Augmentations by AKA (musc)

Augmentations

by AKA

Part 1

Thing is? Walking in? He didn’t look all that impressive. I mean, sure, he looked fucking amazing as hell, but I’d seen better. All these so-called couture babies were growing up, and when your parents are hand-picking your vitals from a catalog, you’re bound to be good looking, right?

Still, there’s handsome and then there’s drop-dead gorgeous, and he easily fit into the latter category, but I still had my doubts about the whole thing, particularly when the money transfer went through and the dent in my bank account showed up. Who pre-pays for these things? I mean, I’ve had my share - maybe more than my share - of professional sex. Ever since it was legal, I’ve been a happy customer of some of the most talented, beautiful and fucking dirty-minded men in the world.

I can afford it, so what the hell, right?

Still, this guy came with quite a pedigree, not to mention some hard-to-believe claims that two of my own buddies were more than happy to acknowledge. “Don’t want to spoil him for you,” they said, grinning like schoolboys who just discovered the stash of porn mags in the garage. “But you’ll be satisfied.”

So here he was now, all six feet six inches of him. Again, I’d seen bigger. And, sure, I’d have to admit that the overall impression of his entrance was both impressive and a little staggering. He was clothed, or very nearly. He had the licenses for public nudity and public sex - I made sure that this place also had the requisite licenses - so there was really no reason for him to be, but I appreciated the conceit. I’d paid for him, after all. He really shouldn’t be giving any of it away for free, even if a look at his goods amounted to advertising. Plus, there was always the problem of an accidental bonding with someone else. Supposedly they’d fixed that with the pre-bonding DNA requirement that was now part of the contract, but a little caution never hurt.

I was sitting at my table near the back. Isolated, a bit, because one never knows what’s going to happen and even though I like a good, horny public romp as much as the next dude, unless I’m the one getting paid there’s no fucking way I’m putting on a show for anyone.

Watching him walk toward me was fun. He had a very good walk, like his hips were oiled. Oddly, his shoelaces were undone and dragged along the carpet. He had a hand on his crotch, as if he had to hold himself in or the fucking thing was going to rip itself free and start fucking the nearest ass. He walked slowly, taking off his jacket as he walked and then stripping a pair of sleek black leather gloves from his hands. His eyes were locked on me the whole time. I admit, it got my heart racing as his features became clearer and I got to watch the whole of his incredible body work across the darkened bar towards me.

He placed his jacket on the back of his chair. “Hello,” he said, simple as that. He was standing there looking down at me. I was sitting there at crotch-level to him. His bulge was prominent, insistent, grandiose. He wasn’t wearing underwear, or if he was it was made of something so sheer and material so thin that the basic outline of his ample equipment was easily distinguished. I could see everything as if he were already naked. It made my own cock slowly plump, and I could feel myself getting physically warmer in his presence.

“Hi,” I answered back, trying to sound nonchalant. My mouth had gone dry and I think I licked my lips. He smiled, then, and I felt like he knew he already had me - not that there was ever any doubt about who was in charge of the situation, even though I had initiated the meeting. Still, it was both disconcerting and a major turn-on for me to note his dominance without doing anything but walking in the room.

He was wearing an outfit that I had prescribed for him. Blue jeans, white t-shirt, Converse All Stars. The jeans hung low on his hips, and the shirt’s hem rode high, revealing a slim line of bared skin and a small, smiling naval. A slim vertical trail of dark curls ran a straight line through his evident abdominal bulges, hinting at the fullness of the furry bush crowning his glorious manhood. I could smell him very distinctly, the stink of his sweat and ass mingling with something else, something more refined, but no less enticing to me.

How he had managed to squeeze himself into his clothing was something I intended to ask when it was all over. I mean, they looked like the same things I would buy, but they clung to his muscles in a most unusual and highly erotic fashion. Here was a man whose body was pumping out so much testosterone it was practically leaking onto the floor, and whose brain was concerned with one goal and one goal only at the moment - to make me happy.

I just wanted to enjoy this moment. Just drink him in, all his beauty, all his power, all his pure overwhelming masculine presence.

He was standing there looking all kinds of amazing. He was exactly what I wanted, exactly what I had ordered. Maybe he wasn’t what I wanted, or maybe I didn’t know what I wanted until he appeared before me now after a single click of my mouse on a button that read “Submit.”

Funny, that.

He had dark hair and blue eyes, a contrast I find both striking and sexy. His eyes were blue, but of a certain hue. Not an average blue, of course. Who would spend all this money for average anything? No, his eyes were the color of the sky at dawn, darker at the rim than at the center. Long lashes, too. Something about long eye lashes - I just really like them.

His face was achingly handsome. Almost too perfect, but with enough character to make him appear human and approachable. I knew that when I touched him, when I touched his skin, it would feel warm and silken under my fingers. It would provide an enhanced tactile pleasure as if it were designed to do so, because it was. His eyes looked down at my face with something like love, or so I imagined. It was all he could do to stand there like that without attacking me. That’s how badly he wanted me, to be with me, to give me pleasure and make me feel so good that all I would ever want was to be with him.

And he was capable of doing that, which slightly scared me - at least, it did the first time I’d experienced one of these fine young men. It was like being a drug addict surrounded with syringes filled with the purest heroin the market could provide. Something so good that you couldn’t put it down or leave it behind, and that you would do anything, pay anything, to have it.

But the fantasy is always better than the reality, isn’t it? Even when the two collide, like they did in him? “Please,” I said finally, “have a seat.”

He nodded and I watched him, marveling in every movement of that gloriously muscular body. I could see all his brawn bulge and flex, watch the muscle shift under his silken skin, watch that fat, huge prick shift and move in its denim basket, thick and firm and luscious in its perfection and abundance. He moved his perfect ass into the seat across the table from mine and set his palms on the crisp white table cloth, resting one on the other. A fine network of veins moved up his forearms and over the masses of meat bulging from his upper arms.

The sleeves of his t-shirt shrank up and away from the rounded balls of muscle, offering a peek at the moist, soft forest of fur within his warm pits, smelling so strongly of his musk. “I like this place,” he said. His voice was a resonant bass, almost absurdly masculine in tone, as if his words were falling from his mouth like hard stones with smooth surfaces. I wanted to hear him whispering filth into my ears as I felt him enter me from behind, shoving every thick inch of his miraculous cock up my ass.

“Do you want something to drink?” I asked.

A slight smile touched his lips. My God, I thought, his mind is so dirty. I knew exactly what he was thinking, what he wanted to say, that he was imagining my prick between his full, soft lips as he sucked and I came and shot thick, hot fountains of cream down his throat as he hungrily guzzled. “Beer,” he said, and then the smile increased slightly, and he added, “for now.”

I lifted my eyes away from him and signaled a waiter, whose attention we already possessed. Or he did, at least. I was good looking, in an average human way, but nothing compared to the man sitting across from me. I could feel my gaze being drawn back to him like a magnet to a lode stone. I could not not look at him. The waiter said something but I was already lost in a haze of desire, so he said, “Beer, please. Anything on tap. As long as it’s cold.”

The waiter responded again, but it was now as if no one else existed but him. He was doing it, already. But I couldn’t think, and didn’t want to. “You’re beautiful,” I told him, needlessly. But he was obviously pleased by my compliment, and he reached his hand towards mine as his smile increased several watts in power.

“Thank you,” he said softly. As his fingertips rested on the back of my hand, my whole body registered the touch. I knew it was coming, but now that he had touched me, even with so slight a brush of his flesh to mine and the contract was completed, I felt a rush of blood to my extremities and face. I silently thanked whomever had kept the place so dimly lit, so that I could avoid embarrassing myself in his eyes.

An electric shock of erotic promise shot through me. My cock twitched hard and my nipples tingled and the hairs on my neck and the back of my head stood on end. My face felt hot and my fingers felt cold as the blood inside me shifted, rushing into my prick and lighting my erogenous zones up like a pinball machine. Or was it the bonding? I wasn’t supposed to feel it, but I felt something. Probably the excitement of the moment. Was I so easily seduced?

But who wouldn’t be? Who could resist him? Who would even want to?

He pulled his hand back, probably realizing the effect the slight touch of him was having on me, and settled into his chair, shifting the masses of raw brawn in a most agreeable fashion. I watched his nipples, each perfect dark circle mounted at the edge of those thick mountains of muscle, rise and press intently against the white cotton of his shirt and ached to lick them and feel them swell and harden. The outline of his shoulders, the thick lobes of power swelling against each other, rose up beneath the seams. His neck, long and elegant and powerful, flexed with muscle. I could see his pulse along a vein, the strength of his heart, the immense power of his body focused in that small, steady movement. He had no beard to speak of, of course. His flawless features and sculpted jawline was unadorned. His entire body would be smooth and hairless like that. His full, sensuous lips parted as I studied his face, and he said, “May I ask you a question?”

His voice was rich and full, and sent shivers through me. “Of course,” I said.

“Why did you wish to meet here, rather than in your home?”

I cleared my throat and pursed my lips. “Part of the fantasy,” I said, honestly. “Temptation, suspense, the toying of emotions.”

His smile returned. “I see.” His handsome face tilted slightly and he drew his thick eyebrows together over those blue, blue eyes. “What role do I play in this? Should I be the hunter or the quarry?”

“Either would suffice,” I replied, “but let’s be honest here - if anyone is the quarry, it’s you.”

“A captive?” He asked it with something like hope in his voice. I wondered if his cock was swelling, and wanted to watch it.

“A prize,” I said, warming to the conversation. “It’s how this commonly works, you know, between two people.”

“Tell me,” he said, genuinely intrigued. If he was faking it, he was doing it convincingly.

“There are any number of ways for people to meet, but usually only one goal.”

“Sex,” he said, speaking the word like a seduction.

“Initially,” I clarified, “but if the two people click…” His eyebrow ached elegantly, and I said, “If they… have a connection. If they get along on several wavelengths, not just physically.” He made an ‘O’ with his mouth and nodded understanding. “Then they may choose to become a couple.”

“A couple of what?” His sense of humor seemed so dry, I doubted that he had one. Was he kidding, or was he honestly so young? These days, it was hard to tell. Everything was accelerated, but he was legal, and that was all that mattered.

“Just a couple,” I said. “They remain together.”

“Exclusively?” His face showed an incomprehension at the idea.

“Sometimes, sometimes not.” I paused as the beers arrived and were placed between us. He lifted his and waited for me to do the same, then dipped the rim of his glass forward and waited for mine to touch. I smiled at the surprise, because I didn’t expect him to know the custom, but he was very well trained in these things - the things that brought people closer and lead to naked bodies crushed against each other, hot and covered in sweat. “Anyway,” I said, after swallowing, “I thought you would enjoy this. You don’t get out very often, or so I’m told.”

He didn’t answer. He set his glass down and sat forward slowly, his eyes glued to mine. “What do we do, now?”

“Ordinarily I might discuss my job, or my hobbies. Places I’ve been, videos I’ve seen. Then you would reciprocate.”

“I can do that,” he stated, with an odd sense of pride.

“It’s all right,” I answered, “I’d rather listen to you speak.”

“What should I speak about?”

“Tell me about you,” I said. “Tell me how you came to be the man you are, sitting here with me, looking like that.”

His smile was magnificent. His eyes sparkled and his body seemed to swell with pride - or power. “Really?” he asked. “Most people don’t want to know.”

“I want to know,” I said. “Tell me about you.”

“There isn’t much to tell,” he said, his voice low and seductive. Did he intend it to sound that way, or could he not help himself? Was every utterance, every word, every soft sound that escaped those full, kissable lips a seduction?

