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|"Proposition. For me." John had the guy pegged now. Christian fundamentalist. Wandered the gay part of town looking for perverts to save. "Why do I think I won't be interested?"
"I can't imagine how you would fail to be interested, Mr. Avery."
And suddenly John remembered his two previous encounters with this person, at the library and outside the Roundabout. "You're Memnoch the Devil."
The old man chuckled warmly. "So you might say."
"So, what am I supposed to be so interested in?"
"The richness of life, Mr. Avery."
"Oh, yeah, for sure."
"Perfect health. Eternal youth. Irresistible beauty. And, of course, unlimited sexual gratification. We know how important that last part is to you, to your kind."
"You said we."
"Ah." He pulled a business card from his finely tailored jacket pocket and handed it to John. It said:
Possibilities, Ltd. Mr. Bel, Vice-President, Phone: 777
"What is it you do, exactly, Mr. Bel?"
"We grant desires, Mr. Avery. What do you want?"
"As I said. Sexual gratification. Beauty. Youth. Wealth also, of course. What do you want?"
"And if I tell you what I want, you're going to give it to me." John had heard some sales come-ons in his time, but this was a new level of flimflam.
"Sounds to me like you already know what I want."
"I confess we do."
"So why should I tell you what you already know?"
"Free will, Mr. Avery. It's best to make sure it has been exercised." He looked up at the brilliant sunshine and, for just a moment, looked diminished and sickly. "I must urge you to hurry a little, Mr. Avery. It is difficult for me to be out and about on a Sunday."
John laughed. "I've got to go, Mr. Bel. It's been real. Truly, the most interesting conversation I've had in a long time."
"You don't believe this is true."
"If it was true, would you want it?"
John turned and considered him gravely. "Yes. Of course I would. Anyone would."
A bus screamed by, almost striking a pedestrian woman, who shrieked. John turned and looked. When he turned back, Mr. Bel was gone.
It wasn't until then that it occurred to John to wonder how Mr. Bel knew his name.
John returned home with his purchases and put them away in the correct places. When he did the laundry later on, as he did every Sunday, he found Mr. Bel's card in his pocket. He held it over the waste basket, but something stopped him from opening his fingers and letting it fall. He stood and stared at it.
"What the heck," he muttered. "An interesting memory." He tucked it away in the top drawer of his dresser.
His week unfolded without surprises. Until Thursday, when he was suffering through another conversation with Best.
"So, I told him I couldn't see him any more," Best said. His latest amour had become unduly possessive, something that was not allowed in Best's life. John wondered how anyone could be stupid enough to get possessive about a tramp like Best.
"Was he upset?"
"I guess so. He cried. Have you been working out?"
John blinked. "No more than usual."
Best appraised him in a professional manner. "Your body is looking a little better than usual."
This was obviously another of Best's sorties into recreational torture. "I think you're imagining things."
"I don't," Best said. "Keep it up, John."
When John returned home that night, he found himself unable to relax. He fidgeted around the apartment, finding pointless tasks to involve him. Around 8:00, he went into the bathroom and masturbated. This seemed to calm his thoughts, at least long enough to cook dinner (he was not a good cook). Halfway through eating it, he went back into the bathroom and masturbated again. Apparently, Best had done a real number on him that day, though he wasn't sure how.
When he finished dinner, the phone rang.
"Hello?" John said sourly, expecting Stewart.
"Mr. Avery. Bel, here."
"Ah. Mr. Bel. How did you get my number?"
The old man chuckled heartily. "Oh, I have access to a great deal of information, Mr. Avery. I just wanted to let you know that we are proceeding apace. You may have felt some manifestation of our work already."
"Apace? With what?"
"With the fulfillment of all your desires, Mr. Avery, of course."
"We believe we will manage it by tomorrow night. Be ready, my boy!"
"Yeah, for sure."
"Adieu, my dear fellow."
He masturbated again before he went to sleep and twice in the morning before work.
