Hey everyone, exciting news I've created a new blogger where my stories will be hosted alongside Tumblr! I know quite a few of us are aware of Aardvark's Tumblr deletion (that said you should def be on his Patreon). I have been thinking about this for a while, but this and a few messages made me get to it faster. As I don't have a Patreon, I'd be sad if the stories were lost and no one could find them.
So, I've transferred every story & short I've published over there. I even went so far as to painstakingly go through each one and touch them up. (You guys really put up with me with all those typos.) But I know for a fact I still didn't catch them all, but these updates should make the stories easier reads. Don't ever say I don't care about you guys or these stories, because it was a pain in the butt XD.
I might write things on there; I wouldn't write on Tumblr. I haven't quite decided. But I do want everyone to be aware of that before you go over there. It'll be the same content Male, AP & MG stories just possibly more erotic and kinkier and sometimes still subdued and narrative focused. Don't hold me to that, I genuinely want to think about it. Basically, I'll be writing whatever I want. (For example, I've been thinking of an Obsession is 9/10ths of the Law-True End for October. Not saying I will write it, but it's a concept I'm toying with. And if you get that, we're probably on the same wavelength.) But the blog does have a proper sensitive content warning, so you will need to log in.
Website: https://maningupstories.blogspot.com/
Make sure you bookmark it because this page/post might be gone one day.
With that good news out of the way, I have to admit because I expedited this, all the projects and stories I was working on for October got shuffled to the back burner (yup, even the True End one.) Here's the thing, I've been writing a lot, but it's not all AP/MG and even when it mostly is, I sometimes bounce between stories as inspiration hits. Meaning there are drafts galore that I have to get back to.
But hopefully you'll see a story or two come end of the month or Nov.
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A/N: Hey there, so this is actually the last story from that original stockpile I had. Since then I've written a few more, but wanted to make a note of it.
Ever played a prank before? Mac had. Lots of times. It ran in the Grogan men DNA. Never mean or cruel, just things that would make both father and son laugh or give a good freight. Thatâs why Mac hid under his dadâs bed, there was enough space and behind the dresser was too obvious. The closet? Too uninventive. In truth, he had hidden everywhere at this point, but the bed just couldnât be beat. Under the bed he could pop out, scare his dad and run out before he was caught. It was procedural at this point.Â
As he crawled under this time, getting into position, pajamas dragging on the wood floor, he spotted it. Laying there under his dadâs bed, on the opposite side of where his dad usually slept, was grey fabric. Mac grabbed at it but couldn't quite make it out. For all the talk his dad gave him about keeping a clean bedroom, it turned out his dad could be messy and forgetful too. He waited and listened. Didnât sound like his dad was coming. He slowly got from under the bed to see the item in the light.Â
Underwear.
That was obvious, but it didnât look like any underwear heâd seen. He wore briefs. His dad wore boxers. What was in his hands felt like briefs but looked like his dadâs boxers. As was a sonâs right, he had rummaged through his dadâs drawers multiple times, whether playing or just being nosey. Heâd never once spotted these. Did his dad keep them hidden? Well, Mac had seen them now. The longer he held the underwear, the more curious he got. What did it feel like to have them on? He had played in his dadâs boxers before; nothing special. But these felt different. Mac let his curiosity guide him, taking off his pajama bottoms to slide into them.
Once he got them on, Mac felt good, really good. Better than he ever did in his briefs and better than his dadâs boxers. He didnât need to hold them up like he did with his dadâs boxers. The elastic waistband on them snapped to his waist even if the rest was roomy. A strange warmth flowed out from the underwear into him. There was a pop then a crack, Mac thought his dad was coming in, but the door was still closed. It wasnât until his viewpoint was yanked up that he realized the sounds were coming from him. His body was changingâgrowingârapidly. It started with a few inches in height, then got his muscles in on the action. Mac wasnât just growing up; he was growing out. The drifting of his shoulders further started it, broadening his back allowing them to round as his traps grew stronger. Then his pecs bubbled out, spilling into the open, no longer one cohesive unit with the rest of his torso. His pajama shirt was split open, two tragic halves dangling on to his sides. It wasn't enough, abs ingrained their own importance onto his body further disrupting its unity for preference of grooves and divides.
The valley between Macâs pecs grew deeper as his arms bulked, feeding directly from the shoulders. The pajama halves fell off. Light brown hair cropped up over his forearms and his legsâ and spine pushed him higher into the air. The same hair migrated to his legs before his thighs doubled, then quadrupled in size. His calves were no different, experiencing the same changes, expanding with newfound power. The change in his feet was undeniable, stretched across the floor, morphing into true heavy stompers, supporting his new weight. A tension in his neck released, a thickness had taken over. âGUH!â the first sounds of his new voice escaped. Far richer and deeper than any sound he made before. Macâs face was restructured, soft and rounded features removed for solid harder edges. A beard emerged, dark brown chocolate, that swallowed up his lower jaw and upper lip and yet made his jawline appear all the harsher.
Then came the sudden pressure between his legs, as his cock filled out, with two weighted balls churning with seed behind it. Mac knew his cock wasnât even hard, it just hung heavy, but it was more packed than anything heâd seen in his life. A pump of his butt gave his glutes the workout they needed to firm out to fruition. The hat and necklace appeared out of thin air. One second not there, the blink of an eye on his body as if they always belonged there. Mac stared at himself in the mirror. He was older. Even his thoughts were more complex. The strength of a man flowing through his veins. He looked it, he felt it. An older Mac, who still looked like himself but repackaged as a man. He didnât resemble his father as much as he would have expected. Rather, he looked more likeâŚMrs. Derabondâs nephew: Tony.
Mrs. Derabond lived two houses down and would sometimes ask her nephew to do chores for her. He was a young handy man, between his late 20's and early 30âs, often taking on odd jobs for her. Macâs dad had once asked him for help with their own house and the man agreed to help out. They were close in age and got on well.
There were thoughts and memories swirling around in Macâs head. Were they new or old? And a different face when his eyes looked in the mirror.Â
Images and flashes of his dad and Tony making out, winding up in bed together, multiple times. And this last time Tony was in such a scramble to respond to his aunt, he left his underwear at the side of Mr. Groganâs bed, accidentally kicking it under on his way out. Mac was in Tonyâs underwear, not his fatherâs.
The bedroom door opened as Mr. Grogan stepped inside, freezing upon seeing the Tony-sized Mac in his room. The father didnât look angry or scared; he just curiously pointed. âYouâre one of Tonyâs friends.â he gestured to the hat and necklace. âDid he set this up? I thought he said tomorrow.â
âSet this up, kinda.â Mac said with a gruff voice. âBy not picking up his stuff!â Â his thoughts finished.
âShoot, I donât know how long we have before my son gets up.â His dad poked his head out of the bedroom, then came back in and locked the door. âWe should have time.â
âWhaâ
His fatherâs lips were upon Macâs own. The manâs tongue dove inside Macâs mouth. Macâs eyes widened, but his tongue already knew what to do. Tonyâs skills had imprinted onto him and were going into action. His dadâs hands landed on Macâs back and migrated to the small of his waist, pulling him in closer. Their cocks brushed against each other, his dadâs cock inflated rapidly and Macâs wasnât far behind. It was like acing dance moves to a song heâd never heard.
Mac had never seen this side of his dad before. There was happy, playful, disappointed, sad, and of course the twins stern & strict. This was âready to fuckâ. His dad grabbed the back of the underwear pulling them down, just below the cleft, so he could knead the cheeks like dough out in the open. Mr. Groganâs hands, still larger than Mac's, easily grabbed a large portion of the glutes.Â
No space was left between their bodies. His dadâs chestnut chest hair pressed into Macâs supple smooth pecs. A tickling sensation as four mounds of muscles competed with each other. Macâs beard, one he didn't haveâcouldnât growâseconds ago, brushed against his father's beard and enticed Mac for more. This was how his dad and Tony preluded their escapades prior, and yet as Mac and his father existed in the space, something new was taking shape: evolving. His dadâs kiss became more tender, less hasty. The hands on Macâs ass slid up to wrap around his back. There was no rush for time, they had all the time. Their story wasnât one of a backed-up single father trying to dump his nut in the neighborhood stud. It was similar, but not close.
They opened their eyes at the same time. Lips parting under his fatherâs lead. Mr. Grogan looked at the man in front of him; his thought process was clear as day. A kiss that started like Tonyâs had morphed into something more: Macâs own. Mac could sense the change within himself too, but more importantly, he saw the lust in his fatherâs eyes, not vanish, but giving way to a soft look of love. His dad rested his fingers on Macâs beard, a gentle placement and brushing. âYou know, I didnât get your nameâŚâ
âDad,â Mac let out.
âDad?â Mr. Grogan blinked. âOh, so youâre into that? Okay, no names, I can work with it.â The man nodded his head, as if assuring himself. He walked over to the bed, pulled down his pajamas, kicked them off to the side, then sat down, legs spread, cock hard. He patted his thighs: An invitation. Mac slowly walked over and once close, his dad reached out and dragged him in by the front waistband of his underwear. Then his father yanked the underwear down fully. A beautiful fat cock twitched in the air, balls nested perfectly underneath as heavyweights, surrounded by a brown bush.
Mac saw how his cock was very much like his dadâs, huge lengths. The only difference came from Tonyâs contributions. While his dad had decent mass, Macâs cock looked overfed, girth more akin to a small arm. His dad placed his foot on the gray boxer briefs, which allowed Mac to step out of them. âCome here, son.â Mac climbed onto his dadâs lap, not speaking. Lips found each other as their tips met. Just two men kissing, and one sex organ meeting its progenitor. Mr. Grogan placed Macâs hand on their cocks. Warm flesh that felt pleasurably scorching under anotherâs gaze.
âYou got a nice cock boy, looks like Daddyâs.â Mr. Grogan whispered, kissing his way up Macâs neck. A bead of precum leaked out of his fatherâs cock and slicked them both. They kissed more. The man gave a small laugh, pulling away for a bit, âSorry, your dadâs making things a bit messy here.â The precum was still going, Macâs cock was getting soaked. âLet dad, take care of you.â He had Mac sit up on his knees over his lap. Mr. Grogan opened his mouth and took his sonâs length inside him. Mac jerked when his dadâs tongue lashed against the underside of his cockhead. His dad moaned loudly once he got his mouth further down. A real struggle, compared to Tonyâs mainly girthy cock. His dad was determined though and kept going swallowing more dick.
âOh, fuck me dadâŚâ Macâs legs wobbled.
Mr. Grogan pulled off with a wet plop, âOh, I intend to, but first.â This time he sank back down and went to the bush, throat opened, as Macâs hand rested on his head. His dadâs hands gripped Macâs muscle ass as Mr. Grogan force fed himself Macâs cock. The sensation beat out every single memory Mac had of his dad sucking Tony. His father had never been this kind of cock hungry before. The man was slurping like his mouth depended on it. Mac watched in total awe of his dad, and when his dad looked up with those warm brown eyes at Mac, he lost it. Like Tony before him, Mac erupted inside of his dadâs throat. His cum escaped in multiple shots, as his dad moaned at the taste.
Making an unknowing show of swallowing his own grandkids all down, Mr. Grogan licked his lips âFucking delicious.â He pulled off, kissing the cock head. âLook at this fat fuck, baby boy. Not even soft.â He lightly slapped the dick, as Mac writhed, before burying his face in Macâs pubes and licking his balls. The cum factories were under a glorious attack by their fatherâs tongue, compelling them for more. They had more to give and then some, having been empowered to mimic Tonyâs own big cum-filled stud balls. But Tony wasnât here right now, and Mac could tell his dad didnât even mind it.
Mr. Grogan warped his arms around Macâs waist, before falling back with Mac on top of him, both laughing. An instinctual casual air had taken over, no thoughts about sons, or annoying aunts to run down the clock. Just the feeling that everything they needed was right in that room. When Mr. Grogan was ready; he flipped their bodies, so he was on top, with Mac underneath him. Their bodies ended up pressed together, with Macâs legs around his dadâs strong build.
âWe're really about to do this, son?â Mr. Grogan said for the roleplay as his cock opened Macâs ass. The manâs furry dad tits bounced for distraction, as his dick made a new home in Macâs insides. Memories were great and all but actually taking his dadâs cock was another beast entirely. A member that happy fucked its way inside a new partner. Mr. Groganâs lips found Macâs mouth again as they made out. It took Mac a moment to register that alongside the coffee, the other taste in his dadâs mouth was Macâs cum. The young manâs orgasm built up like a rushing wave as his father thrusted. Each pound, reminding Mac, his dad was about to deposit his brothers inside him. Mr. Grogan hadnât grabbed a condom; he ALWAYS grabbed a condom. But for this, his mind didn't think about it. Mac saw the realization hit his dad in real time, unable to stop the thrust of his hips. The look sent Mac over the edge and his cock nutted mercilessly between them.
âLook at me, making my son cum like a hose.â he growled, but then stopped as the grip of Macâs ass began to milk for what it was rightfully owed. Mr. Grogan collapsed, flooding Macâs insides.