“Tell me anyway,” I asked, “I like to hear your voice.”

“But you already know all about….”

“Please.”

He paused again, perhaps considering how much to divulge, before he spoke again. “There are two types. Augmentation and amplification. I’ve had several of both.”

“Amplification?” I asked, smiling slightly and remembering the feeling of stretching my jaw open, almost painfully, to accommodate someone of his girth.

His smile dazzled. His talented tongued darted forward and painted a sheen of spit across his lower lip. It gleamed like a swollen cock head. “Amplifications are generally physical or medical, but may also be mental. Augmentations can be cognitive, psychic, tactile, sensual… things of that nature.”

“And you?”

“The works,” he said. “And a few of them have been given supplemental strength.”

“Which ones?”

“Muscular-skeletal, obviously.” I allowed my eyes to drop along the lines of his body. He seemed to swell outward as he spoke, making the seams of his tight clothes strain. His hand moved over his chest and belly and under the table, and he started moving his grip over the bulging mass of cockmeat held captive in his jeans, grinning lasciviously. “Genital.”

“Obviously.”

“Cognitive, psychic and a few… special upgrades.”

“Cognitive?”

“It helps me anticipate your desires.”

“And psychic?”

“More… active mental gymnastics. It helps you enjoy it more. Just a gentle nudge here and there. Sometimes to soften my… the... impact. And inhibitions have a tendency to decrease my success rate.”

“What about licenses?”

He counted them off on his fingers. They were beautiful fingers. His nails shone like polished stones. “Escort, sexual surrogate, sexual training, public nudity, public sex, nothing too unusual.” He met my eyes and smiled.

I swallowed hard. There was nothing he couldn’t do. No act he was incapable of performing, no request he couldn’t satisfy completely, immediately, and perfectly.

Not everyone could afford him. His services, that is. And it was hard not to think of him as a sort of slave, though it was equally hard to imagine that he was suffering in any way. As I sat there looking at him, knowing what I had in mind for him and me, a kind of glee ran through me, like a child on Christmas morning when it was finally time to open the presents. “And the others?”

A smile lit his lips. “Yes?”

“What do you talk about when you’re alone?”

“With the others?” I nodded, watching the spark of interest in his gaze. Something else lit his features now, besides my presence. The memory of his brother initiates, and what they do together. “There isn’t much talk,” he answered.

“Much? Or none at all?”

His head tilted. “Enough.”

“Enough for what?”

He leaned in conspiratorially. “Enough to say ‘fuck me,’ or ‘this is going to feel amazing,’ or ‘I’m gonna cum.’”

“General warnings,” I said.

“Advice,” he countered.

“Are you happy?”

“I’m very happy,” he said. “but I could be happier.”

“How?”

“To be naked for you. To be naked with you. To pull off these clothes, strip myself of them, for you. Get hard for you. To fuck you. To feel you fucking me. To suck your dick until you cum.”

Jesus, my cock was hard. “Is it the same with everyone?”

“It’s different with everyone.” His breath was warm across the table.

“I mean, do you end up doing things with everyone the same way?”

“Tonight, right now, I only want to be with you,” he said.

I dropped it. Why spoil the moment? And maybe he actually did want to be with me more than anyone else in the room. Probably that was true, because he was mine tonight, and only for me. Everything about him, from the way he looked to the way he spoke to the way he moved, acted, dressed… he was everything I desired. He was perfect.

“You said augmentation and amplification.”

“I did,” he acknowledged.

“And you were...”

“I was perfected,” he stated.

That was true. I let my eyes explore his beauty. God, he was magnificent. So huge, so powerful, so strong. Just the thought of him naked, again, the idea of seeing him in my bed, his body sprawled out gloriously, his cock at attention, and all he wanted was me. I squeezed my ass and made my cock pulse and shove inside my pants. “Public nudity?”

“And public sex,” he stated, hopefully. He placed his hands at the hem of his shirt and pulled the material up, revealing the perfection of his body. “We can do it right now,” he said, slowly circling his right nipple with the middle finger of his right hand. His chin dipped and his eyes closed and he sank into a moment of bliss. “Come on,” he whispered, coarsely. His blue eyes opened and focused on mine. “Let me get you out of those clothes. My cock hurts, it’s so hard for you. I want to slam you down on this table and shove myself deep inside. I want you to feel every fat inch of me. Right now.”

He leaned back and started to caress the enormous length of dick shoving so hard against its confines that the teeth of his zipper were pulling apart.

In my head, I saw the two of us pushing the beers and flowers and tablecloth from the space between us, and he was literally ripping his body free of its clothing, exposing every perfectly formed inch of his powerful frame, the bulging biceps, the massive pecs, the tight six-pack belly, the long powerful legs and of course that beast at his loins, the insatiable and constantly swollen monster that did whatever I wanted. He was built for sex and every physical act, able to do anything I wanted of him, whether it was to me or for me or from me, and every act would leave him begging for more. “Your beer is getting warm.”

“I want to fuck you,” he said softly, brushing a hand through his dark mane. My eye was drawn to his bicep. Big as a grapefruit, hard as steel. “I want to see your naked body. I want to lick your ass and taste your hole. I want to smell your stink. I want to shove my hard cock so deeply inside you that you’ll scream.”

Fuck, this was so hot. “What else?”

He leaned forward slowly, the words emitting from his lips like promises. “I want to ride you,” he said. “I want to be on top of you, and inside you, pumping hard. I want to kiss your mouth and suck your tongue and wrap my strong arms around your body. I want to crush you, to make you feel my power, my strength, my muscles. I want you to cum so hard your eyes roll back in your head and your breath escapes your lungs and you feel your balls empty.”

“Right here?”

He nodded.

“Right now?”

He smiled.

“Fuck,” I whispered, sorely tempted.

He lifted the shirt up his body and pulled it over his head. His muscular development was awesome. He was huge everywhere. Perfectly proportioned pecs with silver-dollar nipples spread thick and huge across his chest. His arms were overwhelmed with muscle. His shoulders and delts were packed with brawn. Fat lobes and thick cables and hard wedges of muscle bulged beneath his flawless, silky skin.

He set the shirt on the table and stood up, half-naked already, and set his fingers to pry his belt buckle open. It clattered and rang out loudly as it fell apart, and he was watching my reaction as he undid the button at the top of his low-hanging jeans and started to pull the crotch open. The slim dark trail of curls erupted into a thick, shiny bush of rough pubes. The heavy root of his massive shank of cockflesh appeared as the zipper peeled apart. He dipped his paw inside the sweaty, warm basket of his jeans and grabbed onto the mass of his shaft and started to extract himself, tugging and pulling inch after heavy inch of cock into the open.

It began to throb and pulse as it struck the air. He rubbed his thumb over the helmet and drew away a gleaming droplet of his own precum and lifted it to his lips, sliding his thumb inside his mouth and sucking the salty essence. His tight pants still clung to his bulbous and meaty ass even after he had managed to pull his cock and balls free. His cock continued to rise to its majestic and impossible fullness, swelling thicker and harder and longer with each passing second. His balls looked like two hen’s eggs, and his huge prick wavered like a flagpole in a stiff breeze as he circled the table towards me. “Do you want to suck me?” he asked, needlessly.

Of course I did. My god, I did! He was getting bigger by the second. How big was he? How big would he get? I tried to pull a calming breath into my lungs even as I stared longingly at the magnificence of his erection. Veins popped along the shaft. The head was shiny in the dim light, and the eye was open to emit a surge of clear honey that grew into a fat orb before its weight caused it to drizzle in a thick river down his dick.

I moved my hand toward him and dipped my touch into the richness of his precum, running my fingers up several inches of his fat cock to gather a thick gob of his salty essence. I drew them from his fount and sucked them through my lips, slurping his honey onto my tongue. Of course he tasted good. A rich tang of sex erupted inside my mouth and his scent grew strong and heavy in my senses. I watched his prick drool as I sucked his taste off my fingertips, feeling the rich heat of him against my face.

“Take your pants off,” I said. The muscles of his arms twisted like cobras under his skin. The mountainous muscle hanging from his chest bunched and spread as he worked his jeans off his hips and over the supreme roundness of his powerfully built ass. Another eruption of his masculine scent rose from him as he exposed his sweaty crotch. Two fat balls, heavy with his seed, fell forward and down, hanging like massive eggs atop the finely veined muscles lining his thighs.

He had to push the jeans off his legs. Then he stepped out of them and I realized he’d already removed his shoes - he had anticipated this! Probably planned it! That was the reason for his undone laces. Fuck, the man read me like a book.

He pushed the discarded jeans aside with his foot and then stood there, naked and glorious, shameless and justifiably proud. His massive cock, a foot long if it was an inch, was still throbbing toward its ultimate size. Already firm but visibly swelling, the mouth of his manhood was pumping a steady drizzle of precum. It coated his helmet like glass and flowed thickly down his shaft. His scent was thick and rich and heady, now. Ass and balls and sweat and muscle. “Come closer,” I said softly.

He did, taking a step forward. The monstrous erection rising from between his powerful legs slowly rocked side to side. “Lick me,” he said, both a command and a supplication. He needed my mouth on his prick. He wanted to feel me worship him.

I leaned forward, and then smiled and looked up into those blue eyes. “No,” I said. God, I wanted to. My God, I did.

“Please,” he said, softer still. His voice was gruff and raspy, the sound of tectonic plates rubbing against each other.

“No,” I answered again.

His hands balled into fists. The muscles of his torso bulged with a sudden fierceness and thick veins stood out on his neck and arms. “I’m gonna fucking explode,” he said.

I smiled. I wanted him to. “I want you to.”

“Please,” he begged. “Please.”

“No,” I answered.

“M’gonna cum,” he whispered. Still so much power in his voice. “You’re making me cum.”

“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t cum.”

His balls were churning. His cock was steel hard, and hotter than the sun. I knew his flood was pushing for its release. The dam was going to burst. “Oh, fuck,” he said.

I reached out and grabbed his dick hard, squeezing his shaft. Fuck, he was hard! It was like squeezing a rock! Was his cock made of muscle? Could a cock get that hard? “Don’t cum,” I said. “I don’t want you to cum.”

“Can’t,” he whimpered. “Can’t hold it.”

“Why do you have to cum?”

“Because of you,” he said. “Oh, fuck, I want you so bad. I need you so bad.”

There was strain and desire in his voice. His cock was thick and hard and pulsing. “Will you cum without my permission?”

“No,” he said. “No,” again, softer. But the muscles of his body were stark and bulging against his flesh. Veins were everywhere. It seemed like he was truly about to explode, as if the action of withholding the wealth of cream in his balls from erupting up and out the fat inches of his magnificent prick was causing his whole body to swell with brawn.

He was so close. Already on the verge of a huge ejaculation and we hadn’t kissed, hadn’t done anything at all. Just my proximity and his bond to me, now. My very presence made him this way. The scent of me. The sensation of my closeness. He was doomed from the moment he touched my hand.

I’m sure everyone was watching us. I’m sure they couldn’t avoid it. The majestic naked man, his foot-long cock engorged and throbbing, drooling precum onto the crisp white tablecloth as I squeezed it as if milking him. His huge body, overwhelmed with muscle, standing tall and true and awaiting my desire, my wish, my command. “When I place my lips to your cock head,” I said, very slowly, “you may cum in my mouth.”

“Thank you,” he answered.

