Pollination: The Series


By AbsMan420

This chapter owes a large sub-plot to a couple of fans who were brave enough to share a cyber-experience with me (at least, the fantasy trail). Perhaps you'll all catch my not-so-subtle homage. Enjoy and let me know what you think!

The two teens were just hiking along the train tracks, as mid-western kids with no-place to go often did. As they lazily walked along, they dreamed -- often aloud -- of a magical place at the end of the tracks, a fantasy world that was so much better than the here and now -- that HAD to be. Always fantasies of escape, anyway -- teen-aged in nature -- of sepia-tones to Technicolor, Kansas to Oz. These two young men were no different from any others.

They found the flowers about a hundred yards from the station, growing up behind a little rise in the land. They both laughed at the shape of the buds -- like half-erect cocks -- though these boys had had precious little experience with HALF-erect cocks; at their age, in their late teens, they were either rock-hard or nothing -- or fast on the way to becoming one or the other -- usually the former.

"If only my dick was that big," said the more confident one, Keith. "Could you imagine?"

The other boy, W.B. -- who the kids called "Hulk" because of his bulk, said, "Where would you PUT somethin' that big?"

They laughed, and Keith took the punchline. "Anyplace I want," he said, causing them to laugh a little harder. Keith squatted down next to the plant and grabbed the wrist-thick bud near the base -- he made a motion like he was giving it a hand job. He laughed, "Look at me beatin' off the big dick!"

Both he and W.B. thought it was a joke until the flower suddenly spit a ball of pollen right into Keith's face. After that, it was only W.B. who laughed. "Looks like you made it shoot it's wad, bud," he said.

Keith was wiping the golden yellow-orange dust off his face, coughing lightly from breathing it in. "Fuck you," he said, trying to get it out of his nose.

But W.B. kept on laughing. "Maybe you'll do me next," he laughed, reaching down and re-adjusting himself without thinking about it. For a teenage boy, it was priceless physical comedy, like a prat-fall or a pie-in-the-face.

But Keith didn't find embarrassment quite so amusing. He was usually the dominant of their pairing, and the jokes were usually on W.B. -- he didn't like being the butt of anything. Annoyed, he leapt at his friend and tackled him, wrestling him to the ground.

"Keith, knock it off!" W.B. shouted -- he'd been in this position too many times -- even with his size, Keith was a better wrestler -- a better everything. "I was just kidding, man!"

But Keith man-handled him over to one of the other plants, pushing W.B.'s face right into the blossom. Sure enough, the plant spat at him. Now they were both covered in the dust. "Think it's funny now?" Keith said, letting W.B. go and standing up quickly, in case the other boy felt like fighting back, not that he ever did -- Keith was surprised to discover himself hoping the other boy would, though. He liked the physical contact of wrestling with his buddy.

"Jesus, Keith, I was just kidding." W.B. was unsuccessfully trying to wipe the pollen away, just as Keith had tried to do.

Keith shrugged. "See? Not so funny when it's you. C'mon," he said, offering W.B. a hand, "let's get the fuck outta here."

But they weren't a hundred yards down the tracks when they both started to feel the rush. At first, it manifested itself as energy. Both boys were suddenly ansty, bouncy -- one could easily say "frisky" if generous with adjectives -- like colts. Suddenly, both of them felt remarkably good. And the budding erections they clumsily tried to hide from each other told them they were going to feel even better.

"Man," said W.B., jumping up and down and the rail, "I feel great!"

Keith could hardly resist his energy. "I know, bro! Me, too!"

The two boys wrestled playfully, wrapping their arms around the other and then pushing away. They both felt very strong -- psyched up, like right before a football game, banging helmets and slamming torsos -- surprisingly masculine.

Like greco-roman wrestlers, arms locked around each other, forehead pressed to forehead, the stared in each other's eyes. They weren't just feeling strong, they were feeling bigger. "I think that plant pollen's did somethin' to us," Keith said, flexing because he felt he needed to.

"Yeah," W.B. said, and smiled. "It did. And Keith? I want more."

Keith nodded against his buddy's forehead. "Me, too."

They broke their hold then and bounced torsos again roughly. Neither tried to hide his erection now. "Let's go," they both said simultaneously.

As the boys jogged back to the flowers, they could actually feel their legs thickening.


