Box, The


By Magicmark

Steve hurried out of the post office and, cradling the large parcel wrapped in brown paper awkwardly under one arm against his bare midriff, waved impatiently for a cab with the other. He could hardly wait to get home. The parcel was from his cousin Peter, who hadn't been heard from since a postcard from Rumania two years earlier. But there was no doubt it was from him. Even setting aside the "P. Burgess" in the upper left (over no return address), he knew his cousin's bold, masculine handwriting. The postage indicated the box had come from Egypt.

He stood at the edge of the sidewalk, leaning out and waving. One cab had slipped by already, ignoring him if not seeing him. The box started to slip and he propped it up awkwardly with his hip, wishing he had an extra arm to hold the box while he waved. He shook his head and smiled at the ridiculous yet strangely erotic notion. Though dusk had fallen it was still hot, and after the cool of the post office beads of sweat began to form again on his bare back, trickling down his spine, making him even more anxious to get home.

He thought about the last time he had seen his cousin and smiled. He had come home after graduating college and stayed a week before setting out to travel the world for a while. Steve had been a high school junior, his body finally blossoming after three years of wrestling with a tough, championship team, but he knew his burgeoning physique couldn't compare with Pete's thick, lithe muscles, arrayed across his lanky, tall frame, moving and rippling under his clothes in a way that had always made Steve feel a warm rush. Pete had a long, beautiful face with a dazzling smile and short blond hair; that smile always seemed to have hidden meanings, a secret joy, that made Steve intensely curious about his cousin. Pete seemed to enjoy, even relish, Steve's attention, going out of his way to be physically affectionate, whether it was placing a broad, warm hand on his shoulder when they happened to be standing near each other or sitting close when they were on the sofa watching television. This always embarrassed Steve, partly because he was abashed by the attention of his older cousin but mainly because when his cousin touched him his dick always got instantly hard. Even now, four years later, he realized his dick was getting hard just from thinking about Peter. He could feel it pushing hard against the fabric of his jeans. He'd never worn a stitch of underwear since discovering Peter went without.

Suddenly he heard a squeal of tires and realized a cab had stopped short in front of him. The dark-haired young cabbie, probably a student like himself cabbing for extra money, was staring at him, his lips lightly parted. He blushed, realizing his dick must be showing in his thin, faded jeans. Although it wasn't especially long -- it was just under 7 inches -- it was so wide his fingers just touched when he jerked off, and it always got incredibly hard. That and his shirtlessness seemed to hold the cabbie enthralled. His blue-eyed gaze was so intense that Steve was himself transfixed; but a horn behind them jostled him to his senses. He climbed into the cab, placing the box in his lap, and gave the address of his NYU dorm.

The cabbie -- the license said his name was Joachim -- was driving slow, taking every opportunity to stare at him in the rearview mirror. Steve found his icy blue eyes intoxicating. A warm feeling flooded him -- he knew he was getting really aroused, and he reddened a little as he thought about what was about to happen. Since puberty he'd noticed that when his dick swelled and got hard, and he was really, really turned on, his muscles got a little bigger, too -- like a really good pump from the gym, he'd later realized. It was not until college that he'd realized not only that not everyone got a body hard-on, as he'd come to call it, but that it was are sure turn-on to anyone who even remotely liked guys -- though he hadn't had many opportunities to find out, since he was afraid to let everyone else know he was different. The truth was, though he was a little ashamed of it, he had started working out and participating in sports because he loved the feel of the body hard-on and wanted to accentuate the effect. Early in his puberty it was not very noticeable, but working out and developing his muscles had indeed intensified the effect, so that he had eventually had to stop wrestling for fear of getting aroused and suddenly growing bigger in front of the entire team, or worse yet, at a meet. Peter had never mentioned it, but given the effect he always had on Steve, he must have noticed.

