Hercules Revealed


By C Monty

I’m dead.

I know I’m dead.

Don’t tell me I’m not dead.

I’ve got to be dead.

I FEEL dead.

The last thing I remembered was giving the drop-dead gorgeous statue in the corner of our museum’s storeroom an imaginary (underline and highlight that “imaginary”) blow job, and then seeing (again, imaginary) bright lights and feeling like I was exploding from the inside out. Like the Human Bomb or something. But right now, Something doesn’t feel right. I feel all tingly and…intangible. My eyes won’t open. And I feel like I’m floating in mid-air.

It must be death. I must have had a heart attack and died while I was fantasizing about that brick shithouse of a man…er…god…or whatever he was. But hey, what a way to go, huh?

So I guess I’m dead, I thought to myself, and I began waiting patiently for “the light” and the sound of a trumpet or two. Perhaps the voice of an angel. No trumpets were heard, but all of a sudden the light and the voice presented themselves.

“Hey, are you alright?”

Hmm…not a bad voice on this angel. Sexy, inviting…but it sounded awful familiar. Sounds almost like the voice of…the night watchman.

“Wake up. Are you okay? Can you hear me? It’s me, Michael. The security giard?”

All of a sudden my eyes opened again. Staring back at me wasn’t Gabriel, Peter, or none’a’them, but a familiar face who was nearly their equal. It was Michael Green, the night watchman, shining his flashlight into my face as leaned over to see if I was still alive. Yeah, he’s the same night watchman I told you about that could sleep through a full-scale air-raid, but I’ve never reported him to the boss because (a) snitching ain’t cute and (b) he himself was indeed very cute. Mike was a light-skinned black guy: curly hair, caramel skin, hazel eyes, and the juiciest lips you ever did see. He had a somewhat average-looking body, but his pretty-boy face and charming personality more than made up for what he lacked downstairs. When I would watch him snoozing through the window of his office, he’d just look so damned inviting that it took the painful memories of my previous experience with sex-at-the-job violations to keep myself from doing so.

But here Mike was now, trying to revive me from whatever state of paralysis or whatever I had been in by shining his blinding-ass flashlight back and forth across my corneas. I guess it’s part of his job requirements to keep his flashlight batteries fully charged. As my senses came back, I began to sit up and take in some air. I felt strange. Not really sore, but just…strange.

“You’re the new janitor guy, right?”

I nodded a slow yes, puzzled at how…unfamiliar…it felt to do so.

“Good, you can hear me. What…what the hell happened in here, man?”

I looked around the storeroom. The blue moonlight still poured through the now-empty window pane, signifying that not much time had passed since I’d first come in here, but it looked like someone had let off a grenade in here since I was last in a state of conciousness. Windows were blown out. Shelves were toppled. Artifacts were broken (d’oh!). Plus – this was the shocker – that big statue of the sexy long-haired muscular god-guy-or-whatever – was gone. Gee-oh-en-eee, “gone”. Not a single speck of it was left.

“Where is it?!” I shouted as I jumped to my feet. “Where’s the sta…,” I stopped in mid-sentence as I realized that there were some, er, other more pressing issues to attend to.

The biggest of these issues was the fact that I had apparently been lying here completely butt-naked, something I became aware of when I jumped up and my dick swung about wildly as I did. I absentmindedly grabbed my dick and ran two fingers along the edge of it. It looked…and felt…bigger, by maybe a half-inch or so, than its original eight and a half inches. In fact, my whole body looked like I’d already met my goals for my next month’s installment of my workout plan. My legs were firmer, more toned, and slightly more muscular, my pecs jutted forward just a little bit more prominently, and the small yet accursed collection of baby fat around my waistline had vanished, replaced by a rather impressive six pack of abdominal muscles. Just my imagination, perhaps? Running away with me?

My hand flew to my forehead in shock, and found some surprises there, too. The tiny collection of pimples that I and most every other un-Photoshopped human have were gone from my forehead. My hair was slightly longer, and it felt softer and silkier as it curled around my fingers. I moved my hand across my face, and I swear my skin felt smoother to the touch. With my free hand, I reached behind me and found that even my ass was firmer and smoother to the touch as well. Small changes, yes, but I had enough sense to realize that this was not any sort of an illusion. Unless I really am dead and this is the gateway to heaven.

