she cares, Paul.” Alonso leaned back, drinking in his boyfriend's form. Paul was in nothing but his beliefs and socks. Alonso’s cock responded happily. What turned him on the most about Paul, was it the beard? Their mutual love of tattoos? Or his boy’s ripped body. Regardless of the way Paul sat, his cock and ass were open for business.

And though Alonso would never know it, he had once again shirked another job.

—

Some stories the news would talk about endlessly. 

Clyde just happened to be one of those unlucky ones. He was doing a gaming stream with friends, only 5 or so people were watching. They were talking about nothing, but then the emulation of the PS2 came up. That brought a spark to the conversation, putting down the shitty graphics and terrible game quality. 

The teens joked on, but it was a random chatter who told them to give it a try.

“Yeah sure, why not,” Clyde said with one intention to drag the system through the mud. His friends were still laughing as he purchased it and a random dumb looking gaming, Vexx or some shit. 

He started the emulation.

All of his friends watched as his body began to grow. It started with a slight height climb, anything a reasonable person could dismiss. But then his clothes began to stretch and tear, as pecs pushed the seams to their further limits. His shoulder broadened to the width of a man several times his age with arms that could pop actual biceps on a moment's notice. Faint abs made their presence known as his shirt was done away with. It didn’t fall or float to the ground. It was just gone. Clyde’s bare torso was out. And his pants? No one saw those go either; they just saw a growing lump in his underwear poking forward.

Then his face was just…different, youthful one second, sprouting facial hair the next. The round smoothness chiseled down. Favorite hat was still on his head, there was no mistake, all of it was happening in real time. As his face finally came together, his large cock exploded as he came hard. Multiple shots that soaked his brief until they were see-though. Eventually his cock would fall limp but still have its grandiosity on display.

He became the first example to many of seeing what the Vintage release had done for the population. Saved online in high definition for people to see until they got tired of it.

—

As for people like Roy Madden, their stories were less public, but no less shocking. 

He had gone to the bathroom, while his younger cousin, Logan, watched the download. They were having an impromptu sleepover to celebrate the release. Roy was being nosey going through his aunt and uncle’s medicine cabinet, which is why he got back to the room late.

If Roy had bothered to even once turn on the news, he’d have seen the story, and therefore not have been shocked when he found an all-American jock had replaced Logan. Like any self-respecting gay community college freshman, all he saw first was the stacked body. Cannonball shoulders, supporting bulked arms and also juicy pecs. Then there was Roy’s controller, which now sat on the stranger’s massive cock. The face, no matter how square or defined by its new jockish nature, made it obvious who was at the helm. Logan sat, taking up the entire width of the couch, with legs twice as long and wide.

He didn’t say anything, but the look and position were obvious. He wanted Roy to come grab the controller and play with a new joystick. 

—

This just in! A clip of someone minutes after their transformation:

I take my hand off my dick, sit up against the headboard, and watch him, curiously. What’s going on? Is it bad news or something?

“Well, yes,” he says, rubbing the back of his head. He must be nervous. He’s mussing his hair hard enough to pull the strands back, or something, because the part above his ears looks a lot shorter. When he moves his hand, I see something odd. His hair is shorter.

The back and sides are cropped close, and the only remaining length is at the top. I’m about to ask what’s going on when Blake does something that causes me to freeze in surprise. He grabs a blue baseball cap from the top of the dresser and puts it on, backward. He’s never worn a baseball hat like that. He’s never worn a baseball hat period. We don’t even own any!

The hat should be pressing his bangs flatter to his forehead, but they’re actually rising. They’re almost floating, like he’s touching one of those static electricity machine things at Spencer’s Gifts. They bristle and curl into a styled swoop that looks like it has been trained to flow in that exact way by years of cap-wearing.

I feel like my nerves are firing wrong, because I can’t move. All I can do is panic and try to process what I’m seeing.

“Yeah, of course,” Blake says. Is it just me or is his voice slightly deeper?

While the way he speaks has grown more masculine, his face is starting to look more boyish. His cheekbones rise, his lashes lengthen, and that beard that I love running my fingers through begins to fall from his face in small tufts, like flakes of paint being chipped off a wall. What’s left behind is patchy stubble, dark and thick on his chin and upper lip, but pretty sparse everywhere else.

“Totally, dude,” says Blake, letting out a deep guffaw that rumbles through his chest.

His ribs expand, as if they’re trying to properly contain the booming laughter that is bursting out of my normally restrained boyfriend. His thick pelt of chest hair holds on for dear life as his flat chest rises, his nipples suddenly perched on two solid mounds of muscle.

As he nods and continues to agree with whoever is on the other end of the phone, more details keep shifting. His septum ring glints as it vanishes into thin air. His underwear strains against a growing bulge. The stench of musk floods the room as he idly scratches an armpit. His eyes grow even more vacant and blank than they had looked at the beginning of the call.