He could feel it starting. The warm feeling all over his body instensified, and a large dollop of precum surged from his cock, seeping through the fabric of his jeans. Sure enough, his muscles were swelling, as if between two heartbeats he had spent a day performing an intense work-out. His pants legs tightened, and his pecs were now pressed against the box in his lap. He drew a sharp breath as his hard nipples slipped up the slide of the box -- part of the body hard-on was a stretching of the spine that made him a couple inches taller. Joachim's eyes in the rearview mirror were wide and staring; he was obviously incredibly aroused -- his right hand was in his lap, his broad shoulders were quivering, and his breathing was ragged. Steve's cock throbbed and he heard a small rip -- the thin, worn, wet fabric of his old jeans was giving way to his steel hard dick!

Suddenly panicky, Steve yelled "Stop the cab!" -- just in time, he realized, because Joachim, mesmerized by his passenger, had been about to hit another cab stopped for a red light. But he stopped in time and, sparing only a moment to turn on his flashers, turned all the way around, so that he was kneeling on his seat. His handsome face leaned forward, and Steve had only enough time to notice a long, uncircumcized, and very hard cock sticking out of Joachim's fly being busily stroked before he found himself the recipient of a passionate liplock, a long, hot, yet gentle tongue sliding into his mouth as if it lived there. Steve, so intensely aroused his head suddenly bumped the roof of the cab, heard as if from a distance, over the barely heard honking of cars around them, the sound of his jeans ripping open the rest of the way, allowing his extra-wide cock to escape into the air.

Without taking his lips off him Steve pushed the seemingly smaller parcel aside and began running one hand over Steve's hard, swollen muscles, his other still busy with his own cock until Steve relieved him of that duty even as he slid his own tongue, like the rest of his body larger from the intense arousal, deep into Joachim's eager mouth. Joachim's thick cock felt so wonderful in his hand that before he knew it he realized he was going to come. He tried to hold off, but Joachim sensed how close Steve was and, continuing to stroke his engorged muscles with one hand, running his hand up and down as if his body were a giant erection (Steve imagined more hands, stroking his torso, his arms, his legs, everywhere), at the same time reached down and wrapped his hand around Steve's newly exposed cock, stroking it with its own precum even as Steve, still gloriously deep-kissing Joachim, his heard hard against the roof now, experienced a flood of intense pleasure -- then he exploded, a torrent of hot cum spraying the box on the seat beside him even as Joachim's cock burst a stream of cum, then another and another, straight up onto the tops of Steve's swollen pecs.

Steve fell back, exhausted and sated, against the seat, his body and cock still fully turgid after the intense experience. He wasn't sure how long it was before he realized where he was. He looked out the cab window and saw two hunky locals standing at the curb, groping each other as they watched the show. He smiled wanly and, pulling out his wallet, tucked the fare and a generous tip into Joachim's pocket, since the latter was still dazed, his eyes closed with a look of deep-seated pleasure on his face. Then, holding the big, cum-drenched box in front of his exposed erection, he climbed out of the cab, with more difficulty than he had had getting in, and walked as quickly as he could toward the darkness of a side-street, thankful he was near his dorm. By the time he got there his cock had softened and his body was almost back to normal. He fished out his keys from his damaged jeans, unlocked the door, and ran up the stairs to his room.

To his dismay he saw the door was ajar. His roommate, Frank, was home. This was normally bad news since his roommate, between his swim-team body and his habit of walking around showing all of same, was a constant source of potential arousal to Steve. Fortunately he wasn't home a lot, and when he was Steve normally headed to the library until bedtime, when he could sneak in and take care of his arousal in the dark while Frank slept.

He shouldered the door open the rest of the way. Frank wasn't in the room. He must be in the shower, Steve thought with a sudden grin: a shower at that hour meant a date, which meant that Steve had the room to himself once he was gone, probably all night. He went into the room and dropped the box onto the bed, quickly shucking his jeans and pulling on a tee shirt and a pair of gym shorts from his bureau. Just in time, for a second later Frank strode into the room fresh from the shower, his towel around his shoulders. His long, heavy cock swayed pendulously as Frank unselfconsciously walked over to his bureau and started looking through the contents of a drawer.