Friday night, it happened. John went to bed inexplicably early and fell into a profound slumber, a deep sleep uncharacteristic of him with his anxious mind. He was afflicted with strange dreams, intensely erotic dreams. In them, he swaggered through the world, dominating its most beautiful inhabitants. He was surrounded by non-human entities, indistinct forms that swirled around him, appearing only in the corners of his vision. He felt profound gratitude to them. He tossed and turned, but in the morning he did not wake feeling burnt out and drained. He felt wonderful.
He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. His peace of mind was all-pervasive. The reason was obvious: his crotch was soaked with semen. He must have had a succession of erotic dreams, something he had not done since his early teens.
"Still a growing boy," he murmured. He chuckled, and his laughter sounded deep and booming. He stopped himself.
Major morning voice.
He sat up. His usual morning grogginess was not there. He was alert and ready for the day. His body felt good, a little too good. He wanted to go run around the block, or do a hundred pushups. He felt great.
He strode into the kitchen to make coffee, ever a creature of habit. He managed it without the usual fumbling. He really did feel unusually alert. As he set the pot in place in the machine, he looked at his hand with curiosity. It looked, big, strong. He wondered if it was swollen in some way. It didn't feel swollen. It felt strong.
He sauntered in his shorts into the bathroom. Perhaps a cold shower this morning. He was feeling unusually feisty. When he walked in front of his full-length mirror, he learned why.
"What the hell... " he whispered, his voice trailing off into astonishment.
It was not his face. Or rather, it was, it was dimly recognizable as his face. He was still John Avery. But what a John Avery. His brow was broad and unlined, his nose straight and strong, his lips full and sensual. And his eyes: crystalline, wide, deep, and of a new color. They had gone green overnight when they had been blue. Only his close-cropped dark hair was the same.
It was the handsomest face he had ever seen.
He was transfixed by his own beauty, and it took him a while to glance away at his visage and see his body. He did not immediately grasp what he was seeing. He blinked, and his mind ran through a series of improbable scenarios. Slowly, he was able to decide that he was seeing what he was seeing, though he had no explanation for it.
He was beautiful. His muscles were taut and pumped, like a gymnast's, defined and perfectly shaped. He ran his hands across himself and felt the warmth of his body, the springy musculature, the pulse beneath the skin.
It was real! This was really his body! As he stared in wonderment, he knew without even thinking about it that this was the work of the mysterious Mr. Bel. Human Possibilities, indeed.
"I wonder what little Best would think if he could see this," John said with a chuckle.
Suddenly, he felt a wave of dizziness. His body began to tremble and a powerful vibration moved through it.
No, he thought. Please, don't let it wear off. Please let it stay.
He looked desperately to the mirror, terrified that his body was acting outside of his control, but even more terrified of losing this new beauty after only just discovering it. He was shaking all over, barely able to stand.
And then it came.
His muscles began to seethe with life, pulsating and flexing without his volition. The first thing he noticed were his legs, which began to swell with new power, flaring out from the cuffs of his briefs like pontoons. As they grew, the layer of fat fell away from them and the muscles rose up triumphantly in perfect articulation. And even as his quadriceps expanded, his waist contracted, pulling in tightly. And not just his waist, but his hips as well. The actual pelvic bone was shrinking. He felt his buttocks shifting. He turned to the side and saw them climbing up his hip bone, rising and swelling with muscle.
He looked up. His shoulders had grown as wide as airplane wings, and his pectorals were pulsating with new muscle, arcing up and bulging with strength. His neck was growing thicker, dense with sinew. His abdominals rose up out of the baby fat that had plagued him all his life, plumping up round and full, unobscured by unwanted lard. And his arms! They were bursting with new strength, the muscles arcing out from the bone like the keels of ships! He brought his hands up and touched them. He could feel the muscles under the skin expanding under his fingers.
