Pleasure Boy

A Volunteer


By FanTCMan

In response to several requests, here's another for the guys that keep asking for more Pleasure Boys. Question is, do you want to BE one or HAVE one for your own pleasure? That man made me a Pleasure Boy. Really? Do you think if I gave him the materials, he could make me one, too?

"Are you absolutely sure you want to do this? You're fully aware of what will happen, correct?"

"Yes sir, I think so. I've checked with my family lawyers and had papers drawn up, and they are fully aware of my wishes, too, just so there can't be any problems later, when I . . . Well, if I can't . . . You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do. But I've got to ask you. You're handing over a huge amount of money to the foundation. You are a handsome guy, extremely intelligent, Stanford pre-med, I believe, and you want to give it all up, including your own personal fortune, to become a Pleasure Boy. Why?"

The kid sat up in his chair. Even sitting, he looked tall. And very slender. The French blue of his Oxford cloth shirt made his eyes look like sapphires against his pale skin and blond eyelashes, and they glittered now with intensity.

"Dude, look at me. I'm a geek. I'm smart, I'm richer than shit, and I'm a total fucking geek. All my life I've been jealous of the jocks, man. I've always wanted to just be a big, dumb, musclebound jock with a huge piece of meat. A huge muscle jock with nothing in his head but his body, man. Nothing but muscle and sex. I go to bodybuilding contests, man, and I just wished I could give everything I had to be one of those guys, but bigger. Way bigger, man, and hung as shit, and so fucking dumb I couldn't even think or care about anything else. Well, now I can. And now that everyone in my family is dead but me . . ."

"I am sorry about your father . . ."

"Thanks. Anyway, now I can. That's all. It's simple. I give you the money to support your work and support me and take care of me, since I totally understand I'll need to be taken care of, and you just make me into the biggest, hottest, dumbest fucking muscle whore in the world. Cool?"

The man behind the desk glanced at the lawyer sitting near the back of the room, who nodded solemnly with a completely befuddled expression.

"Cool," he answered. "So then we can sign these papers and get started."

The kid reached back and took the legal papers from the lawyer. He set them on the desk.

"Ten million," he said. "And no matter what I say, once I start, you have to go ahead. Even if I tell you I change my mind. I'm giving you total control."

"I understand. Are you sure you do, though?"

"Hey, I'm nineteen fucking years old, and I've had this fantasy for at least ten of those years. I'm no kid. I know what I want. I'm just afraid I'll wimp out, and I want that option taken away."

"And everyone is in agreement?"

"Who's everyone? Him? He works for me. He's been well paid. I've got no one fucking else, man. I don't give a shit about being a doctor. That's what my dad wanted. Well, now I get what I want. And you get ten fucking million. Just sign."

The kid signed the last page and slid the papers over to the man behind the desk, who took the pen, stared at the kid for a second, and then signed. "Now you," the kid said to the lawyer, who came over, added his signature on the witness line, and then left the room without saying a word. When he was gone, the kid leaned back in the chair and put his hands behind his head, satisfied that the deal was done.

"All right, boy, follow me."

"My name is Wilson."

"Whatever. This will be your room for the next few days. Most of the boys go through the transformation very quickly, but you said you want to do it slowly enough to know what's happening to you, so you'll stay in here where you can see it all, too."

The room was large and bare, a cubicle inside a larger room, with walls of two-way mirrors so that he could be observed, a cot, an armless chair, a sink, and a toilet.

"Observation room, huh. Like some kind of animal. Cool. I'd prefer a little privacy there, though." He nodded toward the toilet.

"You've already signed off on your preferences. Take off your clothes."

Wilson did as he was told, stripping off his shirt, his tee shirt, dropping his khakis, kicking off his shoes, using the sink for balance as he pulled off his socks, and finally, pulling down his boxerbriefs and stepping out of them. As he dropped his clothes, the man picked them up. When the kid was standing naked, the man looked him over.

"Yeah, skinny. And I can see why you'd fantasize about having a bigger cock. Well, don't worry. I'll be right back."

He left, closing the door behind him. The lock clicked in its tumbler, and the door almost vanished into the planes of mirror. Even the floor and ceiling were mirror. Everywhere the kid looked, he was reflected, and he realized, looking, that the cube was actually slightly trapezoidal, so that, depending on which corner he stood near, he could see every part of himself, front, sides, and back. He'd distracted himself with checking that out for a minute or so when the man returned with a syringe. He held it aloft, pushing out any remaining air bubbles, and it looked very large, probably ten CCs, with a long, thin needle.

"Come over here," he demanded, sitting on the edge of the bed.

The kid did as he was told.

"You've heard how we administer this, I assume."

"Yeah, I've heard."

Apprehension flickered in his eyes, but his mouth puckered with resolution.

"All right, then. This is about half the normal dose we give for a full transformation. I'll be back when this has worked and give you more. Stand still."

As he was speaking, he brushed Wilson's dick aside with the back of his hand and took hold of his scrotum, forcing one testicle to push the loose skin taut, and without any kind of warning, he plunged the needle deeply into it. Slowly, he half emptied the syringe. Wilson felt like he might puke, and he could not stop a yelp from escaping his clenched mouth. Then the man repeated it with the other testicle. Wilson was both more prepared, already knowing what it felt like, and less, having experienced the dizzying pain. But in a few seconds it was over, except for the feeling in his groin like he'd been kneed hard. He expected the man to leave, then, as he had before, and leave him to the mirrors, watch from outside, but he didn't. He stood there, silent, watching him, waiting.