“But not until then,” I added, stroking the full length of him. He was so hot under my touch. His blood was on fire. His cock bulged against my hand and his balls churned and moved with the full load of his cream.

“I understand,” he said.

“Are you ready?”

“Fuck, yes,” he stated. “Oh, fuck, I want to cum inside your mouth. Oh, fuck, I can hardly hold on. I want you so, so badly.”

I licked my lips. His monstrous meat throbbed angrily an inch from my mouth. The tip drooled a steady stream of precum and full, thick veins wound around the shaft like lightning bolts. The wealth of his foreskin was stripped back and the helmet was shiny and red. It jutted forward from him like a tree limb, its weight and heft keeping it at a 90-degree angle from his perfect muscular body. It bulged with his need, and grew fatter as I watched it.

I leaned slowly forward and opened my mouth. I darted my tongue forward and touched it to the end of his prick, tasting his salty essence and drawing back a thin clear string of honey. The tang of his taste coated my lips and I sucked it off. He pulled in a sudden deep breath and his hands balled into fists. I was torturing him, and we were both enjoying it.

His cock was magnificent. I could’ve remained seated there in that dark bar with his huge meat throbbing before me forever. It was a thing of gorgeous masculine power and immense sexual might, thick and powerful and juicy, ready to go off and fountain his massive flood of hot cream, the ultimate expression of his desire and his power.

A deep groan escaped his chest. His cobblestone belly heaved with each breath. Trickles of sweat, scented with his intense funky spice, wound through the curls on his huge pecs. A droplet clung to one nipple, quivering and plump.

I smiled and licked my lips, staring forward at his cock. Another drizzle of precum grew to a fat ball of honey and drooled from the eye. “Please,” he begged me. “Please…”

I pursed my lips and leaned forward. I kissed the tip of it. He was hot and hard. A slick of precum coated my lips. He nearly came. I felt him surge and bulge as I kissed him, but he managed to contain his load for another heartbeat.

He was right on the verge. Right on the edge. He could probably feel it pushing up the inches of his prick, filling it up with his seed, ready to explode with a fat, thick spray. I licked the tip and sucked his clear honey inside my mouth. “You’re perfect,” I said.

Then I opened my mouth and welcomed him inside.

He immediately exploded. His first blast more than filled my mouth, and I nearly choked on the wealth of his fountain. It squirted out between my lips and his shaft and another fat gush was already following it up. He groaned again and sighed and came again. The third as full and rich as the first. I guzzled and gulped and swallowed as fast as I could manage, feeling his heat and power flowing down my throat and into my belly.

He came copiously and continuously and fully. Gushing blasts of his cream filled my mouth. A dozen thick thrusting gouts of hot cream and he still wasn’t done. I drank it all down, every drop I could keep in my mouth, feeding my need for his strength and beauty and power as if he was giving it to me through this thick fount. I grabbed onto his ass and held him inside and he started to thrust and fuck my face. I sucked and slurped and wrapped my tongue around his fat cock and felt it surge and bulge as he came over and over.

At last he sighed and I felt his hands on my face, his warm palms against my cheeks, and he lifted my eyes to his face and his beautiful smile and he said, “Thank you.”

I pulled my mouth off his still drooling cock, sucking off the last precious drops of pearlescent cream, and licked my lips of his taste. “You’re very welcome,” I said. “That was amazing.”

He winked. “And we’ve only started.”

His cock, all twelve thick inches of it, swung like a pendulum as he moved back toward his seat and sat down as his beer arrived. His dick was throbbing a steady beat against his 8-pack as he reached forward and took the sweating glass into his hand, swigging down a heavy gulp of the bitter brew before setting the half-empty glass back on the table and setting his hand to his upright cock, slowly stroking its inches as it eagerly retained its erect status. “You okay?” I asked, eyeing his non-stop erection.

He nodded and said, “I’m perfect.” He gazed down at his amazing prick and wound the pad of his thumb around the head, coating the glossy helmet. “Would you prefer that I…?”

“No, no,” I answered quickly. “If you can stay that way…”

“I can,” he answered. “As long as you want me to.”

It was going to be a very interesting evening.

Part 2

As I drove us to my home through the dark, wet night, I couldn’t help but think about how quickly things change when change is forced.

My car was powered by a hydrogen cell, and emitted only water vapor into the atmosphere. “They’ll never make them work,” it was said, only a few years ago. But then it became clear that there was no other choice, and miraculously now everyone drives a hydrogen car because everyone has to.

“Prostitution will never be legalized.” Until the economy collapsed and the governments needed cash to upgrade the infrastructure, so of course they turned to sex and drugs, legalizing and taxing it all. Now I go to the corner coffee shop and pick up a bag of weed, and go online to peruse the sex partners available on a nightly basis. All fully licensed, all fully legal.

New miracles were occurring all the time. Scientific, economic, mechanical, technical, pharmaceutical.

It’s amazing how quickly things change when there’s no other choice.

I thought about all that for a while as I sat in the left-hand seat and let my car find its way home. Magnetic channels embedded in the road surface were guiding the vehicle to my appointed destination. My eyes were closed and the machine’s soft hum was lulling my alcohol-hazed brain to a state of relaxation.

My sex partner sat next to me, his hand on my crotch, his expert touch massaging and petting and caressing my happy cock, pulled free from my jeans in the dark interior. He leaned down to kiss and lick me, and pried my balls free and sucked one and then the other inside his warm, wet mouth. I prayed we wouldn’t hit a bump, before I remembered that the hydraulics would compensate.

I moaned, deep and satisfying, as he pulled me to the edge of ejaculation before pulling away, seeming to sense my feelings before I felt them myself. Probably one of his augmentations. Or was that considered an amplification? Perhaps we all had his innate powers of psychic awareness and just didn’t know it. Or maybe it was too late for me, and it was something they had to do in the womb.

I really couldn’t have cared less. God, he was good. His hands and his mouth were working in concert to deliver waves of quicksilver tingles that throbbed all along my inches. My balls were wet with his spit and warmed by his breath. He held me in his hand and gently, slowly caressed me. My dick surged and bobbed with grateful glee.

“Fuck, that feels good.”

I felt his face near mine and he whispered into my ear. “You taste so good.”

I smiled, keeping my eyes closed. “Help yourself to more,” I offered.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, and a moment later his mouth was on my prick, his tongue wrapping around the shaft and head, and his hand pleasuring me like no one ever had before.

I didn’t even know his name. Not that it mattered. I could call him whatever I wanted to, and he would answer. He would do what I wished of him, gratefully and eagerly, and only want to do more. I set my hand on the back of his head. His hair was soft and fine, a full rich mane of midnight waves. It bobbed up and down as he sucked on my prick. The sound of his slurping and sucking filled the cabin, accompanied only by the swish of the windscreen wipers and the steady tap of rain on the glass roof.

“Two minutes,” my car said in her gentle feminine tone. We were arriving home momentarily, and I opened my eyes and said, “Almost home.” I was looking across his broad and muscular back, watching the bulges of brawn twist and flex as he moved.

His head lifted from my groin and placed his lips on mine and kissed me soundly. “I hope you have a strong bedframe,” he said. “Because I’m going to fuck you hard enough to break it.”

I laughed gently at the joke, but looking into his eyes it almost seemed as if he was serious. “Maybe we’ll use the kitchen table instead,” I suggested. “Or the floor.”

“Or all three.” He kissed my mouth again, eagerly and with passion.

“Arriving,” my car told us, and we turned up the circular drive and slowed to a halt. The doors swung upward on their pivots and the smell of rain, earthy and clean, entered the car.

“Should I put my clothes on?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “Never.” But I tucked my own hard-on back into my pants before climbing from the cabin. He was already standing beside the car in his naked glory as the rain fell on his skin and made his tall, muscled frame glisten like dark copper. He was smiling and seemed to enjoy the sensation of rain on his body. It made him look slick and radiant, and his cock was still at attention as I had requested, standing thick and majestic from between his powerful legs. He was slowly stroking himself as he looked at me, and I knew that I was still the reason for his arousal.

“You have a nice home,” he said. But his eyes were glued on my face, worshipfully.

“Thank you,” I responded. My dick hurt. My balls were full. His continual manipulation of my privates had made me painfully aroused and made them almost impossible to calm. The rain was plastering my clothes against my skin, but I still felt warm and decidedly horny. Looking at him helped, of course.

I circled the sedan as the doors closed themselves and walked toward the entryway. The lights came on at our approach, and the house recognized me and unlocked the front door. He followed a couple of steps behind me, and as I entered my place his arms surrounded my body and his lips were on my neck. He pressed his muscular form against mine and for the first time I could feel how hard he was, but also how alive all the muscle felt beneath his wet skin. His hand was making its way down my belly toward my crotch, again, and his fingers worked their way under my waistband and plunged hungrily for my erection. I was still rock-hard, and so was he.

“Fuck, I need you so bad,” he whispered. Then he licked my ear and sucked my lobe into his mouth, playfully biting. “I want to fuck you.”

The thought of that huge tool pushing itself into my little hole made me cringe, but at the same time I was wildly excited by the idea. “You’re so big,” I said, leaning my head back onto his shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll take care of you.”

What that meant, exactly, I didn’t know. Was it a promise or advice? Could he use his wealth of talents to somehow make me accommodate his girth? Could he make his colossus magically conform to my asshole? Or did he have something else in mind?

“Dim,” I told my house, “fifty percent,” and the lights obeyed. He was stripping me from my clothes, the nimble fingers of one hand managing to unbutton my shirt as his other hand continued its manipulations of my cock. He was kissing my neck, and I could feel the rain that had gathered in his thick, dark mane drain down my back and soak into my shirt. His prick was pressing against my spine, and it felt hot and hard like a steel rod fresh from some smoking forge.

He extracted his hand from my happy hard-on and pulled the sodden shirt from my body. Dropping it to the marble foyer floor with a wet slap, he circled around me, keeping his hands on my body, and then stood before me, a head taller than me, and looked at my body. “Fuck,” he said deeply, and moved his fingertips across my chest and belly. “You’re beautiful,” he said.

I had the decency to blush for him, since the man standing naked before me was certainly more beautiful than any other man, let alone me. He pressed himself toward me, his enormous prick like a hot glass tube between us, and bent his lips to mine and kissed me again. His tongue pushed playfully into my mouth and I opened to allow him entry, wrestling for domination of the space and happily yielding dominion to his more talented appendage.

I wanted suddenly to taste his cock again, and realized that it was because his mouth tasted like his prick. He tasted good. Salty, perfumed like spice, and funky like a man should taste. Was that designed into him, too?

I swooned. I couldn’t help myself. I very nearly passed out from the sheer magical and overwhelming passion and sexual heat in that moment. He caught me in his powerful embrace and crushed me against his body. The kiss lingered and then he pulled away and scooped me into his arms as if I needed saving, and maybe I did.

“Bedroom,” he said, “or kitchen table?”

I laughed slightly and managed to recover myself. “Bedroom,” I instructed, and nodded toward the door to my lair.

I was not a small man by any stretch. I worked out with a religious fervor. I took the supplements that added inches to my arms and chest. I had a right to be proud of my body, though it paled in comparison to his. I weighed 200 pounds, easy, and he was carrying me as if I weighed nothing. Here, again, his dominance of the situation was made manifest, and the thought of his power made my libido jump. There was no doubt that he was going to fuck the living daylights out of my well-trained and insatiable ass. My hole tingled with anticipation. I wanted him to fill me up. I wanted to feel him slamming into me, driving his massive tool deep into my guts and coming his multiple blasts of cum until it was flooding out of me.

