Transform: New Blood 6
by AKA
“Holy….”
“Shit…”
Derek turned around immediately when Cal and Murph unintentionally announced the arrival of the two most beautiful men he’d ever seen. The club was dark and the music was loud, but it felt as if they were some sort of black hole of sexual energy because every eye and every dick in the place was suddenly and irrevocable turned in their direction.
They were both huge, taller by a head than almost any other guy in the club. One dude was a swarthy golden god, with a sideways grin that was practically an aphrodisiac unto itself and the kind of face he wanted to be looking up into as he was sucking a cock. The other, standing right next to him, was a chocolate giant as smooth of skin as the other was furry. The bronzed guy was wearing nothing at all above the waist, and from Derek’s view from the bar across the dancefloor he already looked naked. Muscles bulged everywhere, huge and powerful and perfect, with full, heavy bellies of evident brawn stuffed under his tanned flesh. His nipples looked pre-licked, and as he laid his strong arm across his equally muscled companion’s broad shoulders, it felt like he was releasing heat from his dark, furry pit even 30 feet away.
His friend was removing a stark, white wifebeater, stripping the tight garment over his head and slapping it over a shoulder. Derek felt his hard-on grow painful as he watched the play of muscle moving beneath the dark skin as the bicep, pec and shoulders all wrestled for room. They were talking to each other and smiling, and then the white guy caught Derek’s hungry stare and his smile grew positively immoral. “Fuck me,” he whispered, and as if the guy could hear him, he nodded and started to push his dark friend through the tangle of sweaty bodies directly toward him and his two friends.
“Holy….”
“You said that already, dumb ass. Just act cool, for Chissakes. If you blow this one…”
“You blow this one, I want to blow that one!”
Derek rolled his eyes. “My point exactly! Shut the fuck up and let me… hi! Hey, wussup?”
They were suddenly standing right next to him, and they were even bigger close up. That heat he had imagined seemed to increase, and he could smell them both now. The smell of a man, almost more than anything else, could drive Derek into a sexual frenzy. But he’d never encountered anything as arousing as the smell that filled his head now. “Nothing much, yet. Wussup with you dudes?”
His voice was a deep rumble that easily carried under the screaming diva currently exhorting everyone to please get down right now. Derek tried unsuccessfully from letting his eyes wander over the man’s body like a dog in heat, but he simply could not help it. Everywhere he looked on the man, he saw muscle, muscle and more muscle. He watched it flex and bulge with the man’s every movement. His skin seemed to glow with a sheen of something like silk, and the dark jungle of curls coating his broad chest and thick arms lead his gaze on a quest south until he saw an eruption of pubic glory escaping the lowest pair of hip-hugging jeans on the planet. In addition to the fact that they seemed painted onto his skin, the waist rode so low that he swore he could see the thick root of the man’s cock above the button fly.
Chuck could feel a surge of sexuality pumping through his body. He was surrounded by young, virile, libidinous men out looking for other young, virile, libidinous men to fuck and be fucked by. The room was practically bathed in testosterone and male hormones, it leaked out of the pores of the half-naked and mostly naked bodies that surrounded him. His own highly evolved sexuality swelled in response, making him a veritable hurricane of male energy that sucked up everything it passed and left the devastation of men in desperate lust with him behind.
Prior to entering the club, he’d used Frazz as a sounding board to see exactly how low and tight he could make the jeans he was wearing without necessarily requiring a visit from the vice squad. He could already feel the fly straining against the thickness and length of his cock where it arched above from his cum-swollen balls. An inch or two of asscrack peeked above the waistband in back and more than one finger found its way down that dark, hot tunnel as he wandered across the dancefloor, sampling the passage between the hard, muscular globes of his butt.
“How’s this?” Chuck and Frazz stood in an alley a couple of blocks from the club. Chuck was shirtless, the mounds of muscle piled on his body thrown into stark relief by the street lamp on the corner. He was molding his body to conform to the jeans in order to show his assets to their best condition.
“You could be a little more ab-tastic. Don’t go, y’know, insane on them but maube bring out that bottom pair a bit more… yeah, like that. That’s good. Now get those twin pillars of muscle on the side to flare a bit. The… whatever they’re called? These right here.” Frazz ran his hands along his own pair of traverse abdominals and watches Chuck’s swell around the prefect rows of his 8-pack. “Niiiice. Okay, now get these worked up a little? These? No, these, here!” He reached over and rubbed on Chuck’s obliques and watched the finger-thick muscles swell and separate. “Perfect.”