I tried to turn around and see if I could get a glance at my new and improved buttocks when I realized that, in all of my excitement, I’d forgotten that Michael was standing right beside me the whole time. His eyes had gone wide as marbles, and I saw him involuntarily lick those beautiful lips of his just before he snapped back into reality.

“Whoops! Sorry,” I apologized, embarrassed and blushing. Like a pantsed guy in a cartoon, I tried using my hands (were they bigger too?) to cup and cover my swinging appendage. Even so, my hands weren’t doing that good of a job of hiding my dick, which was now swelling with blood because of the peculiar situation I was in, from the staring eyes of my co-worker. Mike attempted to clear his throat, and his voice came out in a stammer: “W-W-What happened to your…your clothes?”

“I....I don’t even know.”

I started looking around for my clothes (keeping at least one hand on my crotch as I did), but only found tatters of my work clothes and the remains of my shoes, which had been ripped right apart. What precisely had happened in here? Did somebody come in, knock me out, steal the statue, strip me, inject me with steroids, make a mess, and leave me here to look hot, naked, and guilty-looking? No, that would be a stretch of anyone’s imagination, let alone mine. There must be an answer of some sort…

I was finding it hard to focus on trying to figure out how I had gained muscle, lost clothes, and let who or whatever make off with the best donation this shitty museum’s had in centuries. All that I could seem to focus on were two things: the fact that my dick was hardening and lengthening between my newly well-muscled legs, and the fact that Mike was going back into a state of…I guess you could call it sexual shock. His tongue parted his mouth again, and remoistened his smooth, soft lips with a fresh coating of clear, dripping saliva. Mike’s eyes blinked rapidly, and I heard his breath catch as his senses started going into overload.

All of this attention poured straight into my eyes, down my spine, and into my dick, and within seconds the monster had inflated itself into ten inches of firm and juicy flesh. The instant my dick reached full mast, my mind went completely blank, and all I could think about was fucking Michael into the middle of next week. I almost instinctively reached over and took Mike’s shaking hand and guided it onto my pulsing dick, pulling us closer together as I did. Now we were standing face to face, and I was staring deep into those warm amber pools of his.

Our lips joined, and our bodies began to follow suit. I grabbed the front of Michael’s rent-a-cop shirt collar and gave it a mighty rip. Each button popped off in succession, and the shirt fell away to expose a torso that was somewhat better than I expected. Dark curly hair lightly covered his rather decently built chest and protruded slightly over the low-cut collar of his wifebeater. I reached down and grasped the bottom of Michael’s undershirt, and pulled it up and over his head as he let lose a low, deep, and extremely sexy groan. My hands slid down his firm back and into the seat of his pants. Mike quickly reached down and undid the belt to his slacks, which fell to the ground with a thud. There was no need to slide off his boxers, because he wasn’t wearing any. His dick bounced out of his pants, nine inches long and

My hands and mouth roamed all over Mike’s now-naked flesh, as his did mine. I slid my right hand to his right asscheek and gave it a good squeeze. A growl escaped from deep in Mike’s throat, and he began nibbling on my now all-too-sensitive ears. My eyes began to roll into the back of my head and close from the pleasure that now began flowing over my body. Foreplay certainly didn’t feel that good the first time. I swore I could almost hear music. And then, without any sort of warning, somebody pumped a wealth a white hot pleasurable vibes directly into my pec muscles.

“What’s the matter?” Michael half-gasped after I’d let out a cry that would wake the dead.

“What…what did you just do?” My eyes had shot open, pulse had doubled, and my breath came and went in spurts.

”Oh…I just ran my hands over your nipples, that’s all.”

“Do it again.”

He did it again. Again, the almost unbearable waves of sensuality shot through my chest and up and down my spine. And again, a scream of pleasure escaped my lips.

“Do it again,” I asked. “And whatever you do, don’t stop.” •

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