Transform: New Blood 12
by AKA
Being a Transformed man was easy. Being a Transformed man on a mission was not.
Maddox reflected on this conundrum while he was engaged in a three-way fuck with Sherman and Wolf on top of a desert plateau somewhere in the very Morman state of Utah. Sherman had initially proposed the little adventure with the observation that not only had he not engaged in having sex with two men at once, none of them had as yet done it together. Scott had pointed out that the orgy of heightened sexual energy that had exploded on the island some weeks back in order to save Kevin from Sherman’s very own form of Untransform may have counted toward that goal, but who was he to argue when another man wanted sex?
That, then, was the main problem. It was always, inevitably, about sex. The craving never stopped. It never even grew less urgent. It was always there, a constant drive in the front of his mind and, coincidentally, his body was primed to be ready for it in unending supply. His cocks were hard, his balls were full, his libido was formidable and he could cum buckets, gallons, torrents of hot cream in an infinitely extended orgasm of sexual bliss. Hell, the real miracle was that he was ever not fucking someone’s ass.
It didn’t make it any easier when the other two were as gorgeous and powerful and, it must be noted, limber as Scott was himself, not to mention the whole flying thing and the extra dicks and so forth, but if they were going to make any progress in this task, at some point they were definitely going to have to stop fucking each other.
Scott thought about this as he was pumping another thick load of hot cum into Wolf’s tight and talented ass. Both his cocks were buried inside the Russian’s gleaming butthole and strands of thick cream were flowing along the muscled contours of his powerful legs, only to be sucked inside his body to help keep his monstrous hunger fed. Not a drop was wasted. Wolf’s cocks were buried inside Sherman’s ass, and from the sounds of it he was enjoying the sensation very much. Tipton was one of the most vocal partners that Maddox had ever had, and his vocabulary of filth was both surprising and engaging.
“Come on, cumsucker, is that all you have? Fuck me harder! I want to taste your dick in my mouth! I want you to fuck me so deep I can feel it from both ends! Ohhhh, fuck, that’s so good. Bite my neck. Yessss….”
Maddox stifled a laugh. His hands wandered the muscular contours of Wolf’s wide back and he felt the man’s body piston harder to satisfy Sherman’s desires. Wolf was as taciturn as Tipton was vocal. His skin was amazing, so smooth and soft across the steel-hard bulges of muscle, and as pale as snow. Not a single blemish or birthmark sullied the creamy white contours of flesh, which made the darkness of his huge nipples -- currently pinched between Scott’s fingers -- look like lips mounted on the full bellies of his pectorals. Even Wolf’s tight little asshole was a pale pucker, as creamy white as the rest of him, and the burr of short hair on his scalp was white-blonde as well.
He was a giant of a man, and his love-making was vigorous and athletic. At times he seemed almost angry, and he obviously enjoyed it rough, but the smile never left his lips and he was generous with his affection and his kisses. Even now he arched his head around, his lips parted, searching for Scott’s mouth and tongue, reaching a muscled arm over his shoulder, bunching with brawn, to pull Maddox’s mouth to his own.
Tipton had jumped in with both feet, true enough, but he’d spent most of his time with Scott. Not a bad arrangement, in Scott’s mind, but certainly limiting in his scope of what to do and when. Scott considered himself a very good lover, but every man is different and if you spend all your time with one of them, you’re apt to develop some lazy – or at least unimaginative – habits.
They really needed to stop this and get on with the business at hand. Scott came another fat load in Wolf’s ass as he thought the thought and with a last, lingering kiss on Wolf’s hungry mouth, he disengaged from the party, withdrawing the thick inches of his cocks from the sweet warmth of Wolf’s hole. The disappointment was palpable and came through the mindlink in waves.
“I know,” he said simply, his words soft but stark in the silence of the red rocks. “But we have a job to do. And the sooner we finish it…”
Wolf sighed and, with a final bite on Tipton’s shoulder and a resounding slap to his ass flesh, he delivered a last long, thick pump of hot cream from his fat balls and pulled out as well, his dicks still fountaining the incandescent streams of cum like twin hosepipes. The cum splattered against his body and Sherman’s and was pulled beneath their skin to feed their unending hunger. Tipton spun around and clamped his mouth down on one of the two cocks and sucked it dry before turning his attention to the other one. He was nothing if not an eager lover.
“So,” Wolf intoned, “what is plan?”
Maddox smiled. Sometimes that Russian accent was just too fucking sexy. “I’m not sure. Something’s up, that much we know.”
“We do?” Sherman was licking lips as he asked the question.
“I suppose a suspicion is all we have, but I’d say that, based on the history of the people we’re dealing with, there’s very little chance they’ve simply closed up shop and slithered away, especially considering what we did to their very expensive underground office space.”
