Transform: New Blood 18
by AKA
Wolf, Maddox and Sherman sat near the back of the bar, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. It was easier than usual, given that the population of this particular watering hole was made up of a combination of Alaskan oil workers, fishermen, and men from the nearby military post. They were each sporting full sets of facial hair, and had managed to cloak their huge muscled bodies in enough camouflaging layers of clothing that they’d recently “borrowed” from the dryer in a local Laundromat that it was almost conceivable that at least some of their solid bulk was made up of padding.
As it is, the others in the bar were of similar make-up, their bodies strengthened and swollen with muscle built up rather more naturally than the trio sitting around a small, well-worn table with three beer bottles – one untouched – between them. Maddox had persuaded Wolf to buy a Budweiser, but there was nothing, apparently, that was going to persuade the man to actually drink it.
“It’s swill,” he had proclaimed in his Slavic accent, which made it sound somehow sexy. “It even smells like piss.”
Maddox nodded. “It doesn’t taste much different from it, either, but we’re supposed to be hard-worn trappers in from a long trek into the wastes.” He kept his eyes on the two men in military haircuts at the bar as he spoke in a gruff whisper, his deep tones rumbling between them.
Wolf turned and eyed the other man. “Trappers do not drink Scotch?”
“Trappers may drink Scotch,” Sherman interjected, “but not necessarily an 18-year-old single malt. We’re in fucking Alaska, as if I need to remind you.”
“No need,” Wolf said smiling, exposing the perfect gleaming white teeth behind his brush of white-blond whiskers. “But I enjoy… fucking at you.”
“Fucking WITH me, but I suppose any fucking you want to point my way would be…”
“Gentlemen, if we could keep our minds on work for just this few minutes, please? I know it’s hard…”
“Is it ever,” Sherman grumbled, reaching down and rubbing the ever-hungry cock snaking down his Levi’s.
“But we do have a couple of live ones finally, and I am not going to let them go.” He smiled evilly. “It’s time to trap.”
Wolf returned his smile, and even lifted his Bud and clinked it against Maddox’s. “Here’s to trapping.”
Maddox grunted a non-reply and reached up to brush away a lock of dark hair. They all sported a lot of hair, in addition to the beards and mustaches. His own was almost blue black, shot through with threads of silver. His face remained unlined, but if one didn’t look closely he could have been a man – a very large man – in his 40’s. Wolf maintained his silver-white coat, managing to dim its luster down to a more believable dirty blonde, but his eyes were as piercingly platinum as ever. Sherman, for his part, decided he wanted to maintain his illusion of youth and had little more than a shadow of growth across his chin and cheeks, and his red-brown hair was held in a fat pony tail trailing down his back.
The plan was simple. Convert three recruits and assume their identities, using their Transforming powers to alter their appearances to match their new friends’ down to their fingerprints and eye patterns. Maddox and Sherman were both intimately familiar with the security measures they were likely to encounter, and they were here to gather information, and not to flood the place with another manic Transformation that might up their own numbers, but do nothing to thwart the on-going activities meant to curtail their survival.
They’d moved from bar to bar in the little town, for where there are plenty of men, there are also plenty of places to get drunk. Unluckily for the trio, the testosterone level of the place was off the charts, and everywhere they went they found themselves surrounded by more horny men than they’d seen in one place since leaving the island.
Women were in short supply this far north, but big, burly, strong, hirsute males were everywhere. They could all feel the pull of Transform within their bodies, and they were all more or less walking hard-ons, ready willing and completely able to take on every man they saw and bust enough nuts to put Brazil out of business.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep it in their pants, so to speak. They could practically smell the masculine overdrive pumping out from everyone they encountered. They may have had control over their bodies, but that didn’t mean their bodies didn’t let their desires to be broadcast in full color.
Wolf, of all of them, seemed to be able to contain himself the easiest, and Sherman was definitely having the hardest time of it. He was constantly in the bathroom jerking another load out, but being careful not to leave a trace of his Transforming fluids about where just anyone might accidentally find himself swelling out of his down vest. Maddox couldn’t blame him, and he had on more than one occasion just barely managed to stop himself from grabbing some guy and shoving his tongue down his throat before ripping his clothing off his body and swallowing his cock just as deeply.
