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|He woke up in an alley somewhere, his head aching and the inside of his
mouth felt fuzzy, like he'd been drinking. One hell of a hangover. What
had happened? Where was he? The alley was already completely dark, and by
the light coming from the street he could tell it was almost sunset.
Mike managed to move, barely. His head pounded with pain, and every muscle seemed sore. He felt achy all over, and his clothes pinched. He staggard to the edge of the alley, squinting at the fading sunlight and the neon signs as he tried to get his bearings.
He was close to home, he guessed. Maybe a fifteen minute walk. As he moved, the stiffness worked its way out of his joints, and his head cleared of pain, but it was replaced with a sort of dizziness, a high. It didn't feel bad, though, and Mike was almost able to enjoy it, except for the vague feeling of unease, the feeling that he'd done something he would regret.
His clothes pinched, though, like they'd shrunk a little. His jeans felt too tight in the thighs and crotch (this was a mixed feeling, both unpleasant and sexy), and his t-shirt felt like it was sticking to his flesh, the sleeves only coming down a third of the way of his biceps, dimpling the skin. A chilly wind blew and he shivered.
Fifteen minutes? He was probably a little further away than that. The cool wind nagged at him, and although he started to feel a little better, maybe even a little stronger than usual, he felt an overpowering urge to avoid the cold.
Suddenly, fate smiled upon him. He stopped in front of a picture window of some clothing store. There, on display, was a black leather jacket, the lights glinting dimly off its surface. It looked heavy, and he suddenly wanted the weight of it on his shoulders.
He remembered the red card in his wallet, and had the feeling that it contained as much money as he would ever need, but he shook his head with disgust. That would be too much hassle. Besides, a part of him urged, wouldn't it be fun to do something else?
He grinned his new grin. Looking both ways, he saw no one on the street. He pulled his arm back, and punched the glass as hard as he could. It cracked straight down the middle, setting off an alarm, but didn't break. So he punched it again, wincing at a sharp pain in his knuckles.
That did it. The glass shattered. Mike reached in and grabbed the coat, laughing as he ran away. As soon as he was safe, he put it on, enjoying the feel of it on his shoulders, feeling like it made him bigger. He caught his reflection in another window and realised that he did look bigger. He stopped for a moment and admired the stud reflected back at him, wearing tight jeans and a t-shirt, a black leather jacket completing the image. If he didn't know any better, he'd say he looked like a dangerous muscle stud. The jacket did wonders.
When he got home, he was beginning to feel really uncomfortable. As soon as he'd taken the jacket, he'd begun feeling that strange power rush through him, filling his body with a strange sort of feeling. His mind even buzzed, sending on some mysterious high where he felt better than he had in his life.
The downside was that his clothes started to feel tighter. In a way, it was kind of sexy, like he was getting bigger, but it was more annoying than anything else. His shirt sleeves dug into his flesh, his chest felt too restrained. He just wanted to get out of these clothes.
The moment he entered his door he took off the jacket, hanging it carefully on the back of a chair, and headed to the bathroom. After he'd peeled the shirt off his chest, he gaped at his reflection.
Looking back at him was a man with the body of a serious athlete. Swollen muscle covered his body, giving him a sleak, powerful look. His torso had taken on a "V" shape, his upper back having widened and his pecs grown. His shoulders were wider, bigger, and his biceps stood out even when he wasn't flexing. His wide, strong chest narrowed to a slim waist, his abs clearly visible under his flesh. A line of pubic hair drew his gaze down to his crotch, where the bulge in his jeans was far larger than could be explained by his growing hard-on. He felt the denim mold itself to his ass, could see by its tautness that his thighs had grown, but his eyes kept returning to his dick.
He undid his belt and slowly peeled his jeans off his legs. He could see his dick clearly through the precum-soaked underwear. It was almost unreal, to see such a massive piece of flesh. He'd always been on the upper side of average in that department, but now it looked like he blew average away. He stripped off his underwear, freeing his hard cock. He held it in his right hand, feeling the weight as it pulled on his groin. With his other hand he reached up and touched his pecs, at first hesitantly, and then with growing lust.
Whatever had happened, he wanted more of it. He slowly began to stroke his cock, trying to guess at how big it must be. Maybe ten inches? A little more? It was so wide that his hand could not get all the way around it. He had ample precum, and soon his dick was lubed, his hand sliding over its mass as he stroked his own chest, squeezing his nipple gently, before moving down to feel the mounds of his six-packed abs.
He threw his head back in pleasure, and made his way to the couch where he lay down, feeling a buzz in his head like he was high on something. It was unreal, and he stroked himself until he came, his come splattering all over him, feeling hot against his warm flesh. A burning began in his groin, almost painful, but more like pleasure. He felt it spread over his body, and he could almost feel it -changing- him. He had an image of fire, as the heat spread. A fire that purified and transformed whatever it touched. Down to his toes it went, and up through his muscled arms. It touched his head, and suddenly the image became real. He seemed to be standing over an ocean of fire, in a cavernous world. He felt a power suffuse through him, and he knew that he held dominion over this burning land. There was only one that he had to answer to, and he knew that he would always be a servant. Lust filled him as he imagined serving his Master -
And then the image faded away. The burning left his body, and he dismissed it all as an overactive imagination. His thoughts slowed, he felt drowsy. He forgot about how he'd found the leather jacket, about the changes that had transformed him. Instead, he slipped into sleep. It was there that Alex's face was recalled, and only there that he realised the peril he was in.