He turns to look at me and I jolt. I was so shocked by Blake’s sudden transformation that I had forgotten I was actually in the room and not just observing this nightmare from afar.

“It’s for you, bro,” he says, holding the phone out to me. A goofy grin splits his face.

What the fuck do I do? Do I run? No, I can’t do that. This is Blake. The love of my life. Something weird is happening, and I need to fix it. I take the phone.

“Who is this, and what the fuck have you done with Blake?” I bark out the second the phone touches my ear.

“I don’t know any Blake,” said a calm voice on the other end of the phone. Male. Maybe early 20s? “But I asked Brody to hand the phone to you, so you can add to his generous donation.”

“Donation? What kind of scam-”

“My name is Evan and I’m calling on behalf of the local chapter of Beta Theta.”

“The frat? Look, I-”

“We’re raising funds so we can remodel the frat house. But our fraternity dues aren’t quite enough to cover everything.”

“OK, so talk to your frat alumni. Isn’t that how you people usually raise money?”

“I am talking to the frat alumni.”

“No you’re not.”

“Our tastes run expensive, as you know.”

“No, I don’t.”

“We’re a relatively new frat, so there aren’t enough alumni in the area to get us what we need. I’ve had to get creative. I’ve been making frat alumni… calls.”

“OK, so you’re making calls. Why call us? And what did you do to Brody? I mean Blake.”

“You’ll understand in a minute. Look, the reason I’m calling is that you’re a former Beta Theta yourself.”

“I’m telling you, I’ve never been part of Beta Theta. Or any frat, for that matter.”

“My listings are never wrong. Don’t you live at 999 Hawthorne Place?” “Well, yes,” I say, as my fingertips start to tingle.

“And you have close-cropped brown hair?”

“I mean, yeah,” I say, running my hand across my shorn scalp, enjoying the prickly feeling. It’s weird how much darker my beard and chest hair are than my head hair, but I’ve always liked the way the length and the color clash. “But what does that have to do with-”

“And you’ve never been able to grow a full beard?”

I rub the patchy chestnut hairs on my chin and grimace. “Well, that’s true too, but you didn’t have to roast me like that, man.”

“And you’re just as muscular as Brody, but have way less chest hair?”

“All that is on the form?” I ask, looking down at the light brown hairs that are scattered along my shelflike chest.

“And your handsome face gets flushed when you drink, right?”

I suddenly felt dizzy. My deep voice slurs slightly when I respond “Yesh.” I take another swig from my Corona and set it down on the nightstand.

“And you’re always dressed in the frattiest clothes possible?”

“I mean duh, bro,” I say, rolling my eyes as I run my thumb along the length of my chain and adjust my backwards mesh hat.

“And you’re as dumb as a box of rocks?”

It takes a minute for that question to sink in. My gears have never turned all that quickly, and I got distracted by grabbing my package and leering at Brody. I can’t wait to get off the phone so I can bury this cock in his ass, to the hilt. Oh wait, didn’t that Evan guy ask me something? “Oh.. uh, yeah.”

“And your name is Tigger?”

“Yeah, bro, but it’s just a nickname. They called me that because Prez kept catching me bouncing on Brody’s dick,” I say. God, I’m so horny. My ass aches to be filled. Brody is taking off his underwear and jerking his fat cock. I’m drooling at the thought of it. I can’t resist jumping his bones every two hours or so whenever we’re alone together between shifts at the gym. The Beta Theta tattoo on his wrist flashes up and down with every stroke.

“And you’re a devoted Beta Theta?” Evan asks.

Is that even a question! “Uh… doy,” I say. “And they say I’m the dumb one. I have the tat on my asscheek to prove it. So you need money, yeah? Would 10K do? I have that much saved from my lame old job.”

“$10,000 would suit us perfectly well,” says Evan.

“Hell yeah, boyyyyy,” I say. “Just, like, make sure to put up a plaque or something when you build it. ‘Brody & Tigger’s Beer Pong Stadium’ or something like that, y’know?”

“Will do, Tigger. And thanks again,” says Evan.

“Anything for Beta Theta, man! These are the best years of your life, I wouldn’t want them to go to waste on a sucky frat house!”

After making the Zelle transfer, I hang up the phone and lumber over to Brody, grabbing his dripping cock in my meaty hand. I can’t wait to crash my mouth against his and feel his sexy stubble scrape against my chin. “Now, where were we, bro?”

Local celebrity doesn’t begin to cover what the titan of industry has become, but it’s certainly where he started. Morris remembers him being the talk of their provincial Texan hometown, nothing exciting ever happened around here so why not discuss the now-billionaire who escaped.

No one ever expected for him to return to their suburban ghost town to set up shop. Apparently disaffected with the West Coast preoccupation with burning money in pursuit of LLM’s and other digital faux progress, he felt a dire need to take his money elsewhere. For he is concerned with the world material.

