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Playing with FanTCdude's Toys
|It was really only the beginning that had been difficult - and much of the
reason was that Big Budd wanted to fuck, but none of these guys were ready for
it, yet. (Big Budd reminded himself that HE hadn't been ready to fuck until his
third shot.) Psychologically, anyway. Even after their initial exposure to the
formula, they could PHYSICALLY accept a cock the size of Big Budd's - he'd
proven that at the country-western bar in San Francisco - but none of these
small-town Kansas men were ready mentally. Better to wait, he thought. Go at
their pace, even if that pace was killing him.
So when the Sheriff had made some hasty "better get back on patrol" excuse, Big Budd rolled his eyes but ultimately understood. Let the man sit at the side of the road and masturbate in his patrol car for a few days, Big Budd thought. He'll come back. And when he DOES, he'll be a helluva lot better lookin'.
The only good news had been that Little Budd had fared little better. About an hour or two after the Sheriff had left, the boy showed up at the family house wearing only workboots, the Littleman's posers - which barely, barely held his prodigious equipment, his swollen balls and half-erect cock - and his CAT-Diesel cap. Little Budd was thick with muscle and the smell of sex, but frustrated, just like his older brother.
"I reckon I got 'em both," he said, tossing his overnight bag down and immediately checking himself out in the mirror over the living room sofa - the one right over Big Budd's head. "I got Mitch AND Jackson." He flexed his chest and grunted at his reflection, running his hands down the outside of the hard muscle, pinching his nipples as he spoke. "Hell, they JUMPED at it, chance to be fuckin' huge and have a cock this size." He reached down and squeezed his manly prize as it grew hard, pointing straight down in his posers. "So, what happens? They feel the buzz, shoot them first couple o' uncontrollable loads, and then, just as I'M primed to start fuckin', they make excuses and run out! And I'm all left there, like, what just happened? You know?"
"Yeah," Big Budd said, smirking, pinching his own nipples, fiddling with his own cock as he watched his brother pose in the mirror above his head. "I reckon the same thing happened to me. They threw me out of Benny's, you know."
"They done what?" Little Budd said, smiling widely, stepping in closer to his brother on the couch. His attention alternated between the mirror and Big Budd's growing cock - God, that was a big cock... He could really use... Well, wasn't that why he came over...?
"Yeah. I reckon they called my spandex shorts INDECENT. They threw me out - called the Sheriff on me." He reached out and cupped his brother's balls in his hand, hefting them through the scant material of Little Budd's posers.
"Did they now?" asked Little Budd, chuckling, still flexing as he thrust his hips forward slightly.
Big Budd reached his thick middle finger back and pressed it against Little Budd's asshole - he almost poked through the material. Little Budd started to squirm. "Yeah," said Big Budd, playing with himself and his brother. "I got him to try the formula instead, so he'll be on our side, too. But the same thing happened - he tried it, he felt it, then he split just as I was ready to fuck."
"Took us a while to ready for it ourselves, I reckon," said Little Budd, bending his knees slightly to move his body forward. "Luckily, we got each other 'til they're ready."
Big Budd pulled his brother's posers down over the boy's over-developed thighs, releasing his thick cock, exposing his thick ass, and tackled him back until they crashed through the coffee table. And Big Budd fucked him there, amidst the wooden ruins - a quick fuck, a power fuck - and then took him in the bedroom and fucked him slow, with long, savage strokes - countless hours and orgasms passing - finally, in the shower as the sun rose, he let his brother fuck him, let him get inside Big Budd's manly ass.
They continued that way for weeks, as much out of necessity as pleasure.
Finally, slowly but surely, guys began to join them. Mitch and Jackson, Little Budd's buddies, were the first to sign on - though where either of them had found the money to afford the entire treatment was a mystery to Big Budd. (Later, he learned that Mitch had sold his trailer and he and Jackson were shacking up someplace, not that it much mattered by then - both of them were at the Budd's house so much, they might as well have lived THERE.) He'd never been fond of Mitch, but he'd always liked Jackson well enough. He thought Mitch was kind of smarmy and insincere - still, after about three weeks into Mitch's transformation, after putting on about fifty pounds of muscle, Big Budd started to find him kind of attractive. And the guy was an amazing fuck, a greedy pig of a fuck. Okay, more than attractive, Big Budd started to like him.
The Sheriff, too. Sure, the Sheriff placated them somehow at Benny's that night - told 'em some yarn about speaking to Big Budd, lecturing him about decency. Everything was fine. When they pressed him for information, the Sheriff tried to downplay it, but admitted that he found out Big Budd was going into the supplement business - he was selling this "treatment" that would allegedly give guys the bodies - and the cocks - they'd always dreamed of.
"Somethin' happened to 'em in San Francisco," the Sheriff said. "I hear his brother is the same way."
