Photoshop BE


By Leminnes

Hermón was living the dream – the whole world at his thick fingertips, contained in the little electronic Palm. He’d been in the bus station when he’d caught of sight of a little blond kid, standing alone. He pulled out the Palm and quickly got a biography. His name was Paul McJames, and he was actually eleven. He was alone because he’d run away from home, unable to take his abusive, drug-addled parents anymore. The constant absence of a positive influence in his life caused him to be very street smart and constantly on edge. He’d run away five times before, all unsuccessfully. Hermón knew that this time, he’d escape. Hermón continued to look over the bio. His parents were, from what he gathered, complete druggies, and Paul was constantly lying to teachers at school about their whereabouts, riding his bike to get anywhere. He was an only child and almost always underfed, which was why he looked younger than he was. His short frame – five-foot-four, with the small shoulders and squeaky voice of an adolescent – was just on the very onset of puberty. Paul looked around the station with clear fear and nerves, afraid of being caught and not knowing what he would do next. The loudspeakers in the station boomed to life. “We have been alerted that a boy is missing from home. He is expected to be at one of the city’s bus stations. His name is Paul McJames, five-four…” Paul looked up, his eyes wide, his mouth open. And then he froze. Hermón walked up and watched the changes starting. Paul’s mouth closed and his face relaxed, looking peaceful and calm. His blond hair, stringy, dirty and unwashed, began to gain back its luster. It untangled itself and become cleaner and blonder until it was stunningly gorgeous and bright, even highlighted. It went slightly past his eyes, then his ears, tousled, thick, and beautifully sexy. Hermón looked at the stats on the screen. The numbers all started increasing – height, weight, age, sex drive. When he looked back at Paul, the boy was naked and growing bigger by the minute. Already, he had gained muscle and mass all over, but the changes started at the bottom and worked up after his hair had grown. His feet began changing first, the tendons and bones snapping and reshaping until they were huge feet – massive, size 16 or 17. Dark blond tufts of hair started sprouting out of the big toes, and the hair spread, thickening up his bare legs, swirling around his stubby boy-penis, up, up up, up the treasure trail and across his flat chest. It wasn’t thick or unruly body hair, but it was there, giving Paul a much needed shot of maturity. The clown feet began to look more suited to his sprouting body. His calves bulged out very quickly, the size of cantaloupes under his darkening, tanned skin. According to the palm, Paul was now five-nine and still growing. His dream profession was a football player and drug-free bodybuilder. He was about to achieve it. His legs were now ridiculously massive for his small upper body, as if a man and a boy had been welded together. His legs were long, thick as tree-trunks, and as powerful as a train. The quads and hamstrings bulged out so far and so defined that even Hermón was astounded. Hermón walked to the side of Paul for some double pleasure – Paul ass began to push out, the two cheeks shoving themselves together and pushing out with sheer gluteus muscle. If Paul’s calves were cantaloupes, then his massive ass was a watermelon, especially when compared to his tiny little waist. It was Paul’s stubby little dick, though, that went through a real growth spurt, even moreso than Paul’s rapidly expanding height – now pushing past six-two. His prepubescent penis was growing into its gridiron-stud-cockdom. The veins criss-crossed all over it, bulging out. It started thickening – and stretching. When it was six inches, it was the diameter of an egg, but it just kept growing and growing until it was an astounding fourteen inch long super-dick and (seemingly) thick as a soda can, flopping flaccidly in between his legs like a sleeping snake. His waist stayed tiny and petite, but his upper body began spreading outward and upward, pumping up with testosterone and strength. His nipples pushed straight out to the sides as his pecs burst into view, and his concaved chest developed eight perfect abs, as defined as a brick wall. His pecs began to pump up and the veins crawled across them. Hermón couldn’t help but start rubbing the saucer-sized, erect nipples. The hair across Paul’s bulging