Nobody in rural-western Kansas had ever seen anything like Wolf Murdock. Sure, some of the local men were pretty big -- corn-and-beef fed, after all -- but Murdock was something different altogether. Three-hundred pound men with single-digit bodyfat were unheard of in this area. Even in his baggy gym-pants and loose t-shirt, he wasn't hiding anything.

Unfortunately, the novelty of his appearance made him a celebrity. Murdock had hoped that he could slip into some small town and do his business unnoticed. He didn't realize that there was no such thing as slipping quietly into some small town unnoticed. One o' them bodybuilders was stayin' down at the hotel -- the rumor spread -- and he was lookin' to buy the old Bowden place. Murdock hadn't been in town a full day before everyone knew THAT.

The farm in question -- the old Bowden place -- was almost fifteen miles north of town, a flat and dusty drive away. The old man still lived there, the Real Estate agent told Murdock as they drove to the property, but he was anxious to sell. He had dreams of a Florida retirement, but didn't want to succumb to the agri-businessmen, the faceless corporations that were taking over most of the growing land in the U.S. "He still believes in the concept of the Family Farm," the Real Estate agent said. "It'll be mighty important for him to hear your plans for the place."

Murdock smiled. "I'll be happy to share them with him," he said, unconsciously cupping his balls.

The Real Estate agent noticed. "I hope you don't mind my sayin' so," he said, "but we don't get much folk like you 'round these parts. I have to admit, I've never seen a man quite as large..."

"I'm training for the World's Strongest Man competition," Murdock said, chuckling slightly, flexing his arm for the man he shared the car with. "Think I'll win?"

The Agent shrugged uncomfortably. "I've just never seen anything like it, is all."

Murdock smiled, enjoying the man's embarrassment -- and the lump that was forming in his pants. "I'm sure, after a while, it'll become a familiar sight," Murdock said. "Maybe I'll even show you a thing or two about gettin' bigger yourself." He nodded toward the Real Estate Agent's erection. "You strike me as the kind of guy who wants it."

The Real Estate agent was mortified, being caught this way -- he hemmed and hawed, trying to cover himself with his hand.

Murdock reached over and touched the man's shoulder. "Don't worry about it," he said, reassuringly. "That happens all the time. Lots of guys get... that way... when they're around someone my size. Believe me, we're used to it."

The Real Estate agent suddenly glanced at him. "'we'...?"

But if Murdock was flustered over his slip, he hardly let it show. He smiled. "I mean, guys like me," he said. "Bodybuilders. WE get used to it."

Seemingly satisfied, the agent changed the subject back to the Bowden Farm, describing the house, the barn, the acreage of land. Apparently, the farm had been working under subsidy for several years, growing nothing at the behest of a government that didn't know better. Imagine, the agent intoned, someone paying you NOT to grow food.

"Well," said Murdock, "I intend to use the land."

"You thinkin' of growin' crops? You got experience farmin'?"

Murdock smiled again -- that winning smile -- that winning, seductive smile -- "Let's just say I've got a green thumb," he said. "You'll see. There'll be lots of growing around here."

And with that, they pulled off the main road onto the property.


Back in West Virginia, the following afternoon, Gillian Tully walked into the Sheriff's office, the click of her city-heels echoing on the hardwood floor. She was as no-nonsense as she was a dullard. Not dispassionate -- that wouldn't be the right word -- but certainly detached. She observed without becoming personally involved. Unfortunately, the very characteristic that made her a good investigator also made her an unsuccessful lover. The closest thing she had to a boyfriend was Murdock -- and now he was missing. And had been missing for almost three days.

His last known location was this little one-light town in West Virginia, where he'd gone to investigate the death of local-teen muscle-freak Robert Ray. The last she'd heard from him -- the last ANYONE had -- was a cell-phone call he'd placed to her three days before. A call that had been interrupted. Murdock's last words were: "Tully, I need you to.... Holy shit!" -- and then it sounded as if he'd dropped the phone. And then silence.

She'd already spoken to the manager of the motel where he'd stayed -- to little avail. Though the manager remembered Murdock -- no doubt they got few visitors in this hick town -- he recalled nothing unusual. Murdock had checked in one day -- the manager even showed her the records -- and checked out the next. Yup, that was his signature. "I DO remember that he met with the Sheriff," the manager said. "Maybe you should talk to him, too."

The manager gave her directions and laughed aloud when she asked, "How will I recognize him?"