Staring up at a painting of the great man adorning the wall above an elegant single-cup coffee machine, Morris can hardly believe they’re from the same ZIP code. That they walked the same high school corridors. Thick silver-speckled beard hiding a jawline everyone knows is as sharp as his mind, Byron seems like a man from a different age. One to be found amongst the pages of Morris’ classic literature more so than as the chief executive of an R&D company HQ’d in bumfuck nowhere.

And to think, Morris is here to work under him. Far, far, far under him presumably. The email didn’t say who he was meeting with, or really what he was interviewing for, but it must be for a low level clerk position. At least he told himself this as he signed an ‘interview contract’ that he had barely read. 

Obviously said document could have held these answers and more but Morris was too excited at the opportunity to work for Byron Roman to even glance at the thing before signing. And now it’s almost as if it’s been washed from his mind. Perhaps that would be concerning if he were able to really recall it at all. But right now Morris has bigger fish to fry, sure of his intelligence at least, there is little else about himself he is confident about.

Too gaunt to be considered pudgy, too average to be dubbed attractive. Morris, like the CEO, seems to be pulled from the world of fiction, though one rather distinct from the epic Sir Byron Roman is cut from. No, Morris is more akin to a street urchin busking to sell matchsticks. Some Dickensian side-character that would be left on the chopping room floor.

Stealing another glance at the portrait wondering if he should hazard another cup of coffee, Morris can’t believe the sense of gravity he gets from the painting. It’s as if the man were standing her before him, asserting his masculinity through brushstrokes and painted posture alone. 

Coming to this exact realization as he awkwardly averts his eyes and starts brewing a cup, Morris jokes to himself, “Can oi interest you in a pape milord…”

Unbeknownst to the off-duty barista, the receptionist has yet to take his eyes off him. Watching as Morris taps away at a coffee machine that inexplicably has a screen, he scans with concentration more like a machine than a man.

Only when the nervous interviewee sheepishly looks over his shoulder at the otherwise empty room does the receptionist at last avert his eyes. Having apparently gathered everything he needs, when Morris sits down with his steaming to-go cup, the receptionist speaks up.

“Sir Byron will see you now. Please proceed through the door on my left before entering the third room on the right.”

Letting the man’s words hang in the air for a moment, Morris puffs his cheeks and squints as he realizes this is the second time the secretary has outright stated he’s going to be meeting with the CEO. 

The first time he had assumed it was a simple mistake, just a slip of the doorman’s hidden tongue. Having spent even a second longer with the mechanical man, Morris feels confident that he is not the type to speak in err. Nevertheless he opts to clarify.

“Hey! Hi there~ I don’t believe I got your name earlier, Mr..?” His question hangs in the air long enough that he gives up and continues. “Right. Well, I do believe there has been some sort of a misunderstanding? I-I’m here for a simply preliminary interview, surely Mr. Roman had better things to do than-“

“This organization is Byron Roman. If he allows some plain well-read fop to represent him in any regard, and that ungainly grunt makes an embarrassment of his name. Well.”

It’s the most animated Morris has seen the man since he walked in. Despite the cool collected tone he’d swear he saw the man’s eye twitch at the very idea of someone embarrassing the brand. Breezing past being called a grunt and clinging to being called well-read Morris tries to salvage the situation. Sure that if everything goes well that he’ll be working to some degree with the severe man before him, he beats down his nerves to perform.

“Of course! Of course~ I completely understand, sir. The squeaky wheel- err? Rather, a man is always judged by the company he keeps! I am simply surprised that a man as great as Byron Roman would make time in his busy day for an aspirant such as myself.” 

Unlike the previous hidden grin, at this the secretary’s eyes light up with a smile. Like a faithful hearing true testimony of their lord. 

“Well spoken Mr. Baker. Perhaps we’ll have a fruitful working relationship after all. Hold fast to that fervor. Now, if you don’t mind, please away to the next suite. Sir Byron will arrive to join when he is finished with his current business.” Once more gesturing to the door to his left, the secretary’s face resets to its emotionless steel as he awaits for Morris to obey. Coffee cup in his hands he is torn whether to leave it or bring it to the second location. The simple decision almost freezes him in place. 

He can’t help but overthink every single choice before him. Scoffing at himself as he clenches his jaw, in lieu of a decision he follows the path of least resistance and keeps the cup in hands. Still chiding himself for his perpetual lack of volition and his obsession with minutiae, he attempts to beat stoic surety into himself in preparation of meeting a CEO.

The process is interrupted as he crosses the threshold out of the lobby only to find an unremarkable hallway. Warm wooden flooring and vintage wallpaper give the place a homey vibe far more similar to a small-town doctor’s office than the working HQ of a tech company. Even seeing the large elevators at the end of the hallway in a building Morris knows is only the one story tall, he can’t help but be lulled by the place’s provincial decor. 

“It’s like my mom decorated this place…” 

Snooping just enough to check out the other few doors on the way to the promised third on the right, Morris finds only more beige doors. Their handles are covered with a thin layer of dust that his attention just glides past, much like it does regarding the gleaming elevator down the way.

