Project William


By Also_KnownAs

It was time to face getting dressed again for the first time in a week. And, again, I was shocked by how big I had become. Holding a pair of jeans up to my legs was like finding a pair of pants from when I was a kid and comparing how small I used to be with how big I was now. My waist was still the same slim 29 inches, but if I tried to fold my prick down a leg it would split the seam open. The term "high water" didn't even begin to describe how much longer my legs were.

I never intended to wear a shirt, but I had to see what I looked like trying to fit my muscled bulk into one. I have to admit that it's a deeply satisfying feeling to actually rip your way out of a shirt, watching your reflection as your muscles split the seams wide open and make the material shred itself to strips and threads.

In the end, the only thing I could even fit into was this pair of bright blue Lycra biking shorts and I decided to wear a stretchy ribbed tank. The shorts stretched enough that I could fit my thicker legs into them, but they were so tight that my ample tool was starkly outlined, and I mean every luscious inch, every thick vein, every fat and glorious bulge of its massive length was right there. I managed to shrink myself down from 15 to about eight inches, but still. It was ample, but manageable. Still pretty thick, especially the head. There was no mistaking that I was sporting something other than a rolled sock that was for sure. My lats flared out of the arm holes and my shoulders shoved the straps toward my neck. I looked pretty fucking hot.

I'd been wanting to stretch my legs and put Larry's boast to the test, so I ran all the way to school as fast as I could and, sure enough, I covered the ten miles in under thirty minutes. By the time my streamlined and hot little bod sauntered onto campus, I wasn't even breathing hard. But my skin was glistening with sweat and my muscles were stretched and warm and primed for anything and everything.

My high school campus, after just a few days more of William's and Scott's continued affects on my body and sense, was like a cauldron of sexual desire. I knew what William meant when he said guys my age were at their sexual peak. The place was practically on fire to me. What before had been only faint feelings or subtle intuition on my part had grown to a firestorm. It was like the whole place was throbbing. Was every fucking guy in there thinking about sex? All at once? How was I supposed to tame these feelings in me and concentrate my attentions on Brett?

The answer was, I didn't have to. I had grown a lot more powerful not only in muscular size and strength, but in recognizing and delivering what guys wanted. It was fucking amazing! I was fucking amazing!

In all that time at home, I'd forgotten some of the stuff William said. But it was all coming back to me now; "If you went out and fucked one of your other friends now, you'd make them cum just looking at them, just speaking to them. They'd see a fantasy in you, Jackson. They'd see you and you'd be the perfect you, whatever they wanted or needed from you, you'd deliver that. You wouldn't need to try, you wouldn't need to ask, you'd just do it. Because it's what you're becoming. It's what we are."

And it was true. Two guys saw me as I walked toward the building and I smiled at them and they creamed their pants. Literally, I saw them squirt their loads in their jeans, big wet spots spreading across their groin. Their faces showed ecstasy, their bodies jerked with spasms of pleasure, they panted and sweated and leaned against the wall.

Because I smiled at them.

What did I look like to them? How fucking beautiful had I become? What was their experience, to see their deepest sexual fantasy walking toward them and then smile at them, what flashed through their heads?

I walked through the front doors, pushing them open, and walked down the empty halls. Boys, young men, male teachers, they were tugging at me, pulling me to them, needing me and what I could deliver unendingly, immediately, completely and perfectly. Whatever they desired, whatever their fantasy, I was it. I'd become it for them. The place would be awash in cum and smell of sex and sweat and men. All I had to do was open a door, smile, speak a name, touch a man, kiss his lips, show him my dick, lick his balls, fuck his ass. I could have it all, do it all, be it all.

But I had a goal. I could feel him like a beacon. He was my magnet and I was his steel.

I did not know Brett Summers. I had no idea what his deal was, if he liked boys or girls, if he liked it rough or smooth, if he was a total prick or the sweetest person on Earth. I didn't fucking give a damn, either. I wanted to feel what I'd felt before, that feeling of pure pleasure building inside me like lava, rising and growing hotter, the pressure increasing, my whole amazing body so focused on him that there was no one and nothing else I could see or feel, just him, just Brett.