Her cold, dry look made him stop, even stutter a little. "Y...you can't miss him," the manager said. "The Sheriff's a pretty big guy."

Robbie Ray kind of big? she thought, but just nodded to the manager.

And that was how Tully found herself walking into the Sheriff's office not ten minutes later. She couldn't help but feel like she was on the set of "The Andy Griffith Show" -- it was that cliche -- the whole TOWN made her feel like she'd stepped into the Way-Back Machine. She could barely help but smirk as she glanced around and took in the room. The shades were drawn against the afternoon light, allowing rays of piercing yellow sun to keep the room in gobo-like stripes.

"Can I help you?"

The Sheriff sat behind the desk, in his tan uniform and cowboy hat. And while he was well-sized -- Tully put his stats at about five-ten, two-fifteen -- he was hardly the massive bodybuilder everyone had made him out to be. Even his age -- he might've been in his early thirties at the latest, surprisingly young for a Sheriff. Dark hair and smooth-faced, he was almost pretty. He hardly had the air of authority she expected in a man of the law, especially an elected leader.

"Sheriff Lane?" she asked.

He smiled, indicating his badge and nameplate beneath it, pinned to his shirt. "In the flesh," he said. "And you are?"

She pulled out her badge and walked to the desk. He stood, glancing at the ID then back at her. "Gillian Tully," she said, flipping the wallet closed. "FBI. I'm investigating the disappearance of my partner."

"Your partner?"

"Agent Wolf Murdock. He was in town about three days ago. The manager of the hotel said he may've talked to you...?"

The Sheriff smiled and nodded. "Absolutely," he said, taking a drink from his soda. "Oh, where are my manners? Would you like something to drink? I got a cooler right in the back room..."

Before he could take a step, she shook her head. "No, thanks," she said. "I just want to find out what I can and move on if I have to, while there's still daylight."

He shrugged. "Not much to know," he said, taking his seat again, motioning for her to take the one before the desk. "He came in, asked me a couple of questions about Robbie Ray, and then he left. He called me later to tell me he had a lead he was gonna follow, but that was it. I'm sorry."

"No idea where he went?" she asked, taken by his sincerity. If he wasn't powerfully masculine, at least he seemed honest. "He didn't say anything?"

"I think he said he was going north. Robbie Ray spent the winter holidays up in Quebec. Murdock thought that was where he might've gotten the drugs."

Tully turned toward him, her interest piqued. "Drugs...?"

"Well, whatever the hell it was that turned him into that... well, I guess you saw."

This time it was her turn to shrug.

Left with nothing more than an uncomfortable goodbye and some professional information to exchange, Tully got in her car and headed north. On her cell phone, she'd already dialed the travel agency and booked tickets to Quebec before she'd even gotten through one West Virginian stoplight.


From inside the Sheriff's office, he watched her pull away from the curb, glancing through the slits in the window shades. He smiled -- a decidedly DIFFERENT smile than the one he had when she was in the office -- this one was a little more sly. "She's gone," he called.

The back door opened, and he could hear the musclegod enter. The floorboards creaked beneath his massive weight. "Sounds like she bought it," he said, his voice deep and husky, dripping with masculinity.

The man at the window turned to face him, almost stunned breathless by his size. "She did, Sheriff," the man said, removing the badge and name-plate from his shirt and handing them back to the musclegod before him, the three-hundred fifty pound beast that was the true Sheriff Lane.

"Good job, Deputy," the Sheriff said, smiling slightly. That alone made the Deputy's deception worth it -- simply pleasing this musclegod. Sheriff Lane knew it, too -- that made it even more erotic for the Deputy, who'd spent most of his life looking for a man to serve, even if he'd never consciously realized it. "Now, pin them back on us."

The Deputy lowered his head and looked at the Sheriff's feet. "Thank you, Sheriff," he said, not even trying to hide his erection. With nervous hands, the Deputy pinned the Sheriff's badge and nameplate to his hulking chest. It'd taken him a while to tailor a uniform that fit the Sheriff as he was now. The largest shirts barely contained his shoulders, but ballooned out at the waist -- like the manufacturer's EXPECTED a Sheriff to have a gut.

