Big Budd's truck - nearly identical to the ones parked here, except for being a bit newer than most - pulled in around dusk. He and his "little" brother had been home in Kansas for a few hours, and they'd both been anxious to get out and be seen, but there had been some stuff to take care of first.

Dane had been right. Waiting for them at Big Budd's house - their parent's old house - just inside the screen door on the porch, had been a large brown, cardboard box from the Littleman's Company. "I reckon it's our supplies," Big Budd had said to his brother as they'd carried their suitcases into the house. Sure enough, after they'd dropped their stuff and retrieved the box, they'd found it full of a variety of items - fifty pairs of those spandex shorts, like the ones Big Budd wore, in a rainbow of colors, with the Littleman's logo on the lower left thigh; fifty pairs of those special stretchy posing trunks, like Little Budd wore, which barely covered him, exposing the root of his sausage-sized cock and the thick thatch of pubic hair where it'd originated; five boxes of the Littleman's Formula, each box containing a hundred amps; two transdermal guns - nice ones, too, thought Big Budd, stainless steel, like you'd find at the doctor's office; and a thick booklet labeled "Instructions for New Location Start-Up."

Neither of the Budd Brothers had been great readers. Though they were both literate, neither of them had ever challenged himself with a book - and now they were less likely than ever to change that. All they cared about now was their muscle and cocks.

Fortunately, the instructions had been designed for a Littleman's man, a man without a lot of time to focus on details, and the simple, point-by-point, bullet-style prose gave them enough of an overview to feel like they could celebrate their first night home without worrying about anything. The main point was exposure, after all - and both the Budd Brothers felt like they wanted to be seen.

They'd cleaned up together, both squeezing into the shower in the downstairs bathroom. "I reckon we're gonna have to move to a bigger house," said Big Budd, soaping up his brother's hot muscular bod. "This one can barely hold us."

Little Budd chuckled, flexing his chest while Big Budd ran the bar of soap down his cleavage. "I ain't even gonna be able to FIT in the bathroom at my trailer."

Big Budd turned his brother around and starting soaping up his ass-crack. "Maybe I can talk you into moving back into here with me," he said, leaning against his brother so Little Budd could feel his growing erection.

Little Budd accepted the gigantic cock into his ass. "I reckon you won't have all that much trouble," he'd said.

On his way to Benny's Hackin' Shack, Big Budd had dropped his brother off at the trailer park, so he could pack some stuff and get his own vehicle. "I don't know if I'll get back over there tonight," he'd said to Big Budd, leaning back in the window after getting out. "I reckon I'm gonna give Mitch and Jackson a call, see if they wanna come over and hear about my trip!" He smiled and stuck his tongue between his teeth.

Big Budd nodded. "You got stuff to do 'em with?" he asked.

"Yup. I grabbed a couple o' amps 'fore I left. Just gonna give 'em the free taste."

Big Budd smiled, too. "You enjoy yourself, then. I reckon I'll see you tomorrow. We got a lot of stuff to do. Don't be late."

"No worries," said his little brother - who wasn't so little, anymore, with his Olympia-sized body - and he stuck his head through the truck's window and they kissed goodbye. Big Budd waited long enough to watch his brother waddle up to the door of the trailer, throwing his mighty legs around each other, wearing only a pair of Littleman's posing trunks, an open-front beach shirt and his CAT-diesel cap. He sure did look like he'd just gotten home from California.

Big Budd pulled his big Dodge Ram out of the trailer park and headed toward Benny's.

He got there just as the sun was setting, casting long red rays across the flats of Kansas. Surprised to discover himself anxious instead of nervous, Big Budd's cock actually twitched as he got out of the truck, stepping one strong leg to the ground, then the other, again adjusting to the weight and balance of his new body - it was going to take him a while to get used to it. He was a hundred pounds heavier than when he'd left on Friday.