“Nice,” he said, upon encountering my bed. I had it custom-made, larger than a California King and sturdy enough for augments. As I think I mentioned, I’d had bigger men than him. Much bigger, in fact, but none so… beautiful. It was piled with pillows at one end, artfully arranged by my cleaning staff and fully plumped, like he was. The sheets were some absurd thread count, but not so high that they felt like satin. I couldn’t abide that nonsense, and I like the feel of cotton against my skin.

I thought he was going to set me down, but I found myself suddenly lifted up and physically thrown onto the bed. I gasped and bounced and landed on my back, somewhere near the center of the mattress. “What…?”

“Just testing,” he said. “It does seem sturdy. That’s good.” His cock was throbbing and now it was drooling again, as if he’d turned some inner spigot and started the flow of precum from his nozzle. “We’re going to need that.” His deep, masculine voice sounded majestic echoing off the vaulted ceiling. He was still slick with rain and his skin was a ruddy bronze. It seemed like the crevasses formed by the wedges of muscle were a deeper mahogany, but perhaps it was just the depth of his definition and the room’s lighting.

His face was incredibly handsome. I had thought, in the darkened bar, that his features were a tad soft, bordering on a kind of beauty that was almost feminine. But now, here, he looked nothing but powerfully male, with a strong jawline and a dark dusting of whiskers enhancing the lines of his face. His lips were so full, and I flashed on them applied to my hard-on in the car, and the feeling of them pressed against my prick and their softness as they slid up and down.

I scanned his body and it made my heart beat harder in my chest, as if it wanted to escape. The most prominent feature was still that huge dick of his, hard and red and fully engorged, ready to push its way inside any hole it wanted to. Even with the size of his body and his awesome muscular development, it was his enormous cock, long and thick and encircled with veins, that screamed of the level of his strength and power.

I swallowed hard, looking at it pointing at me, as if it were hungry to get started ripping me open. “I’m not sure…”

He grinned and folded his powerful arms across his bulging chest. The two heavy globes of his pectoral shelf gathered toward each other and created an inches-deep fold between the muscle. “Scared?”

Who wouldn’t be? “Admittedly, yes.” I leaned up onto my elbows and tilted my head as I considered his incredible phallus. “I’ve had my share of big men, but you’re…”

“Something special,” he said, finishing my thought. “I know, but like I said, I’ll take care of you.” He stepped closer, and his prick seemed to magnify to even larger extents. “I’m very well equipped.”

“That goes without saying.”

He laughed gently. “I meant… here, let me give you an example.”

Nothing about him changed, to my eye. His stature was as impressive, his demeanor as dominating, his face as handsome. He did not close his eyes or furrow his brow or make any physical indication that he was doing anything at all, but I felt a strong and sudden urge to be fucked by him. That is the only way to describe it. I wanted it very badly. The fear was gone. The trepidation and doubt vanished. I knew that nothing else would satisfy me except to feel the man before me fucking my ass as hard as he could, driving himself and his amazing, glorious, beautiful and perfect cock deep into me. I could imagine nothing that would feel as good, or satisfy as deeply, or fulfill my desires and bring me to a state of bliss only gods could know.

I started to speak. I wanted to beg him to fuck me. I wanted him to rip my jeans open and expose my asshole and slick up his monster and push himself - every thick and overwhelming inch of himself - up my bum. And fuck like a V12 internal combustion engine until I creamed so hard I went blind.

And then it was gone. The feelings, the desire, the need, all vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. And then I did speak, and I asked him, “What did you do?”

His arms still folded across his chest, he shrugged the mountain range that pretended to be his shoulders and said, “Merely a suggestion.”

“A suggestion?”

“And not a particularly strong one. You already wanted it, I just… help you to realize it.” He blinked slowly as if considering something, and added, “You’re quite passionate.”

“Is that unusual?”

“It’s… surprising.” His smile was both pleasant and dirty. “May I try something?”

“Something like what just happened?”

He nodded. “Variation on a theme, so to speak.” Did I trust him? Did he need to ask if he could intrude so intimately? How deep could he go? He seemed to realize my doubts and he said, “You can trust me, I’m incapable of making you do anything you don’t want to do.”

“But those feelings…”

He let his arms drop, using his delicate but powerful hands to help his words. “I can only amplify the emotions you already feel. I can’t… insert anything. Your mind is your own. Think of it like a food.”

“My brain is like food?”

“Your mind. For example, a Porterhouse steak is a Porterhouse steak. But if one adds spices to it, salt or pepper, if one grills it in a certain way, it’s still steak, but isn’t it more than that? You recognize it as the same thing, but now it is more… delicious.”

I wasn’t sure that I liked having my brain compared to meat, but considering the cost of an ounce of beef I thought he was being generous. “I think I understand.”

“You do,” he said. Could he read me so easily? Did he always know what I was thinking? “And all I am doing is turning up the volume. Pumping up the flavor. Making you feel what you already feel, but adding my own… spices.”

I considered what he was saying and asked, “Does it hurt?”

He smiled. “Only if that would also bring you pleasure.”

Wow. He really did know me. “Let’s keep things a little vanilla before we start adding in the chocolate syrup and sprinkles.”

“I would love to be covered in chocolate,” he said, “and feel you licking it off every inch of me.”

My cock jerked, and this time I knew it was all me. “Or vice versa.”

“You’d like that?”

I nodded. “I don’t suppose your tongue has been enhanced, too?”

His right eyebrow arched and his smile was lecherous. “As I said, I got the works.”

My cock twitched again. “We have all night.”

“And the clock is ticking.”

“All right. Do… whatever it is you’re proposing.”

“Thank you,” he responded.

Have you ever done heroin? Not the legal variant they market on the shelves, I mean the kind you used to go to prison for. Or Vicadin? Some form of opiate, at any rate, whether you smoke it or shoot it or pour it into your morning caffeine. I ask this not for prurient reasons or to set the constabulary on you, but for comparison’s sake.

An opiate, for me, sends this sort of cascade of pleasure through my body. That’s the best way to describe it. I can even feel it coming, like the rush of water over a dam. Then it’s there, and it floods every particle of my being and I feel relaxed, but more than that, as if I have been dunked inside a pool of perfect bliss.

That is the kind of thing I suddenly felt. He had unlocked something in me and everything suddenly felt very, very good. It wasn’t a dramatic or jolting change, but it was certainly noticeable. If I didn’t know it was his doing, I’d have thought someone had slipped something to me in the very air I was breathing.

And then I noticed that my cock felt very, very hard. More than that, it felt very, very good. I closed my eyes and sank into this sensation. My cock felt huge and powerful. It felt thick and fat and heavy. It throbbed with pleasure and tingled with sex and surged with masculine power. It was the center of my being, physically and otherwise, the essence of me, and it was glowing and growing and heating up.

I heard him make a noise, something feral and wordless. I felt his hands on my belt buckle. I felt him opening the fly of my jeans. I felt him moving his soft, strong hand along the swollen inches of my mammoth prick. I felt his breath, moist and warm, coating the slick, tight skin that stretched over my hugeness. I felt his lips pressed to the blossoming helmet, and felt his mouth surround and suck it inside. I felt his tongue slurping wetly against the gaping mouth of my incredibly huge, unnaturally hard, overwhelmingly sensitive cock head.

I could smell him. He smelled like power. He smelled like balls. He smelled like ass. He smelled like sweat. He smelled like sex. He smelled like raw, overwhelming, cock-hard, ball-filled masculine power. His scent filled my head with the sensation of sex. I felt his mouth, his lips, his tongue moving up my body. I felt his hand gripping my dick, stroking it, rubbing it, teasing it. I felt a surge of precum erupt up the thick inches of my powerful prick and flow across its head, coating it in a warm, wet, slick of honey. He spread my warm release of male purity around the glossy, fat bulb. He pulled my nipple between his teeth and nibbled on the rubbery nub, making it grow thick and hard. He licked my chest, he licked my neck, he kissed my chin, my cheek, my lips. He crawled atop me, all the immeasurable power and size and heaviness of his incredible body pressing down on mine. I could feel his cock, his powerful hard hot cock, pressed between us.

And he kissed me and kissed me. Hands everywhere. The feeling of opiate bliss cascading across every sensation. He was my new favorite drug, and I was an addict for him.

“Please,” I managed to say, between his ministrations to my mouth, “please fuck me.”

“Yes,” he answered.

He moved back down my body. My cock grew painful, it was so engorged with blood and desire. My balls felt heavy and ponderous. Every inch of my enormous prick tingled and throbbed with sexual power. I gasped when I felt him lift my legs. My knees bent and he pushed them over his shoulders. His hands explored my ass. My cock surged another fresh flow of precum. It poured hotly over my belly.

He ripped my jeans open. With his bare hand, and a suddenness that nearly shocked me back from the blissful state he had placed me in, he tore the ass of my pants apart to get at my ripe, rosy asshole.

The air struck my wet, hungry hole and cooled its heat momentarily, then his mouth and his tongue were there and I was hotter and wetter than before. His tongue pushed inside like some enormous prehensile dick. It shoved and grew and shrank, its wet heat mingling with mine and lubing my tight tunnel for the penetration of his own hugeness.

I heard his eager and enthusiastic oral attentions and felt so, so good as he ate my ass. Here, too, he was an expert. I reached down and stroked my prick as he licked and slurped at my asshole, then my body was lifted up, higher, and I knew what was coming next.

A fresh, heavy dose of him, of his mental or psychic talents, washed over me in preparation for the introduction of his cock. Something enormous, something firm and hot, like a plum or a fist, pushed against me. I could feel him knocking, feel him position the arrow of his monstrous shaft at my backdoor and I tensed involuntarily, but he sent another, stronger wave of bliss into my head and I wanted him inside.

“Please,” I begged. “Please, fuck me.” I bit my lip and arched my neck and my whole body was open for him.

Then he pushed inside, roughly and all at once, plunging every fat inch of himself deep, deep into me. My body shifted from the power and force of him. I could feel him inside, the welcome intrusion of his massive cock, bigger than any cock in the world, bigger even than my own enormity. He pushed in and remained there, seated inside like he belonged there, like he owned it, and me.

Then, with aching slowness, he started to withdraw, and I wanted him back inside. I could feel the flaring ridge of his helmet moving out of me. I felt an emptiness where he had been. I wanted him back inside.

Then, again, roughly and all at once, he fucked his way into my ass again. “You feel so good,” he said softly, his deep voice soaked with desire. “Aw, fuck, you feel so good.”

“Fuck me,” I pleaded. “Fuck me hard.”

And he did. He started to pivot his hips to an increasing tempo until my body was being shoved across my huge bed like a ragdoll. Fuck, he felt so good. Was he getting bigger with every thrust? Was I cumming? Was he? It was a blur of passion and bliss. Whatever he was doing, to my head and my ass, the concert was a masterpiece.

I had never been fucked so well or so long in my life. Was he extending time, or contracting it? I groaned and screamed and came all over my own chest. He said, through gritted teeth, “I’m gonna cum. Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

I wanted this, too. I wanted to feel those floodgates open again and feel the hot, thick wetness intrude my guts. I wanted him to cum so hard that his cum came out of my dick. “Fuck,” I said. “cum.”

I could feel his thrusts turn wet and slick. I could feel his streams inside me like fountains of fire. I came with him, bring our fuck concerto to a mutual crescendo, by aching balls emptying themselves by pushing my load up the hard inches of my amazing prick and splattering all over me. I came on my belly and chest and neck and face. I could hear the sloppy, slick sounds of him forcefully fucking his way through the river of his sticky cream.