and intimidating pecs was almost unnoticeable due to the mountainous expanse it was spread out across. Paul’s double-D pecs led into big boulder shoulders, with every muscle chiseled perfectly. His arms were getting bigger by the second, the testosterone racing through the veins faster than the speed of light. His hands reached the same point as his feet, cracking and growing until they were masters of destruction, so huge and powerful that nothing got in their way. His biceps were bigger than his head, his forearms were powerful enough to bash through a wall. Paul’s head and features finally started to morph. This was Hermón’s favorite part of the change. Paul’s ears got smaller in proportion to his head, and his forehead pushed out, placing his eyes slightly back into his face. His eyes sparkled and changed from boring grey to beautiful green, and his nose crunched from a beak into a perfect ski jump, ending with a button tip that gave his testosterone-charged features a dose of cuteness. His lips were thick and heavy and his jaw was sharp and chiseled as stone. Hermón watched as the hair sprouted from under the skin, covering Paul’s face with a layer of blond beard. He was quite handsome, but the thickness of his neck and square shape of his face made him so masculine that he was almost brutish. It was sexy. Just as Hermón was taking in the new man in front of him – a man covered in mounds of muscle, radiating strength – Paul unfroze. He grabbed his head. “Shit, I have the worst fuckin’ headache.” Hermón looked at the colossal cock in Paul’s tiny shorts. When had those clothes appeared? Just a second ago Paul had been the perfect, naked specimen. Now his pecs were covered by the thinnest of tank tops, and he was wearing shorts that would barely pass as underwear – gym shorts, yes, but so tight on his huge dick and even bigger thighs. His big feet were in flip flops and tufts of his blond hair stuck out from an old Yankees cap. “Shit, dude, where the fuck is the bathroom?” Hermón pointed toward the other side of the station. “Thanks.” Paul walked away, his ass bobbing up and down. Hermón took it as a definite invitation and walked a few steps behind. Ten minutes later, they were locked in a stall, intertwined in each others bodies. The sex was intense, and Hermón couldn’t not keep his hands off of Paul’s body – it was that beautiful. He’d read on the palm that Paul was a professional bodybuilder, fresh out of college. He had a sports agent and was looking to sign with an NFL team, several of which were interested. Hermón twisted his hands inside Paul’s and slammed them against the sides of the stall. At six-eight and fourteen thick inches, Paul was a lot of man to handle inside such a tiny space, and Hermón was having the time of his life. The Palm went clattering onto the floor of the bathroom and skittered out of sight, out of the stall. Hermón noticed it, but figured he’d get it later – this was too good to interrupt. Their hips gyrated against each other and they were both orgasming regularly – and then they heard the door open. Paul and Hermón exchanged glances, then Paul wordlessly climbed up on the seat of the toilet while Hermón turned and pointed his feet toward the door, making it look as if there was only one person in the stall. The footsteps of the person who had just entered where light and soft, which lead Hermón to believe that the person was a child. He felt Paul’s wide hands on his wider shoulders and the blond hunk’s lips on the back of his neck. When the child walked out, Hermón turned around and kissed Paul, who responded with his tongue. “Mmmm, Paul, I…mmf…I have to go…” “Fuck, man, why?” Paul grabbed Hermón’s dick and started whacking him off. “We’re having so much fun.” “I just do, okay?” “Okay…here’s my number.” Paul scribbled his number, in pen, on Hermón’s right pectoral. “Call me, fucker.” He slipped out of the stall, but Hermón waited until he heard the bathroom door slam shut. Hermón walked out of the stall, zipping up his pants and then pulling his shirt back on. He walked into the stall next to where they had made love, and opened it. The Palm wasn’t in there. Shit! Frantically, he walked around the bathroom, even one time calling for it. It was nowhere. Who had taken it? Not Paul. The kid? Maybe it hadn’t been a kid after all. Why had he been so careless? Hermón should have know that the Palm had an agenda of its own, and it wanted to spread it’s own wealth a little bit. It would find its way back – in due time.