His muscles strained against his skin as if they would tear it. But it didn't tear, it grew tight, wrapping itself around his new massiveness, displaying every sinew. And just as if seemed he would swell so large that he would be unable to move, the final transformation struck. It seemed Mr. Bel was something of a showman: John's crotch began to jump and pulsate in his shorts, the cock and balls leaping about with a life of their own. And then they grew. His penis swelled up over the top of his shorts, pouring out with increasing size, expanding, growing longer and thicker. It was followed by his balls, now the size of softballs and still growing. The pressure from his thighs and his scrotum was too great for the feeble cotton of his briefs and they exploded with a loud ripping noise, bursting off of his body and falling to the floor in tatters.
But beyond what he saw, there was what he felt. Glorious energy surged through him in the form of pleasure, beautiful pleasure like nothing he had ever known. No, more than pleasure, he felt power! His body coruscated with power, power to fuck, power to hurt, power to dominate anyone who came near him, to dominate his world! He was becoming a god, he was becoming power!
And as suddenly as it began, it was over. He stood gasping and stared at himself.
He muscles were incredible. Thick ropes of muscle surrounded his neck. His pectorals were two massive slabs of meat stretched across his rib cage. He lifted one arm and flexed. Amazing. John's pornography collection had always included a substantial number of bodybuilding magazines, and even in them he had never seen such mountainous biceps. Enormous!
His colossal torso tapered down into an almost supernaturally small waist fronted with perfect abdominals.
Washboard, he said to himself. But no, this went beyond washboard. The definition was superhuman in its beauty and articulation. He had not yet had time to think about it, but he would have to come up with a new vocabulary to describe this body.
His waist flared out into huge thighs thick with muscle. When he looked at his legs he saw his penis, and his jaw dropped.
My God! My God, it's ... it's gigantic.
In all the porn videos he had watched in his life, John had never seen a cock so massive. Not just long, it was hugely thick, and his testicles hung behind it like two grapefruits. So great was the circumference of his balls that his cock hung out from them as if it were sitting on a ledge. His whole body seemed to focus on his colossal cock, his shoulders tapering into a preternaturally tiny waist and his flaring thighs rearing up to the same place.
What's happened to me!
Hesitantly, afraid to dispel what he still thought might be an illusion, he touched his chest. He ran his hand across it, feeling the firm, plaint muscles. The other hand came up and he caressed himself. As he did, waves of pleasure passed through him. His thighs flexed, his butt flexed, his arms flexed. The feeling was overwhelming.
When his hands reached his crotch, he became instantly erect and rock hard. His penis, huge when limp, expanded to impossible size, a pylon of sexual potency and strength. A shock of pleasure shot out from it, stunning him. His head snapped back and the world receded into a cloud of consuming ecstasy. He massaged his dick joyfully, feeling the pleasure increase in intensity with each stroke.
He climaxed in moments. There was no question of holding back. His pleasure level peaked and then went beyond, beyond anything he had ever felt before from his own body. The pleasure wave roared up out of his scrotum and took possession him, rocking him to his core until his loins seemed to explode with pleasure. He released an animal cry of joy as his jism rocketed out of his cock and splattered against the mirror as if it had been shot out of a fire hose. It was not brief. He came and came, there seeming to be no limit to the amount of jism he could produce, quarts of it, gallons. His cum splattered against the wall as he bellowed with pleasure and triumph and puddled up at his bare feet.
He collapsed on the floor. He did not exactly lose consciousness, but the shock of pleasure had stunned his mind making it impossible to think coherently. He lay in his own cum and stared joyfully at the ceiling. He never knew for how long.
At last he sat up and stared at himself. He looked away from the mirror and gazed down at his physique. Incredible. His muscles were magnificent, perfect and huge. And that cock! Let's see Jamie Ragin top that!
He went back to the mirror and stared. He had not quite accepted that the man in the mirror was him. But he was already in love with that man. He had found his perfect mate. The sight of his new body excited him again, and his cock became fully erect without even being touched. He reached down and lovingly fondled himself. Again, the intense blast of passion, building to a devastating climax. He ran his other hand across himself, falling in love with himself.