It was everything.

It was perfect.

He roared as he came, this time. Maybe he sensed that I wanted him to. I wanted an animal to fuck me. I wanted a beast inside, and he came and roared and exploded within me. Fuck, it was amazing.

And when it was over, and he was on the bed beside me, and I watched his chest rising and falling as he gasped for breath, and his cobblestone abdomen swelled and receded, and his cock, that beautiful, amazing, enormous shank of sex made flesh, beat a steady rhythm as it lay, still rigid, between the defined muscles that lined his belly. It was gleaming with the wealth of his ejaculation. A pool of his cream formed within the deep definitions between his muscles, draining off his erection. He wasn’t cumming, it was merely that he had cum so much that it coated his prick in a thick, glistening glaze.

I was covered in my own cum. It seemed that I would never have any more, I had cum so fully. The room smelled of it, and of him, and of our sex. I could still feel him inside me, like some amputated limb I would forever miss, as well as the absence of him like a vast emptiness only he could fill.

“Fuck,” I said. “I don’t think it can get better than that.”

His muscled arm rose off the bed and fell across my body with a loud slap. I was reminded again of his size, his strength, and his power. “Don’t bet on it,” he said before laughing deep and true and making the whole bed shake. It was a sound I could grow to love. Then he said, “Shower?”

I could still hear the downpour outside. The evening’s rain was growing in power. The storm was fast approaching. “I have a better idea.”

He leaned up and looked at me as I turned to look at him. God, his face - so handsome. His beard looked darker now, as if fucking me had increased his masculinity. He smiled and narrowed his eyes. “Outside?”

“Do you mind?”

He shook his head. “As a matter of fact, I prefer it.” He bit his bottom lip, looking very young for a moment, and then said, “I have something I want to show you.”

“You mean I haven’t seen all of you, yet?”

His smile was downright filthy. “Not by a mile.”

Part 3

We were both naked, moving through my house in the darkness, wet and sticky with the wealth of cum we had both so successfully shoved from our respective cocks. His was still at attention, just as I had requested, gleaming like an inverted icicle with a blunt, suckable head. Was he still producing that stream of delicious, salty honey?

He certainly smelled like he was. The rank smell of sex was coming off him in waves, as thick as the heat his huge body produced. He was a walking tower of masculine muscular power, leaving a discernible trail of sexuality in his wake. My own dick pulsed and throbbed based solely on the nearness of him, and that heat and scent and powerful sense of man that surrounded him like an aura.

It was a bit like walking around with the living embodiment of male sexuality, as if one could somehow define what it was that makes a man a man, at least in a sexual sense, and molded that into a single living being. He was everything about being with another man that made me want to be with another man. The sense of power, the strength of his body, the size of him, the hardness, the sleekness, the fur, the muscle, the… everything.

The sound of our movements was very quiet with the sound of the rain as a steady accompaniment. His hands could not keep themselves off my body. He wanted to surround me in his muscular embrace, which made movement both pleasant and awkward.

It seemed to me that I had cum buckets. It seemed that I could not possibly have another drop of cum in my balls, but his hands on my and his lips on my neck and his whispered promises laced with filthy intent were testing that theory. What he wanted to do with me and to me, what he wanted me to do to him, what we would do together, how I made him feel, how hard he was, and how much he wanted my hardness inside him. All this talk about hardness and the feeling of his muscles against me and the hot, thick firmness of his ever-ready prick caused me to grow erect again as we traversed the floors down to the glass-walled entertainment room that lead to my backyard.

A sudden crack of lightning shattered the darkness, followed by a low, far-off rumbling that mirrored the sound of my companion’s needful groans. He was fondling my prick with one hand as his other teased and tortured a nipple. His cock pressed into my back was a constant reminder of his unending and overwhelming sexual capacities. I had no doubt that he would cum on command if I only asked it.

The enormous screen that covered one wall was dark. The twenty-one speakers recessed into the walls and ceiling, and the three subwoofers that were powerful enough to knock the wind from my lungs (if I wanted them to) were silent. The windows were translucent, allowing us to look outside and onto the wet deck and the lawns and gardens and the dark water pool beyond. The pool’s infinity edge ran to the end of my property and to the precipice of a cliff that dropped off into the cold, blue Pacific ocean. My nearest neighbor was several acres away, so the world -- this world, my world -- was ours and ours alone.

Wealth, indeed, has its privileges.

But without wealth, he would not be here with me. I wondered how much of the fee I had paid to his employers, if employer was even the correct term, he would receive -- if indeed he received any at all. What was his world like? Where would he go in the morning? Would he miss all this?

Would he miss me?

The furry rug was warm and soft under my feet. We stood together for a moment at the wall of glass, watching the storm still far out at sea, and the splattering of the hard rain on the wooden planks of the deck and against the glass. Another blue-white shock of lightning erupted and I was momentarily dazzled.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. I could feel his voice as well as hear it. It resonated through me. He forgot my nipple for the moment and hung his heavy, strong arm across my chest, settling his warm, soft palm on my shoulder. His other hand, however, seemed unable to allow my prick to linger for any space of time, and I was not about to object.

“Thank you,” I said. I had learned long ago to say only that, rather than explain who the architect had been, or the landscape artist, or the interior decorator, or the audio-video technician.

“You don’t need to,” he said, oddly.

“Need to what?”

“Explain.”

He was inside again. Listening to the words I wasn’t speaking. I was comforted that he understood, but not concerned that he had heard. Perhaps I was growing accustomed to his intrusions, or perhaps his intrusion was what made me comfortable. As he had pointed out, the clock was ticking, and every moment spent with him was proving too precious by far to worry about things like that.

His cock pulsed at my spine. It was hotter than the rest of his body, as if it was the source of all his power and strength. I remembered it inside me, pumping hot cream into my guts, filling me up entirely. I remembered him atop me, looking into his face - into his eyes - as he fucked me. The animal growls that left his mighty chest. The slick, wet sound of his cock sliding in and out, providing its own wealth of lube as he creamed. I remembered gasping for air as he roughly shoved me using only the power of his fucking, the immense and incredible strength of that cock shoving me around the bed as it delivered such overwhelming bliss. And my own cock throbbed and pulsed and tingled with anticipation of experiencing his ass.

“You want to fuck me,” he stated. His lips were close to my ear. His breath was warm.

“Yes,” I answered, because I did.

“Good,” he responded. Then his arm released me, his hand retreated from caressing my prick, and he went toward the sliding glass door. It opened automatically at his approach, moving silently aside and allowing the full force of the coming storm into the room. The white drapes lifted like an angel’s gown and the smell of the storm, earthy and intense, covered up the smell of raw sex that he produced.

Lightning lit the clouds and cast him into silhouette. I was struck by the taper of his upper body. Perhaps it was the benefit of not being distracted by his cock, for once, but I drew an appreciation of his size in that moment. The width of his lat spread was awesome. He wasn’t flexed, wasn’t pumped, but the wings that fanned out were thick and wide and spoke silently to his strength. “I want to go swimming,” he said. “Would you allow that?”

“If you wish,” I answered.

“Don’t worry,” he added. “You’re still going to fuck me.” His head turned slightly and I could see his eyes glisten in the dark. “And it’ll be an experience you’re never going to forget.”

He strode into the night and into the storm. Lightning flared as if his presence had willed it, like he was the conduit of power and control and the storm could only do his bidding. His features, his muscles, were thrown into sharp contrast and all color was bled from the scene, making him look like some figure from a heroic illustrated novel about perfect sexual supermen striding the Earth.

Wasn’t that what he was? Contrived, certainly, and designed for a purpose, but the achievement of him was breathtaking. Maybe he wasn’t human, by some ethical or moral standards. Did a human have to be bred from two parents? Did a human have to be born? Did a human have to conform to a set of physical standards that he obliterated by his very existence? The law said it was so. And as I watched this man-made god of sex stride fearlessly across my lawn toward the pool, his incredible and amazing prick wagging before him, the tempest roaring about him, I wondered what he was feeling, and if he knew what I was feeling, and how badly I wanted him to come back.

He stood at the pool looking up at the sky. His body gleamed like chrome, bathed in nature’s shower, the epitome of male power and beauty. He stretched out his arms and I watched with interest and growing arousal as he bent them and made the muscles lining his limbs to bulge into full-blown power. Everything suddenly flared outward on his immense frame. The biceps rose towards his fists. His lats unfurled. His shoulders rose against his neck like cresting icebergs. He was glorying in his power, his beauty, his raw and naked perfection there under the wrath of the storm.

Then he dove into the pool as lightning shattered the darkness and a rifle shot of thunder peeled across the sky.

I stood there awaiting his return when my house said, “You have a phone call. Do you wish to connect?” The voice seemed to come from everywhere, and the tone was rather too lifelike, owing to the quality of the speakers in the room. I asked who it was and the system replied that it was one of the friends who suggested I engage my swimming pool-loving guest. I asked it to localize the audio so it wouldn’t sound like my friend was the voice of god and to connect.

There was a click and then, “Is he there?” His voice sounded almost as if he were in the room with me, standing in the darkness to my left.

“He’s here. Or, actually, he’s in the pool.” Microphones picked up my voice as I stood there naked, watching the storm and awaiting his return.

“He’s taking a fucking swim? In this fucking storm?”

“Yes,” I answered. “He is.”

“Well?”

I smiled. “Well what?”

“Isn’t he amazing?”

Amazing. That hardly seemed to justify what he was. But I answered, “He’s amazing. You were right.”

“I told you a Level 3 was worth it.”

“So you did.”

“What have you done with him?”

“I haven’t done anything with him. If anything, he’s been doing everything to me. And in a very accomplished manner, I might add. Why so curious?”

“I… Well, the thing is that… So… Actually?”

“You haven’t had him.”

“No. Not yet.”

“Typical,” I said, because it was. My friend was a lecherous cad, to be sure, but also something of a coward. I knew that I was to be the guinea pig in this, and that my experiences would make or break his decision to take the proverbial plunge. My walls were more easily breached, but it took a very talented and special sort of army to get to my throne. I was a slut, but a judicious and talented one. He pretended to my level of sluthood, dallying with hook-ups now and then, but that was usually all he did.

I liked sex. No, that’s probably inaccurate. I fucking loved sex. Every aspect of it. From the teasing play of words and innuendo to the full-on sweaty screaming ass plunging I’d just experienced, I loved it all. I suppose I didn’t need to pay for it, and certainly more than one man I had encountered tonight at the bar awaiting my current conquest had made it clear that I could have them if I wanted them, but my tastes ran toward more unusual encounters lately, perhaps because I could afford it, perhaps out of boredom, perhaps because I am, as I readily admitted, a slut.

I could feel him inside me. Still, there he was, pushing his enormity in and out, fucking me hard, pushing me around like something to be used up. My hand went to my dick. It was throbbing. Every heartbeat drove it another size larger, just remembering what he had done to me, what he looked like, sounded like, smelled like -- and what was to come.

I watched a towering figure emerge from the pool and start to return to the house. He strode with purpose and resolve. As the lightning flashed and lit up his form and face, I could easily discern that his prick had not calmed down an iota, its impressive size and steel-hard firmness extending from the center of his muscled body like a dowsing rod pointed in my direction, and his handsome face looked determined and anxious.

I was going to fuck the living shit out of him.

“I have to go.”

“You’re going to tell me everything, right?”

“Wouldn’t you rather experience him first-hand?”