Hermón’s suspicion was correct, partially – a little boy had seen the Palm, and taken it. He was going to get it to the station’s Lost and Found, but his father was in too much of a hurry. “C’mon, Sam! Get over here and get in the car!” Sam stuck the palm in his back pocket. Oh well, he reasoned, he had TRIED to do a good deed. “Comin’, Dad!” Sam was a chubby boy, and he got it from his father, Max. Both had little guts that hung over the belt of their starched khakis. Max was wearing an Oxford shirt and Sam was wearing a v-neck sweater with the firm collar of his white button-down pulled through. They eased into the cushioned seats of their rented Toyota. It was nice, clean, and smelled fresh. The fact that Sam had to go to this dumb meeting with his Dad made him resentful, but at least he had this new Palm to play with. Max immediately got on his cell phone with his superiors, so Sam had time to poke around with his new find. He looked at his Dad for a second, and watched the jowls and double chin wiggle as he talked. That was always entertaining. The Palm beeped and he looked down. It had, somehow, opened a program called Adobe Photoshop BE. He must have clicked something by mistake. He heard a small, electronic beep and saw some numbers and information on the tiny screen. Name: Maximilian James Harrison Age: 50 Weight: 170 lb. Height: 5’9” Ethnicity: English Other: German Fit: Adult; Overweight Penis Size Soft: 4” Penis Size Erect: 5.5” He looked at his Dad, mindlessly chattering on the phone. This was a little weird, but he was too curious. He looked at the menu options. One of them was labeled “Randomize.” He clicked it. There was some beeping, and the screen went blank. The car drove on, his Dad kept talking, everything was normal. He heard his Dad clear his throat, so he turned. Max unbuttoned the second button his shirt, and then the third. Sam was puzzled by this. “You okay, Dad?” Max didn’t answer. His eyes looked almost glazed over, and he’d stopped talking on the phone. In fact, his mouth was hanging open, as if it was frozen. “Dad?” It didn’t take Sam long to realize something was wrong. The car had stopped going – there was a leaf plastered against the passenger side window. Max’s hand was in midair, unbuttoning the shirt. Time was frozen. Sam looked down at the Palm and saw it had sprung back to life. There was a bar, labeled 0% on one side and 100% on the right, and it was at 1%. Then it crept to 2%. He looked back at his Dad, and could see something was happening. The area around Max’s flabby man boobs was darkening, and the tits seemed to shifting up his chest. The chest hair began to curl outside of the confines of the shirt, and the now-visible pecs began to push it outward, spreading. “Dad?!” Sam could tell his own voice was changing…it was scratchy, hoarse, and deeper than it had been before. He put his hands up to his throat and felt his Adam’s apple literally push out against them, then felt barbed whiskers pushing against his fingers. “What’s happeninggggggg…” He looked at the Palm. The Bar was at 6% now. He could see the hood of the Toyota rising up higher, the beige paint changing to an old-looking red, dents appearing in the body of the car. His Dad’s body was changing, too. Slowly, Max’s torso and legs became longer and thicker, packing with muscle. His shirt began to burst at the seams and peel off his body onto the seat. First, his pecs grew into massive cannonballs, then his abs jutted out like rocks on a mountain from his previously jiggly belly. Slowly, the treasure trail from his pube-covered cock inched up in the middle of his eight-pack; the beefy prick pushed the zipper open on Max’s cheap khakis. The bar was at 52% now. Sam looked at his hands, gripping the palm. They were cracking and changing. The knuckles bulged out as the bones shifted up and out, and the hair sprouted on the backs, then spread up his ballooning arms. The mass of Sam’s body began to rip through his clothes; he saw the sleeves arms stretch and then rip right off, peeling away in the same fashion he had seen his father’s clothes do earlier. “Rmmmmfff…feels…so…GOOD…fuck…” His cock was getting big, as big as his Dad’s, which had since ripped through and was pumping cum out onto the leather seat. Sam’s groin area began to ache and burn as the dark pubes became thicker and itchier, soon they crawled up and Sam could only watch as they covered his developing chest. The pecs hung downward and were clear in the sweater, even the nipples, soon Sam’s little belly was disappearing into the folds of his leathery, dark skin. Abs burst out of their confines and pressed tightly against the cotton shirt and sweater, and Sam could only shriek with pleasure and pain. “NNRAAAGH…FUUUCK MEEE…” The bar was at 78%. Sam rolled his neck to the side, with difficulty due to the muscle exploding out and thickening his head and shoulders, and looked at his Dad. Max was huge now, topping out at a powerful six-foot-four. His hair was short and spiky, his face pock-marked scarred, covered with a thick beard. His pecs and biceps were just like his son’s – huge, rippling, as big as his head. The veins bulged out of every peak and valley on his chiseled, ripped body. Both father and son had anatomically perfect bodies: big muscles, big cocks, big egos. Sam twisted his torso and began to cum all over the seat. The twig legs from his old, child’s body were the last to go. He saw the teardrop-shaped muscles bulge out in his quads against his torn khakis, his thighs thickened and his calves exploded in a stretching, muscular girth, his feet cracked through his black shoes and pretty soon there was no trace of the quivering boy from a few seconds previous. His skin was like leather, and as tanned as Mexican, his brown hair was cropped like his father’s, but his beard was thinner, more stubble than a beard. Sam finally noticed that the car’s changes had guided it into an old truck. In the bed were several dozen logs, tied in place with twine. He looked at his hands, big, veiny, powerful. What had happened? He had a big barbed wire tattoo circling around his massive right bicep, and a flag on his left one. Which flag was that? North Dakota? He thought for a minute. Yeah, it was North Dakota. He was positive. He even remembered when he’d gotten it inked. Sam felt movement, and he heard cloth rustling. The bar was at 98%. The shoes began to reform around his feet, but they were hard, steel-toed leather boots. Denim tightened around his legs, so close to his skin that it felt any movement from his menacing muscles would rip them. A plaid shirt replaced his white dress one, but it’s sleeves were ripped off, and the top four buttons were undone, showing his powerful, hairy chest. Max’s clothes were almost exactly the same, down to a leather belt with a big buckle. Sam reached down to scratch his big, hairy balls and realized he wasn’t wearing any underwear. Then, he realized he never did, did he? Underwear was so confining. He ran his thick fingers through his beard. This drive was so fucking long. He looked as his Dad. They did look a lot alike, didn’t they? Everyone always said. Probably didn’t help that they were both ridiculously ripped, with square, stubbled jaws and deep-set eyes, and those bass voices that rumbled out of some unseen cavity. Sam lay his head back on the torn leather headrest. They’d be back in North Dakota soon, and then they could start cutting down more trees, to sell more lumber. He needed his rest. “Goin’ to sleep?” Max’s white teeth shimmered through the thick whiskers. Sam nodded and stretched out his six-five frame, one inch taller than his Dad’s. The jean-covered legs ran forever in front of him. “Yeah, Pop.” “Alrighty, then, g’night for now.”

