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|Well, don't act all surprised. Jesus, I gave you so many hints you knew there had to be something up with the coach. Nobody fucking goes for two hours straight out and keeps it up the whole time! Nobody.
Unless they've got the powers of a god streaming through their libido, of course. And Landry... Bromios... had that. Turns out that Coach Scott Landry was another of Dionysus's little cabal of disciples -- men-turned-sex machines who, having spent time in the company of the god of pleasure, had become tools of pleasure in the flesh. Scott was even older than William, by about 200 years by their estimate. But, again, that whole weird contracted time thing came into play, so that was just based on what the world was like when they each joined with D, as they referred to him.
Scott, like William, was a pleasure tool but in a slightly different sense. William was an adaptor, a sort of sexual changeling who adapted himself to his partner, or partners', desires. He was entirely tuned into what others wanted and capable of fulfilling their fantasies utterly. He anticipated your needs and became your ultimate lover.
Scott was another type of sexual tool, an instructor. His talent was to recognize what it is you wanted, but also be able to introduce you to things you'd like as well or even more so but just never considered. William said, "Bromios, here, has introduced more men to the pleasures of anal sex than anyone you're ever likely to meet. He can spot `em a mile away."
Scott added, "It isn't that they're gay or whatever. All those sexual roles are so limiting and..."
William stopped him before he went down that path. "They've heard the gospel according to D, you can skip that part." He winked at me.
"Yeah, well, almost everyone has bisexual tendencies. You probably already know that. You've probably fucked plenty of red-blooded hetero guys, right?"
I shrugged. "Maybe. Probably did some today. I didn't take the time to ask."
"Well, sex is great. All of it. It's just a question of... finesse." He smiled pornographically. "I happen to have a few special advantages, that's all."
"He can be fucking irresistible when he wants to be," William said, laughing.
Larry looked like he finally understood a hard math problem. "So that's why!"
"Why what?" It was my question, but it looked like Scott and William already knew the answer.
"Why I couldn't track you, Scott. All afternoon I was trying to anticipate, to feel you out, understand what you wanted. But all I felt was instruction and discipline. I just thought you were into the whole master and servant routine, but I never got that clearly, either."
"Hey, that's right! I couldn't put my finger on it but you hit it square on the head." I turned to Scott. "You were always in control, but you were never dominant. And by the time you finished with us..."
"You never looked or felt better in your life," finished William. "Scott's special powers don't just train your brain, they train your body, too. Not like I've been doing, not by subtly and slowly altering your sexual appeal, how you look and move, but what your body can do, its power and strength and size." He glanced at my improved dick, still hanging long and fat and firm between my legs. "Hmm, yes. Size."
"I knew you two boys had been touched, so to speak. I mean, no one grows half a foot taller and, um, half a foot longer like you did without some special help."
"It's not half a foot longer!"
Scott smiled at me. "I know. I was the coach, remember? You made a rather strong impression on me even before... William, is it? Even before William's intervention. Your beauty has been enhanced, but you were beautiful to begin with."
I think my whole body blushed. "Thanks."
Scott looked at Larry and rubbed his chin. "You, however, are a special case all your own." He looked at William. "How long have you been hanging around?"
He wiggled his brows. "A week, just about."
"Larry, you are fucking amazing. No offense, Jackson, but as I said you were pretty great before William started having an effect on you. But Larry..."
"Careful, Mr. Landry."
"No, no, you weren't bad, but you weren't... I mean, have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You look like you've gained fifty pounds of prime meat, and half of that's in your dick!" He moved his hand across Larry's left muscle tit. "Big and brawny and powerful." He rubbed the fat nipple between his fingers. "Fucking suckable to boot." Which he then did. Larry rose up on his toes and closed his eyes and gasped. Scott kissed Larry's mouth deeply and then, his arm across Larry's wide, muscled shoulders he turned and looked at me. "The two of you together, when I saw your asses standing there in the hall... man, I nearly creamed my jeans before I even touched you."
"With your staying power? I can't believe that."
We all laughed.
Then we all fucked.
We spent five days together, the four of us. It was amazing. And Larry and me? We just kept growing. Our bodies were becoming better and better, and bigger and bigger, and stronger than shit. We had to just to keep up with what we were learning from Scott and William. It was just the exposure to the two dudes, I guess. It wasn't something either one of them "made happen," in other words. There wasn't any laying on of hands or magic words, we just kept growing.
By Wednesday, I really had grown half a foot longer. My 8-incher was now 14 solid, heavy, thick, amazing inches. Larry's 6-inch cock did even better, catching up to me and even getting a little edge on my tool, when it came down to it. My uncut beauty was amazingly long, with a fat helmet and thick veins all over it. But Larry's circumcised monster was every bit as long, and then bested mine by growing thick as a fucking beer can! Seriously!