He wore the light-tan spandex shorts, which seemed to blend right in with his skin tone, though clearly showing the outline of his enormous genitals; his workboots, open and unlaced, battered after only half-a-year at the factory; one of his blue work-shirts with the little name patch that had "Big Budd" stitched in cursive script on the left chest, from which he'd torn off the sleeves, completely open in the front because he couldn't get it around himself anymore, exposing his massive, muscular, hairy torso; and a brand-spanking new San Francisco GIANTS baseball cap, arrogantly inviting comment.

To think there was a time when he'd been so worried about what these guys would think of him that Big Budd barely did anything. When he left on Friday, he'd had it in his mind to do only a little of the Littleman's Formula, because he didn't want these guys to think he was a freak. Now, with an additional hundred pounds of muscle and a cock that broke two feet when it got hard, Big Budd felt a little different about what these guys thought.

And he'd been given the power to convert them all.

So he pulled open the door and went inside.

It was one of those moments when sound just stops - on TV or in the movies, it's heightened with a sound-effect like someone removing the needle from a record - but in real life, it's pretty much that anyone speaking or moving completely stops and stares deadpan, like they were now as Big Budd strolled into the bar, except the background noises don't stop.

"Hey, guys," Big Budd said loudly, as they all turned to face him, "I'm BACK!" Simultaneously, he raised his arms and flexed a double-biceps, the cantaloupe-sized peaks popping up hard.

"Holy shit," they said. "Budd?" "That you?" "What the fuck...?" All of them talking at once. The questions. The confusion.

"Yeah," Big Budd said, nodding, his smile growing. "What do ya think?" He lowered his arms and flexed his chest, bouncing the halves back and forth. "Ain't this fuckin' awesome!"

It was Benny, the bartender/ owner, that little weasel Benny, who asked, "Budd, what happened to you?"

Big Budd smiled, rubbing his stomach as he spoke, running his fingers along the rock solid definition of his brick-sized abs. "I reckon I told y'all I was goin' to San Francisco," he said, addressing them all, trying his hardest not to get hard. "Me and my brother, we went up and took part in this... um... experiment... and as you can see, I'm all the better for it."

Someone else spoke up. This time is was old Travis Murphy. "Your brother like that, too?" he asked, tilting his beer toward Big Budd. "Become a freak?"

Big Budd smirked, sensing the challenge - he wasn't backing down from it, as he might've in the past. No, he was a new Big Budd. And he was gonna convert them all. "My brother's not quite as big as me," he said, "but I reckon you won't find it easy to tell us apart. No, this shit we took made us MEN. Look at my fuckin' body, you guys! Look at my fuckin' COCK!"

They looked - they saw what he had, and were amazed - they realized they were looking, and they looked away. And to avoid the subject, they attacked what he was wearing instead.

"What are you in here in your underwear for?" asked Benny. "Good God, show some decency."

"This ain't underwear," said Big Budd, happily displaying, half-turning to show them his great muscular ass. "It's spandex shorts. Gym shorts - you wear 'em to the gym. They ain't indecent."

"This ain't a gym, neither."

Big Budd shrugged. "Hey, I just wanted to show off a little. I just wanted to show you what I done, what's happened to me. Thought you'd be curious to see. What I really want's a beer."

"I ain't servin' you no beer dressed like that! This ain't some San Francisco fag joint!"

"Aw, Benny, I ain't no fag," said Big Budd, picking at the sudden life in his cock. "I'm all man, just like always. I just got a new body, is all - and no pants that fit. Don't be like this..."

As he approached the bar - that is to say, lumbered toward it - Benny held up his hand, palm flat. "No! Standin' here in your underwear like it's nothin'. Wavin' your dick around for everyone to see - it's obscene!"

Big Budd shrugged. "I can't help what the formula did to me," he said, sidling up to the rail. "I got a big cock now. Look, you can't even see it over the edge of the bar. Don't worry, it ain't gonna do nothin' obscene - less'n it gets hard, then fuckin' stand back!"

This time it was Ed Jiggers who spoke up - one of the other regulars, over there next to old Travis Murphy. "That shit you took made you bigger... down there... too?"