The phone rang, suddenly pulling him from sleep. Groggily he went to the phone. He felt strange, like the way he moved had changed, like he was heavier. His drowsy mind could not put this change into context before he had picked up the receiver and muttered a bleary "Hello?"
"Mike?" Mike recognised the voice, but could not name it. He blinked, trying to get his vision back. He felt sore, so he sat back down on the couch.
"Yeah?" He groaned. He -did- feel heavier. What had -
"Are you alright?" Suddenly Mike recognised the voice as Gabe's. Knwoing this cleared his head like a ray of sunshine through dense fog.
"Yeah . . . yeah, I was . . . napping." Mike looked out the window, and was surprised to see it was daylight. He'd slept the whole night away? Was it morning? He looked around for a clock.
"Oh." Gabe hesitated. "Well, I was just wondering if you'd like to get together sometime."
Mike stopped, his eyes glued to his reflection.
It all came back to him, or at least most of it. He still couldn't remember what had happened on the bus, or yesterday afternoon, but he remembered coming home, seeing his reflection, the extra mass that shouldn't have been there. He was still naked, and his cock began to stir from where it lay against his thigh.
He hadn't grown any bigger since last night, but he did look different. He still hadn't shaved, but his stubble hadn't grown out much more than before. It -was- darker, but that only seemed to give him a squarer jaw, a more sexy face. His skin was darker, too, as if he'd just spent a couple weeks in a sunny part of the world. The tan seemed to emphasize his increase in muscle, making him look bigger and sexier.
"Mike are you there?"
"Um...yeah. I am, just...uh...I thought I saw something outside the window."
"So...um...sure, I'd love to do something," this, at least, was true. Gabe seemed to touch a part of Mike that needed to be touched. He'd only spent an hour with the man, but he suspected that there might be something there between them.
"How about dinner? Tomorrow night?"
Mike forgot about the sudden changes, when he realized just what was happening. Gabe was asking him out!
"Sure! Where will I meet you?"
"How about I pick you up?"
Mike agreed and told Gabe his address. They talked a while longer, but Mike didn't hold up to well on his side as he began to be distracted by his new body again. They said their goodbyes, and then Mike was alone again.
He was about to jack off again, when something -did- catch his eye outside of the window. He looked out and down, to the street. Playing in the road, he could see a blond-haired kid, a boy. For some reason this child held his attention, and he felt a weight lift off his shoulders. Laughter drifted up from the street, and he recognised it as the same innocent laughter he'd heard yesterday morning.
Grabbing his jacket, he ran down the two flights of stairs and out into the street, but by the time he got there, the boy was gone, only an echo of his carefree laughter remained.
He spent the next day at home. Restlessness gnawed at him, but he had a strange feeling that if he left the apartment he might not get back in time to meet Gabe. He had to pass the time somehow, and so he divided it between jacking off and worrying himself sick over how to hide the changes in his body from Gabe.
Strictly speaking, there was no reason why he -had- to hide. He felt that he could trust Gabe. The thing was, he knew that if anyone saw these sudden changes, questions would be asked, and Mike felt a strange reluctance to answer those questions. He felt like once he tried to explain things, it would lead to more questions. He'd have to talk about his strange impulses, his growing loss of control, his newly-acquired bad temper. He'd have to try to remember those strange periods where his memory seemed to fail, and for some reason he definitely did not want to do that. He felt like those moments were a secret, a private time, and he didn't want anyone to invade them.
He experimented with different clothes, and this was an experiemnce in itself. Anything that used to be somewhat tight on him was absolutely too small now. He ended up trashing half his wardrobe. The other half was a different experience altogether.
Anything he tried on seemed not only to show his assets, but to accentuate them. His shirts clung invitingly to his chest, stretched impressively around his biceps, and molded themselves to his wide back. His pants all seemed to lift his cock and balls, as though he meant to show them off....which, in a way, he did. If he hadn't been so concerned about Gabe's reaction, he probably would have been in the streets half-naked by now.
Just the idea made his dick hard. He ended up jacking off 9 times that day, the ninth time mostly because he had never been so horny, and the idea that his sex drive was up made him hornier.
He was just finishing up when the buzzer sounded. Gabe was here!
In a panic, Mike grabbed jeans and a clean white t-shirt. Putting on his leather jacket, he realised this was the best he could do. The jacket seemed to have a dual nature: it hid the changes, but seemed to accentuate them at the same time. He looked like the old Mike, only bigger, more dangerous. He grinned his new grin while he looked at his reflection, and his dick throbbed. He rubbed it through the denim, a sigh of pleasure escaping his lips, and then Gabe knocked at the door.