But they'd found a shirt finally, altered it to fit the Sheriff's trim, rock-hard stomach, then set to work taking in pants that posed the same problem. They could find something to get around the Sheriff's quads, but then they'd be too loose in the waist. The Deputy carefully sewed for almost two days -- personally, he considered it "women's work," but wouldn't dream of disobeying a command from the Sheriff. He'd been a sworn Deputy for almost ten years now, since the Sheriff had taken him under his wing when he'd been an unruly sixteen year old -- he couldn't imagine doing anything else, now. It had worked out perfectly: Sheriff Lane enjoyed being a leader, and the Deputy enjoyed following, he even got a certain sexual jolt from obeying the Sheriff's orders. (Sometimes, he even jerked off to the IDEA of following the Sheriff's orders.)

And that was even before the Sheriff had morphed into the musclegod he was now. When he'd walked into the office for the first time two days ago -- dressed in the only clothes he had that fit him, a pair of ancient sweats that strained to keep him covered, revealing the hulking physique and gigantic muscle of the new, three-hundred pound Sheriff -- the Deputy did the same thing now that he'd done then: he fell to his knees. "Good boy," the Sheriff said -- as he had then -- and ruffled the Deputy's hair.

The Deputy spoke, keeping his tone humble, keeping his eyes on the Sheriff's feet. "Have I earned a plant of my own, Sheriff?" he asked.

The Sheriff chuckled, a low, throaty sound. He cupped the Deputy's jaw and raised his head until they were looking into each other's eyes. The Deputy was again taken by the sheer sense of masculinity emanating from the Sheriff's gorgeous face, the smile forming on his thick jaw. "You have, Deputy," he said. "You've served us well. But before you let your hard-on get the best of you, we think you should wait."


"Having a human familiar is convenient for us now," the Sheriff said. "And we suspect we haven't seen the last of Murdock's partner, and we may need to continue the deception. You've earned a plant, Deputy, and you can have it if you want it, but we think you should wait just a while longer."

The Deputy nodded, trying to keep his eyes from tearing. "Thank you, Sheriff," he said. "As much as I'd like to, if you think I should wait, I obey and wait."

The Deputy glanced down then -- as was proper -- just in time to see the Sheriff's burgeoning erection, the god-cock that fought the material inches from the Deputy's face. The Sheriff released the Deputy's chin "Then you may have another reward," he said, opening his pants, unzipping his fly.

The Sheriff's erect cock was as big as anything artistically enhanced on the web -- though the Deputy had seen precious little of that. The Deputy's IMAGINATION couldn't even come up with anything as beautiful as the Sheriff's monstrous schlong. How the Deputy could take something that large in his mouth would be the true mystery -- it would be similar to deep-throating a summer-sausage, and even that would only be if he could get his jaw around the bulbous head.

"Take it, boy," the Sheriff said. "It's your reward."

Hands behind his back, the Deputy leaned forward and delicately kissed the cock-head, so heavy, so hot, so thick. It pressed against the side of his face, thicker than his wrist, almost the length of his forearm. It smelled so good.

He licked up and down the shaft, flat-tonguing along the thick line of the urethra. He buried his nose and mouth and the base, smelling the manly smell of balls and nibbling the top of the sac, the only exposed part of the Sheriff's citrus-sized 'nads. The Sheriff groaned, "Careful, Deputy."

But the Deputy knew better than to agitate the Sheriff's balls -- this was not his first blowjob for the Sheriff, not even the first since the Sheriff's transformation -- how ELSE would you explain the muscle the Deputy had gained over the last two days? Instead, he slid his face along the thick shaft back toward the head, allowing his rough chin to tickle it. As his tongue followed the rim of the crown, he made the move to take the entire thing in his mouth.

"You're brave to try, boy," the Sheriff said, reaching behind the Deputy's head as if to hold him in place, or perhaps shove him onto the pole. "But just take what we offer."

He would've said, "Yes, Sheriff" if he could've formed the words, but his mouth was too full of fat musclecock to speak. Not that he didn't try to get the Sheriff in further.

Not that the Sheriff needed the stimulation, either. His orgasms were controlled by the Symbiote now -- a creature that resided in a man's balls controlled a lot -- maybe more than he knew. The Symbiote allowed him tremendous orgasms, blinding in their intensity, whenever he wanted them. And he wanted them more and more often.