"Hell, yes!" said Big Budd, turning to face them, to let them see. "You should see it now. It gets up to two feet when it's hard - I ain't fuckin' kiddin' you - two feet!"

As if it knew they were talking about it, Big Budd's cock started to show some more spunk beneath the spandex.

"You guys should try it!" Big Budd continued, including them all with a sweep of his massive guns - his weapons of mass INDUCTION. "The formula! Seriously, I reckon I got enough to give a sample to my buddies. Put a little muscle weight on ya, put a few inches on your dicks, that won't hurt any of ya none."

Old Travis Murphy again - damn, he was a cynic! - "You want us to do steroids so's you can feel better about doin' steroids yourself?"

"I didn't do steroids," said Big Budd earnestly, quietly, flexing his arms in front of himself. "This is permanent. This is WAY better than any steroid."

Quiet for a second, then Ed Jiggers slowly said, "Now, I reckon I wouldn't mind me havin' a bigger dick 'n all, don't get me wrong, but I don't want to be as big as you. That's too big, Budd. What would my wife say?"

Old Travis Murphy took the punchline. "You'd finally weigh MORE than her!" he cackled. Laugher across the bar, even from Big Budd, who knew how big Tina Jiggers was - he reckoned they couldn't even get her OUT of her trailer!

"One hit ain't gonna get you as big as me," explained the muscle-bound Budd. "'N you can stop doin' it anytime you want. I'll tell you, though, I didn't reckon I wanted to get this big when I started, either." He ran his hand across his hairy, heavy chest, down the brick-work abs. "But I liked it," he said. "I liked it a lot."

And THAT'S actually what made his dick get hard. That comment - that admission - that's when he lost control. His big cock filled with blood, and as it grew, those feelings began to overwhelm Big Budd again - those hot, horny, masculine feelings - that hidden muscle-whore reawakening inside him and groping toward the surface.

"Feels so fuckin' good..."

That's when you COULD see the head of his cock over the top of the bar, growing inside the spandex shorts, pushing its way toward the low waistband. The guys who were watching sort-of gasped, and Big Budd thought, "Save your applause. You ain't seen nothin' yet!" He was surprised and pleased to discover that he WANTED to show them. He wasn't embarrassed - no, he was fuckin' PROUD!

But Benny was horrified - though still focused on it, it's not like he pulled his eyes away - he started to protest. "Okay, THAT'S obscene!" he shouted angrily. "I don't know what you think you're doin', but you ain't gonna do it in my bar."

"Aw, c'mon Benny," Big Budd said, putting his hands behind his neck and flexing his abs. His big cock was stretching past his hip bone. "Tell me you don't want to be hung like this. What man wouldn't? Which one o' you guys here wouldn't?" He showed them all his body, flexing from pose to pose, not even trying to stop his erection now. He was so fucking hot. "Who's brave enough to join me?"

"Get out of my bar," said Benny, trying to be calm. "Get out of my bar before I have to get my gun."

Big Budd reached down into the spandex and grabbed the base of his cock - now almost as thick as a can, but still ridiculously sensitive - (Big Budd almost gasped at how good it felt) - and waived it at Benny. "Your gun as big as mine?" Big Budd asked, exposing the fleshy expanse of cock. "Mine's already loaded."

This time, Benny really DID reach for his gun - a shotgun, under the front bar by the taps. He'd had it in case they were ever invaded by terrorists, or them homos from the city - he never thought he'd use it on one of his regulars.

But Big Budd just laughed, like he was Superman or something and the bullets would just bounce off. He showed no fear - as a matter of fact, he seemed to show pity. He felt bad for THEM? HE was the one who was a freak!

Or maybe... maybe he actually DID like being that way. All those muscles - all that hair.

And his cock WAS freakin' huge...

"All right, all right," Big Budd said, shaking his head slowly and backing up. "I'll go. But I reckon you're making a really big mistake here." He forced a smile - and a joke. "All I did was come to the bar in my underwear."

