Transform: New Blood 28

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Frazz, Sherman and Wolf, as Transformed men, no longer needed to eat – unless it was to eat out each other’s ass or to swallow each other’s dick. Food was a sort of luxury, but not a necessity. But in order to pass for the soldiers whose identities they had borrowed, regular attendance in the Main Office mess hall was mandatory.

It also gave them an opportunity to meet up and have some face-to-face discussions, although those weren’t strictly necessary, either, given their mental connection to each other. Sherman also, admittedly, simply loved to sit down in a room filled with muscular, sexually-deprived hunks of male flesh and drink in all the repressed sexual tension. Wolf found the whole thing a bit absurd, and as usual Maddox took it all in with a grain of salt and a sense of humor.

Their business might have dire consequences for the Brotherhood, but he had to admit there was something deeply satisfying about passing so easily among the very men who were dead set on seeing the eradication of his kind.

“Operation Midnight? Nothing?” Maddox was quizzing Sherman Tipton on his knowledge about Main Office systems and capabilities.

Sherman shook his blonde head. “Nope. Sounds ominous, of course, so it’s probably bad.”

Maddox shrugged lightly. “I’ve only run into it in abstract, I can’t access any details.” He looked at Wolf and asked, “What’s new in reconnaissance?”

“Those three infiltrators,” he said, grinning. “Still the big news. Have them scared shitty.”

“Shitless,” Maddox corrected.

“Yes, shitless. Hard to pin them down, apparently. So they’re starting up testing.”

Sherman’s attention was drawn back to the conversation from the deep-voiced black dude he’d been eyeing. “Testing?”

“Fluids. Specifically, sperm. Everyone going to get to cream a few squirts into a little plastic cup.”

“Sounds ominous,” Tipton said, toying with his plate of pasta tubes and salty Marinara.

“I wouldn’t worry myself about it,” Wolf said, still grinning. “My section is in charge of it, so I’ll be handling the results.” He settled back in his chair and folded his meaty arms behind his head. “Personally.”

“Still, it does mean they are beyond suspicions.”

“Could also be precautionary.” Sherman pursed his lips and whistled a low note. “Fuck, I’d love to stick my tongue between that man’s butt cheeks.”

Maddox cleared his throat and moved his chair to the left, giving Sherman the evil eye as their friend, Marshall, joined them. Marshall was evidently an old friend of the trio they had replaced. Maddox had been trying to figure out how to Transform him since he made his friendship known, but so far they had not found any time alone and unnoticed. Main Office was a hive of constant movement and observing cameras. “Hey, dudes.”

“Hey, Marsh,” Maddox said lightly, patting the man’s broad back. Corp. Zachary Marshall Braddock, Jr. was a tall, muscular man with a shock of strawberry blonde hair and skin as white as milk. He seemed always to have a smile on his chiseled features and delighted in practical jokes at everyone else’s expense. Marsh’s father had always been known as Zack, so it was that Marsh had taken on his middle name as his chosen name.

Maddox could easily confess a strong attraction to the man, and suspected that his bravado and bluster was all show, a mask that hid whatever secrets he was hiding, like almost everyone else in the military. He was funny, he was smart, and he was handsome.

The other, and maybe the most important reason that Maddox wanted to pull Marshall into the fold was that he happened to be a chemist and biologist specializing in DNA research. And it seemed to him that a man like Marshall would be an invaluable new brother when teamed up with Carlos and Jerry, the originators of the Transform process.

Mostly he just wanted to get Marshall alone and naked. No one had managed to get under his skin like this man could.

The big brute scooted his prime buttflesh in-between Maddox and Wolf with a shit-eating grin on his cocky face. “Whattup? Looks like another plate of delicious rubber and blood, today. Fuck me if they don’t know how to deflate a guy just when he starts feeling good.”

Maddox knew what that meant. “And who’s today’s target?” In his assumed identity, Maddox was a half-Asian, half-Scots giant named Andrew McTeague. His mother, presumably, was the owner of the Japanese half of his make-up, given the last name. Wolf was a towering African-American called ‘Tank’ by everyone, though his ID badge named him as Terrance Clay. Sherman, as was his usual desire, had found what amounted to a muscle-bound twink with an angelic face named Cary Phillips. Maddox had to admit that as far as twinks went, Sherman certainly knew how to pick them – though with the guns on the guy’s arms, the term twink was being seriously stretched out of proportion.

Marshall motioned with his fork toward a table full of stoic and rather dull-looking men across the hall. “The Odd Squad. Figure it was about time to take them down a notch.”

“You’re shitting me,” Wolf said, smiling broadly. The Odd Squad was a group of MPs with a decidedly low tolerance for shenanigans. They banded together and took their jobs very seriously.

“I shit you not, Tank. I have managed to pull off a grand scheme to relieve our mutual and interminable boredom, if I do say so myself.” He stuck his fork into a sticky collection of pasta and crammed it into his mouth, talking around the food, smiling the whole time. “I managed to fix up a few special trays for the boys. My own special recipe.”

“Nothing dangerous, I hope,” Maddox said, half-seriously.

Marshall swallowed and leaned in close. He smelled good. “A little concoction I brewed up. Odorless, colorless, non-toxic. But when it heats up and combines with food, it releases its little cargo of intestinal surprises. Gentlemen, tonight those poor chaps are going to be spending a couple of hours on the nearest toilet having almost no fun at all.”

“I’m glad you’re on our side,” Sherman said, swallowing hard.

“Never doubt that,” he answered, shoveling another big bite into his mouth.