A few minutes later both men laid in bed naked, facing each other. Warm smiles of satisfaction were plastered on their faces. Mac had his hand on his fatherâs chest, tracing to his arms as Mr. Grogan was stroking Mac's cock, which was hard once again.Â
âYou and Tony are like the energizer bunnies.â The man laughed as he toyed with the dick, âBut Iâll be honest Tony and I never had an experience like that. Usually, itâs a struggle to see how much time we have. I couldnât think about anything else but getting inside you.â He fondled the plump balls, âMaybe next time, you can get inside me?â He reached over and slapped Macâs ass before caressing it. Then he slowly got out of bed, âI have to go see if my sonâs awake, strange I havenât heard from him.â Bending over to step into his pajamas, he plucked the gray underwear from the floor. âHuh, I think Tony has a pair just like these.â He looked up and narrowed his eyes âIs that weird? Heâs not your cousin or anything, right?â
âDefinitely not,â Mac said, still feeling the cool drool of his unborn siblings out his ass.
âSo, now can I get your name?â Mr. Grogan arched an eyebrow tossing the underwear over. Mac caught it in the air.
âMy nameâs Mac.â
âMac?â Mr. Grogan leaned forward, âThatâs funny, thatâs my sonâs name.â He began walking to his door then froze. He turned and took another look at the man in his bed. Recognition lit in his Macâs eyes, no doubt now seeing his own familiar features on the other man, âMAC?!?!â
âHeyâŚDad.â The older Mac said, too well fucked to properly emote. He just dangled Tonyâs underwear, gesturing if they werenât his.
The understanding of what happened dawned on Mr. Grogan. No words were said. He stood in silence for a moment. Then his pajama bottoms began to rise in the crotch as he stepped away from the door, and slowly sauntered back to bed, where Mac laid
Everyone wanted to be part of Connected Growth Innovations new project. Sure, there were rumors and unproven lawsuits concerning their previous endeavors, but what was the real danger? Everyone knew those fake claims were just publicity to play into their name CGI.Â
Their newest endeavor was centered on their Upload Helmets. Users could put themselves into a virtual world, created entirely by memory. Through this people could experience the world through anotherâs eyes, no danger of any mishaps. This meant people could even relive memories based on emotions. Parents could see how they yelled at their kids and looked like monsters. Boyfriendsâ âjokesâ about their girlfriends became exposed as personal bashing comedy routines. Simple arguments could directly be seen as misinterpreted by both parties incorrectly assuming. Intentionality. Once Again, CGI Labs had done the impossible and found a way to connect hearts and minds.Â
The Upload Helmet connected people to a virtual world that was entirely based off of a personâs mind. A way to visit a shared mindscape if you will. Of course, a single person could craft their own virtual world just to experience the out of body-state.
Keith Stewart was a huge fan of the Upload Helmet. Every day he was sending his consciousness off into a world that he could craft and explore. There were warnings not to abuse the product, but Keith was never known for being a great listener. He was in the artificial world, helmet on his head every day. He couldnât stop, wouldnât stop. His favorite thing to do was to recreate his home from his memory. A test of his skills as an architect. Each time heâd tried to add whatever he missed. Then he tried to expand upon his home adding rooms that didnât exist. His home became a mansion, then he tried to expand beyond that, creating a city. A strain on his helmet as the server was only meant to create things for a short time. If someoneâs memory took place in a bar, then their home wouldnât be loaded up.Â
Lucky for Keith the final abuse of his helmet came, when he was surrounded by others at work. So, when he put the helmet on for a demonstration and it began to smoke, people were able to respond. Unfortunately, when they got the helmet off, Keithâs body was unconscious.
â
Keith stood drinking coffee in his home. It was a beautiful morning. Another beautiful morning. And it was going to always be a beautiful morning. That was the memory of the world Keith had crafted in his virtual space. Now he lived there. âTemporarilyâ the workers at CGI labs would say. After his collapse the company elected to take care of his body, which was currently sitting in a hospital bed somewhere. Due to the malfunction his body refused to download his consciousness, and the company was curious to find out why.
The CGI workers would pop in, a glowing light descending from the sky before a glowing circle would appear on the floor. The same as when anyone else arrived and came down a digital wind tunnel from the sky. Then there were endless questions about how he felt, what he was going to do that day. Keith had to struggle not to say, âlay in bed and jerk offâ. The company promised they werenât watching him 24/7, but why did he feel like an animal in a zoo?
A white circle appeared on the floor as Keith rolled his eyes, setting down his coffee. He was prepared to tell the worker to leave but then noticed his brotherâs body lower down until it landed solidly in the center of the circle.Â
âDennis!â Keith shouted, waving a hand. His brother was a big gym guy, easily taking up the entirety of the circle.Â
His brother opened his eyes, spotting Keith. The piercing blues went up and down, examining, as his brow furrowed. He stepped out of the circle as it disappeared. Dennis had a white dress shirt and pants, with shined black shoes. âWhy are you still in your underwear? I told you my family was coming to visit you today at 1pm.â He talked like a teacher trying to scold a student.
âHey, look I donât know if you noticed bro, but time passes differently in here.â Keith stated, he could be a brat back if his brother was going to get high and mighty.
Dennis sighed, running a hand down his face, âWhy donât you let CGI Labs, put in a clock that aligns with the actual world or change the weather. My family is sitting at their facility now; I can go do it for you.âÂ
âThose guys donât need to be in my head any more than they are. Itâs their fault Iâm in this mess.â Keith said.
âKeith itâs your own damn fault forâI âm not doing this today. Asher and Lina are on their way. Get dressed.â Dennis had a point; their argument about who was the blame had happened countless times. Keith got up, leaning off the cabinets and walked to his bedroom.Â
His brother could be such an ass. Their argument was about more than this event. Dennis didn't have an adventurous bone in his body, never thought outside the box. Thatâs how Dennis ended up working for a dull corporation, Keith couldnât bother to remember. His brother considered unbuttoning his shirt dressing down. In Keith's mind, Dennis couldnât sympathize with him because Dennis didnât have the imagination to even understand how he got into the situation. Ever since they were little, Dennis was all about rigid structure, and there was Keith, the older brother, to shatter those notions. Their parents thought it was an act of a higher power that they were blessed with a boy who didnât look for danger at every turn.
As a big brother though there was nothing sadder to Keith than a kid who couldnât even be curious or pretend. He tried hard to break Dennis out of that mentality, trips to junk yards, tree climbing, bike racing, nothing worked. Especially not when Keith always ended up with some kind of injury, from a scrape on the knee to a dislocated shoulder falling from a tree. Dennis had finally bought into his parentâs belief Keith was a daredevil, who always went too far. Thatâs why even today, Dennis was so up Keithâs ass about this situation. Just another daredevil stunt in his little brotherâs eyes.
The digital jeans and shirt slipped on easy enough, as Keith walked back into the main room. Two more circles appeared. His sister-in-law and nephew landed in the center of them before opening their eyes. Linda was a gorgeous woman, black curly hair, tanned mediterranean skin. Dennis had done well for himself. The woman was a real go-getter which came as another surprise. As for his nephew Asher, he reminded Keith a lot of young Dennis: pale, thin, blonde hair. The only difference was Asher didnât hate Keith as muchâŚat least not yet.
An hour passed as the family sat down and told him what was going on in their lives and the condition of his body. Keith pretended to care for the first half but zoned out during the second. He loved them, but they bothered him every week just to tell him he wasnât going back in his body: what did they want from him? It felt like Dennis just wanted to punish him.Â
Keith watched them all leave, circles forming and glowing under their feet. Dennis barely had any room for his circle. Why did a lawyer need to be sculpted like a body builder anyway? Next was Linaâs, a bit more modest, reasonable space in her circle. Lastly, was Asherâs circle lighting up, tons of space in that one. Dennis closed his eyes and began to ascend, then Linda did the same, shoes disconnecting from the ground. Keith removed his clothes, once the family's eyes were off him. Down to his underwear, a curious idea got into Keithâs head as his brother and sister-in-law disappeared. He jumped onto Asherâs glowing square. âMove over a bit,â He requested, barging in as they both ascended, getting sucked away from that place.
Asher and Keithâs digital forms began to glow into the familiar white light. Their bodies got forced closer together. Keith couldnât tell if his body was pulling in his nephewâs, or if his form was sinking into Asher. Regardless, their silhouette coalesced into one. As the form found cohesion their minds melded. Keith saw everything Asher once had. Dennis, fighting to ensure CGI Labs gave Keith the utmost care. Sitting by Keith's body in the hospital. The late nights spent crying before his son caught him. Then a memory.
âI thought you didnât like Uncle Keith,â Asher asked late one night across the dinner table.
âWe donât mesh well; doesnât mean I donât like or love him.â Dennis sighed, the sigh of a man who was worn out. âIâm so tired of people thinking that. When we were growing up, I wanted to be just like him butâŚI wasnât. I couldnât do the things he could, and I realized I didnât want to. I was happy to watch him get excited to do something stupid. But thisâŚâ A tear ran down Dennis' face. âHe canât go like this.â Dennis turned to Asher, âLet me tell you a secret that stays between us. Your uncle was my first love. He was always beautiful, stayed beautiful. But I knew that I couldnâtâŚwe couldnâtâŚ.â
The memory faded and Keith felt the weight of how badly heâd just fuck up. He shouldnât have had that memory, but it was severed from the catalog of his own brain. No, not his brain. Asherâs. And he could feel his nephew unintentionally reading his mind in return. There was no separation between them anymore. The reupload process had begun. The lines of code that made up their identity had mashed together.
Meanwhile, Asherâs body prepared to receive back its consciousness as the Upload Helmet glowed. His parents were already getting sorted back in the world as Asherâs body began to convulse. The data it was receiving contained much more information than what it had sent out. A combined code of Asher and his Uncle Keithâs consciousness got crammed into the smaller form. There was too much data for the body to hold. The helmet began to smoke.
âOh my god!â Linda said, âIâll go get someone!" She ran out.Â
Keith watched, Asherâs eyes now both of theirs, as Dennis leapt into action pulling at the helmet. Asherâs body bucked. Once. Twice. Then his clothes began to rip. It started with his shoulder expanding out as his height grew. Asherâs body was deciphering His uncle Keith's code and incorporating it. An odd sensation, but Keith could feel himself flow through Asher's body and fill it up. Like slipping into a small suit only to have it stretch around you. Only this was a graceful entrance as he started in the mind, got sent through the blood, absorbed by the muscles, then infused into the bones. Asher had muscle dump into him as his chest exploded out of his shirt. Heavy pecs with dark brown nipples. His shoulders were given no reprieve having to supply new power to his arms. Biceps and forearms ready to smash heads emerge. This wasn't a simple implementation and execution of Keithâs code; Asherâs body was utilizing it for improvement. In the same way their minds had joined, Asher's physical body was becoming a merger of the two. When his thighs exploded out of his small pants thatâs when Dennis fell back on his ass. Within seconds Asherâs body had changed into a muscled beast.
âSon?â Dennis stood up, watching the body catch its breath. Asherâs underwear shifted from boxers into a familiar white. Keithâs code was affecting the last thing on Asherâs body, rewriting inorganic material.Â
âSon, you okay?â Dennis stepped closer. The smoking from the helmet stopped.
Keith backed up, as if there was an instinctual way Dennis would know what he did. He stepped back like Asher fearing a punishment from his dad.
He watched Dennisâ eyes take in his new form, how it lingered on his chest and down the torso until it rested at his ass. There was a look in Dennis' eyes that revealed he pieced together what happened. He had grown up under Keith enough to recognize his older brotherâs features reused. Slowly, Dennis walked over removing the helmet. Asherâs face was older, matured, like his uncle Keith's. No more hesitating, Dennis kissed his son, his brother, whoever. Their lips met again and again, as Dennis wrapped his around Asherâs body pulling him closer.
â
Asherâs sudden growth was linked to yet another malfunction of the CGI Labsâ Upload Helmet. Then came the disappearance of Keithâs consciousness off his private server. Without so much of a second thought the company simply uploaded a copy of Keith into his body and tried to pass it off as the original. There was something off about the CGI Labs. They had a twisted excitement trying to uncover Asherâs mishap. When they found out the original Keith had merged with Asher during the reuploaded process, the company was happier than ever to shill out money. CGI Labs. had long been transforming people into others, but merging their consciousness was a new feat.
For the duplicate Keith it was strange waking up, to find his nephew as a massive hulking beast. Not to mention, having every single last one of his memories. Then to be told he was an installed duplicate, was even more upsetting.Â
Lina was shocked to say the least. Her son was, in a manner of speaking, older than her. She never quite got over coming back into the room with workers to find her sonâs body gone and a stranger in his place. The Stewart men didnât have the heart to explain the intricacies of what happened to Asher and Keith. It was better to let her think duplicate Keith was the real one.Â
As for theâŚStewart brothers? Father and son? Things were certainly different. Dennis wasnât exactly sure how to interact with the current Asher, befriend him? parent him? One thing he could do was love him. The kiss they shared put all Dennisâ cards on the table. He had almost lost his brother once he couldnât go through it again. So maybe it was only a matter of time, the two found each otherâs lips again. Lina had gone out with friends and the men stayed home watching the game. Dennis kissed his big brother-son on the couch, pushing the wall of muscle back so he could climb on top of him. Asher wrapped his legs around his fatherâs waist, pressing him in tighter. Dennis cock grinded against the supple ass. Not long after, pants were lost as Dennis pounded into it. The manâs words were a mess of phrases from baby boy to big bro, as he made a giant weak. There was no immediate come down after the sex, they wanted more. After a race up to Asherâs room, the Stewarts broke the bed, the wood frame collapsing as Dennis rode his big bro like a horse. The poor thing wasn't equipped to handle two men of their size.