Far less overactive minds would begin telling themselves horror stories and worst-case scenarios about wandering into the back office of a billionaire’s clearly shady studio. Taking a sip of his coffee and stealing one last glimpse of the empty hallway, Morris refuses to give way to anxiety. The rich light roast on his tongue grounds him, it perfectly reminds him why he’s come here today. 

He is not going to be a barista anymore. The lobby’s attendant flickers in his mind as he swallows. A job just like that, maybe one where he doesn’t need to be quite so dogmatic, is that too much to ask? 

Lost in thought as he enters the room. From the side of his eye Morris catches movement and spits up coffee as he flinches into the door in surprise. Instantly worried that Byron has been waiting on him and caught this jittery display, he tightens his posture and forces an awkward smile on his face to feign confidence.

His harried resolve immediately drops when he turns completely only to find a full-length mirror leaned against the wall. Sighing in relief Morris decides to use the opportunity to freshen up. Setting down his coffee he wanders closer to inspect his reflection. 

Hair as unfrizzled as he’s able to get it, there are more than a few curly fly-aways sticking out of his tight dirty-blonde bun. Looking down his baggy button-up there are thankfully no coffee stains on its placket. 

At least everywhere visible is stainfree if nothing else. The same can surely not be said regarding the sweat under his arms, but this is thankfully hidden by a neat cardigan and nigh-medical grade deodorant.

‘I’ll be fine’ He tells himself on loop, tugging his cardigan down to cover a wrinkle. Looking downwards his pants are simply too long and bag atop dress shoes he only pulls out for very special occasions. His belt still slightly limp even on its most extreme loop, Morris feels nerves prickle on the back of his neck. He absolutely won’t be fine, he looks like a fucking mess!

The barely positive mantra he’s been clinging to is succinctly batted away as the reality of the situation pelts away the hope he’d been foolish enough to trust. He hadn’t even applied for any position in particular, simply thrown his resume at the company’s inbox alongside a pathetic cover letter asking to be used however they see fit. 

As if their CEO would waste a second of his day besides to come down here and chastise him for wasting his important company’s time. The receptionist held more worth in a finger than could  be found in all of Morris put together, and he thought he’d be able to work a job like that!? He’d crumble under the slightest obstacle, some rich investor chews him out and he’d dissolve. Morris feels himself tearing up at the very idea.

Or perhaps he’s simply halfway to weeping for being a dumbass who thought things could be better. Always thinking. Too much thinking. He feels his fingers clench into his forehead before he even realizes he’s put his face in his hands. The pain of his fingernails scratching brings him back to his senses and after making sure he didn’t leave splotchy red marks on his hairline he takes a deep breath and turns away from his watery-eyed reflection.

Now’s not the time.

If this is real, and it must be. Then this is a massive opportunity he simply can’t waste because he got in his own head. He’s too smart for that. He’s smart, and Byron Roman himself has a position in mind for him. This is-

BING BONG DING DONG- DONG DING BONG BING

“Jesus christ…”

Nearly jumping out of his skin, it’s clear that despite telling himself to calm down he has remained well on edge. Looking up to find the villainous implement that startled him, Morris is shocked he didn’t notice the clock before now. Still recovering from the jumpscare he can hear a subtle tick-tock, grounding him in reality as he attempts to find calm.

Centering himself on the consistent clicking of gears nearby, Morris sits in a small chair and sets his bag down beside him. Time to lock in. Reaching down to paw through the couple of belongings he saw as necessary, Morris debates whether it’s best to read through his printed resume or to focus wholly on setting his mind at ease.

Obviously he’s not going to just scroll on his phone. At worst he’ll stumble across something that’ll stress him out more. At best he’ll look like some screen-addicted zoomer right when Mr. Roman walks in.

Fingers glaze the worn cover of his trusty bible. Melville’s masterpiece. Moby Dick. Thinking of the tome and the vastness of the sea within, the classicist feels the constriction in his chest just melt away. Focused on the sound of North Atlantic gulls in his mind, buoyed by the persistent ticking of the newfound clock, how could Morris ever  notice the slightest hissing now emanating from the nearby overhead vent. 

Book in hands, he turns it over a few times before opening it to some choice section on whales and their constituent parts. Morris at last relaxes back into his chair. Despite doing everything right, as  he reads his pulse continues to rise. First putting his hand on his chest to feel its racing beat, Morris shakes his head and pointedly ignores how it suddenly feels warmer in the room to read the passage before him.

Fanning out his button-up he frowns and tells himself the discomfort is all in his head. Shifting in his seat he feels the pooling sweat in pits and resolves to ignore it. Wiping his forehead with his sleeve, he squints at the text and begins to whisper it aloud to himself.

