By Also_KnownAs

Bobby was lounging against Joe as they floated in the sky. A cool mist of high clouds nestled their naked forms and left a thin sheen of droplets on their copper skin. Their enhanced bodies felt the curve and sway of the air currents and effortlessly slipped between and around them, not quite flying so much as drifting in the clouds.

Stan was somewhere under them doing what he loved, which he had termed `swooping.' The old man was growing increasingly familiar and comfortable inside his new skin and had taken a liking to soaring and diving through the sky, arms back, chin forward, chest out, feeling the rush and hearing the roar of wind as he zoomed through the blue. He'd become so adept at this sort of flying that he could dive toward the earth and drift so low across the ground that the dew of the grass would leave a wet, glistening trail across his skin before he caught an updraft and bent himself into it, turning and twisting as he rose like a loose cork allowed to bust from a champagne bottle.

Joseph and Bobby also enjoyed the sensation of flying, but they had a `been there, done that' attitude about swooping. They preferred to be with each other in the awesome quiet of the lonely sky, holding each other or making love or just being together like now, near each other, touching but neither groping nor caressing. Eyes closed, smiled lighting their lips, the heightened senses of their bodies feeling every sweet caress of the wind and every soft lick of the clouds.

Suddenly Stan appeared, his body shooting like a rocket just inches from them and soaring into the heavens. The unbothered eddies of air around them suddenly swirled and exploded, pulling them apart and making them tumble and twirl until regaining their place in the wind's strong arms. Joe mumbled, "Fuck, I was just drifting off."

Bobby, some distance away, lifted his arms and pulled himself through the air back toward his lover. They hung there looking up at the small figure of Stanley as he spun and soared through the sky. "You know," Bobby said, "it does look like he's having fun."

They exchanged glances, then smiled to each other, and as one the two super teens launched themselves into the churning patterns of wind Stan left in his wake, and now all three beautiful men were flying through the afternoon skies, diving and climbing, twisting and arching, flying free of Earth's gravity as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Eventually, it became too dark to keep it up (there was little fear of hitting much of anything except each other, but they flew so fast sometimes and had experienced a couple of near misses that brought home what might happen if their huge bodies ever did collide that they agreed among themselves that darkness would bring an end to swooping) and the three of them lit to the firm ground again, landing and tumbling along a hillside of long grass, coming to rest in a tangle at the foot of the rise. All three were breathing hard, more from excitement than exertion, and started to laugh at the sheer joy of what they had been doing. Skin like silk was wet with perspiration, rain water and dew and they rested momentarily there, looking up as the sky turned from violet to black.

"Big moon," observed Stan.

"My butt is not big," protested Bob, lifting himself off the other tow.

"I'm talking literally, not figuratively, and you have a great ass as if I needed to tell you." He slapped the firm, round contours for good measure. Bobby yipped and danced away, rubbing his butt cheek.

Joe was laughing as he and Stan separated and the three stood up, looking out across a vast, treeless meadow. The moon had not risen and the usual greens were replaced with purples and grays in the twilight. A mist was rising on the grass obscuring the forest on the other side.

Bobby asked, "Where are we, do you think?"

Stan shrugged. "For all I know it could be Montana or Germany or China. I don't know enough about what trees are where, and one hill looks just about like every other." He stood for a moment to feel the soft, cool breeze move across his naked form. He smirked and a dark wealth of fur developed on his broad chest and down his belly, spreading like ink on copper. His forearms and legs were similarly sprouting a new growth of curls and his chin and cheeks darkened with a shadow of whiskers.

He glanced over and saw Joe watching him change. The kid wiggled his brows and smiled, obviously approving of Stan's sudden choice. Joseph nudged Bobby to draw his attention, and Bob's face registered his surprise and pleasure. "Nice," he growled.

Stan shrugged. "A mood hit me. Seemed more appropriate given these surroundings."