"You get out," said Benny, holding the gun but making no move to aim or shoot. "And don't you come back here."

Big Budd smiled, resigned as he stepped toward the door. He addressed the group. "My offer still stands," he said, filling the doorway with his muscular bulk. "Any of y'all interested in trying the formula, I'll still give you a taste for free. Don't pass up an opportunity because of HIS fear."

"Get out, you fuckin' fag!"

Big Budd spoke loudly, perhaps a little more angrily than he'd intended. "I ain't no fuckin' fag!" he barked. "I'm all man - and I could make you all men, too. Hell, even you Benny. I reckon I could even make YOU into a man."

Benny raised the shotgun to his shoulder.

THAT'S when Big Budd finally left.

In his truck, peeling out of the gravel lot, Big Budd thought, "I reckon THAT didn't go all that well," while he absently played with his cock - the same way he used to play with the gear shift knob on the truck. It was a shame - he was so fuckin' horny, he just wanted some action. This sure wasn't San Francisco.

He wondered how his brother was faring.

Though he didn't particularly like his brother's buddy Jackson, he always thought Mitch was pretty cool - and once they felt the effects of the formula, Big Budd was sure to like them BOTH a lot more (and they'd no doubt like him). Maybe he'd head over to his brother's trailer.

Then he thought about calling some of the guys from the factory, maybe Johnny Silvio or Pete Donovan, which led to the internal debate of whether he'd even keep his old job at all. Once he started actual recruiting for the Littleman's Group, money would no longer be a problem. And he would look pretty foolish at his current size working the assembly line. Oh, why work at all when sex was so good?

Why wasn't he able to make these guys see that muscle sex was so good? Maybe THIS was why Kansas was a red state.

He pulled into the driveway of his parent's old ranch, parked, and was heading inside when the Sheriff's car appeared. "Well, how 'bout that?" Big Budd thought. "Benny's done called the Sheriff. What an asshole."

Big Budd waved his meaty arm at the lawman as he stepped from his patrol car. Yeah, Big Budd had always harbored a certain attraction to men in uniform - cops, especially - look at how he'd responded to Officer Jacobs - but he'd never been into Sheriff Coltraine. Well, physically - the paunchy Sheriff had a typical lawman's attitude, which Big Budd liked, but he was a fairly slovenly man, which killed any sort of feelings Big Budd may've had.

"Well, holy shit," the Sheriff said, hitching up his pants by grabbing his gun belt. "They wasn't kidding. Look at you!"

Big Budd smirked. "I reckon I've put on a little size since you last seen me." He flexed a double biceps from there on the porch.

"My God, look at you! Look at you!" He seemed to be stunned as he walked up the driveway toward Big Budd. He kept a safe distance, hand on the butt of his gun. "What the hell happened to you?" the Sheriff asked.

Big Budd smirked, but didn't stop posing. "My brother and me spent our inheritance money on a few self-improvements. What do you think?" He made sure the Sheriff got a good look at his spandex-clad package - how he loved to show it off!

"That's what you done in San Francisco? Got turned into that?"

Big Budd stopped posing and gave the Sheriff his complete attention, he smirked as he gave the Sheriff a slight nod. "Yeah," he said quietly. "That's where I done got turned into this." He couldn't help but feel his muscular torso - he couldn't keep his hands off himself - but he knew to win over the Sheriff, he had to bring it down a notch. You scared the guys at the bar with just a chubby, he reminded himself. "Why don't you come on inside," he offered, "we'll have a beer and talk about it like men instead o' Sheriff and suspect."

And though the Sheriff didn't seem exactly sure whether he thought Big Budd was actually a threat or not, he accepted the invitation inside. His gun gave him a certain sense of security, though Budd was awful big, now.