Even as he had those thoughts, Wilson began to feel some kind of heat spreading from his balls, changing the pain into something else. Rapidly, the sensation swept over him, like the rush he'd had once from smoking crystal meth, only much, much more powerful and erotic. He looked at the man, who was smiling, now, and wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't about to lose his balance and collapse. But he didn't. He was just suddenly more stoned than he'd ever been in his life, and he'd taken a few pretty intense chemical rides with a couple other science-geek buddies. He felt everything come alive, tingle, burn, tense, vibrate. His dick popped up hard as a steel spring. He just looked at the man watching him.

The man looked at his erection, then winked at him. "So, you a faggot, boy?"

"No sir, I don't think so."

"Oh, I think you are."

The man pulled Wilson's head toward him and kissed him, forcing his tongue into Wilson's mouth, and Wilson found himself opening up to it, sucking it in, wanting it. He felt the scratch of the man's stubble on his face and it made his dick harder. He found his hands reaching for the thick, muscular arms, not to push him away, but to feel the muscle.

"Yeah, definitely. Look at yourself."

Wilson looked in the mirrors, and he saw the man who had just kissed him, muscular and handsome in his olive tee and camouflage fatigues, and standing in front of the man, a muscular, tall, blond dude with his face, naked, with a boner that looked like one of those morphs he loved to get off the net. He looked down. His dick was already bigger. Much bigger. He could feel it now. Heavy. Thick. His pubes were thicker, too, and so blond. They were growing up his belly, hair was all over his belly. Pale, blond hair was sprouting all over his abs, and his abs were pulling, hard, cramping, bunching, moving under the skin to form bricks of muscle. The hair was all over his chest, too, and now his chest was divided into two thick slabs that creased, deep, in the middle and flared wide. He couldn't even see the place where they stopped and his abdomen began. They were too thick. And his arms. The muscle. He lifted one, flexed it, looked in the mirror at it. It was the arm of a bodybuilder. Already. Not the biggest, but, shit, it had only been . . . How long? The man was gone. It was just him, looking at himself, and he was flexing and holding his cock in his other hand, and he felt like the hottest, sexiest fuck. His cock had to be . . . Shit, he could get two hands on it and it still stuck out. He could even feel it grow as he held it. It was so hard and getting thicker. He could squeeze it and it forced his hands to let it grow. Fuck. He felt an orgasm come, and he just let it come, let it go, standing with his legs apart, looking at the gorgeous muscle guy in the mirrors just cumming over how hot he was, feeling his pecs, now, under his hands, growing thicker and wider. His legs were too thick to let him stand the way he used to. His arms wouldn't go down to his sides. Blond hair was growing all over his chest and stomach and legs and arms and face. He had so much hair in his pits when he raised his arms to flex that he started to think maybe it was too much. He was getting hairier than he ever thought about or wanted to be, and bigger, and his cock was getting so huge. He felt sick in his stomach. He was turning into a freak. He knew it was what he wanted, but now, he could hardly make himself think, he felt so foggy. The guy in the mirror was so exciting, but Wilson was scared. He looked up and wanted to see how huge the guy could grow. Then he looked down, and he was afraid. He would never be able to go back. He would be just a huge dumbass muscle whore. Then he looked up and saw the fucking gorgeous muscle whore in the mirror. Oh, fuck, yeah, he wanted to see that blond fuck get so fucking massive. Just a huge fucking sex toy for nothing but pleasure. Then he looked down at himself, at his chest growing so thick he could hardly see over it, except that his cock was getting so huge, he could see it, he could almost touch the bottom of his pecs with it, and the monstrosity of it excited and scared the shit out of him. His arms were getting so thick he could barely touch his own shoulder. He would tell him no more. This was enough. But then he looked in the mirror again, and the erotic love he felt for the massive god he saw there overwhelmed the fear. He paced the room, feeling himself growing thicker and heavier, seeing the reflection of the god, bigger every time he looked, getting increasingly turned on by the feeling of his own thickness and mass and size, falling in love with the feeling, then being slapped again with the fear.

He didn't even hear the lock click.

The man was back with another syringe.

"Come over here," he said.

"I . . ." Wilson wanted to tell him he was afraid to take the next step. "I . . ." God, where were the words? " . . . Don't . . . Think . . ." he managed to get out.

"Sorry. You made the terms, and that's not an option. Come here."

He did what he was told. He hadn't been able to pull together the words to say he was afraid, that this was so much more extreme than he'd imagined. He hadn't even really been able to get the thought clear in his head. He did know he had no choice, and that had been his choice. He stepped forward to take his medicine. He would feel himself grow even more, until all he knew was that he was massive beyond credibility, that he would be acutely aware of only one thing, and that would be his overpowering sexuality. His whole body and being would be the most massive muscle toy. But his mind wasn't working clearly enough to define even those thoughts. It was all sensation, now. And he would take more, feel more. Oh God. He let it all go. He had to. He wanted to.

"Well," the man said, as he held and injected the testicles one at a time, "You wanted to be a big dumb jock. Looks like you got a good start on the big and the dumb. This should get you where the other boys are. Massive and dumb as shit. Then we'll take you that extra mile you wanted to go. Make you the biggest fucking Pleasure Boy in the world. And, I'm afraid, the dumbest. But that's what you wanted, isn't it, boy. Or do you even remember? You like how that feels this time, don't you? Yeah, feel that in those big fuckin' nuts. Feel that, boy. Yeah, there you go. Yeah. Say goodbye, kid. What was your name? Never mind. Close your mouth, you big, hot fucking ape. Your name is boy, now."

"Boy," he said. Already his head was flying and caving in at the same time. Only his body existed. He felt his chest swelling again, his legs thickening, his cock pulling heavier, alive, so alive. He was pure sex. He knew the man with him wanted to touch him, feel his muscle. That was what he was. What this was all about. And his cock. Fuck. So huge. Hair getting thicker. So big. Feel so big. Oh. Getting bigger. Bigger. Awwwww, fuck yeah... •

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