It was his body. He didn't understand how it was possible, but it really was him! He, John Avery, looked like this! He was a god!
But then another orgasm overtook him. It was not a weak, secondary orgasm forced into being by will power and determination. It was the same, full, mind-deadening experience as the last one. He lay on the floor in a swoon.
After a time, he stood and gazed at himself again. He reached down and touched himself and instantly he was hard again. He would spend the rest of the day this way, bringing himself to one climactic detonation after another.
He lost count of his orgasms after twenty. After that, the number didn't matter, Nothing mattered except his body and its satisfaction.
After a few hours of stupendous orgasms, he was able to remain conscious after each one of them. This pleased him. He hated those little spells of dead space where he was unable to contemplate himself. After each one now he would stand in front of the mirror, stroking himself and smiling. His bare feet were in a thick pool of his own cum, but he was only vaguely aware of the mess he was making. He was transfixed. He was in love.
After a time, a long time, he found that he was satisfied. He was not depleted. He knew he could never be depleted. He could masturbate five hundred more times if there was any point to it. But for now, he'd had enough. He stepped into the shower and turned it on hot. He soaped his body, lavishing affection on it, feeling the firm thickness of the muscles. He took special care in cleaning his crotch. He fondled it lovingly, feeling its density, its weight. Magnificent thing.
He dried himself with great care, as if every droplet of water was a matter of grave importance. This body deserved committed and diligent attention. No, it deserved to be worshipped. He sought out every crease and crevice, swabbing it adoringly with the towel.
He walked out into the living room and sat. He was replete with satisfaction, a total acceptance of self that he had never felt before. For the first time in his life, John felt masculine. Beyond masculine, he was supermasculine. He was the man every man dreamed of being. From now on, there would be no one else in the world that he envied. Everyone would envy him. Him, John Avery. He stared blankly for a few minutes, his mind still stunned with gratification. His thoughts were finally able to range away from himself and his body and his pleasure and contemplate the larger situation. What the hell was happening here?
That Mr. Bel was at the heart of it he never doubted for a moment. But clearly Mr. Bel was not a harmless old nut. Clearly Mr. Bel had access to some remarkable sources of power. He desperately wanted to see Mr. Bel again. John had many questions, but mostly he wanted to thank him, thank him from the bottom of his heart.
Please don't let it be for just twenty-four hours, he prayed. To return to what he had been would surely be the death of him. He had Mr. Bel's card somewhere, but even without it he could remember the phone number. 777. Hmmm. Almost 666. But that could be a meaningless connection. He would hold off on calling Mr. Bel just yet.
The next step, obviously, was to see if this was some kind of hallucination. And that meant giving someone else a look at him, someone who knew him.
He knew just who to start with.
The Pfeiser branch of the public library system closed at 5:00 on Wednesdays. Best always worked Wednesdays because, as he explained it, it kept him from being horny all day from contemplating his next sexual liaison at the bars that night. Best, of course, was assured of a liaison when thousands of others merely hoped for it.
John strode in the front door at 4:59. Dressing had been a challenge. Not only had his musculature expanded spectacularly, but he discovered that he had grown over five inches in height and was now well over six foot. He had managed to come up with a pair of cutoffs that had always been too large on him and a pair of equally cumbersome work boots. He had squeezed into the shorts, lovingly cradling his balls in his hand and tucking them in. The crotch bulged dangerously. It stuck out from his body as if he had stuffed himself with socks. But there was no padding in that package.
He appraised himself in the mirror. His thighs exploded out from the truncated pant legs, announcing the sexual power arrayed between them. The shorts were extremely tight on his bowling-ball-sized buttocks yet surprisingly loose around his incredibly tiny waist. His skin was bronzed and silky smooth. He decided not to wear a shirt. He might never wear a shirt again for the rest of his life.