By Friday, I had another inch.
And I haven't even mentioned what our muscles were doing. Which was growing, but more than that. Remember I said Larry's chest was a motherfucking bulging mass of power? Fat and thick and wide and huge? And he had these big fucking nipples? Well, two days later he was beyond huge, he was massive. Watching him flex you'd swear you could get lost in his cleavage. He had round beauties that would suddenly swell and thicken and striate when he squeezed them. He'd get this shit-eating grin on his face and swing his big arm up and inflate his guns, and they'd swell like balloons filled with power. Then he'd pump his chest up bigger and bigger until you'd swear they'd explode! He was massive.
Coupling the fat globes of muscle with his tight, firm waist he looked like he was going to fall over, but there was no way he would because his fucking legs were equally as massive. Fat, fibrous deeply defined beauties of copious strength and power. He was reveling in it all, let me tell you.
Me? I just kept stretching out in every direction. Taller in stature, wider shoulders, broader chest, thicker everything. Where Larry was turning into a serious bodybuilder, I was becoming some sort of steroid-abusing male model. I was sculpted and primed and carved with perfect smooth power. My muscles were smooth and beautiful, my body an amazing array of brawn in perfect definition. Plates of muscle on my chest, balls of muscle on my arms. And fucking strong? I was feeling like I could bench press a Buick. Larry? He probably could.
I asked, during a pause in our continual fuckfest, why this was so. Why was Larry getting so huge? Why was I getting so tall? I was clearly taller now than either William or Scott. Larry was a fucking monster. What was going on? Why were we gaining so much meat while our two instructors stayed the same? Larry and me, we were two horse- hung studs getting more powerful every day.
If they knew anything, they were keeping it to themselves. Knowing smiles, subtle nods, that sort of thing. Now, don't get me wrong, as far as I was concerned I could keep growing like this until my head busted through the fucking roof. But it would have been nice to know if they knew what was going on.
Scott taught us how to control our bodies to such a degree that we were soon besting him in the staying power department. And can I just tell you it fucking rocks to be able to control your own stiffy. I can get hard on command -- either my own or anyone else's command of course. I can just stand there and my dick will start to pump and pulse, getting harder and longer, inflating with hot, eager blood that fills its veins and makes it hard-steel solid. It gets red and angry and hungry for touch. It stands straight up, practically touching my chest, leaking precum like it's salivating and then, get this, I can cum on command! I can just start pumping hot cream like a son of a bitch, shooting load after load after load without even stopping. No shit, I'm amazing.
We were also learning to manage that weird morphing thing I mentioned that happened to us when Scott appeared at our door. It got to be pretty funny to us, Larry and me. I'd be standing across the kitchen and he be getting a beer. He'd straighten up and I'd nod a hello and he'd suddenly swell up all over like someone was fucking inflating him. Boom goes his chest! Pow go his arms! Bang and bang go his legs! And he smiles at me and nods back.
Or we're sitting around shooting the shit, whatever, and Larry gets that smile on his face and leans up, his abs popping and swelling, his shoulders stretching wide and fat, his chest swelling out and then down, growing fat with thick cables of muscle that split and swell and shove his nips toward his feet and he's getting bigger and bigger, his dick getting longer and harder and he crawls over to me, kissing me, stroking my body, caressing my own amazing inches...
Or I'd be standing at the john draining the weasel and get this grin on my perfect lips and extend my dick inch by inch by inch, feeling it swelling in my grip, watching the skin tighten and stretch, feeling its weight increase as the head ripened like a fucking plum and slipped out of my foreskin, all the while my stream of hot piss kept coming on stronger and stronger until I was practically blasting like a rocket out of the hose I was given.
Larry seemed to be better at it, but maybe it was just because he had so much more to work with. The muscle seemed to respond better than the height, but Scott said I'd learn to control that, too, with practice. I loved watching Larry get big. When he woke up in the morning, his body at rest, he was only merely muscular. I mean, he had definition, sure, and a tight set of abs and some killer guns but he wasn't anywhere near what I came to think of as Super Larry, his most muscular, most beautiful, best physical self. He'd wake up, all stretched out across the sheets, one leg over and one under, each lined with long cables of power. One arm would be behind his head, its muscular power bulging at the bend like a ball of brawn, his chest wide and broad with thick plates of might, those amazing dark nipples still tight and peaked.
I'd watch his eyes open and a smile wind across his face, making him more handsome, dick hardeningly so. He'd rub his shadow of a beard on his sculpted cheeks, show his white teeth behind his soft lips, I'd smile back, lying next to him, content to watch him breathe and sleep. He'd wiggle his brow because he knew what I wanted to see, and then his whole body would start to develop.