By the time Lina came back, the house was cleaned. Dennis was more energetic and Asher had an extra pep in his step. The two started a new father-son project to get Asher a new bed. The first of many projects and reasons theyâd have to go off together. Then end up with their cocks up each otherâs backside. Nothing like Asher getting a call from his Lina, in the back of Dennis' car, when Asherâs cock was buried in the hilt in his younger brotherâs dad ass.
âYeah mom? Dadâs a bit busy, that's why he couldnât answer.â A thrust of the manâs hips made Dennis clamp over his mouth. Asher talked with his mom, while his dick pummeled his dadâs insides. Meanwhile Dennisâs daddy dick was leaking like a faucet, spilling precum freely. Whenever this combined version of Asher Keith was inside him Dennis couldnât help it. The fatherâs ass clamped to milk his top dry. Nothing like having your own sonâs body fucking you like your older brother. âLove you to0, mom.â The phone hung up and got tossed away as the fucking got faster. âLove you too dadâŚlittle bro, gonna show you how much.â The car rocked with the power generated from the menâs lovemaking.
âFUCK!â both would growl out as cum erupted from their cocks. One batch flooded Dennisâ guts, the other coated both sets of abs in pearly white. A matching pair as the two kissed again. The radioâs music transitioned to an ad, neither was listening to. CGI Labs had a new discovery and an invention to come out. The ad ended back into music as the men drifted off to sleep for a little while.Â
Who needed an uploaded helmet when reality was so much better?
A/N: Gods really do be arriving, messing up lives, then moving on, huh?
Zeus had really pissed the wrong collection of gods off, so much so theyâd even screw over their own Rebirth in the coming era. Why couldnât his brother just not lie with everything that made him aroused. Mortals and gods from their own pantheon were fine, but trying to go beyond that? Poseidonâs divinity and all its power reduced into the form of a necklace. Nothing more than a tiny trident, his own planetary symbol. Where it would be bought like a cheap dollar store trinket. Some mortal girl trying to show a romantic declaration of love, or some such, to her male counterpart. All the power she held, and she had no idea as she placed it on the young manâs neck.
Stanley, as she called him, was a lanky young man, pale skin, oversized glasses. If anything, he did have a very puppy-like innocence, with his baby face, warm brown eyes, and soft brown hair. After years of waiting, Poseidon had hoped this was his escape. When the metal met flesh, he poured the tiniest bit of his divinity into Stanley. It was simply a test. He wasnât going to pour it all and risk his escape and the vessel's destruction. That was something stupid and ill-advised Ares would do. Unbeknownst to the couple, Stanley's body lapped it up, muscles surging with slight growth. They didn't notice how his chest protruded into his shirt, or how his short sleeves hugged his arms. Stanley had to take his glasses off as the world got blurry. He rubbed his eyes only to find that he could see. He placed them in his pocket weirded out. With that act the air around the young man changed from mousey nerd into a more average self-assuredness.
The male and female parted as Poseidon now dangled against Stanleyâs pecs, better for the godâs own temporary comfort, but he was determined to not be a fucking necklace for much longer. The fledgling mortals said some irrelevant things about this being their breakup before college, but Poseidon couldnât be bothered; he needed Stanley alone if he wanted to test more. Mortals could be so panicky about their flesh obeying godsâ commands. Poseidon waited patiently for Stanley to walk back home.
Though once Stanley walked into his bedroom, he slammed the door and dropped his pants. His young cock was begging for attention; processing divinity wasnât easy on most people. He stroked it, only tangentially aware of how heavier it was. He wasnât as well acquainted with his cock like most teens his age heading off to college. Elise, his now ex, wasnât the type to have a random rendezvous. Poseidon groaned at how boring the mortalâs thoughts were. Pushing in his divinity connected Poseidon to the teen, but what a dreadful start.
Grabbing a tissue, Stanley covered his cock. âFUCK!â he cried a word he rarely used as something wrenched his balls dry. The tissue was soaked as the scent of pure nut permeated the room, âEww gross!â Stanley looked at the shimmer left on his hand as he tossed the wet tissue papers in the trash. In his previous dalliances' heâd never drenched an entire tissue before. Poseidon heard that and knew the young mortal better prepare himself because there was more to come.
The summer before college Stanley became Poseidonâs experiment. Every night Poseidon slipped more of his divinity into Stanley. He wasnât sure what it was supposed to feel like when he found his soul and body, but Stanley was highly receptive. That was probably a sign things were going well. As for Stanley, he went from a paper-thin nerd to a jock chugging down protein shakes before a morning workout. Poseidon was just dumping loads of energy Stanleyâs body put into use. His voice went from a meek mild thing to loud and brash. When he walked, his body demanded notice. The tank tops incorporated into his wardrobe certainly got eyes on his arms. His ass didnât need any special clothing attention, just a bubble from the start. Then, there was his cock. People thought he was smuggling a dildo around before he started wearing the proper underwear.
People noticed the changes, but thanks to Poseidonâs careful planning chalked it up to those latent growth spurts mortals had. On the first night after Stanley had left for college, Poseidon tried to make his move. It was the perfect opportunity. Stanley's parents were far away, and the young man didnât know anyone around them. Poseidon could simply vanish into the night. No one would know. The god poured more of his divinity than he ever had into Staney as the young man slept. The teen whimpered as his cock rose in his sleep; a wet dream.
âDudddeeee shut up.â His dorm mate sleepily said, turned towards the wall.
Poseidon was going incrementally but it didnât feel like Stanley could house much more of him. The god became sure the boy would burst as his cock began to drip. Then suddenly Stanleyâs cock exploded, cum flying throughout the room, edged to the brink by divinity. Stanley only released a quiet whimper as his cum coated the room, even flying over to his new dorm mate. The abundant load was the gift of a god, especially one whose dominion was over water. Fresh young jock cum became the permanent scent of Stanleyâs dorm room. Poseidon, frustrated, recalled all his divinity back into the necklace, but there was no undoing any changes in Stanley. From then on Stanley was just the host who wore Poseidonâs necklace. He was indistinguishable from any other college gym-goer or athlete.
But then came the frat house.
So many potential matches for Poseidon, at least compared to the store he had been left in. And Stanley had decided to live there. Unfortunately, it wasnât as if Poseidon had the ability to influence Stanleyâs actions. The most he could do was make the young man spit him out whenever he bit on the necklace.
âREMOVE ME FROM YOUR MOUTH AT ONCE MORTAL.â
Stanley couldnât hear those thoughts, but he surely felt the inkling of divine rage, always, dropping the chain fast.
Eternity wasnât much to an immortal, so four years should have passed in the blink of an eye. Tragically, when confined to a small chain with no way to move, and only allowed to perceive, Poseidonâs situation became hell. Stanley no longer had divinity with him, but he benefited from Poseidonâs numerous attempts. The god watched the teen amass muscle the natural way, turning the gym into his new religion. With that the change of Stanley into âStan the manâ came naturally. The frat brother with the perfect haircut, faded on the sides, brown curls at the front. Shades became his eye wear of choice, muscle shirts and workout shorts joining his wardrobe. Every year his back broadened, his shoulders rounded, pecs jutted just a bit more out, while his ass got extra cushion.
By that point Stan was starting to look like the perfect vessel. Poseidon wondered if he had been wrong and the gods souls and bodies just needed to adjust to their power? He was just taking wild leaps, but what more did he have other to be tempted. The god of the seas would have to watch Stan wake up and blow his load before getting to the day. How dreadful it was to not be able to touch and enjoy pleasures of the flesh himself. His solution: Another attempt. The result?
Another failure.
All he got for it was Stan suddenly, having an increased love for the universityâs pool, and spring break trips to the beach. Nothing that actually solved Poseidonâs predicament. Stan was always good at taking him off before touching the water. Poseidon missed the waves, he missed ocean life, he missed his domain. As a necklace all he could do was stare up at the sky until Stan returned to pluck him up again.
Poseidon lost his cool for a moment during Stanâs senior year. Stan had been elected frat president, and his reign was coming to an end as he prepared to graduate. His junior brother, Javier, soon to be the next frat president, challenged Stan: chug copious amounts of alcohol within a timed match. What strange rituals the humans of the common era had. But as a personal prize Javier wanted the chain on Stanâs neck. Stan didnât give a shit and agreed to it. The two young men started the challenge with a time limit of 2 minutes. Javier packed 5 cans away, Stan only got 4 and a half. He lost and Poseidon was pissed at the nonchalant attitude Stan had to lose divinity.
Stan and Javier retreated to his room, while the fratâs party raged on. There was supposed to be a secret passing of the torch, but once the door closed, Stan was all over Javier kissing him up and down. The two young men grabbed at each other pulling off shirts and stepping out of pants. Stan fumbled them back to his king-sized bed. Ever since Poseidon had started experimenting on Stan, heâd lost all desires for girls. The only thing Stan was concerned about was being a suitable vessel, even if he didnât know that was the true motivation behind going to the gym. Heâd never be a vessel though; he wasn't born to be one. However, there was someone there that appreciated the work Stan put into his body more than anyone else.
Javier wasnât even a brother back then, just a wide-eyed freshman, who latched onto Stan and his presence. As for Stan, external validation was certainly nice. It turned into sex becauseâŚthey were horny as shit. Only by the lingering grace of Poseidonâs divinity did no one catch on to the president plowing his protegeâs ass or riding a juniorâs cock. They thought they were being sneaky, but these young men grunted and moaned like the world was coming to an end. One time Stan forgot to close the door, no doubt people saw his tan bare ass pounding away at something, maybe they just assumed it was a woman.
Tonight was different though, Poseidon was angry. Javier was not his vessel. The young man had worn Poseidon as a necklace before, often when Stan was asleep. Heâd touch at it and stared down at Stan, is that what Aphrodite would call âloveâ? If so, Poseidon didnât need it, just his own body and soul would do. Melodrama was for other gods. Poseidon gave one last feeble attempt to escape, releasing his divinity at the height of Stanâs climax as Javier rode him. Then Javier pounced on Stan getting inside his ass and fucking a load out of his president.
Poseidon recalled his divinity. He was tired of trying and so he slept.
When the god woke up, he was not adorning Javierâs neck, A new male had taken his place. Same frat house but different furniture, different young men through the hall. He had passed years like a nap. No matter, he tried pushing his divinity into the new male. The guys cock was the first to respond, spraying cum uncontrollably onto the floor. Awkward as he had just walked downstairs to the fridge. His cock had just hardened out of the blue, poked out of his boxers and ejaculated as he went for the handle. All witnessed by one freshly initiated pledge eating breakfast. Poseidon was curious as he watched his new vessel approach the other young man, cock still drooling. Then the president offered to (and did!) fuck the new brother on the table to keep his mouth shut. He knew that during pledging the freshman just wanted some presidential man meat, so he gave it to him. Nothing about Poseidon was given away on that day. A month later however, the frat brothers noticed their new brother was putting on more than a little weight. His stomach was more than, chubby, or bloated, it was rounded. Everyone seemed to know what happened. There was a tale going around about two presidents fucking with the necklace some years back and both ending up pregnant.
âThatâs supposed to be a myth, Murph, something we say to scare pledges.â The president paced back and forth in his room.
âMyth or not Bohdi, thereâs a small Indian child growing in Darwinâs gut and you put the boy there.â Bohdiâs best friend sat on a chair, watching his friend and president spiral out.
âWhy is Lesterâs stomach getting so fucking big! A baby takes nine months.â
Poseidon watched it all play out uninterested. Didnât mortals have any understanding of divine pregnancies? Now, they werenât fathering anything close to demigods, but even Zeus himself gave birth to Athena fully grown from his head. The boys were pleased to learn outside of their frat no one responded as rationally as they did. Men having babies was odd, but not impossible in their minds.
Bodhi however was shitting bricks, the night of graduation because Lenny looked ready to pop. The doctors had confirmed it to be true above all else: Lenny was about to bring Bohdiâs big ass son into the world. Meanwhile the frat brothers became interested in the tale about the necklace, multiple people were asking to try him on. Thatâs when the god realized their sudden fascination was perhaps the newest vehicle for escape. Poseidon got passed around the night as he poured his divinity into every young manâs chest he landed on. No response from his soul or body. However, his testing came to an end when Lenny began to give birth on their couch.Â
The brothers worked together through a lot of fumbling as Bodhiâs progeny entered the world. Poseidon was positively bored with all the cooing over the mortal infant. Eventually his necklace form was handed over to the next president in a private ceremony. The god could only give an internal sigh. Reduced to a ridiculous heirloom by mortals. He laid against the new chest, that night and the god could hear his divinity working through the young men of the house as they moaned in unison.
How many years was Poseidon trapped in this new way following that day? Passed on repeatedly through classes. He thought a place of mortal young men would be a sign for his escape. But perhaps it was only ever punishment. Maybe fate had seen his attempt with Stan and did not appreciate it. He may not have been Dionysus, but listening to merriment and pleasure, unable to participate, became unbearable. Even worse when he saw the results of his divinity shared on the frat brotherâs bodies. The muscles obviously, but the offspring. Strong powerful guts and abs bloated out, which should have been rightfully Poseidonâs children. Instead of girlfriends, the frat brothers sought out other members to copulate with and did it well.
Then one day perhaps mortal-sanity struck as the latest president, tummy full of his Vice-presidentâs future soccer star, got into his car and drove. He arrived at the beach feet stomping in the sand, as his gut fluttered a kick. He pulled the necklace off, balling it in his fist. Poseidon could see what was going to happen. He wanted it too. Even if he didnât understand why. Hadnât the president put the vice-president into a similar predicament? Poseidon was chucked far into the ocean as the water surrounded and claimed him. At least he was home again. Suffered an entire saga with no reward.