He looked even bigger inside, huge amidst the spindly furniture his mother had favored. Here, in the clear light, the Sheriff got an even better look at Big Budd's new body, the unbelievable muscle, the freakish cock. The Sheriff had never seen anyone the size of Big Budd - he'd never seen a bodybuilder outside of the ones on TV, and even they didn't seem real, just some illusion or trick or something - and even in those stretchy shorts, he was overwhelmingly masculine. His voice, his demeanor... that cock...

"You want a beer?"

"Yeah," the Sheriff said, nodding slightly. "I could use it."

On his way back from the kitchen, two bottles of Bud in his hand, he knocked over a floor lamp accidentally with his shoulder. Barking a laugh, he bent over to pick it up. "I ain't used to all this size yet," he said. "I keep bumping into things. I took out a doorjamb when I first walked into the bathroom." He handed the Sheriff one of the beers, then sat in the center of the sofa, the only piece of furniture wide enough to fit him. He spread his arms across the back of it. "Have a seat," he said, adjusting his big balls beneath the spandex.

The Sheriff numbly took the wooden chair across from him, taking a swig of beer like a life-saver. He asked, "How...?" and gestured to Big Budd's big body.

"A formula," Big Budd said. "A series o' shots. I've had five - no, six! They done gave me something extra to really POP my dick." He touched it casually, running his fingers along its impressive length.

"Five shots turned you into THAT?" The Sheriff took another swig of beer.

"Six," Big Budd said, drinking almost half his bottle in one gulp - the beer looked small in his hand. "They don't recommend doin' it as fast as me and my brother did - they say a normal dose is one shot a week - but we was at somethin' like a training seminar... and they grew us up pretty fast." He flexed his own arms for himself. "I still ain't used to it."

The Sheriff's next question was the one Big Budd's training told him was asked ninety-five percent of the time as either the first or second question. "What's it feel like?" the Sheriff asked.

Fortunately, Big Budd didn't need the script to answer that one. "It's fuckin' amazing," he said, rubbing his big pecs, hefting their mass in his hands. "I've never felt more like a man in my entire life. Fuckin' incredible. You should try it."

"Try it?" the Sheriff asked, surprised. "What do you mean, try it? You got some of that stuff here?"

"Yeah," Big Budd said. "I reckon I'm becoming a distributor - that's why I went to the seminar, to learn how."

"You're gonna sell that stuff? Here, in town?"

"Now, don't you fret," Big Budd said, taking another swig of beer and absently playing with himself. "It's gonna be a legitimate business. I'm goin' down right tomorrow morning and fill out the paperwork with the county clerk. Nice and legal. Ain't gonna sell a thing 'til I do."

"You're gonna be sellin' drugs outta your livin' room?"

"They ain't drugs," said Big Budd. "They're supplements. Can't call 'em drugs for the sake of the FDA. They'd want a piece of it, I reckon. So we call 'em supplements. They'll SUPPLEMENT your manhood, they say we should say." He shifted in his seat, leaning his mass forward to speak to the Sheriff. "So how 'bout it?" he asked. "You reckon you want to try it? Just a sample, a free one - I ain't sellin' ya nothin'."

The Sheriff considered a second, then shook his head and took a swig of his beer. "I don't know," he said quietly. "I don't know if I want to get up as big as you."

Big Budd smirked, popping the halves of his chest quickly. "You ain't gonna get as big as me off one hit." (How many times would he end up saying THAT, he wondered silently.) "But it might... uh... clean you up a little bit," he said, gesturing to the Sheriff. "Take care of that gut, maybe give you an inch or two on your dick, a swagger in your step. What do you say?"

"I don't know..."

"What? You afraid those guys are all gonna know you've done it? So fuckin' what? You'll be strong and in-shape and satisfying your sexual conquests with a bigger cock. Who gives a fuck about them? I reckon that was MY lesson, Sheriff - I worried too much about what people thought instead of fulfilling my own fantasies. Learn from me. Do it."

The Sheriff considered - another swig. "And I can stop...?"

"Anytime you want," Big Budd interrupted. "No one's gonna make you do more 'n one if that's all you want. I ain't gonna force nothin' on ya."