I was a man on a mission. I passed some guy at the drinking fountain, I brushed his ass with my fingertips and when he looked at me, I said, "Hi," and he started breathing like he'd run a marathon and he bust a nut, filling his Calvins with hot cream. I could feel Brett's presence growing stronger, that same feeling accompanying his nearness like a bell going off in my head. My powers seemed to be growing, too. Focusing, growing stronger, swelling with ability.

I walked by the boy's room and could feel the guy inside the stall behind that door whacking off with his eyes closed, imagining me. I went inside and pulled open the stall and leaned in and kissed his mouth. He opened his eyes and his dream became real. He nearly fainted. His dick swelled up and I dropped down and drank him inside, swallowing his potency, his manhood, his passion. "Thanks," I said, and left.

I didn't know if this instant satisfaction was normal or not. When I met William, I could have had as dramatic a reaction to him, I guess, but I just didn't. Maybe he did something to mediate the effect. He had to be stronger than I was as an adaptive. Maybe it was the combination of having William and Scott around at the same time, maybe I was receiving a double dose of whatever Dionysus bestowed on mortals, maybe having a Cipher so close was having an amplifying affect on me, what do I know?

I wasn't thinking about it at the time, I was just doing it. My pleasuring talents were razor sharp. I didn't have to adjust or consider, whatever I did to whomever I met was absolutely perfect to get them off.

It happened three more times with three more guys before I came to the locker rooms and realized that Brett was inside. To me, it was like the whole gym was one big dick. I was so turned on I was sweating. I wouldn't doubt that as I walked along, I was leaving a trail of dudes with hard-ons spouting like fountains at some French palace. I could feel myself growing into something or someone so fueled up on sex and beauty that guys would start fucking each other 100 yards away. Chicks too, probably. I was a heating up supernova of sexuality. My eight incher was primed fuck meat, thick and juicy in my shorts. It felt hot and heavy down there, tingling with need and desire. I was testing exactly how stretchy that Lycra could get. Man, I was ready.

I opened the doors and stepped inside. He was in there, for sure. A heat washed over my body like I was bathing in sex. It was all over me. My hand found the thickness of my cock and I was firm and fat and feisty. Was there anyone else in there? I couldn't tell. It was like I had tunnel vision, like the only thing in the world was that guy. And he was mere yards away.

I moved with a predatory grace, sleek and powerful and moving with purpose and determination. My muscles stretched and flexed. I could feel them all, feel their size and power, balls of tingling energy pulsing and throbbing. The air in there was warm and wet, steamy from the showers and the heat of young men. I could smell him, smell his scent mingling with the sweat and sweet stink of men's bodies. He was on the other side of the lockers from me. I could practically see a glow, and I could see the top of his head. I stood over six and a half feet high, now. And I walked to the end of the aisle and stopped dead, breathing in deeply.

It was his voice. I heard it. It licked my ear. It flew through my blood and heated it up and sank into my flesh. It was a caress, an embrace, a tongue on my dick.

I stepped around the lockers, and instantly my skin heated up to the boiling point under his direct inspection. He stood next to his locker naked, dripping, rubbing a yellow gym towel through his hair. His body was perfect. His skin was smooth and shiny under the harsh lights. He had a dark forest of curls at his crotch, matching the wet curls of dark hair on his head. His eyes, caramel colored, were looking me up and down. He seemed as frozen as I was, paused in time, looking at me.

I wasn't hiding anything. I couldn't. The feeling I'd felt before when he looked at me in the hallway was back, a thousand times stronger this time.

I looked him over. I'd seen him in uniform plenty, and wearing jeans and a polo shirt and once even in a suit and tie, his wavy crown of midnight combed into a part that made him look slightly silly. No, his hair needed to be like it was now, loose and curly. He had dark, dark eyebrows that were almost sharp, and thick dark lashes surrounding his bedroom eyes. A slim drip ran along his cheek and across the line of his jaw. I wanted to kiss it from his skin.