His chest would swell out like balloons of strength, deepening the cleavage between his meaty mountains. His nipples would stretch across that landscape of muscle and grow fat and lickable. His belly would tighten and grow, the ripples of his powerful abs swelling outward like rising bread. His shoulders would grow round and fat with brawn, each muscle growing distinct and separate as it expanded. And he'd just be smiling at me as he grew larger and larger with more muscle -- seemingly more muscle every day. Then he'd kiss me and we'd take a roll in the hay before getting our sweet, fine asses out of that warm bed and taking a shower where we'd suck each other, worship each other, let our hands discover the growing strength and size of each other's body.
Larry liked to watch my huge tool swell. He'd drop to his knees -- I'd watch the muscles on his thighs bulge and flex -- and he'd caress my dick, tonguing the top, petting the shaft like a snake, coaxing me to grow longer and fatter until my 15-inches was hard and pulsing, standing at attention as his wet, skillful tongue licked me and pulled me into his warm, welcoming mouth. He'd suck my head and stroke my shaft as I released a flood of sweet precum that drenched my amazing cock. His throat swallowed me deeply, massaged me, brought me to the edge of losing it and then he'd back off, stroking me gently until that fire died down a bit, and then he was right back on me and bringing me to a higher level of ecstasy.
Sometimes, during those days, Scott and William were off on their own and I got the idea that while Larry and I honed our fuckabilities, those guys were talking about something besides sex. Larry and I would be going at it in the living room and I could hear voices in the kitchen, and they weren't moaning or groaning or grunting or sighing. Sure, we talked sometimes, but it usually included plenty of the word "fuck" as in "fuck me harder," or "fuck me you son of a bitch," or "that feels so fucking great you cocksucker!"
You know, the usual.
It was hard to believe that William had only been around for two weeks. So much had changed about me and for me that it was like I was a different guy entirely. Inside, I still felt like Jackson. But when I looked in a mirror or when I was around another guy and my new abilities and awareness of what men wanted and needed and what I could do with and for them kicked in, I felt more fulfilled, more powerful, more beautiful and stronger than any man alive.
While the four of us had been having nothing but a good time, all the sudden I started thinking about Brett Summers again. I guess it's natural that with so much fine prime fuck flesh around my brain wouldn't be thinking about much else. But just like remembering a hunger that can't be avoided when you're in the middle of something important, the memory of what my whole being felt just looking at that guy started tapping on my mind like a dripping faucet.
On Friday, I got up, fucked Larry, got fucked by William, had a three- way with William and Scott (and remind me to tell you what you can do when you get three dudes together whose bodies are super-strong and super flexible, although I bet your little brain is working on that right now, huh?) took a shower, gave Larry a blow job, reamed Scott and told the guys I was headed back to school in search of my Cipher.
William was lounging on the couch in Scott's muscled embrace. "Maybe I should come with you. Your first time with a Cipher could be quite... shocking." Scott's hands were caressing William's broad hairy chest. His dick was buried up William's ass. William was looking quite comfortable right where he was.
"Wouldn't you be in the same danger as me?"
"Danger is too strong a word, but the answer is no. Ciphers are attuned to individuals. Brett is your Cipher. He might be mine as well, but there's a better chance he isn't. You and he have a unique bond."
"Why didn't I feel it before?"
He rolled his eyes and sighed. Scott laughed gently as William said, impatiently, "You're not the same person you were, Jackson." He reached up and ran his touch along Scott's strong, masculine face. It was gentle and friendly and passionate all at once. "You have new capabilities, new powers, a new awareness. It was probably there all along, but simmering under the surface. A passing glance that sent a shiver through you. A feeling of a change in a room and you turned around and there he was. And he was feeling it, too. A strong physical pull toward fulfillment, sexual compatibility, whatever you want to call it. In our day," he said, including Scott in his statement, "we acted on those impulses no matter who the compatible partner was. Nowadays, with so much weird prejudice and fear about gender roles or whatever, people don't explore those feelings which are completely natural and extremely satisfying."
"Extremely," growled Scott, shifting his hips. William did gasp then, and released a deeply satisfied groan from his broad chest.
"So I should just...?"
"Do what comes naturally, but don't lose yourself in it."
"What about Brett?"
William shrugged. "You won't know that until after, will you? Nothing's written in stone, nothing's certain. This may be your one and only moment with him, like a storm that happens once in a century. You could get lost in its power, tossed in its winds and shocked by its lightning. Or this may be the beginning of something else."
"Fucking poet," mumbled Scott. But he was smiling.
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