Bobby nodded and Stan watched his body subtly change as well, the muscles bulging and the skin thinning to show every cabled strand and every strong fiber. His chest swelled outward and the skin suctioned to its heightened vascularity and definition. His body now seemed to emphasize his masculinity as his formerly youthful figure of smooth power became something far more overtly muscular, more brawny and raw. He stretched his arms out as the muscles grew, showing the incredibly deep valleys between the peaks.

Then it was Joe's turn, and he decided to take himself somewhere between the two extremes. Rather than mimic Stan's fat-muscled form of hairy bulges or Bobby's incredibly detailed display of raw bulging strength, Joseph morphed into an incredibly beautiful young man who possessed the best of both extremes. His body did not grow so much as perfect itself, and instead of Stan's black forest of curling fur he sprouted a soft, light brown coat in just the right places, accentuating his display of might. His squared jaw was left clean- shaven, but a well-trimmed mustache and goatee sprouted on his upper lip and chin. His eyes, even in the gloom, sparkled bright and blue, and when he smiled Stan felt something hot and hard stab into his groin, zeroing in on the point of his desire.

"Fuck, Joe, you get any better looking and I'm not sure I can look directly at you."

"Tease," he said, laughing lightly. For Joseph, this sort of awesome, overwhelming, superhuman physical beauty was second nature. When he was Transformed, he was still in the midst of puberty. Bobby, and of course Stanley, were already past that developmental stage – in Stan's case, well past – so their genetic make-up had been improved substantially. Joe, however, had been Transformed before his body had fully matured, so the serum worked more intensely on him, more completely, pumping his genetic structure past puberty and adulthood and not only cleaning up his shortcomings but completely erasing and remaking them. He was ordinarily beautiful in the extreme, anyway. It was just a question of what form that beauty would take.

But Bobby agreed with Stan, evidently, because his monster cock was stretching longer and thicker as Joe's transformation ceased and the final product, seven feet high and impossibly gorgeous, stood before him. "C'mere," he said, his voice a dark rumble.

Joe turned and took two steps forward, standing chest-to-chest with his friend. Bobby's stiff tool throbbed hotly on his belly. "You wanted something?"

"Only you," he answered. They stood the exact same height, now, as Bob reached his hands around Joe's perfect frame and pulled their bodies even closer together, kissing his mouth and reaching down to cup and knead the firm meat of his ass.

Joseph, bred for this, reached down to grasp Bob where it counted and slide his talented touch along his lover's plump prick. Stan folded his arms and watched the two coming together in the gathering darkness until Joe looked over and then reached over and pulled him inside the group grope, and it wasn't long before the three were again tangled together in the wet grass, this time tonguing assholes and sucking cock and stroking each other to ecstasy.

Stan was getting used to this, to his body's ultimate and unstoppable need for sexual pleasure. He used to chalk up the boy's unending lust to their age and the hormonal imbalance that came with it. But now his own body had been recharged to their level – well beyond it, in fact, and he, too, fell easily into the embrace of sensual abandonment. His body would do what he asked of it, and he was more than happy to do what it asked in return.

Namely, to fuck and be fucked well and often.

He pulled Bobby's dick into his ass and pleasured him fully, feeling his wet heat fill him up inside again and again as the Texan pumped his full, sweet loads of cum into his guts. He swallowed Joe's lengthy wonder and sucked eagerly against his hard heat, wrapping his tongue around the shaft and holding the fat helmet in his throat, massaging him to heaven with his muscular talent until more thick sticky cream was being shoved down his throat. His own cock was planted fully inside Bobby, then, as he ate out Joe's rosebud, shoving that same long, slick tongue inside to lick him clean.

Bobby and Joe had been together long enough to exactly what the other wanted, with or without the mindspeech. But they would touch each other's pleasure centers to heighten the sexual bliss to absurd levels until they were virtual cum machines, their dicks growing longer and fatter and heavier to manage the constant flow of cream erupting from their super-sexual bodies.