He didn't tell them he himself had tried it for another few days. He thought it was all bullshit anyway - and he was more than a little embarrassed by what happened earlier at Big Budd's house - so no need to face the ridicule of these losers. But just the opposite ended up happening. The buzz he felt at Big Budd's that night never went away - if anything, it got MORE intense as time went on. By the end of the week, his erections were insistent, he had the drive of a teenager and the tireless enthusiasm of an ingenue. On Saturday night, having a beer at the end of his shift - horny enough that he should've been out chasing tail, yet here he was, more comfortable around the guys - finally, he told them he'd tried Big Budd's supplement, and tomorrow was the day he could do it again.
"I tell you," the Sheriff confessed, "I feel great - I got a ton of energy - my waist has gone down two belt notches, and I'm fuckin' everything that moves."
A chorus of "no shits" and "damnations" until Benny's icy-cold sarcasm cut through the din. "You done turned queer, yet?" he asked, far enough away from the bar to avoid the Sheriff's fist, should he choose to swing it.
"This shit don't turn you queer," the Sheriff said, sighing. "Big Budd ain't a fag, neither. Look, he gained over a hundred pounds of muscle and grew a dick that's almost two feet long in a single weekend. Reckon he didn't want to show off? Give him a fuckin' break. This shit makes you so fuckin' horny you don't know WHAT'S goin' on." Hell, just TALKING about it got the Sheriff's dick hard - he fought the urge to show them. Show them what he meant. So horny...
And then suddenly Ed Jiggers spoke up and saved the moment. "He's right," Jiggers said, from over at his corner of the bar. "Whatever it is, it makes you horny as hell."
"You tried it, too?"
"Damn straight!" the beanpole known as Ed Jiggers announced, almost relieved to get it off his chest. "I done went over and seen Big Budd Monday morning early, before my shift at the plant. Sheriff is right - it's fuckin' incredible! I'm not even on a week, but I know I'm goin' back for the next."
"Tomorrow for me," the Sheriff said, checking out Ed Jiggers to see if he noticed a change - the way he could with himself. Yeah, there was definitely something different about Ed Jiggers - he seemed heavier, a little bit around the chest and arms. More, he had that glint in his eye. "And I'm definitely going back."
It wasn't really until mid-way through the second week that the others noticed the differences. The Sheriff looked like he'd put on about twenty pounds, yet his gut completely faded away, seeming to melt right before their eyes. Hell, even Ed Jiggers was putting on some size. That's what finally convinced old Travis Murphy to give it a shot - pardon the pun. He'd sat on the barstool next to Ed Jiggers for almost ten years, and if this shit Big Budd was pedaling could get Ed Jiggers into shape, it could work for old Travis Murphy, too.
About a month or so after Big Budd had gotten back into town, the Sheriff showed up at Benny's Hackin' Shack wearing only a pair of beige spandex shorts, his gun belt loose around his hip, his uniform shirt, open, untucked and sleeveless - the sleeves had been ripped off at the shoulder - his workboots and cowboy hat.
He was gigantic - as big as Big Budd. Maybe bigger. Thick, ridiculous muscle, a heavy coating of body hair, a huge cock, held up front on display. The Sheriff walked with the gait of a bodybuilder, a cocky athlete, a sexy stud - the way Big Budd had when he'd first walked into the bar after his trip to San Francisco. He stopped just inside the door and hit a double-bis. They stared shocked at his bowling ball-sized biceps - Ed Jiggers and old Travis Murphy let out a whoop and a holler from their end of the bar. They'd been gettin' pretty big themselves. And chummy. When the Sheriff walked in, both of them reached beneath the bar and adjusted themselves. He was so freakin' hot!
"I done the last one," the Sheriff growled in his low, husky voice, going from pose to pose. "I reckon I'm a real Littleman's man, now." His cock started to thicken at the mention - not that he tried to hide it, or even be discreet about it.
That's what Benny hated.
"I'll tell you the same thing I done told Big Budd," Benny lectured the muscular lawman, gesturing fearlessly at him. "I don't want you in here dressed like that. This ain't that kind of bar."
The Sheriff smirked, adjusting his dick in the spandex - perhaps taking a moment or two too long with it - and quietly asked, "Oh, yeah? Well, what kind of bar is it, Benny? I mean, if your whole clientele is turning into a bunch of muscle fags, then what kind of bar is it?"
"Muscle fags?" Benny asked, confused, his suspicions made fact so quickly that he couldn't quite take it in. "What do you mean?"
The Sheriff openly smiled, then nodded toward Jiggers and Murphy. "Show him," he said to the two barflies. And they stood, revealing their own massive hard-ons, throbbing there beneath their pants - both had the same lustful smirk as the Sheriff as they stripped their shirts over their heads, revealing chiseled, athletic torsos, tight and muscular - Jiggers quite a bit bigger than Murphy - but both as hard as statues, as ripped as teenagers. Without prodding, they kissed each other, their hands roaming, feeling the muscled contours of the other's body.