His skin was ruddy. He had Latin blood in him. If he felt like me, it was boiling right now. His dick was darker even than his skin, as if it had grown from the black pubes and drawn its coloring from his hair. His balls hung low, and they were round and luscious. Long, sleek muscles lined his limbs. He had very small nipples, as dark as his prick. A patch of hair was growing in the exact center of his chest, and strands of more dark fur ran along his forearms and legs.

"Hey, Jackson" he said. Jock speak. I didn't even realize he knew my name.

He was gorgeous. So amazingly beautiful to me. And I walked over to him and felt the power of him burning into my flesh. How could I stand this? How could I keep from pushing him against the wall and fucking his tight ass? How was I managing to keep breathing before him?

I sat on the bench near him. He said, "I saw you in the hall yesterday." His voice was sweet music. So, so beautiful. I nodded. I was staring into his eyes. I was mesmerized by him. Hypnotized. He sucked in his bottom lip and bit it. When it reappeared his pink tongue darted out to wet it. "You look great." His voice was soft. Low. Sexy. "Working out?"

How did I look to him? What did he see? Who was I? "Thanks," I said. "Actually I have been. Quite a lot, recently." My head was spinning. What the hell was going on? Weren't we supposed to be fucking our brains out by now? Shouldn't I be on ecstasy overload? What was with the polite conversation? I'm fucking amazing looking! Boys are creaming their jeans when I smile! "You look good, too."

He sort of came unfrozen then, and looked down at himself. The hand with his soggy towel in it dropped to his side and he tossed the towel at me. "Shut up," he said. He was smiling.

I smiled back before the towel slapped me in the face and dropped on my shoulder. His smell was all over it. It was soaked with his essence. My dick twitched and bulged, stretching another inch longer. My balls were churning and swelling. "No, really." I dragged the towel across my skin, leaving a dripping trail of him across my broad chest, soaking the cotton of my tank top. The towel was slightly rough. I leaned back against the lockers, stretching my long legs forward, tensing the muscles so they stood out starkly. "You're probably the best looking guy here." Jesus, I sounded like some boy scout or fan boy.

"I wouldn't say that," he said moving his eyes toward my prominent bulge, then back up. A laser pinpoint of heat accompanied his gaze. "There're some other guys around who are pretty hot."

This was torture. "You think?" I was being so cool, and I had no idea why. I wasn't playing with myself, my hand was nowhere near my crotch, I'd folded them across my chest. I wasn't even trying to be sexy. He just used the word `hot' to describe `some guys' while checking me out. I should've been on top of him already.

"Oh, yeah." He was standing in front of me entirely naked. His body glistened. "I haven't seen you around lately -- except for the other day." My eyebrow rose. I doubted he even knew I existed before the other day. He continued. "In the hallway." I nodded slowly. "That was pretty weird."

"What was?"

He moved closer to me. His dick was inches from my mouth. He had a decent sized member, about six inches long with a fat shaft. He was uncut, like I like them, and the foreskin was thin and stretched over his helmet like a turtleneck. I could see every vein on that dark skin. My dick was still stretching, trying to get to its ultimate size, responding to this guy's closeness even if the rest of me seemed frozen in place. I was keeping control as best I could. My eight inches was getting closer to ten. The scent of him, the heat of him was drenching my body, my exposed flesh. He put one foot on the bench next to me, and he scratched himself, sending his dick wagging.

His torso was tightly packed with power, the muscular beauty of the jock he was, the controlled and trained brawn he'd built through hours of running football fields and baseball diamonds, weight training with the other young gods, his body growing strong and fine and limber. He leaned closer. "You didn't feel it?" His voice went soft, secretive. He had half a smile on his lips. His golden brown eyes were sparkling.

I made no indication whether I agreed or not. I was staring into his eyes, falling into him. Shit, I could feel it right now! Couldn't he? "When our eyes met, something... something happened," he said. His eyebrows arched and fell cunningly.

My tone matched his. Whispered, cautious. "Like what?" I barely made a sound.

Then he sat down next to me on the bench. His nearness was like a fire next to me. I think the Lycra started to tear. His arm touched mine, his body mimicked my leisurely sprawl. He crossed his legs at the ankle, squeezing his balls and dick higher. He leaned toward me, looking up through his lashes at my eyes. "I'm... I can't...." His voice betrayed him. He wasn't relaxed at all.