He was not out on the street thirty seconds before his question was answered: this was not a delusion. People gazed at him in amazement, especially the gay ones. They stopped in their tracks and stared unabashedly as he passed. He puffed out his chest and strode forward. Everyone looked rather short, the result of his new height.
He watched himself in the windows of stores as he passed. His ass flexed when he walked, something it had never done before. In a lifetime of staring at men's asses, John had never seen a nicer one. No, not nice. Magnificent. High on his hips, it arced out in great mounds of muscle that lifted and fell with each step. It puckered the fabric of his pants. This ass told the world that the sexiest man alive was passing by. This ass announced that there was a new god in town.
Best was behind the counter performing his closing duties. John knew that he would be alone at this hour, entrusted by Mrs. Callaway with the earthshaking responsibility of locking the doors and turning out the lights.
John leaned against the counter, displaying his massive arms. "Hello, Best."
Best looked up and froze. He stared. John stood quietly, letting Best soak up the sight of him. It took a minute to take him in.
"Hi, John. You... look great."
John smiled. It was a sloping, thick-lipped, lop-sided smile that would become his trademark. "I feel great."
So, there was magic at work. Best saw the change in him, but didn't remark on it's suddenness. His mind apparently supplied him with an explanation for it.
"You've... been working out."
John's smile grew broader. "I had a great workout today. I'm ready for another one."
"Yeah... well, it's time to lock up."
They stood stock-still and stared at each other for a moment. Best's pectorals bulged alluringly under his crisp white shirt. John wanted to put wrinkles in that perfect shirt, to rip it in half. His desire for Best surged. His cock engorged itself instantly. His lust was so intense he almost jumped over the counter and took the boy on the spot, but he reined himself in. Clearly, he was no longer a man who would deny himself any kind of gratification. He would have to be careful. Besides, Best's humiliation, his utter subjugation, needed to be carried out carefully. It was important to John that everything be perfect.
Best hurriedly snatched up the keys and went to the front door. He knew what was about to happen. The lights went out. When he returned, John had removed his cutoffs and laid them on the counter. He was fully displayed.
Best stared in amazement. "Not with my ass, you don't," he said in reference to John's size. But John could see that the lad was already losing control of himself.
"You're wearing those pants I like, Best. The ones that show you off. That's good. That pleases me."
Best licked his lips. "Yeah."
"Is your ass hard or chewy? I've always wondered."
Best lifted his gaze from John's spectacular equipment and looked into his eyes. "Only one way to find out."
John stepped forward and took him.
He had imagined it happening in the work room behind the main counter, out of sight of prying eyes. But his lust would not allow even for the brief time delay required to carry Best back there. It would be satisfied now, this instant.
John growled and ripped Best's shirt off his body in two pieces. There was no effort to it. He was strong. He knew he was strong enough to tear Best in two if it pleased him. Best's eyes went wide. John pulled the boy to him and pressed his mouth against his.
At last! At last, this luscious body, this firm, ripe, young body that had been dangled in front of him, a cruel lure, for the past year was pulsating under his hands, palpitating with desire for him. I will fuck you into the mud! he thought exultantly.
He had the rest of Best's clothes off in seconds. He had to see it, all of it. The body entirely lived up to its advanced press. Best was glorious. Round, pumped, pink, he was a sexual playtoy of incredible beauty. He kept trying to press his lips to John's mouth, but John wanted other things. He pushed the boy down to the floor and ran his hands over his finely-fleshed physique.
Best, he thought. I'm going to fuck little Besterton. Me, John Avery.
John felt something strange happen, something insinuating that slipped itself under the surface of their encounter. He felt some kind of energy rise up from within himself. It moved out and enveloped Best's body, binding it to John's in some unspecified way. John knew they were now locked together in some kind of transaction, but he didn't know what kind. Nor did he care. He was fixated on Best's flawless form, it's round, succulent muscles, its smooth skin. The world and its cares did not exist.