"And that's nothing," laughed the Sheriff. "Wait'll the happy hour crowd gets here - Mitch Ambrose and Jackson Hewitt. Jackson's fuckin' HUGE, Benny. Wait'll you see him - he's got a cock that rivals the Budds. And fuck, you ain't even seen Little Budd, yet. Ain't nothin' 'little' about him no more. And lemme see... they all got Johnny Silvio and a bunch o' them second shift guys down t' the factory to try it - they're all gettin' pretty big over there. Shit, pretty soon they're gonna have every guy in town, Benny."
"That don't make this 'that kind of bar'..."
The Sheriff shook his head. "True enough," he said, then gestured to the door. "But this will!"
And in walked the Budd Brothers - Benny recognized them immediately. He'd seen Big Budd before, of course, but was taken back again by the sheer mass the man had gained. Big Budd had to have been a hundred pounds heavier than before his trip, and there was no evidence of bodyfat anywhere Benny could see. And there was little of Big Budd left covered - he wore the same spandex shorts he had on last time.
Benny hadn't seen the brother yet, but once he had, he knew the Sheriff had been right - there was nothing little about Little Budd anymore. His body was almost a carbon copy of his brother's, dense with muscle but ripped for shit. They had the same pattern of bodyhair, the same structure, the same basic look. Hell, they could be twins but that Little Budd looked his age - early twenties - and his dick wasn't quite as big. Unlike his brother, Little Budd wore only a pair of posing trunks, which didn't even completely cover him, his workboots, and his CAT-diesel hat.
Several guys came in with them, all with varying degrees of musculature, all dressed in the same scanty gym-wear, a couple as big as Little Budd - Benny recognized Jackson Hewitt's, although he now had the body of a superhero. But all of them, big or not so big, had the same look on their faces, same as the Sheriff and the other guys who'd tried this formula Big Budd was promoting. That look of lust and need and sexual hunger. That look of masculine confidence.
"Hey, Benny," said Big Budd, putting his hands on his hips, casual and relaxed. "It's great to be back."
Benny was defensive. "I done told you I didn't want you people in here dressed like that!" he yelled. "I don't know what's happened to you, but I want nothin' to do with it! I don't want a bunch of muscle queers takin' over MY bar! Now, you boys get outta here before..."
Big Budd interrupted him, taking another few steps into the bar, closer to Benny. "Before what?" Big Budd asked him. "Before you call the Sheriff?"
Next to him, the Sheriff laughed. As Benny turned his head to acknowledge the sound, the Sheriff winked, quickly popped his massive pecs, flexing them so they bounced. The lawman couldn't help but touch himself beneath the spandex.
"We only want a place to hang out," Big Budd continued. As he spoke, the others began to fan out behind him. "A place to have a few beers, relax... socialize with each other." He flicked his eyebrows, emphasizing his intent. "My house is already too small and there's barely a dozen of us, so we decided to move the party here."
"No," said Benny, taking a step back. He realized he'd made a mistake coming out from behind the bar. Like a squirrel or rabbit, he realized he was unprotected - nowhere to hide against a predator. "I don't want you here."
Big Budd snorted. "That'll change," he said, and pulled out some sort of gun - it looked like something Benny would see at a doctor's office. Taking another step back, Benny bumped into a wall of muscle - the Sheriff had moved behind him, further separating him from his sanctuary behind the bar.
In Benny's defense, it took not only the Sheriff to hold him, but a couple of the other guys had to grab his legs to stop his thrashing long enough for Big Budd to cozy the gun up to Benny's testicles and pull the trigger. It didn't hurt - not like he expected - but rather like his nut was being filled with some sort of liquid. Uncomfortable, to be sure, but it actually felt kind of good.
Big Budd aimed the gun at his other ball. "I'm giving you a double dose," Big Budd said, pulling the trigger. "Like I say, I reckon I really want you with us, so I'm givin' you a bit of a jump start. I've seen guys go a little... animal... gettin' this much at once, so I want you to be careful."
Though the guys let go of his legs, the Sheriff held him for a good long time. Benny struggled at first, but soon realized that it was useless - the Sheriff was simply too strong. The huge, muscular arms wrapped around his body could easily contain him.
Useless - they were forcing this on him. Against his will. He didn't want to be like them - muscular as they were, powerful as they were, athletic, handsome, young...
Why wouldn't he want...?
The Sheriff held Benny until someone pointed to Benny's erection and said, "Don't look like he's strugglin' no more. Looks like he's enjoyin' it!"
And when he felt the Sheriff's firm hand on his rock-hard dick, Benny shot the load of a lifetime.
Soon after that, it did become THAT kind of bar.
That kind of factory. That kind of firehouse. That kind of high school. That kind of TOWN. Big Budd kept his word - he delivered Kansas to the Littleman's Company.
Hopefully, the others were experiencing this much success
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