‘Gnawed within and scorched without, with the infixed unrelenting.. Uh?’ Hearing something bump in the hallway he turns to hopefully see his interviewer interrupting him only to find it’s presumably in his head. Scratching at the side of his chest, carefully not shoving his hand deep in his pits, Morris purses his lips and looks back to the book, unknowingly skipping a few lines.

‘Or, if for any reason thought to be corpo- uhhh? Corporately, no. Corpor-really? Corporeally? Jeeez, god… I must be more stressed than I even thought.” And he certainly thought he was plenty stressed. 

Leaning back against his chair, Morris closes his eyes and simply tries to find peace in the darkness. His foot anxiously taps on the floor, at first matching the ticking before rapidly outpacing it. And then it falls heavier. His shoes were tight from the get-go having rarely been worn, but suddenly it’s almost like they’ve gotten tighter in the last few minutes. 

Every muscle in his body tensed, he uses his anxious tension to jump up with a start and pace the otherwise empty office. This does nothing to abate the discomfort in his shoes, but as he does so he begins to find that it is not only his feet that are suddenly acting up. Crossing his arms tightly as he patrols the small suite, his cardigan tugs against his shoulders like it never has before.

With a scowl he looks down at his wrists exposed from both his sweater and shirt. Imagining the surely pristine suit his town’s idol is sure to arrive in he easily works himself up anew about his foolish daydreams. Even worse than before, as if every already extreme emotion had heightened. As if they were still heightening. 

Throwing his arms down and swinging them to simply remove them from his sight, he refuses to acknowledge how the twigs twitch with every sway. Muscle fibers that have been inactive save to froth milk and open novels suddenly twinge and burn with a need Morris doesn’t understand. 

Struggling to make sense of the strange sensation, with pursed lips his fists cramp and at last it becomes perfectly clear. Aggression. Morris is filled with the all-too unfamiliar need to punch something. His consistent pacing back and forth immediately stops as the urge takes pride of place in his mind. Staring as his dainty hands curling into fists, Morris watches mouth agog as the veins on their backs throb. 

The sound of his knuckles cracking larger with the force of his clenching is absolutely clear. Wispy blond strands that have long decorated his wrists seem suddenly darker in this office light, to say nothing of the fact that it seems like there are altogether more of them.

Hidden by his cardigan sleeves, Morris suddenly feels his forearms filled with force. Not knowing what a flexor or extensor even is, Morris is dumbstruck as he feels muscles reflexively constrict. Higher up his arm, and far more eye-catching, he is stunned as he sees his sweater catch on biceps like he’s never seen. Muscle like he’d never even been able to imagine on his unimpressive form.

Everything else is washed from his mind as he sees his arms continue to bloat. The shock from his sudden violent streak and even the slight pain still pinging from his shoes pinching more and more, everything fades away as a grin overtakes his shaky face. Panting almost as he lowers and raises an invisible dumbbell, Morris watches as with every lift his sleeves are strained further. And his arms continue to grow. 

Hands stretch further from the end of his sleeves as the scratchy, darker curls spreading up his forearm continue to thicken. Doing everything short of drooling at his biceps bulging thicker, when it starts to strain against the dress shirt beneath, his vacant expression twitches into one of frustration. 

Nose flaring in irritation, he unintentionally takes a deeper breath and gasps as he suddenly notices a pervasive stink has begun to fill the room. Sure that it simply can’t be coming from himself he raises his heavy right arm to look underneath and can hardly believe the sight. Sweating through both the dress shirt and the thick, once baggy cardigan, Morris can’t take his eyes off the dark, spreading stain in his armpits.

Stunned, his face burns bright red and then feels starkly itchy itself. The urge to scratch is waylaid by the far more powerful need to shove his head into his pit and inhale deeply. Get some of that sweat on his face… Maybe it’d stay there, stick on his upper lip and he’d get a deep whiff of his musky male odor with every single breath.

“Nnno… That- I cann’tuhh…” Words dissolve from his mouth and mind as his lips simply fall open.

Tongue almost lolling, his neck that had been surreptitiously thickening itself begins to lean towards his waiting pit. Converted to the cause, his barely cognizant rational self, tries to make sense of his need. How is he to fix the issue without truly understanding it. He has half a mind to unbutton his shirt and let his pits breath to the open air.

Mind wont to picture the bushy tangle of pit hair that must be hidden beneath these restrictive layers, he does just that. Thicker than his pubes and almost as scratchy, he imagines the chalky deodorant he threw on this morning simply melting away. Absolutely overwhelmed by the prodigious musk his pits produce, proof of his own prodigious manhood.

Lost in a daydream, one hand slowly reaches over to scratch the armpit he imagines and finds it just as hairy as he imagines. Stomach quivering as higher thought continues to vacate. Buried beneath two tops, even still his fingertips can still feel the deep scratchy strands that have begun to stretch well beyond their underarm stomping ground.

