Box, The


By Magicmark

Steve lay back, exhausted and sated, from the best jack-off session he'd ever had. He had almost felt the caresses of his long-absent brother Peter, his already sexy frame somehow augmented like the doctored picture he'd sent: four hands stroking Steve's hunky young body as it swelled in a body hard-on more stimulating than any he'd ever felt, Peter's imagined four legs intertwined with Steve's lithe and muscled legs, and somehow Steve had held out long enough to play out this fantasy with increasing passion until they had both come hard and copiously. Or at least, so it had happened in Steve's imagination. But two things were incontrovertible: He had come hard-there was a dollop of come on the cinder-block hall behind him, and he could still taste the shots that had hit his mouth; and his fantasy had lasted longer than a usual j/o session-according to the clock on his desk, he was now actually late for the editorial board meeting for the campus paper, though he'd gotten home in plenty of time. He'd have to hurry.

Nonetheless he lay naked on his bed for a few moments, trying to prolong the delicious afterglow. Peter's note had said he'd be back in the U.S. soon, and that had started the whole thing; even reminding himself of it now, in spite of his exhausted state, made his double-wide cock-which was still half-hard-twitch and swell. Hastily he shunted the thought aside: he didn't have time to take care of another hard-on. Nonetheless he wanted to help Peter in mind, and his thoughts turned to the box of clothes which, oddly, Peter had sent along with the note and doctored photo. On top were a couple of pairs of briefs and some tank-tops, all carefully folded; below that seemed to be a few pairs of pants and shirts. He decided wearing Peter's gifts under his clothes would make him feel good.

He checked the tags on the briefs. They seemed to be missing, but hand-lettered with permanent ink on the waist-band—in Peter's handwriting—were apparent sizes: one said "XL-2," another said "L-4," and so on. He wasn't sure what the number meant, but the sizes seemed pretty clear. Though he was small-waisted—around 31"—he normally had to wear large briefs because of his hard, spherical glutes—his prized "bubble butt." He pulled on the ones marked "L-4" and checked through the tank-tops. They were similarly tagless but carefully marked: "L-6," "L-4," "XL-6," etc. He pulled on the "L-6." Both the briefs and the tank-top seemed slightly snug and quite comfortable. His cock was just soft enough to tuck into the briefs, where it made an attractive bulge.

Quickly Steve pulled on a loose blue and red rugby shirt and jeans—not the worn ones his cock had ripped open in the cab on the way home, though he was tempted—and hurried out the door.

It wasn't far to the newspaper offices, and he jogged quickly across the campus, which was a lot cooler now than when he's come back from the post office; he was glad of the rugby shirt. He wasn't very excited about the meeting. He'd only joined the paper for one reason: he was interested enough in photography he was considering minoring in it, and the paper was the only place on campus with a darkroom he could get access to anytime he wanted. It occurred to him now, as he entered the student center, that he might have chosen photography in part because in a darkroom he wouldn't have to hide the effects that sudden arousal might have on him. His body hard-on—the way his muscles and whole body grew upon arousal as if he were a six-foot cock—was to him both intensely pleasurable and (since he'd found out in puberty that no one else got bigger when they were turned-on) disconcertingly freakish.

The meeting was already under-way, but he only got a few glances as he came in: no one really cared about the photo editor unless he didn't deliver his goods. He sat on the edge of the circle and looked around at the group as the editor ran down stories for the next issue. Suddenly his eyes fell upon a stranger's, and locked.

At first all Steve noticed about the new boy were his watery blue eyes, glinting with energy even under these fluorescent lights. Gradually his scope widened to take in a beautifully fashioned, model-handsome face with a hint of late-day stubble, and full, sensuous lips parted slightly; blond-sandy hair, cut short; broad shoulders concealed under a thin, unfashionable plaid shirt; a gymnast's torso, though a touch too muscular for a gymnast…

All this time the new boy had returned the stare, as if sizing Steve up the same way; but suddenly he turned and said to the editor, "Jay, I don't think I know…", nodding at Steve.

Jay said, "Oh, um. O.K. Steve Riese, this is Brad Lang, the new fiction editor. Steve's the, ah, photo editor."

Steve smiled and blushed, suddenly aware he'd been staring—and in front of all these people. He glanced around, but no one seemed to have noticed. Actually he had a more pressing problem: a sudden snugness in the rugby shirt across his shoulders warned him he was in danger of getting aroused. He closed his eyes and ran through his calming routine. Fortunately it worked, though he was sure that if he hadn't just had incredible j/o it wouldn't have. He came out of the routine and tried to pick up the threads of the meeting. He actually should be paying attention at this point, since they were talking about sports stories, which would need pictures. The heavyset sports editor glanced at him and he nodded as if he'd been listening.