â
It was midday when Poseidon found himself tossed through the waves. He thought heâd stay sunk forever but he kept getting kicked up by the water. Unfortunately, in his form the water was not his to command, all he could do was experience it. Maybe it was for the best as thatâs how he lucked upon Seo-junâs neck. Tossed under by a wave, a boy in a wet suit swam up head perfectly going in the unseen open chain. When Poseidon graced a new body, the god feared his next turmoil, but there was an explosion. Seo-junâs mind became completely open to Poseidon with even a touch of divinity. They slotted into Poseidonâs mind as if they had been there all along. A boy on vacation with his family from Korea.
Poseidonâs divinity didnât need to be pushed out; it was welcome back in as Seo-jun swam up. The body extended as his legs grew stronger, taller. His feet turned massive, almost like flippers aiding in his swimming. The wetsuit peeled, unzipped, guided by an unknown hand, as Seo-jun upper body sprouted. A crack in his spine that made him surge, as his chest produced two twin pecs followed by hard abs. His paddling arms like blades, their reach wider. His divinity that had been shared out came roiling back to him. His shoulderâs bulked with his traps wider and better than Atlas. The waterâs surface was nearby. As he breached the surface, the water bulged and Seo-junâs face changed. When it finally met the air, a hard jaw line was waiting. Poseidonâs symbol separated from the necklace flowing to his hand as a larger palm grasped it, and the form unleashed.
Poseidon rose from the depths, Seo-junâs wet suit now spilling down over their reunited existence once more. The ocean released their body with a healthy sheen, a gift for the god of the oceans return. He stood at the waterâs edge. Considering how to punish the frat brothers for their transgressions. What was a god if not a petty being? Then again, perhaps they could stew with their offspring. Without Poseidonâs divinity there were sure to be hard questions to answer. Besides, he had his own brother to punish for starting it all. As for the frat predicament pointing back to him among the gods, surely, he could blame the birth rate increase on Zeus. Who wouldnât believe that?Â
The factory tour was taking forever. I donât know why my girl was so interested in it. But she had been excited about it all week. There were so many types of people on the tour: newlyweds, families, single people.
Were people this invested into the behind the scenes of Ice cream? I didnât care, I was lactose intolerant. Ice cream and I had broken up ages ago. I donât know, maybe I was just being bitter. But so, what? There were enough people there invested in all the goings on. There were several tours taking place on cat walks below us. Our guide had gotten sucked into a history of ice cream tangent.
I went to the far back to think about something other than dairy. The railing was there and I could just lean on it and think about anything else while pretending to scope the place out. My girl could at least understand that much, she still was snapping pictures from every angle in the front. Briefly, my eyes went down, and I spotted another tour group directly below us. In the back of their group, was a pair separated like me, by the railings. Father and son, Iâd assume judging by the same blond hair and the closeness of their bodies. It looked like the man was giving an extra tour pointing out things in the factory. Either that or the dumbest game of âI Spy.â
Was there something missing in me that kept me from being entranced by the place? Yeah, the lactose intolerance, but I meant beyond that. I mean statistically there had to be one other person on tour who was lactose intolerant too, but all the other faces were happy. My attention went back to the father and son below me when the manâs wife came, insisting she get a picture taken of her here. Literally everyone was having fun but me. My mind was beyond bored and my eyes drifted over to my side. There was a baseball cap nestled next to me. Just sitting there, perfectly balanced on the rail. I picked it up wondering who had placed it there. I hadn't noticed anybody come by and place it either, unless they were a ghost.
Cap in my hands, I looked below me. The son was sitting on the railing. After lining it up, a thought entered my head: Time to have some fun. I expected it to bounce and cause some commotion, so I let the cap go. And shockingly, the cap fell right on the boy's head. Drawn down like a magnet. He never even saw it coming. I let out a small chuckle; it was like winning at a claw machine. But then the strangest thing happened, the boy's body bucked and he rose taller. Hard to tell from my vantage point but I could see his legs stretching on the platform. His shirt spit open as his shoulders barreled their way out. His clothes began to change as his pecs hardened pressing out of his chest, hair growing over them.
âHoly shit!â I whispered.
The head below me turned up and what I saw was a man as a beard grew in on his face. His eyes locked on me. I had no idea what was running through his head, but I got a feeling Iâd find out soon.
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Johnny pulled up his fatherâs thermal underwear, 'long johns', his dad had called them. Johnnyâs dad was a very prim and proper kind of guy, though he never expected that of Johnny. If he ever found Johnny in his wardrobe, he always gave a big laugh and snapped a photo for the scrap book.
His dadâs dress shoes, watches, and suits were all nice, but nothing got Johnny ever as curious as the long johns. One particular winter his dad had put them on, and Johnnyâs mind was spinning, as to why heâd never seen them before. To Johnny the long johns were sort of the pinnacle of his dadâs outfit. Even if it was only in the winter it looked like what a prim and proper man wore even if it was hidden under layers.Â
He HAD to wear it too.
But while Johnnyâs dad didn't mind his outer clothes being worn, he was a firm no for his undergarments. Why? He never gave a reason, but Johnny hadn't cared before then. Which meant Johnnyâs dad was perfectly unassuming when his son snuck in his room to try on the long johns.
The world shifted ever so slightly. The Johnny who put on his fatherâs clothes was not the same as the one fastening them. In the seconds it had taken him to slide them up Johnnyâs body had undergone a change. Several decades had descended and taken root within him. His legs made the clothes stretch to his form, as he began to grow. Years of athleticism worked its way into his legs then up his body. His body thickened, muscularity gluing itself to his expanding frame, matching his fatherâs with every passing second. The wingspan of his back was determined by his traps, navigating his shoulders further apart as he developed a thicker neck. Next his shoulders and arms refined themselves as small strawberry blonde hairs took over his forearms. pecs emerged prominently, as proud as his own fathers, as a deep valley cut down his body into his abs. Johnnyâs naturally messy hair reworked itself in a perfect mockery of his fatherâs clean-cut style. Stubble grew along his elongated face, forever solidifying its new permanent visual status.
Johnnyâs father slowly woke up to see his younger brother, wearing his long johns. âWhat are you doing? Can you please let me get some more sleep before you start being a menace?â He turned back to bed. âAnd donât steal a watch on the way out!â
â
Jonathan never spent much time with his older brother. The two had a wide age gap and only seemed to communicate with each other through presents sent to and from their momâs house. Even then, the communications weren't that frequent. All that to say, Jonathan didn't get much from his brother. But on one particular day, Jonathan found himself having inherited a lot more than he ever thought.
The day was ending normally enough, Johnathanâs mom had left a gift on his bed, while she went to her job's night shift. The boy was freezing, winter in their apartment got awful, he had a robe and still shivered. He was cramped in his tiny room, which was little more than a glorified closet, but it was less space to heat. Johnathan tore the box open, finding weird pants and a note from his brother sitting on top.
Hey little bro, found these at a market here in Cali. These are long johns made with alpaca wool or something? Have you ever heard of long johns? Just another name for thermal underwear. Which is underwear for the cold. The old lady selling them promised they'd keep me warm. Which I know, why buy them in California? She was nice but also kind of creepy. Hard to turn her down. Regardless, gave it a try, I didnât like it, but maybe you will. Bet youâll get more use out of them in your state. You can hang on until you grow into it!
Love,
Paul
Jonathan held up the long johns. He couldn't quite get how these were supposed to pass for underwear. Also, they looked like they were for a giant, especially in his hands. It looked like the underpants wanted to swallow him whole. How big did his brother think he had grown? As ridiculous as it seemed, he felt compelled to try it on anyway. As Johnathan slipped them on, they fit perfectly.
Somewhere between seeing them and wearing them they had shrunk. Paul had been right about them being warm, Jonathan was getting toasty in them alone. Then he broke out into a sweat! His bodyâs temperature climbed rapidly as his body pulsed and sent waves out through the air, distorting the world around him. His body pulsed in tandem with his heart's strong quick beat, each one changing his figure. Jonathanâs body expanded larger, taking up more space in his room. He was getting older, wiser. Spilling onto the scene first were heavy pectorals wanting to show. His abs and arms werenât far behind developing just as quickly. The height kept piling on, with no signs of stopping. When his jaw cracked, his mind began to alter. Not erased, just added too. Memories, knowledge, even his thought process, all added to. His old face was defeated by the masculine one rising to the surface. Dark heavy stubble broke out across his face, to form a beard.
Jonathanâs ass widened, packing the underwear in the back fully as his thighs easily carried the same determination into the rest of the legs. Then his bulge plopped out, weighed far heavier than it ever had been and showed no signs of reversing. An itch came at the center of the pecs before it broke out across his torso, dark curly hairs escaping, as he gained a full pelt. The chest and the hair were his own but also looked familiar. A vision played in his mind: His older brother, Paul wearing the underwear around his house. Unfit for California, the underwear did nothing but prepare for its use. Paul was suitable and produced immense heat on his own. It milked John, at night infusing his seed into its being as some form of storage. The form Jonathan was taking was indeed his own, but very much channeling his older brotherâs genes by way of the underwear.
Jonathan roared, as the realization hit and flooded his underwear, soaking them in his cum. By the time he recovered there was no wet spot to be found. He stood up in a much larger room, a different layout and design entirely. A smile crossed his lips.
He was no longer cold.
â
Johnnie Walters knew better than to steal, but he did. Now he was staring at his own bulge sticking out.Â
It had only happened two hours ago, he was hanging out with his friends at the mall, barely anyone else around. Malls were a dying breed after all. The perfect place to get into some shit. They strolled around the stores, sticking mainly to the food court. Johnnieâs dad had tried to warn him, his friends weren't good news, but Johnnie wanted to be hard-headed. Then by chance they happened into an old clothing store and the cashier couldnât be bothered to tell the rowdy bunch of teens to leave.
As they perused the sections, one of them walked by an area, shouting back to Johnnie. As Johnnie came by, he saw it: an ad of men in thermal underwear. The word âLong Johnsâ were displayed across the picture in bold front. Johnnie thought they looked stupid all doing activities and stretching their underwear. Not to mention some of the models selected had very visible endowments.Â
âDude, itâs literally got your name on it.â
It was all downhill from there. The friendly banter got more pointed, as it devolved into a full-on dare. They told Johnnie he had to steal it, or else he was a wimp. And what else was Johnnie supposed to do? He walked up to reach for a package. His eyes tried not to meet the menâs eyes in the ad, felt like they were staring at himâjudging him. As if to say, what the hell were they doing in the menâs section? Certainly not acting like men. Johnnie hands wrapped around a package and shoved it under his coat. His friends snickered and cheered, before they all huddled up and left the store together as the alarm went off. Impossible to determine which one had stolen something. The cashier was deep in her magazine and only gave one glance up, before rolling her eyes.
Johnnie got home and threw the package on his bed, smiling like heâd actually won spoils of war. He sat on the bed, studying it. The man on the package had an annoying smirk on his face, as if he personally knew what Johnnie had done. Shoving the guilt down, Johnnie took another look at the guy, he wasnât so tough. Ripping the package open, he put on the thermal underwear. If he stole it, he at least deserved to wear it. He looked as ridiculous as the men in the ads. Before he could take it off a sharp pain was on his side as an eye of Rah symbol rose from his side formed from black ink. Johnnie stared at it from the mirror. His fingers went to trace it, but it never got the chance. His legs popped and snapped with no pain as he grew taller, spine stretching out. Hair erupted from his chest, flowing toward his crotch. Each of his muscles transitioned into stronger versions of themselves. His face imbued sleeker, harder edges, surpassing decades in seconds. A beard bloomed on the fertile soil of his cheeks, brow hair overgrowing like a jungle. Then his soft cock inflated, and plumped out, held in a prominent part of the underwear.Â
Now he looked as ridiculous as the men in the ad.
â
Jon, or John-John as his parents called him, had it tough. He knew his dad had grown up in a rural area, not quite Amish country, but more communal than a farm. However, that didnât paint a clear enough picture of what that meant. Well, when Jonâs uncle, Mick, his dadâs older brother, got married that meant they were on the road for a wedding. Not Jonâs mom though, she understood what he had to do, but she was pregnant and not straying far from a hospital. Fair. They arrived at the dead of night, Jon freezing, while his dad swiftly unpacked their bags. He shivered as his dad moved unbothered and he wondered how. Mick gave them a quiet late-night greeting, showing them to their room.
The rooms were warmer than outside but not by much. Jon wasn't exactly happy he had to share it with his father. Two beds but even the sheets were ice cold. His dad, on the other hand, was already taking his clothes off, tossing them on a chair. He stripped down until he only had undergarments on.
âUh, what are those?â Jon asked, befuddled by his dad weird underwear choice.
"Theyâre just long johns,â His dad chuckled, then stared as his son wasnât laughing. âHave I never got you long johns?â He clapped his head. âItâs a must have out here away from the city.â
âYou donât say.â Jon rolled his eyes.
âLook, Iâll ask my brother if heâs got any spare in the morning, but the sooner you hop into bed the less cold youâll be,â he said getting into bed himself.
Jon relented crawling into bed, temperature dropping rapidly before his sheet captured his body heat. The morning after, Jon woke up with thermal underwear at the foot of his bed. He raced to put them on.