Fat ropes of cum shot out of his dick, filling the Deputy's mouth almost immediately -- certainly completely. He tried to swallow it all, of course -- which the Sheriff found endearing -- but failed miserably. Cum flowed out of his mouth, dribbled down the chin. "Come on, boy," the Sheriff said, lost in the lusty tone of orgasm. "Don't waste our seed."

He didn't WANT to waste it, that's for sure. Just the mechanical process of swallowing so much so quickly slowed him -- the Deputy hadn't gone to college, never chugged keggers with his frat-brothers -- not that even the drunkest member of Delta House could keep up with the Sheriff's flow -- but he did the best he could, though good slaves rarely got "A's" for effort. It didn't hurt that he liked the taste -- he didn't realize how soon he'd be saying "NEEDED it" -- though the slimy consistency reminded him more of pudding than cum.

When the Sheriff completed his orgasm, he stepped back from the Deputy -- who almost lost his balance, leaning forward on his knees, hands behind his back -- then the Sheriff wiped the end of his cock off with his left index finger -- which he allowed the Deputy to lick clean -- and tucked his massive member back into his uniform, taking several seconds to adjust himself comfortably.

The Deputy had sunk back on his heels; he looked to the Sheriff as if he were dizzy, or drunk. His eyes were unfocused, his lids heavy -- he weaved slightly. The Sheriff watched him grow. It wasn't much -- maybe ten pounds on the outside -- but it was still evident that some kind of physical transformation was taking place, albeit a small one. His uniform still fit -- it just fit better.

The whole process took maybe two minutes total, and then -- like last time -- the Deputy cleared his head, shaking it slightly, and refocused on the Sheriff, an adoring smile on his face, a lusty look in his eye. Though there seemed to be something different about it now -- something new in the depth of the look. He couldn't say exactly what.

The Sheriff glanced down at the drops of cum on the floor and briefly thought the word "messy" -- almost immediately, the Deputy dropped and licked the floor clean with his tongue. The Sheriff smirked, snorted once to himself, then stepped over the prone Deputy and walked to his desk.

As he dropped his three-hundred fifty pound body into his desk chair, he found he was thirsty -- suddenly, as soon as he had the thought, his Deputy was standing. The boy darted to the back room and immediately returned with a bottle of water. He knelt next to the Sheriff's chair as he offered it to the man-god.

The Sheriff decided to test him. He thought, "Kiss my feet" and the Deputy sank to the floor and began kissing the Sheriff's boots. "Lick them," the Sheriff thought. "Make them shine" and the boy's tongue got to work.

The Sheriff smiled. Now THAT was an unexpected development.

But it turned out the Symbiote had already known about it.


Meanwhile, in rural Indiana, the two teens -- Keith and W.B. -- knelt facing each other on the sun-warmed ground. Both of them seemed slightly dazed, almost lost somehow, which only made sense if one understood the level of ecstasy they were experiencing. Both of them knelt before the flower that had blasted its pollen at them earlier -- both still had lingering amounts of pollen on their faces -- and both had neatly inserted their cocks deep into the flower's blossom.

For now, they grew. Their muscles continued to swell, to enlarge. And for boys who'd had precious little experience sexually, even they knew they were getting the best treatment they'd ever have -- nothing could ever compare to this. Nothing could ever compare to the gentle massage of the petals, the persistent stamen finding its way inside, and then, of course, the entrance of the creature -- the incredible symbiosis.

When they understood everything, they looked at each other and smiled. Then, these two monstrous boys -- each now weighing in the high two-seventies -- stood and came together, standing next to each other but facing in opposite directions.

The Symbiotes allowed them their orgasms, each of them shooting gallons of seed across the ground. As they came, as they moaned, they circled together, which made them look like a lawn-sprinkler, covering even more land. They knew what it would do, how it would take root -- and they knew what they had to do next, now that they were finished.

"That was fuckin' amazing," said Keith, hardly fazed, already hardening again. He reached down and lovingly felt the Symbiote curled in his balls.

W.B. smiled at him -- he reached over and stroked Keith's massive chest with one hand, his own balls with the other. He knew what they had to do. "Let's go get the other guys," he said simply.

"Yeah," said Keith, touching W.B.'s now rock-solid stomach, his brick-like six pack. "They're gonna fuckin' love this!"

Easily, the two paragons loped toward town, careful to keep their alien-riders safe. Twice along the way they had to stop and give-in to their new carnal hungers.

They couldn't wait until ALL their buddies felt this way. •

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