Sherman huffed out a laugh. “That was a very memorable day.”
“Even if you weren’t exactly 100% in favor of it at the time.”
“Hey, I wasn’t in possession of these babies, yet.” He hefted his twin monsters and left them slap against his muscled thighs. “They tend to change one’s perspective a bit.”
“Da. They do,” Wolf agreed, moving his hand against the pale, solid flesh of his own left cock. “Do we know where they are?”
Maddox looked at Sherman, who shrugged. “I could make an educated guess, but I would also assume that they’d erase their tracks and start over, given that I’m now with the enemy and have knowledge of everywhere they set up shop.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully as he wandered over to a rock and sat his naked butt down on it, leaning into the dust and drawing a crude map of the continental U.S. of A. “We had special ops here, here and here,” he said, making points on the map, “and R&D shops here, here, uhhh… here and waaaay up here in Alaska.” The last point was made outside the map.
“Alaska?”
Sherman shrugged. “Your tax money at work. Some of that hidden pork that makes it into defense bills and education funding? Some of it is very, very hidden pork.”
“Where is best to start?” Wolf sounded eager. A glance at his face told Maddox that the man was clearly itching to get back into something like this.
“I doubt they’ve managed to move anything already,” Tipton observed. “The destruction of Main Office has definitely put a crimp in their hose, but there’s too much activity and too much money tied up in everything for them to abandon the projects.” He looked at Maddox, adding, “I bet they relocated to the North Pole.” He was pointing at Alaska.
Scott nodded. “Makes sense. It’s remote. Headquarters likes remote. Gives them a sense of security, which is kind of dumb. I suppose they think that by hiding things in the middle of nowhere, we won’t find them. But the footprint of something like that and the troops and support necessary to keep everything running makes anything that far away from city centers suspicious.”
Wolf nodded. “We call… excuse, please. When back home, they called center for advanced military Upravlenie, literally ‘headquarters.’ Is funny, no?”
“Directorate would be a more precise translation, Wolf, but it’s not surprising. If there’s one universal truth about the military mind, it is that it isn’t very imaginative.” Maddox considered the alternatives. “Who’d be in charge now, and what would they be primarily interested in?”
“Besides us, you mean? Believe me, they won’t give up on our little group, considering the potential and man power involved. And I mean that literally, of course.” Tipton twisted his arm to make his bicep pump into glorious power to illustrate his point. “There were at least three other initiatives concerning advanced biological research. One was to counteract Transform’s advancements, but that’s been proven moot, obviously. One was concerning light rays and invisibility, but that wasn’t making much progress. The third was kept secret even from me. I assumed it was another attempt at what Drs. Martinez and Lassiter concocted, albeit without the overriding sexual, erm, angle.”
Wolf narrowed his eyes. “I was a mere soldier. I do not know what Upravlenie was doing, other than what it was doing to me and my men.”
Sherman said, “I’m dubious that they’re doing anything anymore. Financially, they’re not in the best position to continue financing such a huge undertaking, and the Chinese are in no position, technologically, to pursue these goals. I’d bet that the only ones we need to be concerned with are right there,” he finished, pointing at the divot in the dirt representing the Alaskan frontier.
“Who’s in charge?”
“I can think of two men, off the top of my head. One’s an egghead, he’s likely doing the dirty work in the labs. The other… well, the other can best be described as an arrogant asshole.”
Maddox grinned. “Takes one to know one.”
“Indeed. But if you think I was bad, just wait until you meet this gem.”
The new man at Headquarters was named Eugene Peck, but everyone referred to him as Mr. Peck. That was all. Just Mr. Peck.
After the failure of the military to make a dent in the actions taking place on the island, and the complete takeover and Transformation of the men at the facility known as Main Office, it was decided by those with their hands on the purse strings that outsourcing was the way to go. Government involvement contained too much red tape, too many eyes looking into where they shouldn’t be looking, too much oversight of what was, really, nobody’s business. Privatization was the name of the game. And the point of any game was to win.
Nobody was as single-minded in the pursuit of winning than Mr. Peck.
He stood slightly taller than five feet high, had a comb-over of epic proportions on his prematurely bald pate, and wore navy blue wool double-breasted suits with a white button-down Brooks Brothers shirt and a matching navy blue silk tie knotted with a double Windsor. On his feet were a pair of black wingtips. His eyes were framed with silver wire-rimmed glasses and he had perpetually bad breath. No one knew where he went when he left at night, he did not appear to have any friends or relations and, indeed, all anyone knew about him was that he had a single-minded devotion to the success of the Male Biogenetic Optimization and Realization Program bordering on obsession.