“I’ve seen his cock,” he replied. “I’m not sure I could handle him.”

A smile wound across my lips. My cock surged with anxious desire. A flood of pleasure washed over me as if I was experiencing some after effects of the man’s unique talents. His cock in my ass, deep and hard and true, over and over until he filled me with a flood of warm, thick cream and I came all over my chest and face. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“Why? What did…”

“He’s coming back. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Wait! What did you mean by…”

“Disconnect.”

The line went dead. My companion had a very satisfied smile on his face as he strode toward me. His cock was as hard and erect and mouth-watering as ever, a foot-high shaft topped with a lemon-sized head. Water was draining off his body, clean now of the wealth of cum that had gathered in his dark curls and against his silken flesh, and all his body fur, luscious and warm, was plastered to his muscled bulges. He put his arms around me, his strong embrace nearly crushing my smaller body, and bent his lips to mine and kissed me soundly. I felt my legs go weak and my knees buckle and I couldn’t breathe. “Thank you,” he said, and he kissed me again.

I could hardly breathe, let alone speak. “For what?”

He grabbed my erection roughly and squeezed. “It’s always nice to know I’m wanted.” Then he sank down to his knees and began bobbing his head up and down on my prick, delivering brain-spinning spasms of sexual ecstasy that erupted all over my shaking body.

I came again, and quickly. He sucked it all down and spent quite a few concentrated moments cleaning my rod with his mouth and tongue before regaining his feet and kissing me again.

I could taste myself on his lips. The salty, earthy essence of cum was easily discerned, as well as the unique taste of him, again - the taste of his own cock mingled with mine. “Are you ready?”

“After that? Hell, I don’t think I have any cum left.”

“You do,” he said, with certainty. “Are you ready?” he asked again.

“To fuck you?”

“To push your cock so far inside my ass that I can taste it.”

Jesus. I was getting hard again, already. I looked down at my prick and watched myself grow. “Are you doing that?”

“Only indirectly.” Then he stood so close to me that he was all I could see. The storm raged beyond him, his body was outlined by flashes of lightning. His body was pressed to mine. I could feel his muscles. All of them. “Like this,” he said. “It’s the bond. Sometimes, there’s a little bit of… feedback. My body is responding to yours, and now yours is responding to mine.” He pushed himself toward me. We were nearly touching everywhere, but not touching at all. His heat emanated against my skin. His smell was strong in my lungs, and in my head. My cock was throbbing with hot need. He dipped his head and his lips were at my ear and he spoke, very softly.

“Like this.”

He began to move his hands around my body. I could feel him, now, with a strange intensity. I closed my eyes and realized I could sense where his hands moved. I knew where they were, though they never physically came in contact with me. Then I felt him draw near again, and his mouth was to my ear, and he said, “You can feel me, now. You can sense me. And I can do this.”

A heavy sexual throb erupted throughout my body. I came. I couldn’t help myself. My cock plumped and a fat arc of cream fountained up and splattered against my stomach, hot at first and quickly cooling. He did it again, whatever it was. A hard, insistent, sudden shock of pure male sexuality that grabbed hold of my balls and squeezed another dose of cum out. I gasped and felt dizzy and entranced and enraptured. “Fuck,” I whispered.

“Yes,” he responded. “Let’s.”

His hand moved to wrap my fingers in his. He pulled me from the house and out into the storm. I could feel him everywhere, feel his strength and his power and his perfection, as if it were now a part of me. I could feel his strength inside me, as if it were mine. I could feel the power of his body, the flame of his passion, the overwhelming sexual drive that made his cock stay hard. Fuck, it felt good. “Is this… is this permanent?”

“What?” he asked, turning his beautiful face toward mine. The rain was pouring down, and he gleamed as if he were made of metal.

“This feeling. The connection. Feeling you.”

He shook his head. “No, it isn’t. It lasts for a night. Our night, together. I am bonded to you, but the bond is temporary.”

“You’ll bond with someone else tomorrow night.”

He stopped. A shattering tear of lightning ripped across the sky overhead. The rain was beating down on us. Wind whipped the grass and sent the droplets splattering all over my naked flesh. It was a warm rain, a summer storm, and he looked at me and said, “Tonight, I am with you.” He squeezed my hand in his and leaned down to kiss my lips. I felt his hot erection brush my belly and was reminded of his power and the deep well of sexuality he possessed. But there was also tenderness in him, and it made me want him more than ever.

He smiled. “No,” he said.

“What?”

“You’re not allowed to start feeling like that.” He reached down and grabbed onto my hard-on. He stroked me, caressed me, squeezed me. He knew me intimately, now, knew exactly what to do to keep driving me back to wanting him physically. “You still have to ravage my ass.” Coming from him, now, it sounded like an order rather than a request. “And I expect you to do it better than I did it to you. I expect you to make me cum.” He was a sergeant in some kind of sex army, ordering his lieutenant to deliver. “And you better fucking believe me when I tell you - that won’t be easy an easy task.”

A challenge! I fucking loved a challenge. “I’ll make you cum,” I boasted. “Fuck that, I’ll make you scream. I’ll make you roar. I’ll suck the cream out of your balls like a Dyson. I’ll fuck you so good and make you cum so hard, your balls will hurt.” I smiled, then, because it was no boast. I meant these words. I meant them fiercely.

“I’m going to make you long for my cock no matter who you’re with.” I emphasized my words by squeezing my asshole and making my dick swell and grow harder in his grip. “You’re going to feel me in your ass forever, and remember me every time you blow your load from now on.”

He squeezed me hard and drove me to my toes. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

I felt something coming back through the bond, something I knew he wasn’t pushing to me. It was an emotion. He was feeling… excitement. And… anticipation. And hope. He really wanted me to make this happen. “But I need you to do something.”

“I can do anything,” he reported, honestly. It was no boast.

“Then don’t do anything.”

“I don’t comprehend.”

It was my turn to grab onto his hard-on. It was ridiculously hard. I wondered why the rain wasn’t steaming off its heat and power. “Let this go.”

An eyebrow rose on his handsome brow, and his lips slid into a half-smile. “I’m not sure I can.”

“No,” I said, “don’t say the words you think or you know I want to hear.” His head tilted slightly, and his blue eyes narrowed. “I need to feel… I need to know… that whatever I’m doing, the effect is honest. It’s all you, and that what I’m doing is causing it. It’ll turn me on. It’ll drive me harder. It’ll make it all… real.” I increased the pressure on his rock-hard prick. It was inhuman, its power. “I need to know that when I see this on you, when your cock is this big and this hard, it’s not because I asked you to. It’s because you can’t fucking help it.”

His slim grin grew into a dazzling smile. The rain was pouring down his perfect naked form. I could feel the heat of his body against my own. He was huge. He was powerful. He was perfect. “Okay,” he said.

I felt him grow suddenly less firm. I felt his cock soften in my grip. Ordinarily, that would’ve turned me off, but in this situation it excited me. Whatever happened now, it wasn’t just because I told him to get hard, or to cum. It would be because he couldn’t stop himself. I could feel… curiosity coming from him. And pride, or something like it. “This should be interesting,” he said, his tone deep and resonant.

His cock continued to sink from its unending erection, growing limp but losing none of its beauty and retaining a good deal of its size and girth. He owned a seven- or eight-inch monster. The head drooped like a flower bud and the cowl of his ample foreskin slid back over the plump helmet. His incredible manhood hung thickly over his fat balls, and the veins shrank away leaving a smooth, heavy shaft arching proudly forward. “Nice,” I said, petting it like some tamed snake.

“That wasn’t easy,” he said. “No one has ever...”

“What?” He was cautious and curious.

“Nothing,” he said.

The bond between us was growing stronger. I realized that he was in a state of confusion. He had been trained - bred, in fact - to answer every whim of his nightly partner. I had paid for the privilege of his instant and complete agreement to anything I asked, and the ability to fulfill my requests, any requests, fully and probably beyond my satisfaction.

Now, my whim was that he not respond to my whims. Which was my whim. Could he obey and not obey? What was he to do now?

But my evident satisfaction with the state of his prick seemed to calm his confusion. I had to ask, “Do you understand?”

“I believe so,” he said, honestly.

“Tell me what you believe.”

“You want me to act according to my own desires and inclinations. You want my body to react naturally. If I am aroused, I will allow myself to become aroused, and allow my body to react accordingly. I will not behave in a manner only because I know it will please you, though if your pleasure is manifested in my behavior or reactions, you will allow that.”

“Technical, but precise,” I praised. “But I want you to forget my desires, if you can. I don’t want you to account for what you feel through the bond. Rely solely on your own reactions, and allow yourself the freedom to feel and speak and move and get horny based on what you feel, not what I instruct.”

“I understand.”

The connection seemed suddenly to open up between us, and I could feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude and admiration, which I suppose was to be expected. Still, the depth of his emotions was stunning. “Now,” I said, “the real fun begins.”

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.” He was smiling. Waves of excitement were pouring from him. His face looked positively giddy.

“Perfect,” I said. “Come with me.”

Wet sex is all well and good, but for what I had in mind I didn’t want any distractions. The rain was warm, but all those romantic fantasies of making love outside, I find, are usually tinged with snorting bugs or having sand up your ass crack. I wanted luxury, and I wanted his undivided attention when I was plugging away at his supple, tight hole. I wanted him to feel me, and only me, when I was fucking him.

I lead him back inside the house. The sliding door opened and closed for us as we passed near and through, and we were both soaking wet. The storm had become a tempest, with howling winds and thrashing lightning. The dark house was being lit up from outside as if flashbulbs were capturing our naked glory for someone else’s happy perusal. “Back to the bedroom?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I have something else in mind,” I said, still leading him from room to room. “I feel like a workout.”

“Didn’t we just have one?”

“A proper one, and I want to see what you can do.”

It was always part of my plans for our evening together to watch him work out. I love to watch a man work out. The strain is almost orgasmic. The look on their face as they push for that last rep. The plump, hard, overripe look of their muscles pushed to the brink, overwhelmed and blasted. When you can see the muscle swell as it’s pumped, to watch it grow and the individual fibers appear under the skin, the thick sheen of sweat all over them.

I wondered what one of these men looked like in that situation. God knows they were already magnificent, but could they get even bigger, and if so - how big? If this man beside me was in his relaxed state of muscular power, what would he become after making those muscles scream from exertion?

I lead him to a stairway and the overheads blinked on as we descended. There was an open doorway at the foot of the stairs and already I could smell the iron inside the room.

I stepped aside and ushered him before me, bowing slightly as he entered my church of muscle. It was a large room, occupying half of the house’s overall dimensions, sitting beside my garage. The mirrored wall on that side could turn transparent with a simple vocalized command and allow me to look either at my own reflection as I moved from rack to rack and machine to machine, or gaze on my lovingly illuminated six-pack of vehicles, their gleaming angles acting as a more abstract reflection of my own muscular form.

He stopped for a moment at the threshold and a sudden thick thrill passed through the bond. From behind, I could see his body physically tense and relax as he looked about the room, and I realized that this was his church, too. This was where he would go to find solace as he lay on the benches and shoved hundreds of pounds over his head again and again.

I had a very good collection of all the modern bodybuilding machines, as well as a full set of chrome-plated weights that were very hard to come by. Everything was gleaming as if it had been polished, but only because it had been. The walls to the left and the right had more mirrors on them, though not an entire wall like the one facing the garage. And the rear wall was blank, covered only in sound-absorbing material so when I wanted to blast my music, no one else would be bothered.

Not that there was anyone else to bother, but it was horribly expensive so, obviously, I had to have it.