Best struggled, reaching for what he wanted, but what John wanted took dominance. He stroked Best's body lovingly, savoring this perfect moment that would never come again. He had planned his physical development carefully, Best had. He was just muscular enough to outshine anyone around him, but not so huge and bulky that other men would expect him to be the dominant partner. Best was no top man. And he knew what he wanted. John turned him over and caressed the firm, pumped muscles of his back, tapering down to that extraordinary ass. John fondled its perfect roundness, slipping his fingers into the crevice. He pushed through the soft anus and entered Best's entrails.
"Oh, yeah," Best whispered. "Oh, yeah, big man. That's nice."
"Is that nice? I've got something better."
He spit on his colossal erection and greased it up. He knew he should wait, draw out the moment, make it sweeter, but his desire had a will of its own. He would have Best now. He turned the boy face up and aimed his cock at the delicious ass.
"Hey, no wait," Best gasped. "I can't. You're too big."
John smiled his sloping, sinister smile. "You underestimate yourself, Best."
"No, don't. I don't want it. Lick my nipples."
"Giving orders, are you?" Clearly, this kind of fussy stage managing was part of Best's sexual repertoire. Anyone who went with him was subjected to a barrage of instructions, his way of being in control. Do this, don't do that. John was sure that most of Best's usual partners obeyed him willingly.
But he was not one of Best's usual partners. He was something extra. The new John Avery didn't take orders.
"It really doesn't matter what you want, Best. It only matters what I want."
He slipped his cock into Best's butt. The boy gasped with astonishment. John had expected that this would cause Best some pain--he had hoped for it, actually--but his huge member went in to the hilt without resistance. Best's ass opened as easily as an eye's iris. John knew even with Best's extensive experience this was impossible. He had never encountered anyone John's size before, because there was no one John's size. Something else was gong on.
Best moaned with pleasure and wrapped himself around John's upper body, kissing it randomly and worshipfully. "Oh, yeah, baby. Oh, so big, so big."
"Enjoy it, Best. This is the best fuck of your life. It doesn't get any better after this. It's all leftovers after me."
John pumped Best's soft, wet pussy joyfully. He had intended to make it last, to savor Best's enslavement. But the buildup of passion in his loins was too powerful. It overwhelmed him and took away any semblance of self-control. Their orgasm was upon them before they knew it. It shook them to their roots, rattling their jaws and pulling extravagant roars of pleasure from both of them. It was not brief. John guessed its duration at about two minutes, an expanding cascade of ecstasy that shocked their bodies and blanked out their minds. He was annihilated, the remaining scraps of his old identity being blasted away by the white-hot heat of his passion. His old self, the mean, pinched, angry John Avery fell away in tatters and he emerged into the light, massive, powerful, bellowing with power and sex. The old John died at that moment and a new John, a stronger, manlier, more commanding, more arrogant John was created. In the depths of his ecstasy, John looked down to see Best's face. It was a frozen mask of amazement and gratitude. Best was all his now.
They lay on the floor and stared up at the fluorescent ceiling fixtures. The room was growing dark around them. John felt refreshed andexhilarated. He would be ready for another go-round very shortly. Best was stunned and motionless. He didn't engage the lad in conversation. What possible interest could he have in anything Best had to say? Best was there to serve, nothing more.
In about one minute he was ready again. Best finally moved, reaching over with one arm and lovingly stroking John's cock. It instantly became erect--it pleased him how quickly his erections rose--and he pulled Best to him. He kissed him hungrily.
"So, talk to me, Best. Are you enjoying yourself? Am I the best you've ever had?"
"You are the ultimate man, John. You're the ultimate. Why did I wait so long?"
"Because basically you're stupid."
"You don't need to be smart. Your looks give you power, and power substitutes nicely for brains. Let's fuck some more."