But his mind soon wandered and he found himself looking at Brad, who was staring covertly at Steve—not to incite him, just as if he were taken with what he saw. He licked his full lips unconsciously and that simple act sent a tingle through Steve's body. Quickly Steve closed his eyes and tried the calming technique, only this time he couldn't think clearly—it felt as though some emotion was washing through him, one he didn't know. His body started to feel queerly out of phase. The sounds in the room grew hazy. He tried to rub his temples with his fingertips, but even this everyday act felt peculiar. He opened his eyes and, glancing at his hand as he brought it down from his temple, noticed with alarm that it had six fingers.

He started at it, frozen, even as he felt his whole body shiver. It had never happened like this before! For a moment he was paralyzed; but then he felt the familiar tightness across the shoulders and realized he had to move.

He stood up abruptly. The features editor, interrupted in mid-word, glared up at him. The glare scattered whatever he might have been able to say. Instead he fled to the darkroom, hoping he'd reach it in time.

The darkroom had a kind of black revolving door, a light-safe door, which a staff wag had noticed looked a lot like the Orgasmatron from the Woody Allen movie "Sleeper." On the one or two previous occasions he'd hurried into the darkroom to hide a budding body hard-on he'd been amused by the connection; but he didn't think of it now. He rushed in and pulled the door around. He leaned against the nearest counter, staring at his hands in the red glow of the dark-room light.

He felt his body swelling—he was getting a raging hard-on. This amazed him. He'd already come twice today! Was the new boy that sexy? And even with that thought he felt a surge, his pecs swelling up under the shirt like balloons being inflated. Normally he would have pulled off his shirt to keep it from ripping, but the rugby shirt was stretchy enough—it would just get really, really snug. Then a sudden constriction in his crotch tore his mind away from his shirt. Quickly he unzipped his fly and through the flap in his suddenly packed briefs he hauled out his cock. Only—where his cock should have been was a monster, a huge python that, though not even hard yet, was too big to get both hands around. It was broad and squarish like his old cock but much bigger. He stared at it aghast, and all he could think was that it felt good—it felt damn good. It was swelling up to full hardness, and after a moment—though Steve had lost sensation of time—it was granite-hard and prodigious. Though it was all the way hard it felt like it was still growing. As he stroked the monster with his broader-than-before hands Steve felt, and then saw, a depression running down the middle of the quivering cock, on the top and bottom and each of the sides; and then—accompanied by an almost orgasmic feeling of pleasure the head of the huge cock separated into four, and then the separation proceeded slowly down the cock to the base, splitting into four rock-hard quivering cocks as if it were the most natural and beautiful thing in the world. At that moment Steve would not have disagreed. Just the cool air of the room on the new skin where the cocks had split felt like a succulent mouth giving incredible head.

Even as he panted with the pleasure induced by his new cocks he felt a new swell of pleasure from his shoulders and glanced down excitedly. He was surprised to see that his rugby shirt was not as tight as he expected it to be. At first he thought it was because he hadn't grown as much as usual—but he looked around and saw he was near the roof of the little room! He never got more than six or eight inches taller, but he must have grown two or three times that, only his clothes had grown with him. The height came from the lengthening of his torso and legs, which gave him an uncommonly lean, lanky look, only the pants legs and shirt had grown with him. Even the fly was wider to accommodate his nest of cocks. How could that be?

He looked down at his shoulder again, which was swelling in a weird way. It seemed to have three wide ridges along the top leading toward his arm. It was the same on the other side. As he watched in the eerie red light his upper arm swelled suddenly, bulging in three ridges as if he had three sets of biceps; by this point his shoulders on each side had started to separate into three caps, and having seen what happened to his cock he had an inkling of what was going to happen, though he still couldn't believe it. And even as he was thinking this the separation shot down the arm under the shirt sleeve, and just as rapidly divided, the shirt sleeve as well, with a feeling of pleasure so intense he half expected come to shoot from his hands. Almost before he realized it he was running surprised hands over his six long, extremely well-muscled arms, reveling in the touch, the press of muscle against muscle, the realization of a barely acknowledged fantasy suddenly come true.

Four of those hands, of course, soon found his large but sensitive cocks, and as he began caressing them his body hard-on completed with his head brushing against the darkroom ceiling.

He was so immersed in how good this felt, and enjoying the roving of his remaining hands over his swollen muscles packed onto his stretched body, that he didn't heard the Orgasmatron revolving, didn't notice Brad until he looked down and saw him staring up at him, dumbstruck, from the entryway.

"I came to see if you were O.K.," Brad whispered.

Steve froze. Reality had intruded and he might have lost his hard-on had Brad not been so sexually stimulating from head to toe. Worried thoughts like "What will he do?" and "He's going to tell everyone I'm a freak" vied for his attention with "My god his body is perfect" and "I could come just watching those lips."