I knew what he wanted to say. `I'm gay, Jackson. I can't even say it.' I couldn't believe it still mattered to anyone. Being with the guys back at my place, this seemed really stupid, but I knew it was important to him. The gorgeous young man naked on the bench next to me. And I could remember the lies I had to keep, the looks I had to avoid casting at the wrong guy's ass, the thoughts I had to keep suppressed so my dick wouldn't start displaying what my body felt. "I know," I said softly.

"I never felt anything like that before. Not like that!" He looked down at his feet. I imagine he was sorting through what he'd felt in the shower once or twice or a hundred times, how he felt looking at guys he couldn't touch, how he managed to keep all that desire and tension banked inside him. "I mean, never..."

"It's not what you think." He looked scared suddenly, but my smile calmed him. "Or, it's not just what you think. It's something more than that."

"I thought, maybe, that you...?" I nodded. Just once. Then his smile returned. The skin of his arm touched mine, again, and an electric shock like a lightning bolt went through me. "I've been hearing things about you, but they sounded impossible. I mean, I couldn't believe..."

"Be careful," I said. I cast my eyes down to his dick. It was getting hard, starting to pulse, to fill with blood, to harden.

He nearly laughed. "You're warning me?" He had a point. He looked at my crotch and his smile increased. My cock was so engorged it was trying to break its way out of my pants. And looking down at myself, at my huge dick, watching it stretching and swelling because I was sitting here next to this dream of a man, I realized what the hell was going on.

I was supposed to seduce him. He didn't want a quick fuck, he wanted more. He felt something of what I was feeling, he admitted as much. When I looked down at my body, I realized that what I was feeling was in direct contrast to what I was doing, and this was the sort of sexual tension I used to fucking love! This playing, this walking around the question, this tease and innuendo and what if? I fucking loved this shit.

And he knew it!

The tension rose. He was naked, exposed in every way, revealing something to me perhaps he'd never even said out loud before. He was excited by it, clearly. His chest rose and fell as his breaths started becoming more sharp, more anxious. I sat there next to him, cool as fuck, wanting nothing in the world except to put my mouth on his, to climb atop him, to pull his hard, hot dick up my welcoming ass, to give him everything, absolutely everything he ever wanted. It was what I wanted, too. To fuck his brains out, to cum buckets and keep cumming, to show him everything I was capable of, now, to share myself with him, all my talents, all my strength and size and beauty. I wanted to explode.

We sat there, calmly. He was still staring at my amazing prick, swollen and obvious in my bike shorts, the head pressing farther along my thigh, my muscled thigh, the ridge of my helmet flaring and blooming. I could feel his eyes on me, feel it like the sun on my skin. His gaze traveled up my rippled contours, across the tight ribbed cotton stretched over my belly and chest. He was looking at my arms, the swelling biceps, the swollen balls of muscle, then at the deep cleavage between the globes of my chest, folded inward with my arms folded across the power, diving down underneath my shirt. "Is it true?"


"The stories, what guys are saying."

I shrugged. His eyes flashed slightly at the size of my shoulders. "Depends." My voice was a deep well of sexual promise. The lockers practically rattled from my tone. "What are they saying?"

He looked down at his feet, perhaps picturing the acts in his mind as he said, "You did two guys against the gym. You... pissed on some other guy in the bathroom, he sucked your dick. You and Brian, in the teacher's lounge, buttfucking. Then you and some other guy and... and Coach Landers?" He met my eyes finally. He had an incredulous smile on his face. He didn't look turned off at all. "You fucked Landers? On the football field?"

I was smiling pretty wide, I couldn't help it. I nodded slowly. "All true." I leaned toward him, putting my mouth to his ear. "And that's just the beginning."

"Shit," he whispered. I dropped my hands to my sides, so I could touch his leg with my fingers. I brushed against his warm, wet flesh. His hand went down to mine, I thought to push it away. Instead, his gently touched my fingers with his own, then folded his touch through mine.

"You should get dressed," I said. My dick was ready to explode.

"Should I?" His grin matched my own. •

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