The second time lasted much longer, which was to say that it lasted five minutes instead of one. The initial wave of desire had subsided a little and John was better able to control himself. It occurred to him that even though he had already come to expect his resurgent sexual capacity, it didn't explain how Best could be ready to go again at the same time. Best, after all, was ordinary. Then he remembered the feeling of power going out from him, enveloping Best. Of course, it would be a necessary component of his transformation. His partners would have to feel the same things he felt. They would have to keep up with him. If they stayed at their normal level of performance he'd burn them out after three times. And he was capable of so much more than three times. He would either have to content himself with fucking dead, unresponsive meat, or he would need a roomful of men every time he wanted to have sex. One distasteful, the other impractical. But now he knew his power extended to whoever he was with. They felt what he felt. A sensible solution.
He was back inside Best almost immediately. He wanted to enjoy the foreplay, to force Best into acts of complete degradation, but his desire for Best's ass was intense. He pumped slowly, making the boy moan with pleasure. Best's head was thrown back and his eyes closed, lost in his ecstasy.
John slapped him in the face. "Hey."
Best snapped back to the present. "What?" he gasped.
"Don't drift off like that. This isn't about you. It's about me. You're here to please me. Pay attention."
Best obeyed. He dutifully stayed focused on John, seeking out special ways to please him, to give him added pleasure. He was very good at it. John became very excited by the Best's performance. When the second orgasm came, it was as devastating as the first. He felt it rumbling up from deep inside him like distant thunder. It increased in power until it thundered through him like an avalanche, brutal, unstoppable, all-destroying. His body convulsed with pleasure. John discovered that he had power over his orgasms, that he could control their duration. He made this one last five minutes. Best's little cock fired its modicum of semen in the first few seconds and then continued to pulsate without issue. But John's cock was inexhaustible. His jism didn't stop but came and came, surging out of him by the gallon, filling Best's entrails, bubbling up out of his pussy and pouring down his ass in great gouts. They cried out, howling into the night as they came and came.
They lay panting in a pool of their own cum. John looked forward to the rest of their evening together with great anticipation. Best wasapparently under the impression that they were finished.
"I have to tell you something, John."
"Oh? What do you have to tell me?" He knew this was going to be good.
"I've had a lot of guys, you know."
"Everyone knows, Best."
"Yeah. I guess. I've never had one like you, John. You're the best. You're the best I've ever had. You're the ultimate. What I'm saying to you is... well, I love you, John. I know we've known each other a long time and all, and I don't know why it took me so long to realize it, but... I love you. I want to be your man. I'm all yours."
John chuckled, a deep, manly sound. He would have to listen to a recording of his new voice soon, see what it sounded like. His laughter increased, floated up quietly to the ceiling. His erection returned, as hard and insistent as the previous two. "I know what you love, Best."
He rolled over on top of him.
The third time was as pleasant as the others. Best gasped with amazement when John mounted him for the fourth time. When John commenced the fifth time, Best tried to pull away.
"Hey, come on, man. You're going to put me in the hospital."
"If it's what I have to do to be satisfied, I'll kill you."
"No, really, enough. I can't do any more." The fussy little stage manager had returned, giving instructions. Obviously, John would have to discipline the boy.
"You'll do whatever I decide you'll do, Best."
"I don't want to stop, Best. I don't have to stop."
He pulled the boy to him. Best tried to resist, but John was filled with strength and sex. Best's struggles did not slow him down one bit. His strength was more than equal to the task of subduing the little wimp. How strong was he, he wondered? As strong as three men? Tenmen? His muscles flexed powerfully, this alone being enough to bring him to completion. But he was with Best, Best who needed to be controlled, Best who needed to be dominated utterly. The boy's struggles to be free excited him enormously. He slammed him down on the floor and fucked him slowly and luxuriously, pumping with long easy stokes that made Best groan with ecstasy.
For the sixth and seventh times, Best was docile and obedient. In the middle of the eighth time, he spoke again.
"Hey, man, could we stop after this? I can't handle any more."
"It doesn't matter what you think you can handle, Best. It only matters what I can handle. And I can handle so much more."
"No, really, man, you're freaking me out."