But finally they had two recruits in their sites, and he was not about to let them go. The trick, now, was getting them to bite the hook. “Okay,” Sherman said, raising an eyebrow, “Now what? You just propose to go over there and say, ‘Hi, wanna fuck?’ and they’re both gonna go, ‘Hey, yeah! We were just discussing which of the men in this extremely heterosexual enclave we could take out back and plunge our massive dicks…’”
“You’re making me blush,” Maddox answered dryly. “Not that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.”
“Mine, too,” Wolf agreed. “Especially the tall one.”
It was indeed true that the military men were far from unattractive. They were probably Marines, and likely they were Seals judging from the size and demeanor they exhibited. The crewcuts were a dead giveaway, but the superior way they viewed everyone else and the way they walked around like they had sticks up their butts… definitely Marines. ‘The tall one,’ was massive, at least 6’6”, maybe 6’9”. Maddox had a harder time judging now that his own height varied. He was an African-American beauty, with dark liquid eyes and a set of teeth that practically glowed. His shoulders were nearly as wide as his whole body, and everywhere on him there bulged another mass of brawn, every beautiful muscle struggling against its neighbor in his crisply-ironed uniform.
His companion, only slightly shorter, but no less powerfully built, looked half-Asian. His exotic looks were offset with a set of kissably thick lips that rarely smiled, and almond-shaped blue eyes. His cheekbones were so high and sharp that Maddox wondered that he didn’t stab those lovely eyes out, and at the same time he had delicate hands with very long fingers than Scott could almost feel up his asshole.
“Step one; get them away from this crowd.”
Sherman smiled. “Excellent. I’ve been wanting to try some of my Men’s Room come-ons out. And by the rate that those two have been sucking back the brews, they’ll both be needing to shake the weasel in no time.”
“Right, but, uhhh, just for the sake of argument, let’s say you did follow them in there and managed to spread a little of your sunshine on them and they’re suddenly swelling into giant muscular sex objects and the little one-man toilet stall is suddenly not quite big enough to hold an 18-foot-tall dude.” Maddox rasied an eyebrow. “Any plan for that?”
“Ah. No. Good point.”
“You learn these little things in the field. Don’t worry, you’ll get it.” He looked at Wolf. “What about you?”
“I would have liked Sherman’s plan very much, but I see the problem. Why not we just Transform every man and sort out the details later?”
“A little thing called secrecy. If we’re going to infiltrate Mission Control, it’ll be helpful if they’re unaware of our presence. But don’t worry, I have a plan.”
Sherman smiled and folded his arms across his barrel chest. “Which is?”
“What, Sherman, you’ve never been thrown out of a bar before?” He took a sip of the bitter beer and narrowed his gaze. “There’s one failsafe, surefire way to get a Marine to throw a punch.”
Sherman smiled. “When did you join the Navy?”
“Just now,” he answered, gulping down the last of his beer and heading toward the bar – and the two large Marines. Grinning, Sherman did the same, while Wolf only furrowed his brow and trailed after.
“Yo! Three more! Aaaaand, two for my friends here,” Maddox slurred, gesturing at the large pair with his thumb. The bartender grimaced but nodded and slid the Buds down the dark wooden bar. Two more followed behind, which Maddox lifted and deposited in front of the Marines before hoisting his bottle and calling out, “Here’s to the Jarheads! Who else would be pussy enough to drop out of the United States Navy because they couldn’t handle the pressure?” Then he drank.
“Who,” asked the black man, his voice at least as deep as Maddox’s own, “are you calling a pussy, Swabbie?”
“I believe,” Sherman added helpfully, “he’s calling you a pussy, Pussy. And in a town like this one, I’d be scared fucking shitless if I was a pussy, Pussy. Because it won’t be long before you find yourself filled with cock.” And to illustrate, Maj. Gen. Sherman Tipton unzipped his jeans and whipped out an 8-inch beauty and wagged it at the man.
The exotic-looking man looked down and smirked. “That ain’t a cock, Navy.” With finesse and evident pride, the man then slowly unzipped his own crisply pressed trousers and dug his hand into his crotch, pulling out a fat, firm, thick and amazing prick that had at least an inch or two on the General’s. “THIS,” he stated unnecessarily, “is a cock.”
“Nah,” answered Wolf, grinning now. “That’s a dick. You know difference between dick and cock, Jarhead? A dick is what you keep in reserve until cock shows up.” As he explained, Wolf was extracting his own cock, which he had allowed to swell to a full 10 inches, and as thick as a beer can.