Now, with three of them, the effect was magnified again. Stan was like an empty vessel that needed filling. His hunger was insatiable, now that he allowed himself to feel it, and he dove into the pool of ultimate joy with eager lust.

They fucked will into the night, pulling apart only when Bobby's attention was distracted by something else and he sat up, looking across the field. "Lights," he said softly.

The other two naked forms slowed their thrusting and rose from the mists, casting their eyes toward the darkened trees to see a set of wavering beams emerging from the inky blackness and setting the fog alight.

"Shit." Bobby stood up, hands on his hips, head cocked sideways. "You were making too much noise again, Joey. Spooked the neighbors."

"Me? You were the one shouting, `fuck me, my beautiful stallion! Make me a man!'" The two started laughing but Stan wasn't amused.

He was looking up, but the skies were clear of clouds and now the moon was overhead, acting like a beacon on the earth below. "Too late to take off and no cover anyway. Fuck!"

Joe knitted his brow. "What's the prob?"

"Well, let's see, where should I start? Three naked men in the middle of nowhere, no clothes, no ID, no sign of a vehicle that could have brought us here. We're over eight feet tall, have two foot-long hangers each and look like we were sculpted by a god. I dunno, what could be wrong with this?"

"Well, we can fix the physical shit, no prob." Which Bobby then did, shrinking himself to about six and a half feet high and lessening the effects of his masculine beauty to near human terms, looking only strikingly handsome rather than blindingly beautiful. The other two followed suit, scanning each other to make sure they could `pass' in a crowd – except for the naked part – and stood there waiting until the lights neared them and a group of four broke through the fog and stood a few yards away, their flashlights dancing across the naked, muscular forms of Bob, Joe and Stan. There wasn't much they could do to hide their nudity, they had nothing to be ashamed of anyway so they merely stood there.

A voice came across to them, a gruff sounding male voice speaking another language. The three looked at each other, all looking confused and clearly not understanding the words. "You recognize any of that?"

Stan shook his head, saying, "Sounds vaguely Russian, to me." He turned back. "Hello. Do you speak English?"

There was mumbling from the other side. The three men could see nothing with the lights in their eyes. Then a voice in thickly accented German said, "I speak English."

Stan smiled, trying to look friendly. Then he could think of nothing to say, so Bobby, in his Texan drawl, said, "Could you tell us where we are?"

"You do not know where you are?"

He shook his head, "Sorry. Is this Germany?"

The voice sounded amazed. "You do not know what country you are in?"


The light lowered off Bobby's face and he could see the face of the man speaking. A twinkle came to his eyes because even in the darkness, the man was clearly quite strikingly beautiful. His blonde hair, cut short and trimmed very neatly, practically glowed in the moonlight, and his clean-shaven, creamy complexion was likewise iridescent. "This is…" But another of the people – and it was clear now that these were all men – put his hand on the German's chest (what was he wearing, anyway?) and there was some discussion before the man said, "What is your names?"

"I'm Bobby. This is Joe and Stan."

"I am Wolf." Bobby's smile grew. "Wolfgang, but I am called Wolf. Where did you come from? Where are your clothes?"

Bobby looked at Stan, the `adult,' for answers. He stepped forward, the dark curls of his naked form glistening in the harsh white light. "We are American. We have no clothes," he answered honestly.


"Why are we American?"

Wolf huffed out a laugh, cutting the tension slightly. "Why you do not have clothes is my meaning."

Stan shrugged. "Don't need them."

"And how did you come here?"

"Could you tell me where here is, please? I want to answer your questions – and could you lower your lights? I'd like to see who I'm talking to."

The lights were lowered together, and the three were looking at half- a-dozen tall, broad men dressed in matching sets of shirts and shorts. The men, as well, were almost a matching set. They all had blonde hair, all were uniformly muscular with very wide shoulders, very narrow waists, arms hanging off rounded shoulders with fat bulges of muscle. The tops of their heads were at an exact height, and although the expressions they wore varied from curious to angry to amused, the faces themselves were so similar that they looked like carbon copies of each other.