John slipped his cock into the boy's ass. "Do you feel my cock inside you, Best?"
Best moaned piteously. "Oh, God."
"Do you feel it, Best?"
"Yes. Oh, God, yes."
"Do you want this feeling to stop?"
He saw the boy struggling with his answer. "No!" he said finally. "No! Oh, God, don't stop!"
John smiled. "Then obey me!"
By the time they reached the ninth and tenth times--it had been about an hour now--Best had abandoned any attempt to control what happened, to control John. He belonged to him now. He wrapped himself around John and gave himself up completely to the pleasure. And now the encounter became truly interesting. John instructed him again to stay focused, to seek out new ways to give pleasure. With all his inhibitions defeated, Best complied brilliantly. His inventiveness was endless. He presented his firm, fuckable ass to John from a myriad of different angles in a myriad of different ways, each of which excited John to distraction. He discovered that Best enjoyed being spanked and spent a great deal of time inflicting a succession of erotic punishments. He hit him very hard. Best begged for more.
It lasted a very long time. John was learning the skills of fucking even as he performed the act. Best taught him technique while he taught Best servility. It was a very pleasurable transaction. He lost count of their orgasms after eighteen. There were plenty more after that, but how many he didn't care. He later guesstimated about sixty. Ten per hour for six hours.
At long last, he was fulfilled. Not that he was depleted. He would never be depleted. He knew he could walk down the block and fuck somebody else as extravagantly as he had fucked Best without any diminution of his prowess. But he was satisfied. He was done with Best.
He stood, letting Best slip off of his cock and slide to the floor. The little slut went instantly to sleep where he lay. John stood over him in the dark room lit only by the light from the street. Best lay in a stain of sweat and cum that John felt sure would not come out of the rug easily. Let him explain that to Callaway as well as he could.
He relaxed and felt his body, the colossal muscles, the huge member. His cock, magnificent even when limp, hung loosely over the curve of his balls. John felt a new feeling rising up inside of him, rising from his crotch and filling his body with its warmth. It was the feeling of tremendous, unstoppable masculinity, masculinity like he had always fantasized about. He was the manliest man in the world. He would accept no interference, no disrespect ever again. He would command his surroundings. He was a new man.
Best lay at his feet, a flaccid, boneless sack of flesh, drained, sexless, utterly defeated. He was done with Best now. He had had him, had him good and with finality. Best would always remember this as the finest piece of ass of his entire life. He would not fuck Best again. John knew Best would want more, would beg for more. Rejecting him would be the final pleasure, the completion of this encounter.
This last thought made him smile and his cock became hard. God, he was getting hot for himself! He ran his hands over his thick pectorals, his bulging arms, leaving his cock to swell and vibrate on its own. He let his head fall back and felt the sweet pleasure of his own touch shudder through him. He was ready to climax in seconds, even after hours of fucking. He reached down and grasped his pylon in his meaty hands and it instantly exploded, the ecstasy blasting through him like a roar of electric power, power that did not shock and debilitate but that filled him with its own might, charging him with strength and sex. He came hugely, great gouts of jism splattering across Best's recumbent body. It didn't stop, but went on and on, the cum emerging from some unlimited reservoir in his massive testicles, soaking Best, the carpet, the stacks of books. It went on for some minutes until it finally subsided. He sighed. He stood where he was, his head back, his eyes closed. He felt the power in his thighs, his loins, his arms. He opened his eyes. The bookstacks dripped with his cum, gallons of it. He looked down at Best.
"Tell Callaway I quit," he sneered.
He exulted in the feeling of incredible freedom. Freedom to fuck who he liked, when he liked. Surely no one could say no to him. Irresistibly beautiful, superhumanly strong, bursting with sex and confidence. My God, he had the world by the nuts!
He felt the city spreading out around them. A city full of firm, round butts longing to be fucked, longing for him. The world didn't know they wanted him yet, but they would learn.
"I will fuck them all," he whispered.
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