Hermón looked at the blinking dot on the computer screen of the bus stop’s Internet port. He shut his eyes and tried to make a mental connection to the Palm. It was almost a part of him, a part of his perfect physique. North Dakota, it was going there, he was almost sure. He flipped out his wallet and headed to a ticket stand, being sure to write down the Palm’s GPS location number, so he could track it with his cell.

Sam’s head snapped up as the truck screeched to a halt. “We’re back home, boy.” Max reached over and shook his son’s rippling forearm. “Let’s eat some supper.” The two men got out of the truck and walked into the Waffle House. Sam shook off the sleep, Max cracked his wide knuckles. Neither of them noticed the tall, handsome stud who walked into the parking lot as they entered.

Hermón looked inside the truck and saw the Palm lying facedown on the floor. Sam had clearly forgotten it ever existed. Hermón turned and looked inside the plated glass windows of the resteraunt, and saw the two men. The older one was very handsome, but the younger one was stunningly attractive, with the ass pushing at the denim, the golden biceps quivering, and all that hair. Wow. Had that been the little boy that had picked up the Palm? This thing was GOOD. He turned back and looked inside the truck. How was he going to get the Palm? He needed it. He needed it badly. He thought deeply. Maybe when they came out, he could…no, that wouldn’t work. He heard the lock pop. This Palm could do anything, apparently. Hermón smiled, looked behind him to make sure the lumberjacks weren’t looking, and opened the door, silently sliding the Palm into his back pocket. It was good to have it back. •

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