Lips twitching into a grin, Morris moans quietly to himself as blush returns to his pale cheeks as its skin tightens and grows rougher. Standing limply in the center of the room as he continues to fill out his clothes, there are a couple inches of straining dress socks showing from the pants that were ever too long. 

On the opposite end of the garment, his growth is far more drastic. Never much of a shower or a grower, Morris’ petit package has more than filled his lucky pair of briefs. While one hand remains preoccupied with his pits, the other enthusiastically goes to cup a cock slowly twitching larger.

Quickly struggling to remove a belt now constricting his widening waist before it snaps, at the very same moment it clinks against the floor he hears his swelling cock strain his briefs. When it at last breaks free from his underwear and begins throbbing down the side of his pant leg, obviously visible, Morris’ hips twitch forward and he is brought back to the unmistakable reality of his situation.

“OHHHhhh GOddd~” Panting as he tries to make sense of this must-be nightmare, Morris stumbles over to the mirror to try and free himself from this manic hellscape. Thicker lips drooping open surrounded by stubble darkening from its blonde peachfuzz into a real man’s beard, he forces his face into his hands and tries to convince himself that these changes aren’t good. Cock throbbing in response it’s not looking good. 

Thick breath mists the mirror, hiding the vacant look in his eyes as they trail up and down the reflection of his body’s new almost pornographic proportions. So focussed on the meaty arms hanging at his side, he had yet to notice how a forming chest suddenly strains the buttons on his shirt. Nipples encircled by lancing curls are absolutely visible through the sweat-stained top. 

Hunger and need fill the spot left by intelligence in his eyes, he forces a hand to his mouth to stop a loud moan as his chest cracks wider, at last tearing the pitiful dress shirt. Strange new strength filling him more with every moment, he is again felt with the impatient urge to make use of it. To fight, to ff- fuck. Forcing his fist into his mouth he bites down to feel anything but the oppressive sensation pulsing from his cock at the idea.

Desperately willing himself to settle down and figure out how to wake up from this hallucination, Morris slams the fist not cupping his cock into the wall as he bites down hard on his lip to try and force himself back to his senses. “FUCK!” 

Clutching his injured mouth he stomps a foot in pain as the taste of iron fills his mouth. This marks the end of his dress shoes as the seams on its front burst open to reveal long toes almost completely visible beneath the sparse threads of a sock barely hanging in there. The sound of leather tearing continues as his freed foot continues expanding and tears the tattered shoe in two. 

Apathetic to the small trail of red dripping into the thickening stubble on his chin, he looks down at his mismatched feet. One with a shoe hanging on its ankle, still widening beyond the pale. The other barely hangs in there, shining leather filled to the brim with the mass of a foot simply far too large.

Gasping in pain at the feeling of his left foot trying desperately to match its pair’s growth while still confined, there’s an ice cold pit in his stomach as he at last realizes he can’t be dreaming. It just feels too much, too good. And then the other shoe bursts open, sending fabric and laces flying, the slightly humid air of the office a balm to the sole. 

Somewhere increasingly buried in his mind, he struggles to understand. If he’s not dreaming, then this is real. His back cracks as he adjusts to stand slightly taller. This is impossible. 

Staring at the remains of the most expensive piece of his outfit now hanging from both ankles, Morris tries to understand. It’s what he’s best at, making sense of something. Thinking. He has a degree. He was in debate and wrote for his university’s paper. At least he’s pretty sure he did? 

Furrowing his brows as they begin to thicken from their patchy blonde, Morris finds it suddenly difficult to recall. Concern at his situation rapidly gives way to frustration which gives way to apathy. He’ll just wait for Byron to come in and explain everything. Surely he’ll know what’s going on.

As it begins to become more and more difficult to recall his higher education, his thoughts begin to drift increasingly to Byron. Picturing the great man does no favors to his libido, his trigger happy crotch is eager to twitch with fervor as Morris struggles to control himself. 

No matter what he’s not going to be caught masturbating when the mysterious executive walks in. Despite wanting nothing more in the world to do so, he moves to sit down and struggles to tuck the massive cock in between his thighs before doing his best to cross the thick trunks. 

Vaguely recalling he brought some book with him, Morris looks at the novel tossed aside and picks it up. There’s a flicker of recognition as he knows it’s a book he really likes. But as he reads the title he has to stifle a laugh as in lieu of that ingrained peace, he simply reads the words ‘Moby Dick’ “Pffff WAH HAh ah- Hrm.” Clearing his throat as his voice cracks lower, shifting to one which yearns to guffaw rather than giggle.

Steeling himself, as much as he’s able. Morris recovers slightly and sternly tells himself he likes this book. That he’s a big reader, he’s got a degree in books. This is his favorite book. But even as he flails to remember what exactly a B.A. stands for, the memories of going to university feel less true. 

Surely he’d be smarter then…

When that thought flits to his mind the pride he holds in his intelligence returns. Determined to prove it by reading a book thicker than he can clearly remember reading, he opens it to a random page once more: Chapter 94. A Squeeze of the Hand.