And then it all changed.
He grew and grew. A full life of the rural life settling into his body just as with his extended family. The beard was a staple that forced itself onto his body growing out as strong as his own father and uncles. He was large and none of his clothes fit. Not that it mattered any more. His body was running hot. He came downstairs finding his dad and uncle eating at the breakfast table.
âLong Johns look good on ya, Jon!â Mick laughed.
I keep wondering where you went and then I realized you're still posting regularly. You spoiled us with daily posts for so long I forgot weekly updates are already more frequent than normal đ hope you're taking more time to recharge and do well for yourself! We love the updates at whatever frequency they come đđ
Hey there, my story stockpile was dwindling, so I was debating if I should keep posting regularly since I only have a few stories to go. Ultimately, I've decided I'll probably stockpile again (working on more now), but release the last of the stories I had. So expect me to disappear for a longer stretch of time while I put those future stories together.
And thank you, glad to hear people have enjoyed the frequent stories!
Mr. Cook was always of the belief that neighbors should help each other out. So when he was working on his house that afternoon and Manuel Ramirez came out to complain about the noise, the older man was stunned. Apparently, the young man was doing something called âstreamingâ and the machines were too loud. Now the older man had no idea how all that streaming nonsense worked, but Ramirez had a point: the noise had been happening for a while. Mr. Cook had to face facts, he wasnât the young buck he used to be. A simple job was harder to accomplish with one man. But Manuel on the other hand? There was potential there.
âI agree with ya, neighbor. Canât move like I used to. Why donât you help me out?â Mr. Cook stated, rubbing the back of his neck, defeated.
âWha?â Manuel barely got out as a nailing gun was shoved into his hands. He stumbled back, almost falling over before slamming a solid foot down. The teenâs body rumbled. Then the growth started. He was taller in minutes and his body came in perfect; two heavy pecs with six abs situated under it. Luckily the clothes on his lower body stayed. Mr. Cook wasnât sure what heâd have done if his neighbor ended up naked.
Manuel matured into the exact type of man Mr. Cook needed for this project. The man got straight to work without even being asked. Mr. Cook laughed as the new man was about to make some real money in the home improvement department around the blockâŚand possibly ruin some marriages. It made Mr. Cook think back to his younger days, wooing the rich married couples was half the fun.
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#2 Donât Trespass
Mr. Cook hadnât even gotten his pool together. His fence was up. But there was still so much more work to be done on his house. Sadly, Manuel had too many other projects around town to do. Never even talked about that âstreamingâ stuff anymore. Mr. Cook felt good he had helped clear the young man of that stress. But now Mr. Cook had a stressor. Heâd seen it on the Neighborhood app: boys around town were stealing rocks from his backyard to place in other peopleâs lawn. Some real suburban entertainment foolishness right there.
These werenât regular rocks, they were decorative pieces for his pool, but did the boys care? No. Which Mr. Cook was flabbergasted by. They were neighbors. Okay, maybe not direct neighbors, but it was all one neighborhood. One division of town that separated them from the rest. If they didn't have each other's backs, who would? Then the solution came to him. A way for the young men bored out of their minds to find meaning.
The next time someone tried to steal his rocks, Mr. Cook was in the kitchen making a sandwich. He heard the grunting first, then clothes tearing. He cleaned his hands, stepping outside. A smile was on his face. Not just one neighborhood hooligan, but two, attempting to steal his rocks. Unlike Manuel, their clothes came straight off. Their bodies bulked rapidly as if they had been starving for it . Mr. Cook shook his head as two men rolled on the ground stroking their dicks. Thankfully, his fence was up. When they were done covering each other in white glaze, he handed them tool belts, two new employees.
âWhere would you like these to go Mr. Cook?â Rick would ask, while John held a wheelbarrow full of rocks that had to be moved.
Mr. Cook gave a silent approval to the toned bodies under his command. He appreciated their subconscious-fueled growth that made their natural outfits be their birthday suits. What was better than watching the male form in its most purest state at work? Very nice of his neighbors to take on his house as a project. At night, fully-clothed they made for pretty good watch dogs to deter future rocks from being stolen.
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# 3 Do Favors
When a neighbor asks for help, it's only right to help. Mr. Cook believed it deeply and boy, did he need help. His last two workers were killing it outside, but they were very unskilled at indoor labor (i.e. panting a house.) He couldnât quite reach up without his back killing him. He had ordered a pizza and wouldnât you know it, Francisco from down the street was the pizza boy. He was trying to make some money before college. Well, Mr. Cook had a better offer. He took the pizza and gave his neighbor a paint brush. The young man looked confused expecting a tip. Mr. Cook smiled, knowing Francisco was about to get something much better than a tip. Francsicoâs body exploded with muscle on Mr. Cookâs porch.Â
The older Francisco stepped inside. He lost his shirt but had on a nice pair of sweatpants. He walked up the steps already knowing where to go. Mr. Cook followed behind, ignoring the ass practically clapping in his face. Two pillows forced inside a thin layer. Francisco got to work on the walls as his pants repeatedly fell down throughout the process, too small for his bubble butt.
Mr. Cooks rubbed his neck, âYou know weâre inside, if itâs uncomfortable to keep those on. You should work with them off. Consider it a favor from me to you, just being neighborly by offering.â
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# 4 Improve the View
It's all the neighbors responsibility to ensure their neighborhood stays beautified. Mr. Cook certainly took his part seriously. When he caught Paul McGill littering, he put a stop to it right there. The young man barely knew what hit him as the tool belt cinched around his waist. Muscles piled in, happily filling in his form. He rose inches up into the air as body broke free of his constraints. His balls sagged lower as his ass pushed out. His face re-adjust, hairline slightly receding, jaw squaring, as a mustache grew over his lip zipping right past the peach fuzz phase.
Now Mr. Cook could lay in his backyard on a lawn chair and see the view of the newest Mr. McGillâs ass when working. The best view, as the man had four kids and anyone could tell his body put in the work making them.
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# 5 Just BecauseÂ
Mr. Cook always needed help around the house. Sometimes he didnât even know what he needed help for. Honestly, he could admit it was his own damn fault for moving into a DIY suburban home. Huge property, so many projects. So, there were times the specific reason eluded even him. Then again, he liked being surrounded by barely clothed and nude men who reminded him of himself: hard workers.
The two new men heâd recently âhiredâ to work on his roof?
He couldn't even remember their names, maybe they had bumped into him, or said something weird. Regardless, the result was great, wasnât it? Muscle tits out in the summer sun, buns being cooked by sunset. Mr. Cook was sure the two were making out whenever he wasnât checking up on them. It was hard to be overly competent and attractive without getting another man turned on. Mr. Cook could relate. Even harder to spend days bending over, and squatting down, when neither men wore underwear.
Then when a baseball came through his window and landed surrounded by glass. Mr. Cook sighed after nearly having a heart attack. Lee Sung was at his door minutes later. Mr. Cook rolled his eyes, walking the boy in. The kid apologized but had no plans for how to fix the window. There were tons of men working on the house who could have fixed it easily, but to Mr. It was about the principle of the thing. Whoever breaks it should fix it. However, with the team he had at that point, that was flimsy reasoning even for him. His hand fell on Leeâs shoulder from behind as Mr. Cook reached into his pocket and placed a tape measure at the center of Leeâs chest. On impact a shock wave traveled through Lee as his body changed. A man had replaced the boy in seconds, his overallâs had ripped and not repaired itself, becoming the new style, while his shirt had been obliterated by his pecs and shoulders, making it obsolete. Mr. Cook looked over him, satisfied, before letting his newest employee get to work.
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When Mr. Cook, with Manuelâs help, published his Five Neighborly Tips on his fence, people laughed thinking it was a joke, especially #5. What was âJust Becauseâ? At the neighborhood watch meeting heâd shared it was very serious. There were steps he believed they could all take to be a bit more thoughtful of each other. It was only fair to provide people with his expectations. After all, most would come to find heâd be the only one winning in the end when he practically had an entire workerâs commune walking into his house, disappearing until the night.Â
People started to whisper about what really went on at Mr. Cookâs house. Yet when they heard a saw, drill, or leaf blower for hours it was hard to argue otherwise. However, despite how many men he added on, none of the projects ever seemed to get fixed. There were always more men, always more work to do. Eventually people get bored of trying to guess. The litany of workers would never stop, and it was just a fact of life.
Mr. Cook reached a point where he barely had to lift a finger or voice his opinion on a project. His men knew what he liked. Them shirtless, ass and cocks out if possible, and the job completed immaculately. The man sat lounging in a hammock underneath shade, as the men worked dutifully. His neighbor had understood the tips; he knew they would and if they ever didnât there was always another spot waiting to be filled.Â
When Dominic overheard his cousin, Renzo, saying he had a âSecret Stashâ during the cookout Dominic thought it was going to be something he could make fun of him for like a rock or stamp collection. Maybe even old trading cards in protective pockets. Literally anything that would reveal an embarrassing past about Renzo. Dominic wasn't looking out of spite, but rather the love of the competitiveness between cousins. He wanted to get one over on him. Renzo was the older of the two and always more than happy to rub that in Dominic's face. Dominic had been forever saddled with the tag of baby or little cousin, just because his interest lagged years behind Renzo. And Renzo was solely responsible for it catching on. Well, Dominic was going to show everyone once and for all their interests werenât that different.
He snuck up to Dominicâs room; most adults didnât pay attention to his machinations post-the food being served. Once inside, he dove under Renzoâs bed. His cousin may have been older, but he wasn't smarter. Dominic pulled out an old metal lunchbox with superheroes on it. Dominic snickered to himself, he always knew his cousin wasn't any better than him. Cool now, but he was a geek once too. Prideful, Dominic snapped the latches opened, assured heâd find old toys or some sort. Instead in the center was a lighter andâŚcigarettes? No, they didnât look right. There was a weird twist to the ends and green clumps shoved into the parchment. Dominic picked it up, twisting it in his hands before putting it in his mouth.
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Renzo walked back into his room, eyes immediately widening. Sitting in his chair was a stranger covered in tatts, cock hard in his underwear. In front of the man lay Renzo's secret stash. Renzo started laughing. âYou tried some, didnât you?â
âMy dickâs been hard ever since.â Dominic huffed.
âAh, thatâs the stoner-dick powered by that stoner brain.â Renzo smirked. âStretching out my underwear with that dick of yours though, looks lethal.â
âWell, what the fuck else was I supposed to wear? All my clothes popped off my body.â Dominic leaned back.Â
âWoah calm down, I wasnât insulting you.â Renzo held his hands up. âYou look good in my clothes. Like a mini-me.â
Dominic rolled his eyes already sensing the new family nickname. He could see the gears turning in Renzoâs head.
âHey, donât get so upset no one else is gonna remember the old you anyway.â Renzo shrugged. He reached into his old lunch box, âYou may as well have another one.â
Look, I get the importance of having a car in the suburbs. People need to get around, especially teens, they just feel trapped. And trust me I would have bought my son Kellan a car if I could have afforded it. I tried. I really did, overtime, extra shifts, but the money just didnât come together. So, color me surprised when I wake up to Kellan screaming for joy on our front lawn. A green Jeep was just out there waiting for him. My son wrapped me in a hug, thanking me. I was too caught off guard to explain, a car that hadnât existed the night prior was just there and attributed to me. My son was so happy I didnât want to take his smile away, I played into it, as if I had put the car there.
He asked me if he could take it for a spin, just around the block a few times.
âSure, I relented.â and that was my biggest mistake. I didn't know what people said about cars in the suburbs at that time: They were important, but they could also be traps. People's lives could become entangled in them.Â
I remember that first night, my son and I were sitting in the living room watching a movie, while my eyes drifted to our window. In the dark of night, the car sat there. Felt like it was watching us. I got up and closed the shades.
A week later, was when I first noticed that Kellanâs clothes were tight on him. He was passing me by in the hall and I stopped him. âGot you a new shirt,â I pulled on the hem. It looked like he had been going to a gym, it made me look like I needed to get to the gym.
Three weeks in, I was chilling with my neighbor Jan, sipping homemade mimosas in her backyard. A hot spring day that two single parents off work could enjoy by drinking the afternoon away.
âItâs great you brought Kellan a car. Here you had me thinking you werenât going to make it.â She hit me softly on my thigh.
âActually,â I reclined in my chair, âI didnât buy that car, it just showed up.â
âHaha, stop joking. Tell me how you got it,â she asked.
âIâm serious,â I shrugged while taking a sip of my drink. The look she gave me. It was like the world froze. All I could hear were the birds in the distance and her sprinklers going off. She began to stand up, clearing off her table.
âYou need to go.â She turned to me. No humor or merriment in her voice from our previous fun.
âWhat, why?â I asked and sat up.
âCars donât just come from nowhere. You need to get rid of that thing before itâs too late! Cars are parasites if you're not ready for them.â
And then she kicked me out, ending our fun times there. I walked back home and I thought about what she said. I got the overall point that cars were money sinks, gas, insurance etc. but wasnât her reaction a bit over the top?
I was on the porch drinking the rest of my mimosa, when Kellan pulled up back from school. He hopped out of the car. I nearly did a spit take; my son was standing taller than when he had left. I wasnât even discussing the few inches people claimed to grow a day. I mean he grew INCHES. He slung his backpack across his shoulder, locking his car, and strolling up to me real casually. It would have looked cool if his body wasnât attempting an escape on his clothes. Kellan looked like he had been dieting on nothing but protein for years, though heâd only been gone for school hours.