The Sheriff nodded silently, then said, "All right then," in a quiet voice. "I reckon I'll try it."

Big Budd wasn't surprised at how happy his cock was to hear that - it sprung to life beneath the spandex. "Good choice," Big Budd said seriously, even though he was smiling. "I reckon you'll be glad you did it. And first in your neighborhood on top of it."

As he walked to the bedroom to get the supplies, the Sheriff's eyes were glued to him, examining his mass, his size, his cock - surreptitiously, of course, but Big Budd knew it. He could feel it. After collecting the tools from the Littleman's box in his bedroom, Big Budd came back, explaining the procedure to the Sheriff.

Not surprisingly, the Sheriff was less than thrilled about receiving a shot to the balls, even if it was delivered in this new-fangled "transdermal" gun, even if Big Budd swore he wouldn't feel any pain. "Everybody says what you're sayin' when they first see this thing," he said, waving the gun, "but pretty soon they're beggin' for it. Trust me. It don't hurt none."

Maybe the most humiliating part was getting the shot in the balls - that's what Big Budd had thought - though he didn't share THAT with the Sheriff. "Can't believe I'm doing this," the Sheriff mumbled as Big Budd pressed the business-end of the gun against the Sheriff's gonad.

"No worries," said Big Budd, amazed that such an important lawman could have such tiny testicles - boy, this formula would sure help HIM - and pulled the trigger.

The Sheriff twitched on the "CLACK!" that the firing mechanism made, but Big Budd had been right - there'd been no pain. As a matter of fact, the Sheriff wasn't at all sure that Big Budd had given him ANYTHING. Maybe this had all been a joke.

No. No, there was SOMETHING in his balls. Fluid, or something. Something that made them feel swollen - like they'd been as an overly horny young man, before the gut. Before the disappointing life.

"That's that," said Big Budd, standing and blowing on the end of the gun, like an old-time wild-west shooter. "I reckon you're on your way."

Then the Sheriff asked the next most-asked question. "How soon will I notice it?" he asked. "How soon will I feel something?"

Big Budd smiled, popping a few poses in the mirror before sitting back down on the sofa. "Soon enough," he said. "Might as well finish up your beer."

And there was an awkward time during the next few minutes where the two of them tried to make small talk - Big Budd would become exceptionally good at filling this time with flexing and showing off eventually, once he learned the rhythm of the transformation, once he'd mastered a couple of them - but for now, the two of them talked uncomfortably about nothing.

He could tell something was happening, though. The Sheriff had a sudden rush of energy, like the coffee had hit. He shifted around on the sofa, a light sweat on his forehead. "I'm feelin' it, I reckon," he said. "I'm feelin' kind o' weird... hot..."

Big Budd leaned back, that smile still plastered on his face. "But not 'bad'?" he asked. "You don't feel bad?"

The Sheriff stood - and when he did, Big Budd could see the man's cock hardening beneath his uniform pants. The Sheriff saw him see it, too - he gave Big Budd an odd look of confusion, of awareness, of embarrassment, of pride. Big Budd had seen that look before - on himself. "Don't worry," Big Budd said, indicating the Sheriff's erection with a wave of his hand. "Happens to everybody. It's part of becoming a man. See?" he continued, standing himself, pointing to his own. "Mine's gettin' that way, too."

The Sheriff just stared at Big Budd's growing cock. "It's so fuckin' big," he mumbled, unaware of touching himself. Touching his own cock while staring at another. "So fuckin' big..."

Big Budd hit a big double bis, holding the pose, showing the melon-sized peaks of his biceps, while he said, "I'm big everywhere. Get a load o' these."

The Sheriff stood there dumb-founded, losing himself in a haze of unexpected pleasure.

"Go ahead," Big Budd said. "Touch 'em."