It was the black man’s turn, now. And his smile made it evident that they hadn’t seen anything yet. “You boys all done playing with your toy guns?” He undid his belt and let it fall slack. “Because if you’re going into a gun fight,” he undid the top button and slowly peeled down his zipper, “it’s always nice to bring the biggest gun.” Then he revealed his own majestic length of manmeat, and it was a huge 12-inch monster with a plum-sized head, covered in thick veins.
They all looked at Maddox. “Sometimes,” he said, “a prick is worth a thousand words.” With that, he pulled open his pants and out shoved his own amplified cock, which unfurled to an unbelievable and glorious 14 inches, with its foreskin shrouded helmet dangling almost to his knees.
They were all staring at it. It was mind-boggling in its incredible size and girth. It was slowly plumping as they watched it, swelling with blood, pumping to erection with every heartbeat. The head bloomed from its tight cowl as it rose, and the veins along its shaft grew fat. Maddox was facing away from the bar so that he could give the two military men a private show. His accomplices were each grinning as they returned their own dicks inside their pants.
When Maddox’s pride had risen to its full 18-inch height, rising nearly to Maddox’s chest, he turned toward the black-skinned Marine, grabbed his hot cock and shoved the glistening tip at the man. “You ready for this, Pussy?”
And that was how the fight started.
It really wasn’t much of a fight, since the trio of Transformed men were ill-equipped to start waling on their targets, feeling more playful and horny about the sword-fighting than the military men, who were obviously in it to win it. Punches were thrown, and easily dodged.
It was a strange experience for Wolf, who had been trained as a military man himself and was used to feeling the surge of fighting blood inside him at the first sign of conflict, but his newly re-wired Transformed brain went in an entirely other direction. He wasn’t thinking about making contact with his fist and sending anyone to a hospital, all he could think of was what these men would look like naked, and how much he wanted to wrap his lips around that dark-skinned man’s 12-inches. He found himself laughing as he easily parried the blows coming at him, and felt joy rather than anger in the exchange. He wasn’t angry or in a fighting mood at all. He wanted, rather, to kiss these men into submission.
Maddox had been Transformed for somewhat longer than his companions, and he was entirely aware of how he reacted now to conflict. He could feel his desire to Transform these men immediately, it surged forward with lust and need and replaced his old emotional platform, but he suppressed that desire for now and managed instead to look like he was ready for a fight, though he spent his time ducking and weaving and watching the men’s muscles bulge and flex as they tried repeatedly to hit him. He was smiling, too, which only made them angrier.
Tipton was having the hardest time suppressing his new preservation instinct, which wasn’t to strike out but to embrace, to pull these men into his arms and shove his tongue into their mouths and cup their fine asses in his grip. He’d managed to wrestle his way into the embrace of the Asian and found himself copping a feel of the man’s lengthy cock when the man shoved him away and threw a punch at the offender. Sherman did not dodge in time and the blow struck him full in the face. He felt dazed by the shock of the blow but was otherwise entirely unhurt. The man, however, pulled back his hand with a look of intense pain on his beautiful face.
It made Sherman really want to fold him over and fuck his ass deep and hard.
The fight was forced outside by the bartender and some of the patrons, who were evidently used to a fight now and again and were perfectly capable of managing the testosterone. They five men tumbled from the bar into the cold, dark night, wrestling in the street for some time before Maddox and his friends managed at last to move the fight to a dark alleyway where their true objective could more easily commence.
The plan wasn’t much of a plan. Time was of the essence, because both Maddox and Tipton knew that Main Office wasn’t likely to allow any of its members outside the confines of its walls for very long, and it was as likely as not that the men were bait to capture them and gain more information about their physiologies and capabilities. That also meant that they had likely developed some new method of containing them, because everyone had to know by now what men who had been Transformed were capable of doing to an enclosed space filled with other men when they released their unstoppable power of metamorphosis.
They needed to get inside, and the only way to safely do that was to pretend to be someone else. And since they could only shrink so far, and only compact their monstrous muscular power to a certain extent, they needed big men to change themselves into. And there was a question that none of them could answer until they were at the entrance to the Main Office itself: They knew they could look like another man, but how far did that mimicry go? Main Office security used eye pattern recognition and, in the deepest corridors of power, DNA registration. Did they merely look like the men they intended to masquerade as, or could they pass as them in even the deepest sense?
They were about to find out.