âSorry, Iâm late. Graduation practice ran over time.â
âGraduation practice? Oh, were you asked to help with that?â
Kellan looked at me like Iâd grown a second head, âUh Dad, Iâm in it. I graduate this year. Stop playing around.â His face turned into a smile as he clearly believed I had been passing off a joke. He made his way inside, putting his keys in the house key bowl. I got up and walked to the car, his keys in hand. Sure enough, a graduation gown was hanging inside.Â
I unlocked his car and got the gown out the back. Stopping for a moment, I looked over the interior of his car. New car smell, clean floors. The car looked like a car to me. Jan had really lost it over nothing. Heading back inside, I shouted up to my son, âDonât leave this gown in the back!â I donât know how he had it, as it was another thing I hadn't paid for, but I assumed it was for a prank. Kellan didnât respond so I headed upstairs and knocked on his door. Still no answer. I turned the knob and walked inside. Kellan was gaming and had his big headphones on. Walking over I tapped him on the shoulder.
âHang on guys,â He turned to me, spinning his chair. Thatâs when I registered, he had changed his clothes. Nothing on but a loose tank top and sweats. More clothes that I hadnât bought, but his arms were out on display and looked ready for action. âWhatâs up, dad?â
My attention drifted back, âYou canât leave this outside. I donât know what youâre planning but someone could break into your car to get it.â I walked over to his closet to hang it up and to my shock, there was nothing but new clothes hanging in there. Shifting through, I couldn't recall a single piece he had ever worn, and they were all larger than his normal size. I placed the clothes in and got out of there.
The joke was on me. One week later, I was attending a graduation with parents Iâd never met before coming up to congratulate me as if weâd been friends for years. Kellan taking photos and laughing with a bunch of guys Iâd never seen at our house before. All sort of cut from the same cloth of athletic, gym going types.Â
Jan came around to the house again, but she didn't recall our last conversation at all. No fear, no anger, when I brought up her statement last time. She simply laughed it off and said I must have been drunk. Though when I mentioned again, I hadnât bought the car and how it showed up her body tensed as she turned to peer out my window at the car. She then relaxed, but there was something unnatural about it. No sigh of relief or dropping of the shoulders. Rather the tension in her muscles let go, like a prey being forced to ignore its instincts. It unsettled me.
So much so, I decided it was time to get rid of the car. One weird coincidence was fine, multiple in succession was a pattern. I figured the best course of action was one of least resistance from Kellan, so I told him we could trade his car in. He told me he loved his car, BUT what freshly graduated young man was going to turn down the opportunity to get an even better car?
We got in his car and pulled out our driveway. Hard to recall what happened next. I think it was the radio playing Burn Baby Burn that started it all. My son reached over so casually to flick it off, but I noticed he was sweating. I told him to put down the windows. He tried, but they didnât budge. Next, he tried to blast the A/C: nothing. Then I had a random thought to try and open the door. They locked. I heard faint sounds like pop rocks going or tiny crackles. Looking over, my sonâs hands were growing on the steering wheel, flesh remolding, bones shifting. Kellan was in a full-on sweat. It wasnât just his hands, his whole body was changing, muscles growing. The car began to smell like iron, as the temperature climbed, all pouring off Kellanâs body soaking into the vehicle.
âPull over, Kellan!â I started. He couldn't respond, only looked at me as I saw his neck dancing, shifting muscles around, changes climbing into his face. I grabbed the wheel, but couldnât move it, though the wheel turned regardless: The car was driving itself. It moves at a leisurely pace as my sonâs growth went into overtime. His clothes split as his body busted out everywhere making every showing of skin more visible as the time went on. The car seat rocketed back as Kellan legs stretched out, feet splitting his shoes. The width of his shoulders spilled over the edges of his seats.Â
Then heat got to me and I passed out.
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When I came too, I was standing outside, phone in hand. I was in the middle of a large park.
âDad, take the shot,â a deep voice shouted to me. I looked through it and saw a young man sitting in front of his jeep. My memory came back to me. We were celebrating Kellanâs 26th birthday and graduation from his masterâs program. How had I forgotten that? I snapped the photo, Kellan looked bigger than I remember, he must have been horking those post-grad college meals down. Strangely, I couldnât recall how we had got out there.
After getting a few pics, I looked down at my shirt. There was a picture of a Jeep on it. I never fancied myself as a car guy, but it was there all the same. Maybe I was a car guy. I mean, what was life in the suburbs without a car? Cars were the life blood that kept our suburban living alive. No one understood that more than my son. Kellanâs car was his life; it took him everywhere he needed to go, college, home, the gym. It was like an extra part of him, and it wasnât going anywhere.
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âOkay Xander, what a fine mess youâve gotten yourself into.â The man muttered to himself.
He was in a bit of a bind. His parents had dropped him off to spend time at his older brother's penthouse, while they explored the city. Which meant a week of Jeremy and Xander shenanigans, no parents. One small problem: Jeremy was a late sleeper, not even waking until 11:00, which meant Xander, still on school time, would rise earlier and be responsible for his own boredom. As any self-respecting younger brother, why wouldnât he mess with his brotherâs stuff. He was never allowed in his brotherâs room before, but now the entire place was his brother's room. Still though, nothing beat creeping into the actual bedroom and rearranging his brotherâs personal items. But hey, brothers fucked with each other.
He was shocked when riffling through the underwear drawer, coming across a strange looking set of underwear, just a strap and a front part. Curious, he balled it up and snuck out with it. Back in his guest room he looked at the weird underwear. Not even the slightest clue when his brother would even wear something like it. Though he was a teen on a mission: to find out the mystery of the underwear. He got out of his pajama bottoms and slid into the mystery wear. It was easily triple his size. He was just hoisting it up with the straps.
Then it happened.
Xanderâs body exploded bigger and he grew several feet. His shoulders separating was the most frightening, but his pecs popping and swelling was the most euphoric. In his head he was bombarded with memories of his older bro, wearing the jockstrap (that was the name!), on nights he went to pick up men from clubs. It was either to show off his ass or highlight his bulge. Xander hadn't known his brother was gay, but now the image was so clear in his mind. In response, Xander's own ass quaked, cheeks clapping to life as they grew alongside his thighs and filled in the jockstrap.Â
Xander watched his reflection in the penthouse window morph into a much older visage. His jaw firmed up as scruff and then undeniable hair formed a beard and mustache on his lower face. His arms got bulky and packed with power as he saw visions of his brotherâs workouts at the downtown gym. Lastly his cock, nudged, poked, then stretched out his brotherâs pouch, cock not just sitting heavy, but hard. Ink like his brotherâs tattooed itself across his skin. He could name each one and when heâd got them, though they hadn't existed prior. Xander didn't just look older. He was older, a man similar to his older brother. When his balls started producing the same enriched seed. He came right away, all over his brother's floor.
An hour later, though Xander was older, his clothes werenât. He tried getting dressed in them. His tank refused to go past his pecs and his pants couldn't make it past his thighs. An absolute unit of a man trying to stuff himself into the small outfit. His older brother came in, yawning as he looked down at Xander by the window struggling.Â
Then without a word, Xanderâs older brother turned around and went back to bed.
Hayden and I were chilling in his garage, about to play with his dadâs new pinball machine. The man was really precious about it so of course we HAD to give it a try. It was sort of our thing; he'd probably catch us, weâd get in trouble, but not really. The usual script. Honestly, Iâm pretty sure Haydenâs dad even heard us going downstairs.Â
We snuck into the garage just fine; Hayden flicked on the lights and shut the door to the rest of his house. As he walked over to me to congratulate us on another successful break in, a cap fell on his head. I looked up. There was nowhere it could have fallen from. A ceiling was over us. One minute it wasnât there, then the next it was. Momentum had been applied to it too; the collision had a plop to it. Though it didn't get his head quite right as Hayden moved. The upper part of his face got covered by the bill of his cap.
Normally, I would have expected Hayden to make a joke or at the very least take it off, but when my attention returned to him, I realized he wasn't moving. Instead, he was sweating profusely and his body was growing. Haydenâs chest swelled out, and perky pink nipples pointed straight at me. His collar bone formed two distinguished lines on his upper body. As for his stomach it was diminishing itself as cobblestone abs took fatâs place. A V line formed right at his waist, that led to a jockstrap that also appeared on him. Iâd seen the boxers he had on that day. Then there were his arms, veins just rose along the length of them feeding his shoulders and forearms. His traps stood stronger. Haydenâs hair flooded out under the cap. His typical short hairdo now had floof to it. He didnât look like my best friend; he looked like an older jock version of my friend. The person standing in the garage with me could have passed for Haydenâs brother. I leaned down my body to see his face; a smirk greeted me.
âWhat are you staring at bro? See something you like?â
I had no idea what I was going to tell his dad when he âcaught usâ.
He had stepped into his living room to find a muscled ass hanging out of the washer machine.
Mr. Hill had woken up from the noise outside his bedroom door. Groggy, he stood up wondering what trouble his son had gotten into. He really hadnât expected anything too crazy; it was his own personal laundry day in the suburbs after all. A quiet weekend to get all the clothes in the house clean. It was his responsibility: his duty. He was the man of the house after all and what was more manly than taking care of things. There was joy and tranquility to be found in the easy way of life out in the suburbs. He had really let it settle in from the hustle and bustle of city life.
If only he had known the golden rule in the suburbs for which he lived. People talked, whispered, but he never paid it much mind. In the suburbs, Laundry Day was a staple in adult male living. In the store. Passing conversations on the street. Men reminisced about the first time they did their own laundry like it was a milestone in life. They acted like it was more dangerous than sneaking out, more freeing than getting a car, and better than sex.
Mr. Hill had been invited to a cookout, with some of the single fathers in his neighborhood. His son Noah got to meet the other kids but. Mr. Hill was pulled into a spirited discussion. He thought it was about sports, but no the men of the neighborhood were arguing about laundry detergent, which was better, got the clothes cleaner, smelled great etc.
âWhat do you think?â someone asked.
âWhat do I think?â Mr. Hill repeated back, caught off guard. âI usually just go with what smells good and doesn't cost much.â
âSee a reasonable man.â Someone tipped their beer to him.
âNo, no you guys are both wrong, that's a young personâs way of thinking, you have got to be more intentional.â Another guy said.
And the conversation continued for hours as if laundry was the hottest topic in the world. Mr. Hill sat back and listened, nodding his head, not speaking, running his hands through his blond hair. The performance of listening but not actually engaging. Mr. Hill did chores, housework, yard work but at the end of the day he was a dedicated gym kind of guy. This talk was even beyond other househusband level speak. Deeper than a skill they had learned during adolescence, this was a pure rite of passage.
The reverence they spoke with was like the washer and dryer were like twin gods that sat in everyoneâs homes. Mr. Hill had to stand and listen to the host talk about his new ones like it was a grill. Then they started talking about their various laundry days, once a week, every two weeks, whenever the basket was full. Mr. Hill nursed his drink until a voice came his way.
âWhen do you do your laundry, Layton?â
Mr. Hill looked up, âMe? Well, itâs just me and my son so whenever really.â The menâs eyes went wide, someoneâs breath sucked in. They looked at him like he had just run over something.
âYou donât have a set Laundry Day?â
Mr. Hill chuckled a bit expecting the others to join him, âNo, does it matter?â No one laughed.
âDude, your clothes will build up, if you donât clean themâ
âWoah, woah I clean my clothes. âMr. Hill held up his hands feeling attacked. âJust because I donât have it set when, shouldnât be the worst.â
A hand rested on his shoulders, âJust be careful, dirty clothes get washed one way or another.
It was weird. Super weird actually, how much they liked laundry, but Mr. Hill was willing to ignore it. Other than that one thing, they were normal the rest of the time. He also never came home and found them worshiping a large washing machine effigy, so they werenât completely insane.
How did that lead to today?
Who was the strange man with his ass hanging out of Mr. Hillâs washer? He watched the man reach back and adjustâŚwait, those were Mr. Hill's underwear and socks. âWhat theâŚâ Mr. Hill whispered, realizing he was dealing with a thief? That would explain the clothes by the manâs massive thighs. Mr. Hill had to collect himself when he was ogling when he should have been getting angry.
âHey!â He said it more clearly. And the manâs body paused, before coming out.
Mr. Hillâs cock responded in tandem with his eyes. The man on his floor was absolutely gorgeous, from the legs to the rump, his back, his bicep, forearm with Mr. Hillâs jockstrap. Then there was that face, structured, clean cut. If his features weren't so hardened Mr. Will would have thought the man bore a striking resemblance too.
âMorning, Dad! Sorry, I mean, Layton.â The man said. A deep silvery voice came out of him. âStill getting used to all this.â
âChris?!!!â Mr. Hill said, mouth agape. He didn't even believe it yet, his mouth had just simply said because he could believe it. As if saying his sonâs name made the strangerâs resemblance come through stronger. There was no logical reason Mr. Hill shouldnât have been trying to remove the man or calling the cops, but he didnât. Instead, he just backed away down the hall, power walking to Chrisâ room. His feet stomped their way to the open door. He turned into it. The first thing he noticed, no toys were scattered on the floor. A clean floor greeted him instead, freshly made bed, and a computer desk in the room. He walked to Chrisâ closet throwing it open, an assortment of suits, dress pants, and polos. Lined on the floor were shoes too big to belong to Chris' feet: new tennis, shined black shoes, comfortable slippers. He staggered back out to the living room.