He turned to look at me and for a moment I thought he was going to cry. Instead, and somehow as if on cue, his mammoth cock began to rise again. “This is…”

“I want to watch you,” I said. “I want to watch you grow.”

His smile was incandescent. He bounded like a puppy toward the first rack of dumbbells and lifted two 50-pounders in his hands. Already, the muscles of his arms bulged into definition and deeply-etched beauty, lining his limbs like solid balloons. “What are these?”

My brow creased in disbelief. “They’re weights.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“You’ve never used weights, before?”

He shook his shaggy mane. “The other machines,” he said, motioning toward them with his head, “some of those we are allowed to use. But nothing like these.” He began to pump them in his hands, lifting them effortlessly and with perfect form, as if born to them. “This feels….”

“Increase the weight,” I advised him. “It shouldn’t be too easy.”

They went up to 200 pounds, and he moved along the rack sampling a pair of them, admiring their silver shine and the feel of their coldness in his hands. “Like this,” I said, lifting two into my own grip and approaching an incline bench. “It’s like a machine, but without so much control. You have to rely entirely on your own body.”

He watched as I performed a few sets, then I moved aside for him and he sat down holding a 120-pound dumbbell in each hand. His cock was rising to the occasion, clearly turned on by the sensation of control and strength he was feeling.

Then I watched him. I watched his arms inflate. I watched the veins branch along them. I watched the threads of sweat emerge from his underarms and drain along his coppery skin. I watched him heft the weight overhead and start to pump his chest. I watched the two globes push and flex. He got up and grabbed a heavier pair, enthusiasm and pride evident on his handsome face, and he sat down again and pushed the weight up, stretching his muscles and making them begin to burn.

His cock was at full mast. He was loving this. And so was his body. The changes were easy to see. It was an incredible machine in its own right, performing the tasks set to it with clockwork efficiency, and increasing its capabilities and size as it was tasked with more and more weight.

He got up again and went to the very end of the rack, easing the 200-pound weights into his hands and sitting his fine butt back on the sweat-soaked bench. His chest was broad and thick and separating into distinct lobes. The meat was inflating and visibly pushing his lickable nipples down as they grew larger and larger.

Rep after rep. Twenty. Fifty. One hundred.

He dropped the heavy weights with a distinct thud and sat up, examine his monstrous hard-on and breathing hard. He set his hands to his stiff prick and stroked himself with open love, allowing his head to stretch back on his neck as he sank into the luxurious passion of self-love. A thick gob of precum erupted and he dipped his fingers to the fount and licked the honey from them, licking his lips and swallowing soundly.

“I feel so good,” he said.

“You don’t look half bad, either,” I complimented him.

He looked over at me. “Are you going to fuck me, now?” There was hope in his eyes. He was practically begging me.

But I shook my head. “Not yet,” I said. “I’ll know when you’re ready.”

He sat up straighter, like a proud schoolboy, and lifted his arms. He bent them and pushed the muscle into a fantastic double-bicep pose that made my heart flips. They were magnificent, and I wanted to lick them and worship his beauty. “What about your legs?”

He looked down at the deeply carved tree trunks. He straightened one, and the brawn bulging along his thigh built up as if it was going to burst through the skin. “How do I use these to build my legs?” he asked, lifting one 200-pound dumbbell in his arm as if it were a sack of groceries.

“You don’t,” I explained. “Follow me, please,” I said, and I walked toward the squat rack, and the barbell and more shiny silver disks of iron. He was nodding when I looked at him, and before I eve started explaining, he was shoving 100-pound weights onto the ends, and securing them with a sleeve.

“Now what?” he asked. pulling the sagging bar from the floor.

“Can you lift it onto your shoulders?” After a moment’s adjustment for its 690-pounds, he pulled against gravity’s strength and it sat across the broad mountain range cresting his shoulders. “Now, place your legs like so,” I said, illustrating the classic stance, feet shoulder-width apart, and instructed, “then bend your knee as if seating yourself, and….”

Again he nodded, understanding my instructions before I had finished, and began a series of squats. I didn’t have to tell him to keep the weight on his heels, or to keep his knees behind his toes. God, the man’s butt, such a thing of gorgeous power. It was bit comical to watch him perform a set of perfectly executed squats while his erection threatened to put an eye out. He was grinning madly as he felt his legs burn, and his buttocks grow stronger.

He finished and set the barbell into the rack’s arms. He stood upright, stretching himself, bending at the waist to touch his toes, allowing the singing muscles to pull taught. “Now,” I said, “some thrusts.”

“Finally!” He was almost prone on the floor, with his ass ready to be poked, but I gingerly turned him and said, “Now, this one takes a bit more coordination. But you’ll feel it everywhere.”

“Right,” he said, clapping his hands together happily. “You’re going to fuck me.”

“No, you’re going to take the bar back onto your shoulders, and start in the same position.” He did so. God he looked so amazing. The muscles everywhere were already bulging out fiercely. His legs were pressing against each other, and his prick throbbed stiffly with every beat of his strong heart. “Now, move this leg forward as you bend your other knee toward the floor. Slowly! Not so fast! Now, slowly come back to a standing position, then switch off to the other leg. Good. Perfect. That’s it.”

“Holy fuck,” he said softly. “I can feel it. I can feel… everything.”

I knew what he meant. Machines were certainly effective, but to truly feel every muscle burn, to become hyper aware of your own size and strength and power, nothing beats free weights. I was certain he’d never experienced this feeling before. Perhaps the reason for his perfectly developed body was that he spent some scientifically optimized time in specially designed muscle building machines that managed to work on every body part to its own advantage.

But now he was being forced to use his own leverage to balance and lift and push around the iron. It was making him very aware of his own power, and he was getting off on it.

And so was I! It was like that line in that old song. He was ‘brutally handsome.’ Watching his muscles bloom into power was amazing. They thrived on this, obviously, and grew fat and hard and vascular. He completed a heart-breaking set of reps and placed the bar carefully back on the rack, then stepped forward and simply stood there, eyes closed, as every muscle hummed with renewed strength.

I could practically see his heart pushing blood into every swollen body of brawn. He was a relief map of the masculine anatomy, and there it was again, rising from the core of him like the fount of his power - his cock, beet red and thickly veined, hard as the steel he had been lifting and ready to explode.

He stood there breathing, his mighty chest heaving up and down, his chiseled abdominal wall moving in and out, sweat pouring down his naked body. He was a perfect illustration of masculine beauty. He was raw and feral and swollen with power. An animal made out of sex and passion. A swollen muscle pushed to his limit.

“Get on your knees.”

Part 4

He looked down at me, alpha dog to underling, but I was in control. He slowly dropped to the floor. His muscles, still burning and bulging from his strenuous workout, popped and flexed beneath his skin.

“All fours.”

His cock was rock-hard. His body was, too. He moved onto his hands, assuming the position.

My dick was dripping. I was more than ready. I circled around behind him to gaze upon that perfect and perfectly tortured butt of his. He had prepared himself for me, with his knees set apart so that his hole was open and waiting. I looked at the perfect pink pucker and he managed to open it even wider. Such muscle control! God, he was good.

I spit into my right hand and applied the natural lube to my raging hard-on. He was motionless before me, his wide, tapered back swarming with bulges of brawn, the muscles of his legs like fat wedges carved from mahogany. His ass was smooth and hairless. His huge balls drooped down ponderously, and I know his cock was pounding out a steady rhythm against his belly. Fuck, he was hot! I bet the neighbors could smell his sex stink from miles away.

I confess that I nearly came spontaneously just looking at him, there. The mighty figure prone before me, awaiting my commands, anxious to be pierced by my cock. His butt was a thing of gorgeous power, the thick glutes pulled back to reveal the target of my present lust. All his muscles pushed to their max, and his coppery skin coated in a sheen of his sweat.

I made him wait for it. I remained in silent contemplation of his ass as I slowly stroked myself and attempted to withhold the load of cream that was already shoving for release. Fuck, would I even be able to do this without erupting within seconds of entering him? What was it going to feel like, shoving myself inside his tight, talented hole? What would he do to me in there? Grab hold and never let go? Was he equipped with some hidden talent that they had given him? Some new augmentation or amplification that was going to drive me insane batshit crazy with pleasure?

His hole opened again, as if asking to be violated. Fuck, I was hard. And more than ready.

I approached the target and set my grip to his narrow hips. He let out a small sound at my touch, like a groan or a growl. The muscles bulging all over his back suddenly tensed tightly and his flesh seemed to suction onto every perfect muscle. I positioned the tip of my cock at his backdoor, like a dog sniffing the ass of its bitch. It was drooling precum and throbbing hotly in my grip. I kissed the tip to the entryway and he let out another small, deep sound, something from that magnificent chest that rumbled through him like a tremor of lust.

I knew what he wanted. I could sense the desire through the bond, and the need. He wanted me to get the fuck in there! He wanted me to end the torture and fuck his ass the way it needed to be fucked. He wanted to feel his body light up from the contact and feel me pushing against him, hard.

Instead, I began to slowly - achingly, torturously slowly - to push myself in his ass. I wanted him to feel every millimeter of my intrusion. I wanted him aware, intensely aware, of my size, my thickness, my heat and hardness. I wanted him to attempt to keep me out, to no avail, because I was the biggest, the baddest, and the sexiest bastard he was ever going to have his perfect ass fucked by.

It was torture for me, too. Fuck, he felt good. Better than good. He had an ass that was built to be fucked. It tightened against me, then allowed deeper entry, then squeezed again. It was a velvet vice, massaging and gripping and slick as butter. Fuck, it felt good. He was hot as hell in there, and when I had managed to push every inch of my prick in his butt and pressed my balls against his, he let out a groan of intense pleasure and satisfaction, and passed that sense of sexual bliss through the bond to me.

My god, I never wanted out of that vice. I wanted us joined like this forever. I remained seated inside him, feeling his ass muscles pushing and contracting and squeezing against my intrusion until I heard him say, very quietly, as if through clenched teeth, “Fuck me, please. Fucking fuck me!”

I grinned. Satisfaction washed over me. And I began to withdraw my fat prick as slowly as I had entered. Jesus, it was a difficult journey. He was pulling me back inside, his ass literally gripping my dick and refusing to allow me to leave his hot, wet hole. I moved my hands onto the round perfection of his glutes and began to caress and massage them, relaxing the way out. His entire body shuttered with ecstasy. His muscles flexed and bulged again, displaying their size and might, and I was halfway out.

“No,” he begged.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. It took all my energy, all my self control, all my attention to hold myself back. I could feel the strong, insistent tingle of an orgasmic explosion all along my cock. My balls were filled up, drooping with my load of warm cream. The eye of my prick was weeping a stream of honey inside his butt. It took everything I had not to blow my wad and pull myself free.

“Please,” he begged again.

Fuck, I was horny.

Nearly out, watching my veiny shaft extend, I could feel his ass giving way to my dominion at last.

So I started to fuck him.

I fucked him hard. I fucked him good. It felt glorious and perfect and he was making these noises, deep growls and raw grunts, that stoked the fires within me and I was pushing in deep, again and again, fucking the living shit out of that man’s perfect and beautiful ass.

And fuck, was he a good bottom. We like to think, when we’re on top, that we’re in charge. But the truth is it’s the bottom in control. It’s the target of our lust that we are lost without. He was as insatiable and talented on the bottom as he had been on top. Pliant and submissive, for sure, but the things his ass could do to my cock are beyond description.

