|The hallways were empty, now. Everyone else was at lunch.
I stood there with my friend Larry in my high school outside the very classrooms where I was learning calc and Shakespeare and the history of Latin America in a pair of my lover William's small, gray, cotton shorts. My torso, which had slowly changed over the past week or so into a display of so much beautiful muscle arranged so nearly perfectly that you'd swear I wasn't built so much as sculpted, was overwhelmingly powerful and could cause almost anyone under the right conditions, i.e. with a heartbeat and still breathing, to spring an instant boner so hard and thick and tall that they'd wonder what their erections had been before I appeared.
Inside my shorts, I owned a dick so huge, so fat, so long and so amazingly talented that anyone I favored with a touch of it would have trouble remembering any other dick they ever saw, or even fantasized about. It was a tool of such incredible proportions that even I, the owner, could hardly believe it to be real.
I could feel that prick right then, feel its weight and magnitude and mass as it sat limp but firm along a fold in the sweat-soaked fabric. It hung fat and hungry from between my legs and, as I stood there rigidly, my arms to the sides, my hands clasped behind my ass, resting on the firm, solid, round meat of my perfectly shaped butt, I could feel myself growing even larger.
I could feel it. I could feel the pulse of my blood as it fed that growth, feel my shaft enlarging like a ripening fruit or a loaf of bread rising in the heat of an oven. I could feel the helmeted head inching forward, digging against my hip, pushing its way to larger and larger dimensions. My face remained calm, assertive, attentive to the man standing in front of me, the man whose mere presence was causing this physical change to manifest, causing my dick to lengthen and swell, causing me to feel myself becoming more, again, still more than I was.
The growth was focused down there, but it was not all down there. Though my eyes would not look down to see my body, I could feel that slowly developing too. I could feel the size of my biceps swell as they pressed toward my torso. I could feel them growing as if I was flexing them, tensing them, making their powerful cables of strength bulge against each other. My chest was expanding. The weight of it, the very existence of it growing more prominent in the space between breaths. My butt was firming against the back of my hands as they rested against it, my fingers folded together.
My dick was like a snake emerging from old skin, shiny and new and larger than ever. It felt like it was growing inches bigger, wanting release from its confines, but my muscular growth was more sedate, more finessed, more subtle, as if the lines of power were being improved but not overly enlarged. He liked me the way I was -- he simply wanted more.
And I was now able to give him that. Without thought. Without direction. Without strain or effort. I grew better, stronger, before him as he gazed on my body. It felt as if I was inhaling the longest breath ever, my body expanding not with the air in my lungs but with brawn, with raw muscle.
"Come with me," Landry instructed. He turned on his heel, not waiting for a response. I managed to look at Larry at the same moment his eyes met mine and the look of pleasure and surprise on his face probably matched mine. He was bigger, too. Bigger everywhere, but especially in the same place where my growth was unusually conspicuous.
His dick pressed against his shorts and gave ample evidence of its new girth and length. The swollen head and its flaring ridge was caught at his hip, and the inches of plump meat that lead to it hung deep and fat in his loins. His muscles, already larger than mine, had grown even more distinct and huge. Every fiber of his strength, every fine line of muscle and every deep separation between the bellies of power were etched in stone. As he moved, his muscles flexed and bulged. What did he feel like, now, owning all that muscle?
If his smile was any indication, he was feeling fucking amazing.
I looked down, and the extent of my own sudden development became apparent. It wasn't just that my chest was bigger, its hemispheres of strength grown round and bulging, but the fine, silken coat of body hair that forested those mountains had also increased. I now owned a dark carpet across the thick contours of muscle, spread high and wide across the expanse of brawn. Farther down, my abdominals bulged like a carton of eggs, and the goody trail of curls that erupted from my navel in the midst of all that rippled power now lead down to a wealth of pubic fur so thick that it was pouring out over the waistband of those tiny shorts.
And on my new body, those shorts were having a very difficult time holding me all in.
"Eyes front!" he called, and I fell back into the military stride and stiff attitude Landry wanted of me. I could feel my ponderous dick wag and swing inside its cloth cage as I walked, though, and my horniness level, if such a thing existed, was in overdrive.
I was primed, pumped and ready for action.
I watched the well-trained ass of Mr. Landry as he strode before us. It was a thing of beauty, my friends, truly a work of art. I could have followed that tight butt anywhere, and where it lead Larry and me that afternoon was nowhere else but the football field on the far side of the yard, away from the school and any male distractions that might interrupt our little workout.
He stopped in the center of the field, the 50 yard line, and turned. He was still wearing the sweat-stained T-shirt and the standard issue shorts that looked a lot like mine, if I could just fit into them still. His fit perfectly, of course, as if he'd had them tailored to his beautiful ass and slim hips and hanging basket. His tree trunk legs burst from the shorts so radically wide with his muscular power, and his fat, hard arms bulged so thick from his sleeves that I wondered if his damn clothes weren't made with Velcro in the seams.