“Of course,” Chuck said with a smile. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them with anticipation. His chest muscles went into spasms of swollen flexing. “This is gonna be fun!”
“Remember the mission, Chuckster. Info first, fucking later.”
Chuck wiggled his dark brow. “Of course! How the fur? Think I need a little more? A little less?”
Frazz considered the curls of dark hair that coated Chuck’s bronzed skin. In the shadows of the alleyway, the man’s dark swath of glistening curls, short and gleaming like gossamer threads against the vascular brawn, managed to make him look even more imposing and powerful, deepening the valleys between the globes of his chest and making the egg carton of abs pop hard. His two heavy nipples poked through the forest like invitations, fat little peanuts that practically begged to be tortured. “Like I said, you’re perfect.” He leaned in and pressed his soft, thick lips to Chuck’s mouth and kissed him deeply. “Just keep the monsters at bay for a couple of hours and see if we get any leads before you unleash the beasts. How do I look?”
Frazz was wearing a pair of black leather lace-up pants that had more than a whiff of Frederick’s of Hollywood or International Male, but he got off on the ironic sexuality of them. Just pulling the silly things up his legs made him think about Conan the Barbarian and his hordes of surly, musclebound fighting men all licking each other by the fire. He left the lacings undone so his own mammoth monster had some room in the tight cowskin, and his ass looked like two bowling balls in the snug seat. Nothing at all about his anatomical proportions was left to imagination in the pants, and with the removal of the stretchy white cotton tank top, it looked like he had been poured into those pants. The darkness of his skin and the darkness of the club made it difficult to see where he ended and the leather began.
“Good enough to eat.”
Inside the club, Chuck pulled Frazz in tighter among the trio of smooth-skinned twinks sipping fruity drinks at the bar. “I’m Chuck, and this is Frazz.”
“Cool. I’m Derek, and this is Calvin and Stan, but everyone calls him Murph.”
Chuck turned his dark gaze on him. “Everyone?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. Just started in high school. There were two other Stans and so they decided to call me Murph, since my last name’s Murphy, and it kind of stuck, you know, because I never really corrected anybody or anything, so…”
“Tell me, Murph, when you’re nervous, do you tend to talk a lot?”
“Yeah,” Derek said with a scowl. “He does.”
Frazz purred like a tiger. “What are you nervous about?” He reached down and rubbed his knuckles against Murph’s insistent erection, pressing with urgent need against his G-Stars. “I’m not sure I want you more relaxed, though. This feels pretty good to me.” His thumb found the head of Murph’s cock and playfully polished it.
“That’s nothing,” Cal boasted, and he easily unbuckled his belt and pulled open his pants, unleashing a very thick, very long, very tasty looking piece of meat that bounced outward eagerly, its entire length throbbing with every beat of his young, excited heart. The head was red and wet, with a smear of precum across the glossy flesh. The kid was extremely hard. “I’ve got nine inches.” Cal’s freckled face smiled. He had a brush of red hair atop his head and the same color down below. Like his companions, his body was thin, but not frail, and he looked to be barely legal enough to be drinking.
Chuck raised an eyebrow as he looked down at the beauty. “So you have. That’s very impressive, Calvin.” He placed his hand on the erection and squeezed it in his rough grip, eliciting a gasp from the young initiate and a fresh gob of precum from the piss slit. Chuck absently rubbed the helmet with the clear lube, running the pad of his thumb in small circles around and around. “And what about you, Derek? What have you got to offer?”
Derek smiled and pulled up his shirt, showing off a fatless torso with a surprisingly muscled belly. He was entirely hairless, save for a thin treasure trail emitting from his navel. It was of the same dark color as the tumble of soft waves on his head. He had the longest eyelashes surrounding his dark brown eyes that Chuck had ever seen.
Derek grabbed the hem of the shirt under his chin as he started undoing his own belt, but a hand appeared on his shoulder and the bartender shook his head. “Sorry,” the man said, a gorgeous dark-eyed man with a shaven head and tattoos running down his well-trained arms. “Shirtless is okay. Underwear is okay. Cocks out? Not okay.” He smiled as he said it. “Look, if it was up to me the six of us would be roughly fucking each other’s asses right here on the bar, but the city of New York frowns on unlicensed nudity.” He drew his hand away as Calvin stopped playing with his belt. “We just got busted the other night for a couple of randy little fuckers doing it in the back alley – and they weren’t even in the club. So if you guys could just cool your engines until you get home, or at least get a half a block away?”