The Sheriff's normally strong hand reached out tentatively, almost shaking from excitement and anticipation, and touched the rock-hard peak of Big Budd's left biceps, easily the size of a melon. The Sheriff felt it, fascinated by it, discovering himself lusting for it, then he allowed his hand to wander, under the arm to weigh the triceps, over the thickly striated delts, that mountain of a left trap that gave the appearance of Big Budd having no neck, and finally, inevitably, into the hairy mass of Budd's outrageous pecs.

"Yeah," teased Big Budd. "How's that feel?"

Panting, lost, the Sheriff mumbled, "Gonna cum..." and shot that first uncontrollable orgasm - Big Budd remembered it well.

Long ropes of it, a climax that went on for a good minute, the Sheriff's back arched, arms out to his sides, pants open, thrusting his cock into the air - flexing his muscles for maybe the first time in his life. Yeah, Big Budd knew just what the Sheriff was feeling.

He also knew that the end of the orgasm didn't mean the end of the buzz. Matter of fact, that first orgasm barely primed the pump. When they made eye-contact, Big Budd could see the change - that spark was there, that twinkle, that lust caught in the light. Yeah, the Sheriff could feel it now. He was already one of them, whether he knew it or not.

"This is fuckin' amazing!" said the Sheriff, hitting poses half-hazardly, just to feel his muscles flex. "I ain't never felt like this! I just love my cock!"

"Imagine what one the size o' mine feels like," Big Budd said quietly, pinching the base of his big drill slowly, teasingly. He loved his cock, too.

The Sheriff looked at it for a second, half-hard there in the spandex shorts, and found he couldn't take his eyes off it. "Holy shit," he said, subconsciously playing with his own while he spoke. "How big's that thing get when it's hard?"

Big Budd smiled, finally allowing his erection to happen. "I reckon you can see for yourself," he said as the head of his mammoth cock pushed against the waistband above his left hip, like a blind boa seeking freedom.

"Holy shit..."

Big Budd shrugged. "Aw, this ain't nothin' yet. Watch..." He started flexing then, which always got him full-mast. Two full feet of Big Budd cock, all right there for the Sheriff to see. When Big Budd cradled his hands behind his neck and flexed his abs, the fist-sized head of his dick pressed into his lower pecs. "Look, I can fuck my own tits."

"Holy..."

"Yeah," Big Budd said, breaking the pose and standing straight before the Sheriff. "We can get yours this big too, I reckon."

The Sheriff was fascinated by it - hard himself, playing with his own cock while mesmerized by Big Budd's, not even aware he was doing it. "Big as you...?"

"Sure," Big Budd said, rolling his shoulders and sending a quick bounce through his muscles, as if the Sheriff needed to be reminded of his new size. "Hell, I reckon you're bigger already," he continued, nodding toward the Sheriff's erection. "Look at yourself. You're so fuckin' hard, it looks like your dick's gonna grow outta its skin."

"I ain't never been this turned on," confessed the Sheriff. "I ain't never felt like this - so masculine. So fuckin' horny! What is this shit?" He grabbed his dick then and immediately began masturbating himself, almost losing himself in the pleasure. His dick, his muscles, all connected... and Big Budd was so fuckin' BIG... so hot...

"Yeah," Big Budd murmured. "Your cock feels good. But why don't you feel a real one?" He thrust his hips forward, nearly putting his erection in the Sheriff's face.

The Sheriff was so lost in the formula, he barely paused to lick his lips before he reached out and tentatively touched Big Budd's thick rod. Big Budd inhaled sharply at the contact, shockwaves of pleasure darting through his body - he'd nearly lost all control already, the lust he'd been trying to repress 'til now began to win. And when the Sheriff gripped him firmly and began masturbating him, Big Budd finally let it.

"Fuck yeah!"

They orgasmed together, erupting in a volcano of cum - two men.

It would be that easy - Big Budd would convert the entire town, one by one, man by man if necessary, voluntarily or not. He'd make them all Littleman's men. All of them - and then deliver the rest of Kansas as well. And know this - he'd fuck each and every one.

Starting with the Sheriff... •