Eyes glazed over, the language is far too advanced for his simplifying mind to even begin to comprehend. Still, they drift over the lines enough for him to pretend he’s grasping anything before at last they catch on something: ‘Squeeze! squeeze! Squeeze!’ Exclamation points calling to him, Morris continues to read Ishmael’s account of processing spermaceti. And unsurprisingly, he begins to laugh.

While earlier he was reading to focus on the text, now he almost needs to sound out the words for them to sink in. Following the lines with his fatter finger “All the morn-ing long; I squeezed that- hehheh, Sperm till I myself almost melted into it HAH HAhah- Huh… Sperm… Squeeze…”

Biting the lip that has miraculously healed already, if only he could recall the injury, Morris’ now sperm focussed and squeeze happy mind can only do what the written page suggests. Dropping the tome as he manspreads in an office chair that now creaks beneath his heavier load, he swallows the drool pooling in his mouth. Looking to pants now decorated with small tears, the once-academic stares at the too squeezable cock stretching halfway down his meaty thigh.

Pants so tight he can see the thick veins through the tearing fabric, Morris’ mouth falls open as he drools outright, beginning to rub his own whale through pants seconds away from tearing apart altogether. Feeling it scratch against his curl covered thighs and the cheap satin of his dress pants, he can scarcely recall that he’s in this room let alone the reason why. 

Pool of pre rapidly pulsing through the vicelike pants, Morris’ moans echo as he can recall no reason at all to quiet himself. As he can recall nothing but the pleasure emanating from his wanting cock. Louder than the clock, completely covering the ever-present hiss of the vent that has been steadily increasing; not that Morris ever stood a chance at noticing. His twitchy hips rut as he spits up over himself from excitement at release that is soon to come. 

Every aspect of self and every stray neuron firing is focused on the rising pressure in his crotch. Morris can feel his balls pull up as his free hand clenches the chair about to break underneath his weight. Legs extend as every muscle flexes, and just as that sweet release is on the precipice of freeing him from the grand weight of his worries- the door knob turns. 

Clad in a tailored three-piece suit more expensive than Morris’ apartment enters the prodigal chief himself, Byron Roman. Morris veins run cold at being seen in such a compromised position by that most influential man that has ever stepped foot in their podunk shared home town. Bolting up like a bullet, the horny man’s spine is straight as a ramrod.

So too is his cock as it finally wins the war against his cheap dress pants. Sending a small stream of pre flying as it bursts free from confinement, Morris can’t help but cross his eyes as it bounces in the air. Hazarding a glimpse, he can hardly believe just how impressive his dick is. Almost twice its previous size and veinier than his arms after the best pump he’s ever had, Morris would have cum at the very sight were he not wholly stunned from being in the presence of Byron.

Closing the door behind him as he enters outright, there is no surprise on the executives face as he inspects the goods. Striding to meet the man, he holds his hands behind his back as he inspects every inch of the man standing firmly at attention. Expressionless as he takes in every detail of Morris.

Zeroing in on whatever bodypart of Morris’ strikes his fancy, as he stares Morris continues to grow. Accelerating from the attention of the great man before him, as if every muscle and mindless body part were trying to make him proud.

Starting from behind, Byron takes an interest in the man’s ass. Morris twitches as his glutes expand, what remains of his briefs fall irrevocably into their crack as his hairy cheeks hang larger in the open air, stretchmarks painted across their prodigious mass like the work of art it is. 

Eyes trailing upward, Morris' waist fills out to give his silhouette the most powerful shape one can imagine. Connecting his heavy chest with wide hips and heavy thighs, there is no way someone could look at the drooling man and imagine anything but strength lying within him.

Finishing a slow lap around his aspirant, Byron stands in front of Morris and does one last look down and up. Landing on his face, Morris feels his jaw sharpen underneath the perpetual stubble that coats it. His chin juts out like a superhero’s while his cheekbones and brow ridge grow just as prominent. There’s a small crack in the air as Morris feels his nose reshape into something either aquiline or one that has simply broken and rehealed.

Still frozen in place, Morris’ stunted mind only just realizes that he’s at eye-level with Byron Morris. It’s so unbelievable that it almost breaks him free from whatever trance he’s in. Feeling the sweat drip down his exposed midriff as a breeze in the room sails through the treasure trail etching itself up his puffy abs mostly hidden by his strong gut, a needy grunt ekes out of his throat.

Finally, Byron gives any real indication that he’s anything more than a passive observer. Waiting for his guest’s glazed eyes to look back at him, the CEO smiles. “So. What is it that brings you in today?” His voice is like an upright bass alone in an orchestra hall, tightly controlled, smooth, and completely attention grabbing.

Unable to string two thoughts together he grunts and tries to explain himself, “I- I, uhh… J- Job- s ssir…” Struggling to swallow drool still spilling from his overactive glands, he tries to stand even straighter to hide the obvious mess he’s in. Taking a deep breath to recover from the strain of speaking, he inhales a hearty dose of his musk and struggles against the handful of twitches his body enacts in response. 