At the moment, he stood behind a pair of the six certified geniuses on staff looking at a readout on a large LCD screen displaying the current genetic mutations taking place on Human Subject 3. He was only nominally aware of what it was he was watching, but it was clear to him from the visible evidence of the man in the laboratory opposite the observation room that something positive was happening.
With every stage of the experiments, he was growing more agitated with the lack of positive progress. The fact that the Martinez-Lassiter formula was so successful so immediately galled him. Their very first subject had realized dramatic, nearly unbelievable genetic alterations to his physical body, increasing strength 10-fold and realizing muscular development far in advance of expectations. Subsequent subjects, none of whom had even been screened, realized far greater advancements in far less time, and he had seen the recovered digital vids from what had occurred at Main Office prior to its destruction – the men involved had been implausibly improved in every physical manner.
Yet here he was, looking at another man on another platform, and waiting to see if they would be able to watch a percentage of the changes that the so-called Transformed men could achieve so easily.
The first subject had certainly realized muscular growth. Unfortunately, he had become literally musclebound in the space of a few minutes, his muscle tissue developing so fast and so large that it overwhelmed his frame, swelling so massive under his stretched skin that he could not move, even his jaw was swollen too large to even eat. His heart gave out quickly under the onslaught. The man’s death was regrettable, though educational.
The second subject took great strides forward. They had resolved the skeletal and ligament problems, providing a pathway for the body’s other structures to accommodate the man’s developing strength and size, but the high quantities of testosterone and masculine hormones also developed him into a killing machine, a man who would attack given even the slightest provocation. They wanted aggression, but they wanted controlled aggression.
Another failure, and another death. Now, another adjustment and another test.
Who was this man, anyway? Peck felt mildly curious about what would drive a man to become a human guinea pig. Was it dedication? Belief in something larger than himself? Faith in his own government to protect him? Did he know the dangers, and did he care?
“25% development, holding steady.” The doctor’s voice was loud in the otherwise silent room. The naked man on the platform was swelling with muscle. Peck could see it happening, but he’d seen it before. He watched the man’s face for signs of anything troublesome. The man’s face was a grimace of something like pain, fat veins pulsed all along his flesh and chords of muscle appeared and were suddenly swallowed up by thicker cables. He glanced at the measurements and watched the poundage increase, the numbers flying by as the heavy muscle tissue kept growing.
“50%,” the doctor announced. The man had gained half his own original body weight in muscle in the past 5 minutes. He weighed 325 lbs, and that 110 lbs gain was pure human muscle power, thick bands of it lined his limbs, his bare chest was swelling outward at a rapid rate, the fat muscles on his legs bulged out and separated from each other as they grew.
The man was obviously taller as well. Peck smiled. Things were going swimmingly. “75%,” he heard the man state. The look on the subject’s face had altered from a grimace to something calmer, almost beatific. Peck noted that the subject’s genitals were growing as rapidly as the rest of him, the man’s penis crawling across his heavily muscled thigh, the man’s testes swelling like balloons. “Nearing 100%.”
Now twice as large as when he was given the injection. 420 lbs. And the weight continued to accelerate. He was gaining more muscle now than before. As the muscle developed, it hastened the progress of its own continued growth. Just as planned.
He heard another sound, now. A deep moan. It came from the subject on the platform, the growing man, the man who resembled a comic book hero. He was reaching his large right hand across his body, moving with slow but obviously direct intent. Peck observed that the man’s penis was growing erect.
He looked at the two doctors. “Is this expected?”
They both nodded. “A similar reaction was reported to be part of the Martinez-Lassiter trial. A reaction of the body’s sexual drives, similar to what we saw in Subject 2.”
“Are we going to have the same results?”
The other doctor shook his head. “We accounted for the violent tendencies and have rerouted a great deal of them in… another direction.”
“I believe we were intentionally avoiding the homosexual solution.” Peck said with an eyebrow raised, referring to the manner in which Dr. Martinez and Dr. Lassiter counteracted the advanced human male’s natural tendency toward physical aggression into sexuality and libido. The government has given tacit agreement to the plan, visualizing other obvious wartime and in-field advantages, but they had gone too far and given birth to more or less useless super soldiers. They had no violent aggressions at all, and unlimited sexual drive and capability.
He watched the man slowly stroking his now mammoth erection. The subject was writhing in pleasure on the table as his penis and testes continued to develop along with the rest of him. His face was now a mask of deep physical pleasure, his mouth open to gulp in air, his eyes pinched shut, the corners of his mouth turned up in obvious bliss. The man’s penis was leaking something from the tip, something glistening and clear, that looked to have the consistency of honey or oil.
“That’s correct, Mr. Peck. Homosexual tendencies have not been developed or extended, though if they existed pre-injection we also did not interfere with them. I believe what we’re observing here was a reaction that Dr. Martinez noted in his own trials. The emissions act as a kind of lubrication, and will continue until ejaculation. We should also see some… yes, the penis will exhibit some rather advanced and noticeable growth, well beyond… as you see.”