Chuck tucked Cal’s stiffy back into his jeans – carefully -- and leaned toward the barman. “Apologies. No harm intended. And if you’re serious about the rough fucking thing, I’d like to…”
“Chuck,” Frazz warned. “Discipline.”
Chuck rubbed his palm across his bulging basket. “I’m afraid my engines are always running hot.” He offered his precum-sticky hand to the bartender. “And who might you be?”
“Paul. Very happy to meet you.” Paul’s tattoos continued up his muscular arms and coated his lean torso with pictures of entwined roses, complete with bloody thorns, as well as an array of hunky sailors, swelling biceps, bubble butts and assorted muscular fantasies straight out of a Tom of Finland wet dream. He wore a blond goatee on his chin and his skin was as pale as milk. Two small pink nipples sat on his defined chest, and if Chuck had to think up a word for his build, it would be “sinewy.” He was thin, true, but there was a lot of potential there to work with – not that it would matter much once Transform got hold of him. Chuck’s cock swelled at the thought of watching Paul’s slender body inflating with power. “What’ll you have?”
Chuck glanced around, and said, “Looks like beer is the drink of choice around here. Just give me something tall and wet to suck on and I’ll be happy. Same for my friend, Frazz, here.” Frazz nodded and smiled, his teeth bright against his dark skin.
Derek was determined not to let the bartender undermine his position. “First time here? I think I’d remember someone like you.”
You’re a regular then?” Paul set the beers on the bar. Neither Chuck nor Frazz reached for them.
“All three of us. We’re here every weekend.”
“At least,” Cal chimed in. His pants were still hanging open, and his cock did not seem to want to comply with the bartender’s pleadings. Murph was being uncharacteristically quiet, given the rate with which his heart was pumping and the sheen of sweat that had broken out across his forehead.
Chuck, hoping to pique the boy’s interests, hung his heavy, hard arm across Murph’s shoulders, a strong tang of his male scent issuing from the damp curls in his armpit. “What about you, Murph? Up for a little fun?” Chuck reached his other hand down to check out Murph’s package.
“I’m always up for something! Just ask Derek! Last week? Like, we were in here, Derek an’ Cal an’ me, and we’re like being all cool and shit, right? Looking pretty fucking fine, like we do? Right? And this dude comes up, he’s all in my case sayin’ like ‘who’s the pretty girl? Why’d you bring a girl in here?’ and I’m like, ‘Fuck you, asshole!’ and then later, I did.”
“Did what?”
“Fuck his asshole!” Murph grinned. He had long dirty blonde hair, past his shoulders, that likely brought the mystery man’s remarks. His features were also delicate and feminine, but Murph was sporting a nice piece of meat in his drawers. Chuck’s expert touch could tell that it was long and thin, with a slight upward bend that would be able to reach even the deepest prostate.
“Well, Frazz and I are here looking for someone in particular, and we were wondering if you dudes know anything at all about a vid that’s been making the rounds on YouTube and XTube and so on.”
“What, did some guy stick a pack of Mentos up his ass and perform a Diet Coke enema on himself?” All three of the young men laughed.
“Heard of Self Suck Sam?” Derek shook his head. Murph looked at Cal and Cal looked guilty about something. Chuck took the cue and looked at Cal, reaching his grip back into the guy’s jeans and re-engaging his expert touch on his cock, coincidentally passing a flashing promise of The Touch, just one of a Transformed man’s impressive arsenal of sexual pleasures, along Cal’s dick.
The Touch allowed Chuck’s skin to become a conduit of increased sensual sensitivity with a mere thought and intention – an example of Transform working its sometimes subtle magic on another man’s flash where contact is made. The Touch can, when used at full force, cause another man to spontaneously and powerfully orgasm no matter where it is applied. Chuck was passing only a whisper of its power through his contact, but doing so on one of Cal’s most sensitive tactile areas. He smoothly stroked Cal to iron hardness and the young man gasped and felt his knees buckle when the wave hit. “Something on your mind, Cal?”