What did he have inside there? Another throat? Something so powerful and pliable and hungry that it could do that to my cock? Massage me, squeeze me, suck the cum right out of my balls?

It was paradise in there. I achieved nirvana. I rose to heaven and sank into hell. I closed my eyes and thrust my hips and felt the incandescent thrilling throbs and tingles of sexual perfection erupting along every millimeter of my huge, hard, hot cock as I plunged myself inside his perfect masculine power again and again. His body and strength and beauty surrounded my prick and swallowed me up. My whole body shook and my brain spun around and I could feel it coming, the biggest fucking orgasm of my entire life.

I confess that I couldn’t fuck that ass for long before the sensations I had managed thus far to withhold could not be delayed another second. The dam was breached and I started to shove a load of heavy cream up the fat inches of my prick in strong, heavy gouts that flooded his ass and lubed my actions, creating a vicious cycle of creaming and fucking, each feeding the other, and I grabbed onto his butt and shoved myself deep, deep inside and my body shook and my toes curled and I swear to fucking god I blasted a fucking nut up his ass. Maybe both nuts.

I had never cum so strongly or so fully. I wished I could see the fountain blasting from the end of my cock as I filled him up. It felt like I was fucking exploding. I could've shot that first load a mile.

He arched his head up and let out a feral sound like a bear or a wolf would make, a deep-throated roar of intense and perfect pleasure and I knew he was cumming, too. I could practically hear him going off like a firehose. Jesus, the man knew no bounds at all. How many times was he going to go off like that, and each one as powerful and full as the first one.

I pulled out and took hold of my pumping prick and sprayed my load across his wide back. The iridescent cream gathered in the folds between his muscular bulges and glazed his skin. He could feel me cumming on him and he turned his head slightly, perhaps intending to watch me. I slapped his ass hard and he turned away, laughing I think, and I finished emptying my balls on his body.

I bent down and tried to encompass his muscular girth in my arms and felt the intense strength and hardness of his body. My sticky cream coated up both and ran off the sides of his mammoth frame in thick runnels.

I realized, as I was lying atop him, feeling him explode another blast of cream, that something was changing about him. Something was physically changing. He was breathing hard and still covered in sweat. He was growling or purring, I wasn’t sure which, and as my naked body was lying atop his I could feel him expanding.

That was the word for it. He was expanding. I could feel his body moving beneath me, and it was moving because it was getting bigger. His muscles were growing larger, and his skin was stretching, and his body was growing physically bigger.

I knew it was happening. My heart started to race and I struggled to stay on top of him as his back stretched wider and the myriad muscular bulges grew thicker and fatter, rising up beneath his skin, increasing the impossible definition and separation between every muscled bulge.

I heard him growl, “Ah, fuck yeah,” or something like that. His voice seemed absurdly deep. He started to rise off all fours, lifting his torso and I slid away, lubed by my own cream and the sweat of his body, falling on my butt on the floor near the weight rack.

I was behind him, looking up at him. My cock was still rigid but growing limp. I was as sweaty as he was, glistening under the lights, coated in my cream. He lifted up his arms and looked back and forth between them, his shaggy head moving to and fro like a great bear.

His biceps were growing. He balled his fists and pushed spasms of power into them and he - and I - watched them growing. I could see the fibers of muscle splitting and multiplying. I watched the bulge swell upward under the skin and grow by the inch.

His shoulders were expanding as well, along with his lats and the muscles of his back. I watched his entire upper body growing larger with brawn. I could see - physically see - the power manifest in every distinct head of every powerful muscle.

He rose to his feet, seemingly in a daze. He was looking down at himself, his hands and arms had fallen and he was exploring his body. I said, “What is it? What’s happening?”

He turned toward me. The look on his face - it was like a religious ecstasy or deep sexual bliss. “Growth cycle,” he reported. “Pre… premature. Should only happen when I am inactive.”

Inactive. Sleep. This is how they grew them. This is what happens. This is why… “You’re growing?”

He nodded. “Feels…”

The bond opened. The sensations he was feeling flooded my body. I knew how he was feeling. I could feel it, too. As I watched him grow, as the muscles of his body developed miraculously and his frame expanded to contain all the new brawn, he was being flooded with some form of narcotic or some naturally occurring chemical, a dopamine, that made him equate what was happening to him with the pleasure of sex.

It was an amazing and enthralling experience, to watch him grow. His chest swelled outward. His shoulders built upward. He wasn’t growing to gigantic status, instead everything was slowly but inexorably growing larger, by an easily discernible amount.

It was as if the man before me was magnifying. Everything got bigger, from the size of his feet to the width of his hips to the length of his cock. Even his balls were swelling, visibly enlarging and dropping farther as they grew heavier.

Of all his features, only his face remained largely unchanged. There was an intensity in his blue-eyed gaze that bordered on fanatical. If what I was feeling through the bond was only half of what he was experiencing, that look was entirely understandable. His body was being flooded with pleasure, to overcome what had to be an otherwise painful process. His very bones were being forced to grow along with his muscle and everything else. But the overall effect was breathtaking and, I have to say, as sexy as hell.

It didn’t take very long, or perhaps I was so mesmerized by it all that time lost all meaning. It ended as abruptly as it began, and now he stood before me with an additional three inches of height, and who knows how many more pounds of rock-solid muscle? His enormous cock has gained an inch or two in length, and looked thicker as well. And as I had mentioned, his balls were enormous.

But it was the muscle that was the most evident change. Perhaps his workout had set it off. Maybe it was the combination of that and our sexual encounter. I had, after all, pounded his ass like a pro - though I rather doubted that it was his first time having his ass pounded. Whatever the reason, his steel-tempered collection of muscles was now much larger, bulging with fierce and mind-bending definition along every inch of his taller frame. His chest was incredible, and the depth of the valleys between each fat muscle popping from his abdominal wall was unbelievable.

The muscles along his legs and arms were fat and encircled with veins. As I watched, the muscle seemed to slightly soften, or perhaps it was still growing, but the end result was that his vascularity decreased as the muscle swelled upward under his skin, leaving only a couple of thick veins that crowned the heads of his biceps, and a few branching tributaries along his thighs and reaching upward from his groin across the flat expanse of his pubic region.

God, he was beautiful - even more beautiful than before, if that was possible. And clearly, it was, because the evidence was towering before me.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

He smiled and raised his arm, pushing back the dark mane that had fallen into his eyes, making the ball of his bicep swell with gorgeous power. “I apologize,” he said. “You’re not supposed to see that.”

“Do it again,” I told him. “That was fucking awesome!”

His dick responded to my words, visibly - and almost violently - pulsing. “You… enjoyed that?”

“Fuck, yes! That was amazing!” I tried to rise to my feet, but found myself dazed. He reached down and offered his hand, and I took it. It was larger, too. He was so strong, fucking hell, was he strong. His handsome face lit up as I praised him, and I knew he wanted to kiss me. So I kissed him first.

Or, at least I attempted to. Before, his lips were attainable, but now he stood nine or ten inches taller than I. He was grinning as I reached for him, and he bent toward me and we pressed our mouths together and his tongue won the wrestling match, again. I reached down as grabbed onto his cock, finding it hard now to fully grasp its circumference in my hand, and squeezed playfully. Fuck, he was so big. He did something, squeezed his ass or made his cock do something, maybe it was magical too, and the thing swelled in my grip and seemed to grow hot as well.

Fuck, that turned me on.

“Oh, jesus,” I moaned. “Oh, fucking hell, you’re so hot.”

“May I offer my apologies on behalf of my employer and myself.”

“What?” I backed off, a bit shocked.

“A full refund for this evening will be credited to your account.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You requested a Level 3 companion, I am now a Level 4.” He looked down at himself, and if it was possible to convey pride and embarrassment in equal terms, he was doing that now.

“No, it’s fine! It’s fucking great, in fact!”

“But, the terms of the contract… your requirements…”

“No, it’s really fine. I don’t want a refund. If anything, this feels like I should be paying you more!”

His face lit up, and a smile wound across his handsome mouth. “You’re not disappointed?”

“Oh, hell no! If you could do that again, in fact, I’d be even happier than I am now!” I grabbed onto my own erection and wagged it at him. “Does this look like I’m disappointed?”

His eyebrow arched. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.”

“Fuck, that was… that was amazing!”

“Thank you,” he said, with uncertainty. Then his brutally handsome face went sort of blank, and his body straightened to its full height, his arms fell to his side and his posture perfected itself -- shoulders back, chest out -- hell, it even looked like his dick aligned perfectly with his frame. When he spoke, his powerfully masculine voice had a slight monotone register, and he said, “but I must make my departure, now. I have not received the required...”

“But…”

“…conditioning and indoctrinations concerning my improvements and augmented capabilities. There is a possibility of physical repercussions or anatomical association with a partner or partners imparted via the bond and sexual activity. This is a very real risk due to instability in the form following morphosis for a period of 24 to 48 hours. Any evolution of augmentations or amplifications, occurring prior to or during a session, may impart unforeseen side effects to one or both parties.”

He was reciting something. When he stopped, and stood looking at me, I asked, “Like what?”

He blinked. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then opened it again, and reported, “I don’t have that information.”

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“Any evolution of augmentations or amplifi….”

“I know that part! I don’t care! I don’t want you to leave!”

His face broke its blank expression, and his brow knitted together. “Unforeseen side effects may occur,” he repeated, helplessly.

“I’m willing to take my chances.” He was glorious. He was beautiful. He was fucking huge. “If you are.”

He looked at me. “I?”

“What do you want to do?”

He looked perplexed. “What do I want to do?” he repeated.

“Do you want to leave?”

“Unforeseen side effects,” he said.

“Right. Understood. But I’m asking you what you want to do. I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay.” Hell, didn’t everything come with warning stickers? I was taking my life into my hands when I stepped into the seat of my car, if I were to believe everything I was told. Fucking lawyers and fucking insurance companies are always covering their asses. They probably just wanted to gyp me out of having an evening with a much more expensive model than I had contracted for. And from the looks of him, a fucking Level 4 was worth twice as much as a Level 3. “I’m willing to risk these ‘unforeseen side effects,’ but I want to know what you want.”

“I don’t understand.”

I was gambling here. I was working against some corporate bullshit that was probably burned into his memory or something. I wanted him to fucking stay! Did he remember my instructions? Could he think for himself?

I pulled in a long, calming breath and sighed. He stood before me in his swollen, towering muscular perfection with a look of confusion on his features. His full, moist, kissable lips were pursed and his brow was furrowed. “You have a choice,” I explained. “I’m giving you a choice.”

“I must make…”

“Your departure now, yes, sure, that’s one option. But the other one is that you stay here tonight, for the duration of the contract, with me. And I get to have some more fun with you, and you get to have some more fun with me, and together we get to explore what a Level 4 has over a Level 3 and discover these unforeseen side effects together. The three of us.”

“Three?”

“You, me, and that colossal shank of mouthwatering sexmeat hanging between your legs.” I smiled.

He looked down at his incredible and beautiful prick with an expression of confusion, then looked at me again.

I winked at him.

“I may decide?”

I nodded, afraid that any sound I made might break this tenuous thread connecting us.

He looked down at himself again. His chest was immense. He was breathing calmly. Sweat still clung to the deep valleys between each swollen muscular bulge. His face showed a variety of emotions washing across his features. Wonder, confusion, desire, hunger, curiosity… determination.

When our eyes met again, it felt like some strong shock of electricity had passed between us. “Let’s explore,” he said, the R rolling into a lustful growl.

My dick practically slapped my belly.