And he did. The man’s penis was lengthening and swelling well beyond what one might have expected, even given the superhuman circumstances. The man was applying both hands, now, to his burgeoning erection, and his moans had turned to some very vocal proclamations of his evident pleasure. One hand was now crawling under his equipment, rubbing against the strip of skin between his testes and anus. It was crawling suspiciously close to the anus itself!
He slid it inside, sliding his finger in and out, then another, and a third. “Fuck, yeah, oh god, sooooo good. Oooohhhh, fuck me.”
Peck looked at the doctors. One responded, “Also to be expected. Aggression is being re-channeled to some extent, and the vocalizing is part of that process. We’re likely to see some more physical results fairly quickly. Uh, now at 150%.”
The subject was now actively thrusting his finger inside his anus while simultaneously sliding his grip up and down his slick, thickening penis. The flow of clear honey increased substantially.
“200%. 635 lbs. Entering final metamorphosis.” The subject had slid off the platform and was stranding up. His increase in height was clearly evident, and the growth of his muscles and overall body structure continued unabated. He had now re-applied both hands to his penis, whose tip had reached his chest and was quickly sprouting higher and thicker, forcing his legs apart to make room for the girth of his penis and the manifest size and weight of his testes. The flow of clear honey was a steady flood that drizzled down his equipment and legs, pooling on the white-tiled floor. The man’s body was flushed with blood, sweat poured off his slick, red skin and it was clear to everyone that something dramatic was on the verge of happening.
The explosion of semen surprised Mr. Peck, though the two doctors did little more than check the subject’s responses and vitals. The man was pumping fat fountains of pure white cream that splattered against the ceiling and rained down upon his skin like milk, draping his heavily muscled form in thick ropes of cum. The man’s level of sexual bliss and orgasmic release was as strong and obvious as the thickness and size of his muscles. His hands kept a firm and steady rhythm going as he opened his mouth to catch copious gulps of his own seed. Peck watched his throat swell and bulge and he swallowed as much of his cream as he could manage.
“Gentlemen?”
One of the doctors turned and shrugged. The other busied himself with the myriad monitors keeping track of the subject’s heartbeat, blood pressure, temperature and everything else measurable about his body. He said, “It’ll start soon. This is the last stage of the initial progress. This is the trigger that… there he goes!”
And there, indeed, he went. As the man’s continuing fountain of cream intermingled with his already altered DNA, it began to refine and considerably strengthen the physical changes manifesting all over the man’s body. His muscles bulged fatter, nearly bursting from his skin. His body stretched and widened to try to contain the sudden onslaught of power that was building everywhere. All the while, he continued to stroke his lengthening cock as its surface writhed with thick veins, pulsing and throbbing visibly.
“This looks promising,” Mr. Peck announced, a slim smile finally finding its way onto his lips. Could it be that the solution that had so far evaded them was at hand? Subject 3 was growing huge before his eyes, and the rate of growth was staggering. So what if the man was a veritable fire hydrant of semen? So what if he was growing so large that it looked like the room itself wasn’t going to contain him? So what if the rate of production in his ballsack was reaching such an advanced pace that they were suddenly swelling like beach balls?
“Gentlemen?” Those balls did look awfully full. “Gentlemen.” He said it again when he was met with silence, and a glance at the two doctors told him why.
They were now frantically attempting to shut the experiment down. Buttons were being pushed and re-pushed. Dials were being dialed back. Phone receiver were being screamed into.
Subject 3’s body was still swelling. His skin was beet red. Veins as thick as fingers were breaking out everywhere. His penis was shooting faster than ever. A flood of cream was spouting from him and his balls were monstrously swollen. The thick strands of white coated him utterly, and were being drawn through his thin skin directly into those swelling muscles. Thin red lines began to appear on his flesh, and trickles of blood were now intermingling with the flood of cum.
Peck remained silent after it became clear that he had another failure on his hands. The man in the room was still diligently and intently stroking his mammoth erection as the tears in his skin grew wider. Cables of muscle pushed their way through, growing faster now than his body could contain. His balls swelled into gigantic bloated globes. Something was going to give, it was clear, and Peck had a suspicion that someone was going to have a hell of a mess to clean up in about three… two… one….
The man literally exploded. Chucks of his muscle and bone and flesh struck the observation window hard, splattering in bright red splashes against the thick glass. The sound of his body finally giving way to the unhindered growth was wet and loud and surprisingly fast. He was there, then he was not.
Peck drew a thin inhalation through his nostrils and watched the gore slide down the window. “Promising work, gentlemen,” he said. “Keep it up.”