“Cal can suck his own dick,” Murph replied, helpfully. “Yeah! And it’s not like you sometimes see, you know, where the guy is like kissing the tip or licking it or whatever. Cal can fully blow himself! Like, all the way! Totally cums in his own mouth! It’s awesome!”
“Really, Cal?” The young man nodded once. Chuck was still manipulating the tool in question and was slowly increasing the amount of The Touch he was applying with his slow, steady strokes. “The whole thing?” Cal nodded again, going slightly up on his toes when Chuck squeezed the shaft to emphasize his question. “I’d love to see that firsthand – and I might be able to teach you a new trick or two if you’re interested.” He brought up his free arm and bent it at the elbow. The entire limb exploded with muscle, the bicep swelling massively before the head split in two. His shoulder built upon itself with cables of power and his chest rose and hardened, lifting his nipple to mouth-sucking glory. Fat veins traversed the hard brawn and another heavy whiff of Chuck’s unique and vigorous man scent showered the group. “Would you like that, Cal? Would that interest you at all?”
Cal swallowed hard and nodded again. Murph chimed in, “Whoa,” as he peeked over Chuck’s peak, and Derek was literally speechless. Cal finally found his voice again, staring at Chuck’s monster of a bicep. “Wha… what sort of tricks?”
Chuck grinned. “This one, for starters.” Chuck lowered his arm and wound it around Cal’s slight frame. Then he leaned his head down, pulling Cal’s lips to his own, and granted the guy one of his patented, never-fails, swoontastic full-on lip locks.
Chuck was good at many things. Chuck had thousands of hours of naked practice coupling with the most sexually attuned and morally capricious group of men on the planet. Chuck had intimate knowledge of where to touch a man, what to do with his body, and how to share pleasure in literally millions of ways. There was no orifice he hadn’t explored, no millimeter of skin he hadn’t touched, licked or stroked, and no ideas about what was right or wrong when it came to sexually pleasing himself and whomever he happened to be with.
Of all the things Chuck was good at, he considered himself a master of the kiss. Kissing was, in his mind, the most perfect introduction between any two people, and how he kissed – the depth of it and the passion, the use of lips and tongue and teeth, the accompanying body-to-body contact, where his hands were and what they were doing, his breathing, his need, his lust -- was perhaps more important to him than any other act.
Chuck was good at many things. Chuck was very, very good at kissing.
He never meant to cheat, and maybe it wasn’t cheating if all he was using was his body’s own capabilities. After all, wasn’t that what anyone did? And could he help it if his body’s particular capabilities were so… robust? Cal was surrounded by Chuck’s intense muscular power and overwhelming sexual energy. His scent, the feel of his skin, the hardness of his muscles, the size of him and the feel of him was everywhere. And it felt, suddenly, as if that well of sexual intensity, that irresistible, overpowering, awe-inspiring supply of masculine sexual energy was focused down into that single kiss.
Frazz folded his arms across his chest and watched his lover win again. He wasn’t sure he’d call it a trick, though. He’d been there many times, and even as a Transformed man himself, he had to admit that Chuck’s kiss, when he put himself fully into it, was probably better than a Hoover on your cock or the best fuck you ever had. The man was just amazing.
The effect on the others may not have been as powerful as it was for Cal, but it was clear to them that something amazing was happening, and they frankly wanted in on it. Even Paul, the bartender, was stopped dead in his tracks watching the two men in lip-locked perfection.
Cal wanted to cum so badly and so hard. He wanted to shove the biggest load of hot cream from his dick, it wasn’t even funny. He didn’t understand how it was happening or what was happening to him, but Chuck’s kiss was the best sex he’d ever had. His whole body pulsed with pleasure, he was lost in bliss, he was drowning in sex. He wanted to cum, Jesus God but he wanted to cum.
Chuck could feel Cal’s body’s desire to release the pent-up sexual energy he continued pumping into it through the kiss. Cal’s fat, throbbing cock told him all he needed to know. He recognized that need, it was the same one he lived with constantly. He, however, was capable of relieving that need in multiple ways. This kiss, for example. Or swelling his muscles into sharp, powerful relief. His body was built for pleasure and delivered it endlessly. And some lucky few individuals got to share a piece of that immense source when they were with him, just like now. He knew what Cal felt, because he was feeling it too. Times a thousand.
Chuck pulled his lips away and said, “Oh. And one more thing.” Then he kneeled down, pulled Cal’s hard prick into his warm, wet mouth, and sucked the boy dry.