“I hope you don’t mind the subterfuge, from your letter I did gather you were quite desperate. So much so you were quite lax reading the fine print of- Well, I imagine you can’t recall anyway so what is the point, right old- Er? What was your name again?” For the first time Byron reaches out to touch Morris, brushing some shred of torn cardigan stuck to his sweaty skin as he asks the question

“I’m Mo- Mo…” Finally thickening enough to be the caterpillar-like brows he’s always admired on other men as his brow ridge bulges lower, his eyebrows furrow as he tries to recall the simplest of answers. Waiting patiently, Byron starts to massage his bicep, distracting him all the more. It’s his name. It should be engrained within his mind, within his self more than anything else. 

Byron’s hand travels up his shoulder before shifting over to cup his heavy pecs, prodding them as if he’s inspecting livestock with a grin. “Come now boy, you must know your name! I read your very brief resume- or I briefly read it, rather. Hm, I suppose you couldn’t mind such a dig at this point ah ha ha!” With each laugh he presses firmer into the man’s chest, delighting as he quivers with need. 

“I’mmm Mmmnhh”

Byron reaches up to grasp the man’s jaw with his free hand while he travels down the whole of his torso with the other. Batting away the shirt as he easily sails down sweaty abs and haphazardly detangles scratchy body hair, Byron smiles as he forces the man to look directly in his eyes. “You wouldn’t mind if we just gave you a new one? After all, what could you want more than a fresh start under my wing.”

Needily nodding, the now nameless man melts as Byron at last graces his cock with attention. Lightly grazing its veiny surface with his manicured nails, the executive gives one small tug on the meaty cock’s head and watches as pre that has been trickling down his shaft drips onto the floor. 

Eyes darting to the book lying on the floor, Byron smirks as he brings his hand to his mouth to sample the sticky ichor glazing his hand. “Moby, hm? Isn’t that swell.” 

Tongue hanging limp from his mouth as he pants like a dog, he must agree the name feels fitting. It feels like him. Or he would if there was a single thought in his mind. At the moment any higher consciousness, much like his blood, was rushing to that most turgid of organs. He was just waiting for Byron’s permission to finally become. 

As Byron’s hand reaches to grasp what little of Moby’s cock it’s able, the new hire feels the peace he was always longing for. Mind simplifying with each small tug and twist of the fingers, he feels all he is and was drain into his balls as they pull upward.

Eyes rolling back as his supernaturally rigid posture twitches and almost collapses under the touch of his boss. There’s a blank grin on Moby’s face as he prepares to release the heavy weight of understanding. And with a few simple flicks of Roman’s wrist, Moby does just that.

Erupting like a geyser, everything that made Morris what he was is launched from him in pearly strings. His application and the contract he thoughtlessly signed, his few long years as a barista, his poorly received thesis and the best years of his life precipitating it; all converted to a messy cum splatter on the floor of this corporate office.

 Moby pants as he falls back amongst the pools of his scattered past self. Bleary smirk on his face, the toll of almost doubling in size leaves him drained as his eyelids begin to waver. Pulling up a chair and lighting a cigar that had been hidden in his jacket, Byron Roman watches him overtaken by sleep.

He doesn’t remember too much about the man smoking above him. He doesn’t remember too much at all. But he knows the man is everything to him. And when he wakes up well, he’s going to do his best to make him proud.

Byron Roman never really saw the point in a grunt. His many underlings all served their purposes, true. But a body man, one always at his beck and call, one always by his side. He always imagined it would be suffocating. 

Never has he been more pleased to be proven wrong. Moby has performed every duty even better than expected. Given their steamy first meeting it’s not long before their relationship grows beyond that of boss and muscled-up assistant.

His scientists always pushed one of their own to be the lab rat, but Byron has always preferred the humanities. While mechanical intelligence may have sufficed, Moby’s tortured classical passions gave his final form far more flavor.

Reclined at his desk, incense burning slowly as he stares at Moby standing over watch outside his office, Byron decides it’s time to call it a day. To that end, he calls his grunt over for their now daily ritual. Calling him over, Byron’s mouth curls into a grin as watches Moby’s tight uniform contort and stretch over his muscle with every labored movement.

“You rang boss?”

“Moby be a dear, lock the door and close the blinds.”

Blush burns underneath Moby’s permanent five o’clock shadow as his mouth reflexively falls open. Sprinting to the door to do just that, he bounds back to his boss to do exactly what’s made for.

Undoing his tie, Byron’s already well-excited himself, zipper creaking as this becomes indisputable. Something about their sessions always leaves him feeling rejuvenated himself. When he looks in the mirror after he’d swear his beard is always a touch darker, the neck it hides thicker. Perhaps he’d worry, but fucking and being fucked by the titan simply has a way of softening his many worries.