All the way out here, I could smell him. His scent was a musk, a strong earthy tang with that certain spicy perfume you smell in locker rooms and men's gyms. He had so much testosterone pumping through him that it was leaking out his pores. He defined male.
He stood before us, feet planted firmly, shoulder width apart, and folded his arms across his own mammoth chest. What I had now outstripped his own mounds of muscle, and the fat pigs of brawn sitting on Larry's upper torso put us both to shame. We were both mimicking his stance -- arms at our sides, eyes front, chins up, shoulders back, chests way the fuck out. The wind brushed through my new, thicker coat of hair and made me keenly aware of the extents of my now larger frame. I was a huge motherfucker.
He strode slowly toward us and circled around us. I was almost a head taller than him, now, a fact he could not easily deny since, only last week, we could stand eye-to-eye. His gaze warmed my flesh, even out here under the bright, hot sun.
He set his hand on my ass, cupping my prime butt in his strong grip. I felt myself smiling as he kneaded the flesh, his fingers digging deeply toward my waiting asshole. He set the hand against my back, caressing my broad, flaring muscles. His hand was rough. I could feel his touch even after his hand left my skin. Then it was Larry's turn for some attention, as he continued his exploration of our teenaged bodies.
Then he stood in from of Larry, I saw him in my peripheral vision, staring at the dude as if daring him to meet his gaze. He stood there a long time, I'm not sure what else he was doing but if his hands were conducting some sort of business, Larry never budged, not even a whimper.
Then it was my turn again. He moved before me and stood inches away. His stink was like perfume. It filled my head with him, made me want to be very, very hard but he wouldn't allow that, not yet. He placed his hand against my stomach, palm flat on my cobblestone beauty. He moved his touch down my body until his grip rested against my enormity. His fingers moved along all my inches, I had no idea how big I was by then. But his stroking felt like I had two feet of fuckflesh down there! He was slowly petting the snake, then he was rubbing the head.
I couldn't blink. I couldn't moan. Jesus it felt fine! He was doing things I thought only William knew about. And his hand was still over my shorts, he wasn't even directly handling my tool and I felt it down to my toes, inside my bones, all the way through me.
"Good," he said softly. "Very good, gentlemen." And I felt a rush of elation. We had passed this test, whatever it was. I could feel his pride like a shower of cool water.
He walked away again, standing about a yard from us, and said, "At ease." We both assumed the stance automatically and he smiled for us, one of his patented pornographic grins that promised much more that I felt ready for.
But I wasn't who I had been, I was someone else. Something else. I was proving that now, performing exactly as he wished, becoming exactly who he wanted, looking exactly as he desired to give him all the pleasure I could.
Then he said, "Perhaps you imagine yourselves to be some sort of gift." He looked from Larry to me. We stared straight ahead. "Perhaps those bodies have allowed you to do as you wished up to now." That pornographic grin stayed on his lips as he spoke. "But I have news for you gentlemen." He started to remove his shirt, pulling it up his body, peeling himself free of it. "You have much to learn." His upper body was etched with muscle. He was amazing. How had that flimsy shirt managed to hide that body? How had that lucky strip of cloth only hinted at what lay beneath, at the sheer beauty and power that the man possessed.
Every inch of him screamed discipline. No one could mold that body without staying true to some ultimate and ungodly set of rules and methods in order to build what I saw before me. He was more than I ever imagined, better than I thought humanly possible.
"And I am going to start teaching you." He plugged his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts. "Now."
Then, slowly, achingly slowly, he stripped naked before us. Before Larry and me. Before maybe the two most beautiful and sexually talented young men walking the planet. And what he revealed was a body of such primal strength and erotic power that I was left nearly breathless.
I never even suspected what was hiding under that man's daily get-up. No wonder the fucker spent every lunch hour jerking off! Hell, if I had his body (and I wasn't turning into some ultimate pleasure-god- enhanced fuck machine) I'd be fucking myself every chance I got! And then I was thinking, well, maybe he ain't alone in there. Maybe some lucky little boys are getting the same education me and Larry were about to receive. Frankly, I wondered whether we couldn't give him a lesson or two after being with William, but there was something about him, something coming from him, that told me in plain language that we didn't know jack shit about the pleasures of the flesh, and this was the one man who could teach everything to us.
Because this, here, was a goddamn miracle on two well-muscled legs.
Holy shit, guys, Coach Landry almost made William look like Peewee Herman. Unleashed, he had a cock to make a grown man cry. His hairy balls were fat and round, hanging low and plump behind his huge tool. His body defined masculinity. He was neither huge with brawn like Larry nor smoothly sculpted like me. He was, simply put, absolute male perfection. What a man should be. He'd been dipped in the river of masculine beauty and power and come out looking like he was fucking you just standing there.
Jesus, my blood was boiling.
"All right gentlemen," he said with an obscene growl of passion, "let's get started."
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