Stan's face registered his surprise, and Wolf obviously knew what the reaction was likely to be, but he simply stood there looking ready to pounce or run or anything involving sudden action. Stan cleared his throat, exchanged a look with Bobby and Joe, and said, "We flew here." Bobby choked slightly and a wide smile wiped across Joseph's lips.

"No," answered Wolf.

"Well, yes, actually."

"It is not possible that you did."

Stan shrugged. "Fine. We walked here."

"Also not possible."


Wolf's face was no longer amused. "You must tell."

Bobby spoke up. "He told you the truth! We flew here. If you want, we can…"

"Where," interrupted Stan, "is here, exactly?"

"Will you come with us, please?"

Stan looked again at his compatriots, shrugged, adjusted himself and said, "Lead on."

The men had, in Stan's untutored opinion, perfect asses. Following them was like following the bouncing balls, their plump and solid muscular bubble butts lifting and flexing and settling in a harmony of movement that was almost disturbing in its perfection. They walked alike, they moved alike, they did everything but speak the same language – but listening to their voices when they did converse amongst themselves was like hearing one man speaking to himself in several differing tongues.

In the gloom of night, he could now see that the clothing they wore was also matching. Some sort of one-piece jumpsuits in a light gray or blue color that clung to their contours almost without a wrinkle. There was something distinctly odd about the men that Stan could not quite finger. Aside from the fact that, other than the usual questions, they seemed not at all surprised that Stan and his friends were stark naked.

They approached a small cabin, it looked like, set at the edge of the woods. Maybe these guys had been watching them play in the sky for hours!

Wolf – Stan could tell it was still Wolf only because he'd kept his eye on the man – opened the door and held it, smiling in a friendly manner and gesturing the three inside. Stan nodded back and went into the candlelit interior. It was extraordinarily ordinary, with a stone fireplace, an ugly round woven rug, dark wood floors and walls, high ceilings with log beams, a couple of paisley couches and worn, brown leather chairs and it smelled distinctly musty.

The five matching men followed them in and moved around the room, two of them leaving and returning with bottles from what Stan assumed was the kitchen. They wore smiles matching Wolf's toothy grin and they moved in that alarmingly similar fashion. They opened the bottles and each took a swig, their adam's apples bobbing on their long muscular necks, and handed them forward. Bobby and Joseph each took one, lifted it in a toast of sorts and threw back deep draughts, huffing out sighs after and wiping their mouths on their arms. Joe looked at Stan and said, simply, "Good beer."

There was a moment when the two sets of unearthly men simply looked at each other in the flickering candlelight. Then Wolf said, "You are American." It was a statement. Stan shrugged and nodded. "You have been… changed?" Now Stan looked at his two new friends – as much to see if they were going to clue him in to what, if anything, to say, as to look at the source of his own changes.

Joe smiled his beautiful smile, moved the sweating bottle along his well-muscled frame leaving a gleaming path of wetness on his bronzed skin and said, "You could say that."

Wolf looked at his friends. One of them said something in a language that might have been Arabic. Wolf nodded and asked, "But you are complete."

Joe said, "Whuh huh?"

"You are complete," he repeated, and his eyes dropped down Joe's body and looked pointedly at his crotch.

Joe sort of laughed. "More than, actually," and he grasped himself, lifting his heavy length of cockmeat and letting it fall, slapping his thick thigh audibly.

It was then that Stan suddenly realized what it was about these men in their matching outfits that was weird. They looked smooth. Too smooth. Like living Ken dolls.

Now that he looked at each of them more carefully, he saw that although their bodies were obviously well muscled and very strong, they displayed no sexual characteristics. No nipples poking up at the material, no bulges in the crotch throwing off the line of their pants, no facial hair at all.

"What are you?" Stan could think of nothing else to say.

"We are escaped," answered Wolf. •

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