A tense moment passed, then Brad's hand strayed to one leg of his baggy jeans. The hand kept going, starting at the crotch and continuing down to the knee, adjusting something long and thick underneath. Suddenly he said, "I've got to get out of these," quickly unbuttoning his pants and lowering them to the ground, revealing a slumbering cock that seemed to be swelling up like a life raft. Brad shucked his shirt too, revealing a bod that was perfectly proportioned and deliciously muscled—his muscles, though not as impressive as Steve's in their current engorged state, were bigger than his normal state and much better sculpted.

But it was Brad's cock that drew Steve's attention now. Though large and heavy it was pointing straight up, and having reached full size it was quivering excitedly near the tops of his pecs. As if almost out of habit Brad inclined his head and lapped up a trickle of precum.

"You can see I won't tell anyone," Brad whispered, stepping closer and running his hands along Steve's nearest arms. "I'm a bit unusual myself. Though not quite like you," he added with a devastating grin.

Steve wasn't sure what he meant, though he was still concerned. "I—" he began. But his tongue was now longer than before, a sensual instrument of passion, and made talking more difficult.

Brad stopped him by pulling his head down for a kiss—a kiss so long and passionate that they both inhaled deeply as soon as they pulled apart, starved for air. Brad looked up at him with naked desire. "You're the sexiest man I've ever seen," he said.

Together they dove into a span of time saturated with pleasure and passion. Steve was uninhibited with Brad in a way he'd never been, and Brad—beyond a few secret hand-jobs in high school—was finally letting go of a fear of sharing his prodigious sexuality with another man. Steve felt as purely happy being able to using this astounding body to bring pleasure to Brad as Brad did being on the receiving end. First they groped each other as Steve used four of his wide, long-fingered hands to surround Brad's cock with his own and stroke them all together. (Between the difference in height and the enormous length of Brad's cock it ended up poking a few inches out of the middle of Steve's quartet of cocks—and those sensitive cocks loved pressing against another hot throbbing cock almost more than anything else.) At this point Steve realized he was still fully clothed and quickly shucked the shirts, briefs, and jeans. He'd realized that Peter's clothes must have had something to do with his transformation, and he didn't know what would happen if he took them off; but he didn't care. His body seemed stable even after he took off the clothes, and Brad stopped for a moment to look up at Steve's torso: now on display were thick, square, granite-hard pecs overshadowing and equally rock-hard and excitingly elongated abdominal section, above which were extra-wide shoulders from which hung six long, pumped, tightly packed arms with broad, many-fingered hands. Below were two extra-long, well-shaped and lightly hairy legs culminating in two long, beautiful feet. Brad whistled, which made Steve feel hot all over; then they went for each other, kissing madly and massaging cock, muscle, and limb.

As their passion increased Brad suddenly slid behind Steve and even before Steve realized what was happening he felt the tip of Brad's tremendous cock against his virgin hole. Steve felt a momentary panic but Brad whispered, "If anyone can take this it's you. Just relax." To distract him brad used his only two arms to reach around and start stroking Steve's top two cocks, so thick and hard they felt huge in his hands, and as Steve gasped Brad slid the first inch in. Brad continued stroking the cocks and pushing his own in, inch after inch, until they both realized that never before had either of them felt as much mind-swimming pleasure as they both felt at that moment, with Brad sliding his hot, thick, throbbing, incredibly long cock deeper and deeper into Steve's virgin-tight, red-hot ass. Brad started to push deeper, and Steve had to refrain from crying out, remembering with a sudden thrill that the others were outside. Brad plowed that virgin ass, sliding his cock with difficulty between bowling-ball glutes, until less than a foot remained outside; then he started pumping, stroking those top two cocks with the same rhythm while Steve stroked the other two. It didn't take long before they both felt ready to burst. Brad tried to pull out but couldn't get his whole length out in time, and he came inside Steve, cumming spurt after spurt, while Steve shot in great quantity from four cocks simultaneously, a burst of pleasure so powerful he staggered, nearly knocked out.

It was some time before they were aware of anything again, longer still before they were cleaned up and dressed. Steve's body contracted from the body hard-on normally; and the extra arms and cocks reassimilated into a proper number, though he felt as though he might be slightly bigger than before. He checked his hands—five fingers. That was a good sign. As for Brad, his monster shrank into a compact, almost normal-looking cock. "It's only a problem when I get hard," Brad said, pulling up his pants.

"Tell me about it," Steve mused. He had his jeans on but his rugby shirt was still in his hands. Perhaps because he's cast it off before his bod returned to (near-) normal, it was still the size it had been at his biggest, and still had six arms. He would have to go with just the tank top.

"Brad, are you doing anything tonight?"

"No, I'm not, and even if I were, I'm not," said Brad with a grin.

"Good. I've got something back at my room I need to show you. A big pile of somethings." •

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