Chris was standing up by that point.
âWhatâs going on?â Mr. Hill scratched his head. He meant for it to be a shout, to be angry, but his voice only came out calm.
âIâm your roommate now, isnât that awesome!â Chris stated Laytonâs jockstrap still in his hand.
âNo, I mean: how? WHEN.â Mr. Hill plopped onto his couch, body deflated, trying hard to not look at the body of the handsome double-cheeked up stranger before him, or the anatomy of his back and arms. The manâs figure was objectively stunning, an older enhanced muscled version of Mr. Hillâs own boy, though he was having trouble recalling Chris' exact face. In his brain details about his son were being obfuscated, not erased, just harder to make out. He knew this new man had a matured version of Chris' face, but he could no longer envision Chrisâ original face.
âI heard the washer machine start this morning, I thought you were up. So, I walked out here but didnât see you.â He tapped on the washer, âAnd well you know your son was always hypnotized by the spin cycle, so heâIâman, this is hard. Whichever, sat down here and watched. He thought youâd be out soon, so he just kept watching. Next thing he knew, he was leaning forward, closer to the glass. When he put his hands out to get leverage, they went through and he was pulled inside. The washing machine tossed him around and his body stretched his pjâs went bye-bye, somewhere in there your clothes got on him. Next thing I know, heâs me and I get spat out of the washer along with these clothes.â He taps his head, "And from the moment I land, I know Iâm completely different from your son, although I used to be him. Then, I remembered I saw your jockstrap still in there and thatâs where you came in.
âThat doesn't make sense at all.â Mr. Hill stated.
âHey, donât look at me man, The washer only used your son because you clearly werenât going to do the laundry. Someone had to take up the mantle. You know, be the responsible one around here, not let clothes pile up.â
âI was about to do it!â Mr. Hill defended.
Chris shook his head, âItâs the suburbs man, life moves slow, but you can't be moving at a glacierâs pace when it comes to laundry.â
âSo, what happens next?â
âOh, you mean the dryer? I should probably check if there's anything inside. Thereâs always a sock you know!â
Mr. Hill ignored the pulse of his cock. But he could not ignore the thoughts in his brain: if Chris was still Chris Hill what did that mean for their relationship? It certainly wasnât father and son. This man was as attractive as the other fathers on the block. That thought gave Mr. Hill pause. He thought back on how the men reflected on doing laundry. âDoes this sort of thing happen often out here?â
âLayton, come on, stop being ridiculous. Of course it does! Being able to do laundry by yourself is like the most basic step to independence. When you go from being a boy to being a man.â
âSo, what, people are just chucking others into washing machines?â
âNo, itâs supposed to be a great coming of age thing. Donât blame the suburbs for your sloppy habits. Had to start itself and make someone whoâd appreciate its importance.â He reached for some pods, âNow, letâs actually start another cycle.â
Mr. Hill paused at that. He took a moment to look at the clothes on the floor. They weren't just random; they were his jockstraps. Which meant the washer started itself but only chose those few undergarments. Why not clean the whole house then? It felt kind of like a set up to specifically lure Chris, with the intended purpose of changing him. And now just like every other house on the block there was a man who was in love with its process. It didnât give a damn about clothes being clean, it wanted to be worshiped. These were petty machines with grievances.
Well, two could play that game.
âChris, would you mind just standing right thereâput the laundry stuff down for a moment.â Chris complied with Mr. Hillâs request as his former father came over and kicked his jockstraps off to the side.
Layton Hill took a good once over of his roommate. The man's body was perfect, from head to toe. All for Laundry? A waste honestly.
âWas there a point to this?â Chris asked, scratching his head, eyes on Mr. Hillâs prominent boner.
A smirk on Laytonâs face he asked, âSince you love cleaning, have you ever considered the benefits of hand washing and air drying out in the back?â
âNo, canât say I have.â Chris admitted.
The washer and dryerâs outlet sparked like a fit.Â
I dropped the mail off at Mr. Carterâs place as I did every Saturday when it was my route, only this morning a stranger answered the door. I only waited because Mr. Carter and I were friendly enough to exchange small talk whenever I stopped by. The stranger, however, caught me off guard with how he was dressed. Not the fact he was in white undergarments, youâd be surprised what people answered the door in on a Saturday morning. Mr. Carter was no different, often in his undergarments when talking to me. That was the issue though, specifically, the stranger was wearing Mr. Carterâs clothes. I noticed first with the boxers, pretty much a staple of Mr. Carterâs Saturday fit. Sure, a lot of people wore similar boxers, but I had delivered the mail enough to know the brand Mr. Carter wore when greeting me. Those were his without a doubt.
Then there was the shirt, I could see the strangerâs pecs pressing through them, shoulders and biceps making the sleeves bunch: it wasnât his size, too small for him. Did I even have to say, in that same vein, I could practically see his cock in the boxers.
âMorning, Louis!â He greeted me with a smile, shaking my hand firmly. I had no idea how he knew my name. I had never encountered him on any of my other routes. He was a towering 6â6â, made even taller by the fact he had another few inches on me, due to being in the house vs on the porch. In my mind, I assumed the stranger must have been Mr. Carterâs late-night escapade. How else would one explain the clothes swapping? Though Mr. Carter did have a son, was it proper etiquette to answer the door in your partnerâs clothes, in that case?
âGood to see you, Holden.â My mouth answered before my brain caught up. Odd, as I didnât know many Holdens. There were only two that came to mind, one who pantsed me in 9th grade and Mr. Carterâs son. On a second review, the man standing at the door actually looked like Mr. Carterâs Holden. Or an older version, if he had his dadâs features. I had seen the boy before walking around, even talked briefly. Good kid, but he didn't have the beard or body hair the man in front of me did. Still though, the resemblance was staggering. If I was Mr. Carter, Iâd have questions for my ex.Â
âDid you want to wake my dadâI mean, Damien.â He corrected himself.
Hearing Mr. Carterâs first name was strange, but felt familiar when it left the guy's mouth, as if I had heard the same husky voice ask the question before. Then I started thinking maybe I had met the guy before and simply forgot. The vibe around him was like running into an old friend. If that was the case, didnât it make sense he was in Damienâs clothes? Memories that I had forgotten, and yet felt so new, appeared in my head as I talked with the man. âNo, no need to wake him for my sake. Let him rest.â I handed over the mail, âHowâs little Holden doing?â
âOh um,â He rubbed the back of his neck, âHe was playing around with his dadâs stuff this morningâŚand uh.â
I raised my hand, âDonât worry, I get it.â
âYou do?â He asked.
âWell last Saturday, Damien was telling me it may be time to get his son boxers as he was really getting interested.â I added the tidbit to ease Holenâs mind as it was something Damien was aware of and actively thinking about.
Big Holden sighed, âMaybe too interested."
âYeah, but you and your husband got this.â There was my mouth prattling off again. I didnât know what it was about that Saturday that had me just talking.
âHusband?â He said it to me as if he was asking me for clarification, but I just pointed to his rings. âOh yeahâŚâ he agreed.
That confirmation was all I needed, then I finally remembered fully. This Holden wasnât some random sex partner; this was Damienâs husband the two Mr. Carters of the block. Of course, I knew them both. Thatâs why he was wearing Damienâs clothes too; he did that a lot. My mind had just sort of blanked on it for some reason. The mail was for both of them. As I remembered that fact though, the image of Damienâs son slipped from my head filling in with the larger Holden. I didn't completely forget about his son, rather it just became a factoid in the back of my mind. More of a brief thought: Damien has a son. But I could no longer recall ever seeing or hearing about him. The only Holden Carter I knew was the one in front of me. And besides our previous mention about him mere moments ago, I couldnât recall having ever brought Damienâs son up in discussion before then.
Holden was staring at me, âYou okay, Louis?â He asked.
âSorry, must have zoned out, what were we saying?â
âYou were asking me about Damienâs son.â He stated,
âYou guys have a kid?â Even now I canât say why I asked something that should have been obvious. I knew Damien had a son, but the question felt right, like it solidified itself when it left my lips.Â
âI guess not.â He rifled through the mail. I heard him mumble, âI just wanted to try his boxers on for a little bit.â Then he looked up and shrugged, âMostly bills.â
âIsnât it always?â I chuckled.
âGot me there.â He smirked back. âGuess thatâs what happens when you get older and get into the same realm as your parents. Responsibility.â He flexed his bicep, staring at it, still holding the mail. âThough responsibility kind of looks good on me.â
I didn't outwardly speak, but internally I was agreeing. Damien came trotting downstairs, greeting me, before wrapping his arms around Holden from behind.Â
âWhat are you two going on about this fine Saturday morning?â
âSorry, daâDamien, did we wake you?â Holden asked.Â
âDonât worry about it, just come back to bed.â He nibbled on Holdenâs ear, âYou look good in my clothes,â He whispered. I saw Holdenâs cock throb in response, swelling in Damienâs boxers.
That was my cue to leave. I said my goodbyes, rushing down their pathway to the next house. I took one last glance back at the two Mr. Carters who had always lived there. The image seemed exactly correct and yet like I was seeing it for the first time ever.
âYou okay back there? Havenât said anything in a while,â Kandi, the driver, and Reece's girlfriend, asked.
âHe's fine, right little bro?â Recce added poking his head between the seats to see his little brother, Benson, sitting there chest out. Benson nodded in response. There was something off about the visual, but Reece couldn't place what. Did Benson always have such a nice set of pecs? Where was his shirt? How did his jeans get holes in them? Had Reece always taken up so much space in the backseat? Reece turned his attention back forward, hard to think with the car so goddamn hot. Kandiâs A/C was wheezing, barely producing air. The windows werenât down either. It was one of those hot days that even the wind burned against your skin and felt like it attempted to sear one's vocal cords shut.
Reece wanted to light up another joint that always cooled him down, but Kandi had flipped out the last time he lit one an hour ago. Said he shouldn't smoke around Benson, which Reece agreed with when she pointed it out, but since he had already lit it, he couldnât have wasted a good blunt. Benson had gotten quiet after that. Then again maybe it was just a contact high, he did have that dazed look in his eyes. Reece took another look back.
âHey bro?â Benson replied, a small smirk on his face.
Looked all good to him, Kandi was just worried over nothing. Good thing. Before, Reece thought he heard his brother grunting and shuffling about like he was uncomfortable. He even thought Benson was ripping something up back there. Normally, Reece would have been a good brother and asked what was up, but the blunt was really fucking good, more so than usually. He was gone. His friend had said it was laced with an aphrodisiac to put everyone in the mood, but Reece didnât believe in stupid stuff like that. People were horny or they werenât.
Reece really knew it when his high had hit because his eyes went to the mirror and Benson's reflection was growing in the back. Reece watched as Benson sweated up a storm, as his stomach turned hard and his arms blasted through his shirt. Bensonâs shoulder shifted out across the width of the seat, gaining mass, as his neck and facial features shifted to something more in line with men who spent years in the gym.Â
Reece knew it had to be his high messing with his mind because Benson was the sort of boy that could talk nonstop and if something was wrong, he'd definitely let everyone in the car know. However, Reece wasn't sure if that was true, as in his head that fact paired with a smaller version of Benson. This Benson, wasnât he always at the gym working out and showing off? It wasnât unusual to hear him grunt because he was always pumping iron. Men like him just wanted to show off for the women around him. Thatâs why he probably took his shirt off: to show off to Kandi.
âHey Kandi,â a velvet voice, cockier than Reece could recall, came from Bensonâs throat. âYou, ever been fucked by a real man? Not sure my brother's doing it for you.â
The first thought in Reeceâs head was to ask, âwhat the fuckâ, but his mind tempered him. Benson had always been like this, wanting to fuck Reeceâs girls just to prove he could do it better. Make those girls scream his name as he claimed their pussies for himself. Too many times, did Reece have to listen to one of his girls being turned into Bensonâs bitch. Benson didnât care about them; they were another notch on his bed. He wanted to fuck them to prove that he could.
âReally bro?â Reece looked back annoyed. The pussy hound was on the hunt again, Reece knew his brother could probably smell Kandi's cunt dripping for him. Even now Benson was peacocking with his rings out, no functional purpose other than to show off his style. Benson had a finger on his lips, showing off an adorable face. How could Reece ever be mad at the absolute fuck monster when he looked so cute? Something inside Reece said his brother was precious as shit, but he couldnât conjure up a single memory to back that notion up. In reality, Benson had his arms on display, one behind the middle headrest to show his bicep properly. As for the other, even a finger to the lips looked naughty when a man had forearms like Benson. Reece could even see sunlight hitting the golden hairs over his arms. When did it get so hairy?
Kandi laughed. Not the âyouâre so sillyâ kind of laugh, a laugh that had her red in the face from being flustered. Sheâd gotten the Benson charm and was going down. The only reason she hadn't yet was the promise of a crash for all of them if she lost focus on the road.Â
Reece slammed his back into his seat, pissed at his brother, but also trying to ignore his own cock while watching the Casanova at work. Kandi didnât pay him any mind. Reece wasn't even there as far as she was concerned. Benson leaned forward head and neck, coming past the seats. The smell of sweat and iron wafted off him straight into Reeceâs nostrils. His brother hadnât even worked out today; the sun had brought out a smell that now permanently emitted from him. If Reece could smell it, he knew Kandi could smell it and was probably going woozy. Benson chatted her up, Reece didnât care to listen to the actual words he knew the play by now. Instead, Reeceâs eyes clung onto the golden bronzed skin tanned with the love of the sun.