Catching himself staring at the young, gorgeous roommate, and starting to feel the effects in his cock, Steve snatched up a textbook and forced himself to concentrate on its contents. Je voudrais une chemise, he read. "Hey Steve, what do you think of this shirt on me?" he heard. "Just got it today."

"I'm sure it's fine," he said. Les haricots verts sont trop cher ici.

"C'mon. What do you think?"

Steve looked up reluctantly and took a deep breath. Steve was still naked from the waist down, but above he was wearing a skintight black t-shirt with thin, bright-red pinstripes that traced the outline of every bump and bulge of his well-developed torso, even rumbling down his six-pack abs. Steve stared for a moment and managed to say, "It looks -- great."

Frank smiled brilliantly. "Thanks," he said. "Say, have you been living at the gym lately?"

Steve stared for just a second before realizing his cock was in full-blown hardon stage and his body, already starting to "show," would soon follow. "Shit!" he said, running out of the room, his French book in front of him, as Frank called after him in confusion, "No, I meant that good!" Steve hurried into the john and locked himself in a stall, breathing hard and forcing himself to concentrate on not getting hard. Fortunately this usually worked for him, and after a few moments he had calmed down. He crept out of the bathroom, cursing his hormones, he readied an apology for Frank, but he was already gone.

Half relieved, half disappointed, Steve closed the door and sat down on his bed. He set about opening the parcel.

The first thing in the box was a picture. Steve stared at it, instantly hard, his torso swelling, his t-shirt suddenly several sizes too small. It was Peter. He was sitting tall and straight on a plush sofa, dressed in a gray tank top and white shorts, his lean lanky body bursting with thick muscle, a broad grin on his beautiful face. To his amazement the photo (it must be doctored, Steve thought) showed something Steve had always fantasized about: Peter's body had four long, well-muscled arms, folded in two pairs across his chest, and four beautiful legs, likewise crossed in pairs. Steve was almost drooling. His cock was painfully hard; his tee shirt was so tight he had to drop the photo in his lap and literally rip it off. Even more stimulating: underneath the tank top, rising most of the way up long, long abdominals, was the unmistakable outline of two very long, very thick, very hard cocks. Two dots of wetness showed in the tank top just under the double set of folded arms.

Steve was in heaven. His shorts were so tight now his cock was fighting to get out; Steve picked the picture back up, then set it down with regret to peel off the shorts, wishing he had extra arms so he could hold the picture and undress -- and do lots of things besides. Doctored or no he could jack off to this picture for hours. Suddenly it occurred to him there might be more pictures in the box. Quickly he set the picture aside and looked eagerly. The next thing inside the box was a letter; underneath that there seemed mainly to be clothes. Clothes? He wondered, perplexed. He opened the letter and read Peter's firm hand: "Dear cousin, I was really enjoying this for a while on my own until I realized I was being kind of selfish. So I'm sending these to you. I hope you think it's as incredible as I do. Enjoy. Love, Pete. P.S. You can wear your own clothes over. They'll adapt! It's really incredible. P.P.S. I'll be back in the states before long. See you soon."

The letter didn't make anything clearer, but the last line nearly made him come on the spot. He imagined Peter coming to him -- this Peter from the doctored photo, walking into his room naked on four big feet, opening all his arms wide to enfold him in an incredible hug, squeezing Steve tight as his body swelled, Peter's immense cocks pressed hard against Steve's abs. Without realizing it Steve had his hands around his broad cock, stroking it as he imagined four hands stroking his growing body, Peter's hands, his bulging legs mixed in among Peter's as they fall back on the bed, tongues stroking each other, cocks and limbs everywhere, Steve's body in the fantasy suddenly possessed of extra arms and legs as well, the two of them writhing in intense physical passion as if it had grown just as they had grown, for now they were even bigger, bodies intertwined, each entering the other and pressing deep within; and as he came close to cumming he imagined Peter's face, an Adonis's face, flushed with passion, desire, ecstasy -- and Steve came, shooting so powerfully that he hit his face, most of it shooting straight into his open, panting mouth. He swallowed, surprised and delighted, and licked his lips. •

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