The bistro that Gabe took them to was unfamiliar to Mike, although he'd heard some good things about it from his more cultured friends. Gabe had made reservations, and so seating wasn't a problem. Their table was small, with a candle burning in the middle. The lights were dimmed throughout the restaraunt, giving the whole building a romantic air.
As they looked over the menu, they made small talk, tentatively feeling each other out, trying to guage what they were getting into. Mike discovered that Gabe shared many of his interests, but had some that intrigued him. Somehow Gabe managed to maintain an air of mystery that only made Mike want to know more, while at the same time, Gabe seemed to really -listen- to Mike.
After the waitor had taken their order, Gabe reached across the table, taking Mike's hands into his own. It seemed an almost casual gesture, except that he kept gazing into Mike's eyes as he did it. Their conversation skipped a beat, and it would have been awkward, except that Mike could almost feel a connection forming between them.
As they talked, Mike took in Gabe's features, memorizing the way he smiled (gorgeously), the way his brow furrowed when he asked a question (adorably), the way he winked when he told a joke (beautifully).
By the time dinner was served, Mike was certain that he liked this man very much, that if he wasn't careful "like" could turn into "love".
But as he ate, something changed. One part of him remained focused on Gabe, going on as predicted, overjoyed whenever they discovered a common bond, intrigued when a minor chord of tension was struck. But another part of him grew restless.
The restaraunt began to seem cramped to him, too warm and stuffy. He was famished, but the food tasted strange, wrong somehow. One of his forks had a spot on it, and he felt his temper flare briefly. These people were -paid- to clean the dishes, couldn't they put some effort into it?
The waiter kept coming back to ask if everything was alright, and Mike began to resent the pestering slob. He wanted to tell him that the meat was soggy and spongy, that the vegetables had had all their flavour boiled out of them, that the rice tasted like crap.
Gabe seemed to sense something was wrong, and seemed about to ask what, when the waiter came back again, to tell Mike that the dessert he'd ordered wasn't available that night.
Mike stood up and roared, "WHAT?"
He felt the now-familiar tingle spread through his body, power seemed to dance in his veins. He felt like someone had shot him up with some high-octane drug, like crack or speed.
"Mike, calm d-" Gabe stopped as his hand rested on Mike's arm. He had intened to pull Mike down, but his eyes widened as he realised just how large Mike's arm was. "Mike, what's happened to you?"
Mike suddenly came to himself. He saw the waiter, wide-eyed and shivering, take a step back. He saw Gabe looking up at him, his blue eyes wide with concern. He saw the entire restaraunt looking at him, surprise, fear, and curiosity mingled in their features. The strength drained from his limbs, and suddenly he felt like sobbing. Instead, he pushed his seat back, knocking it over, and ran from the shop.
As he ran, rage replaced shame. The tingling began again, stronger this time, as if angered at having been denied in the bistro. He needed to hurt something, to break something. He felt like he'd betrayed Gabe somehow, but gradually he began to feel that it was right to do so. Maybe he had liked the man, but Gabe could only hold him back. A small part of him held out against this, but eventually was defeated. He felt that part wail in despair as if it was ripped out of him
He bent down and grabbed a fist-sized rock. Then, with all his strength, he hurled it at a window. The smash was satisfying, and he felt pleasure course through his body as the tingling changed pitch. It grew into a need, and suddenly he knew what he had to do.
He ran through the city streets. One person found themselves in his way and he pushed them to the ground. This seemed even better than breaking some inanimate object.
He suddenly turned on the man, and began to pound his face in. He imagined the face to be the waiter's, or Mr. Harolds'. The man was crying by the time he stopped, his face a bloody mess. Mike tossed him to the ground, finished with him.
He'd stopped because something had changed. His clothes felt tighter again, his shoulders pushed against the leather jacket, its sleeves stretched when he bent his arms. He was getting bigger!
Suddenly he was filled with lust. He wanted someone to see his new body, suck his new cock which he knew was bigger. He wanted to ram his hard dick up someone's ass, whether they wanted it or not.
Then he saw the strange man again. -Alex- the name appeared in his mind, fseeming to fill his head with its importance.
The world seemed to stop as Alex walked toward him. Alex looked even bigger this time, more impressive, loaded with muscle. Gone was his suit, or most of it. He still wore his pants, that were stretched in the thighs and crotch, but he was bare-chested. As he walked under a neon light, his flesh seemed to take on a reddish hue, but then it was back to flesh colour again as the dark man came closer.
He reached out, as if seeking to embrace Mike with his massive arms, and Mike suddenly found himself kneeling before him. The image of a land of fire returned to him, and he knew suddenly that this man was his Master.
A wind began to gust around them, sending garbage spinning like a cyclone as Mike hurriedly pulled at Alex's pants, revealing a monster cock. He sucked him off while Alex calmly stroked his hair and upper back.
"You are almost mine," Alex said. "And you will get bigger."
Mike's world vanished beneath wind and fire, muscle and cock.
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