There were murmurs of agreement as Kandi went right along with whatever bullshit Benson was spewing. He fancied himself a philosopher. A philosopher of getting into womenâs pants by being an absolute stud. His own words. Reece would never have come up with something so stupid. There were small moans from Kandi that got Reeceâs attention, as Benson talked about how âhardâ it was being alone in the back seat, and how âstiffâ his legs were getting. Reece shrugged, thatâs what happened when tall people had to sit in the back. But Kandi was nowhere as dismissive, her thoughts were in the complete opposite traction.
Benson turned to Reece, a smirk on his little brother's face. He had her and he knew it. All he had to do was drive it home. Leaning back both arms behind the headrest for double bicep exposure, Benson thrusted his hips up in a powerful motion that promised one thing to his audience. Kandi swerved a smidge, eyes on the rearview mirror and not the road, thankfully no other cars were out. The smirk was still on Bensonâs face; all meant for Reece.
Reeceâs cock was having its own little party and that cute face on top of that studly body wasn't helping. It was a dichotomy that worked too well for him. Benson got anything he wanted from everyone, and his brother was no exception. Visions played in his head often folding to a version of Benson he didnât recognize. That Benson wanted the latest toy or game out and Reece was always happy to surprise him. Nah, that wasnât this Benson. The image changed as the Benson in his head got older matching the one in the back seat. This Benson was only a year apart from Reece, they grew up together.Â
It wasn't a âvisionâ like the previous ones, this new Benson brought memories that felt more real in Reece's mind, aligned to who sat in the car behind him. Bensonâs face always did wonders on Reece, but it was the day his brother woke up with that body, Reece found himself defenseless. Thatâs not to say it happened overnight; muscles couldnât just appear on someone. It was just one day Reece noticed his brother's gym time was paying off. Benson certainly used that new body to physically impose his will on others, but not for Reece. He didn't need to. Benson had adapted his ways of persuasion for everyone as he matured: his adorableness into fear of his physicality. But Reece always folded like a dinner napkin in Bensonâs presence without the threat. Unlike everyone else, Reece gave in not from duress but purely because of Bensonâs beauty. Bensonâs face and position as the younger brother had always been enough, then the body sealed Reeceâs fate. Two visuals that told competing stories about his nature and Reece knew only the naughtiest of them were true.
He remembered some years back the day he came home early from college to surprise everyone; their parents were out at the time. Reece heard noises from upstairs. Thinking Benson was home, Reece walked up only to find his brotherâs room vacant, door open, floor clean, bed made. Meanwhile Reeceâs door was closed, as he distinguished the sounds not just random noises, but a headboard moving. He walked to his room as the moaning got louder. Turning to the door quietly, he let it swing out. There he was greeted by the sight of his little brotherâs dump truck of an ass grinding. Little blond hairs caught the light, revealing its subtle fuzz. Below Bensonâs body was a girl; They were fucking in Reeceâs room! The girl tossed her head around moaning, hair spilling off the edge. The blond curls dangled there. Reece knew those blond curls. Emilia. His ex-girlfriend. They had broken up before college. She had sent a text the other day asking when Reece got back to their hometown. Reece had responded he was getting back âearlyâ, as in relative to when he was expected, not early in the day, and of course he forgot to add the time. Now here Emilia was getting plowed by his brother. Bensonâs hips grinded far back, because his cock was THAT HUGE, Reece couldn't quite make it out, but he saw the plump nuts containing his nephews slapping back and forth. The two never even noticed Reece there. He watched the whole thing. The way Emilia gripped the sheetsâsheâd never done that for him. How Benson drove his cock into her, wrecking her, and how those ass cheeks flexed when thrusted.
âWant my nut, slut?â Benson asked sultry. All Emilia could do was whimper, âMy bro never fucked you right so now I have too.â He sucked his teeth, annoyed, as if he were doing an altruistic favor. Emila screamed his name, as Benson thrusted hips locked forward, firing cum. The poor girl had creamed herself. Hard. The entire house quaked as if in agreement with her. All that ado, caused over the motions of some high school seniorâs cock. Emilia had passed out
Benson pulled out and turned slightly to look over her in satisfaction. He didn't even notice Reece there, too pleased with himself. The condom on the end of his dick was flooded beyond belief, nothing but a sea of milky white cream, no tip or upper shaft visible. Benson got out of bed, heavy dick swaying. Thatâs when he finally saw Reece. âOh, hey bro!â His eyes light up as if he was genuinely ecstatic to run into his brother. There it was, that cute face Reece couldnât deny, atop a body that had just shown its full capabilities. Reece's anger strangely dissipated. Then Benson wrapped his brother in a full body hug, getting his post-sex sweat all over Reece. âGlad youâre back,â he pulled away. Their heads turned to Emilia slumbering on Reeceâs bed. âSheâs not too bad, didnât think sheâd last during round five.â He grinned, nudging Reece like it was a joke they shared. With two expert hands, he smoothly slid the condom off his dick. Tying it off, Benson dropped it into Reeceâs small trash can by the door. âWelp!â Then he just left with a small pat to Reeceâs back, as if he hadn't caused a massive wreckage in his wake. Thatâs when Reece knew he had truly been whipped.
Emilia woke up on Reeceâs sheets in a cock daze that only lasted a minute as she spotted her ex. Reece tongue drawing across his lips. What was there to even say? She stammered out some excuse about coming to see Reece but only finding his brother. Throwing on her clothes she kept talking, explaining, brushing past him, and seeing the result of her romp in the empty condom wrapper that lay deflated in Reeceâs trash. For all her words, Reece clocked she didnât apologize. Because she wasnât sorry, her stride of pride revealed that much.Â
The next year, Benson continued to get what he wanted, following Reece to college. Instead of participating in regular freshman dorm life, Benson wanted to room with his big bro. Not how it was done, but no one ever questioned Benson. Reece could have said, ânoâ. He knew what was coming, but the moment Benson asked, with the slightest pout, and face that looked like it couldn't even conceive the word debauchery, Reese said yes. Their living situation started off nice, until Reece brought a girl home. Benson fucked her. As a matter of fact, he would go on to fuck every girl Benson brought home in their 3 college years together. Reece did have the smart idea to not bring any girl home, but once Benson caught on, he was on top of it.
âLook, you can bring your girl over.â Benson followed him into the kitchen. âItâs going to be fine.â
Reece wasnât stupid, he didnât hear a âI wonât do it againâ and certainly not an apology; Benson didnât apologize. Benson was strutting around in his underwear and socks. Classes were over for the day, and he seemed to want his brother to know that too. Reece was intentionally avoiding looking, knowing he was a wimp for Bensonâs looks. The older brother stepped out onto the terrace of their apartment. He needed some air and went to enjoy the sunset. Not to see the face. He closed his eyes and took a deep break. When they opened them, the world was lighter.
âBro?â Benson asked beggingly and Reece on autopilot turned his head.
Yep, that was the face.
Reece crumbled. He brought his girl, and Benson wooed her. Tale as old as time.
After being out of college after some years, Reece thought itâd be fine to take Benson on a car ride, with Kandi, but his lil bro was horned up as ever. Reece had to consider, perhaps the blunt he smoked had an aphrodisiac because Benson had strangely been fine up to that point. Reece's mind was drawing a blank on how they all interacted, leading up to the car. It didn't matter they were in the car now though and Benson wanted some Kandi and more. Kandi pulled off into an empty gas station, practically ready to flood her seat. She announced she was going to the bathroom, with purpose. She left the brothers there. The moment she was gone from view. Reece stormed out of his seat, throwing open the back door. Benson sat there ready to get out, until Reece pushed him back standing outside the car peering down at this brother. He noticed the holes on his little brother's jeans and wondered when that became Bensonâs fashion sense.Â
âWoah bro, canât you tell Iâm running late to my âgive dickâ appointment?â He said laid back.
 âGod youâre so fucking jealous,â Reece rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up, âCan you not be horny for a car ride?â
âHey, that blunt really put me in the mood,â He pointed to Reeceâs cock, âI think it put you in the mood too. Certainly, got Kandi in the mood,â then, Benson leaned forward and mouthed Reeceâs cock in the open as his big brother shuddered. Was it the weed, or had it always been this way? Reece's memories were settling. Benson was insatiable, always had been insatiable, but not solely for pussy. Not truly. Benson wanted his big brotherâs cock. After Benson fucked Emilia, Reece went into his brotherâs room, saw his naked visage lying there, and he ended up with his cock up Bensonâs ass, no condom. Bensonâs ass swallowed him up like it was fucking velvet. And he blew a fat load into those warm insides. College was worse because Benson kept sleeping with Reece girls to keep them away. Heâd fuck them so good, leave them whimpering his name, meanwhile heâd be crawling into Reeceâs bed at night. Thatâs what Benson had been signaling in the car with all his passes at Kandi: speaking to tease Reece. Leaning forward, purposefully putting his body into a personal space to tempt Reece. He wanted Reece to have sex with him now. As for Kandi? Oh, Benson was still going to fuck her, make no mistake. She was just going to have to wait awhile, but when the dick on the line was Bensonâs women would wait in bathrooms for weeks if thatâs what it took. She wasn't going anywhere if the threat was missing her chance.
Reece rolled his tongue in his mouth as he looked over his tantalizing brother in the back seat. He laughed, realizing Benson always knew how to get what he truly wanted. Time for Reece to slide in and close the door behind them.
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So, my cousin and I were supposed to help our uncle in the city during the summer. We were planning to save up and maybe go on a road trip. But then my cousin got cold feet and said he didnât want to do it. If you ask me, I think heâs just scared of all the tall buildings. Regardless, I came alone and my uncle was disappointed he wouldnât have two capable bodies. His solution to that was to make me able to do the work of two people. I didn't know what he meant at the time but the next morning when I woke up, I was huge. I had pecs and abs that looked like they were born for the gym, not the meager attempts I had before. One glimpse in the mirror and it wasn't my face but someone resembling my dad.
My Uncle swore not to tell my dad, his older brother. This was just a temporary measure for the summer since he hadn't planned to be understaffed. Turns out, I didnât get much training from him as it was all in my bodyâs head, already knowing what the procedure was to clean the cars.
They came in and out as I could move quickly with my longer limbs. In fact, my uncle was even slowing me down, so I had to ask him to get out of my way. I think he was flabbergasted, huh look at that, I know what âflabbergastedâ means! But seriously his face was sort of comical as I continued without him. He stuck around for a bit, then stopped watching.
I have to admit playing around with some of the tools when no one was looking was fun though. The city summers were kind of brutal, no trees shifting in the wind to carry a breeze. No wonder there were so many grumps at the car wash. I had to take my borrowed shirt off to avoid overheating. â
People were a lot less grumpy when they left the car wash. We had some return customers asking me to take my shirt off at the start of my shift. A lot of people seemed more satisfied leaving the less I had on.
After a month, I was mostly down to my underwear, as requested by the people. I was compelled because I was a man of good customer service. To be honest, my body and I loved showing it all off. There was no way I was going back to the suburbs after this summer.
The flash on my camera went off, shutter firing rapidly and unexpectedly. I wasnât even looking at the time. Shouldnât have been possible for it to happen in this day and age, but it did. My attention went to my camera first to spot the problem, then to my clients to apologize for the blinding light. I paused. The set had been dressed up for the Morganâs father and son photo shoot. The two had sat in the chair together for the first pose. But now, my backdrop for the photo shoot was gone and so were my clients. In their place was the bare wall and two men in their underwear. I wondered if I had had a stroke.
The man sitting in the chair where Mr. Morgan had been, pulled down the underwear of the man in his lap. This was much more intimate than I had ever shot. I slowly walked back out to my front desk to check the scheduling list. In my personal notes, I had the Morgans listed as husbands, not father and son. Same names, just different ages. What a weird mix up? Did my brain space out when taking information? I put my head up and some of my pictures around my place were different. My landscapes and achievements were there, but less wholesome ones, more artistic nudity. Men in nature, asses out. Men tied up sexually. Men in the throes of love.
I could tell it was certainly my taste based on the cameraâs gaze and focus, but I genuinely had no knowledge of it. Had I slipped into an alternate world?
I walked back to the set, the two hadn't even noticed I had left. Though confused. I did the shoot. I mean, we all got to eat. But as I took pictures, I got a better look at them. The stranger in the manâs lap had a striking resemblance to the son from earlier, except layered with a ton of muscles and a mustache. As for the guy on bottom, he did look like the original Mr. Morgan I talked to, albeit slightly younger.
After the shoot, I shifted through the photos, just as one last personal review, force of habit type thing. I got to the first picture of the collection and I donât know why, but I went back one more time. There was a photo of the Morgan husbands during the flash. I went back again, another photo with the flash. Speeding through, all the shots my camera had taken during the flash, played in reverse. Oddly at the end (or start?) was a picture of Mr. Morgan and his son as I had asked them to sit. I scrolled forward through the pictures. Snapshots of time caught the son, tearing through his clothes, weight heavier on his dadâs lap as his toes reached the floor. The fabric from his clothes faded into nothing. Meanwhile, Mr. Morganâs body told a different story. The few gray hairs he had vanished as his body firmed up and two sets of pecs from the men collided with each other. All clothes, gone, but their briefs, now reshaped for all the muscle they contained. I ran through it forward and backward, stunned. Like watching a time lapse video of something that should have been impossible.
If I sent it over with the rest of the photos, would that be a good reason to charge extra?