“It occurs to me that you won’t be around to see the pay-off,” Sherman observed.

Marshall cocked an eyebrow and creased his forehead. “Not sure that I’d want to, and you’re certainly developing some interesting fetishes if that’s the first thing that occurred to you, Terry.” He laughed at the idea of it. “Besides, everyone knows that stealth and secrecy is a hell of a lot sexier than putting everything out there on display, now isn’t it?” He grinned as if he knew something and wasn’t telling. “And what have the three of you been up to?”

“Nothing so grand, I’m afraid,” Maddox/Andy announced. His position in security wasn’t very deep, and he spent most of his time monitoring the very cameras and systems that were in place to capture his cohorts and him. Wolf/Tank was in recon, like the members of the Odd Squad though slightly more elite. He had daily briefings regarding what was happening and what shouldn’t be happening, and was expected to be one of the guns sent in first to any situation. Sherman/Cary had been relegated to lab work, a task he was ill-suited for but which he managed to complete with few errors, the low man on the totem poll given his rank and relative inexperience. “The usual grunt work. I think Tank’s been having a grand old time butting heads with Peck’s men, and Cary is doing his usual best not fucking things up too badly in Chem.”

“Thanks,” answered Sherman, drolly.

“Nothing explosive, lately?”

Sherman rolled his baby blues. “When are you gonna finally pull those strings you keep bragging about and get me into BioChem with you? I hear that’s where all the fun shit happens.”

Marshall shook his blonde head. “Not gonna happen. Everything’s on shut-down. Hasn’t Tank told you? Some terrorists,” he said, using air quotes and rolling his eyes, “have managed to infiltrate the compound. Like no one would even notice that someone new was wandering around this hermetically sealed prison? Hell, if anyone new did show up, I’d probably throw ‘em a party and invite them over to my quarters for a movie and popcorn. Not that we have any popcorn.”

“Or any movies,” added Sherman.

Wolf’s now-dark gaze passed over them all as he spoke in his deep voice. “It’s no joke. But they’ll get sloppy, and we’ll catch them.” He finished with a smile that was both devious and evil.

“Okay, big guy, if they’re here, why hasn’t anyone seen them?”

“I’m not allowed to say,” he answered.

“Uh huh. Couldn’t have anything to do with all the experiments in Sector Seven and the mysterious ‘reassignments,’ could it?”

Maddox looked at Marshall. “You know something.”

“Yeah, but I can be as cagey and Mr. Secretive, over there.”

“No you can’t.”

“Oh, all right. Twist the other arm. All I know is that we’re working on some radical recombinant shit that’ll make the Martinez-Lassiter work look like Betty Crocker. Those two were smart, no doubt about it, but they cut some corners and got sloppy and that’s why their work amounted to nothing. Everyone knows they shouldn’t have been using civilians for guinea pigs! I mean, who the fuck thought that was a good idea?” Sherman started to color suddenly, his youthful visage turning scarlet red, and he started wolfing down pasta. “No, it should have worked. It should have worked really well, but something went wrong somewhere otherwise we’d have heard about it by now. Super Soldiers and all that other sci-fi shit.”

Maddox looked at Wolf in his 6’ 9” musclebound disguise and said, “But we already have Super Soldiers, dude!”

Marshall smiled and shook his head. “No, I’m talking the real deal. If their plans had worked out, the men they would have produced would make even our friend Tank here look puny. They were doing some far-out amazing tinkering with the human genome, and specifically with male enhancement, and I’m not talking about a little blue pill. On paper, it all looked good. But something happened, and nobody’s talking.”

“Sounds like bullshit to me,” Tank said.

“Most dreams do, until you actually see them.”

“Dreams?” Maddox perked up.

Marshall shrugged, toying with his plate of food as his mind wandered. “The dream was to create the perfect warrior. The ultimate soldier. Self sustaining, self sufficient, I mean we’re talking radical shit, here. Like… okay, this is gonna sound weird and a little daffy, but the plan was that these dudes, these perfect men, would never need anyone or anything else to complete a mission. They’d use themselves or each other for everything. And I do mean everything.”

“What’s ‘everything’?”

“Sustenance. Survival. Satisfaction.” He grinned as he said the last word.

“Call me dense, but I still don’t get what you’re talking about.” Maddox was prodding him. He wanted to see how Marshall really felt about what he actually was, and what he hoped to make Marshall become.

Marshall counted the points off on his fingers. “Sustenance. Using the body’s own capabilities, namely a strong protein supply, to maintain physical strength and sustain over long periods of time if necessary.” He saw Maddox/Andy looking perplexed, so he spelled it out. “They’d swallow their own sperm, which would be altered to contain the essence of what they needed. Clear enough? Survival. Their physical factors would be altered to such an extent that they could survive literally any attack with no armor, no weapons, no nothing. A naked dude’s skin and muscles would be strong enough – hard enough – to withstand bullets, explosions, you name it. And satisfaction.” He paused.

“Go on.”

“Lemme put it this way: The masculine factors were going to be amped up ten, maybe twenty-fold. Huge amounts of testosterone pumping through these dudes 24-7, right? So that lends itself to aggressive behavior. Incredibly aggressive.” Maddox suddenly noticed the cords of muscle and veins along Marshall’s forearms twist and flex. “Normally one can alleviate that through physical stress, and there’d be no problem there, since these dudes were designed to go from one bad-ass situation into another. Kind of like how I notice you three hitting the gym more than usual.” His grin reappeared and he wiggled his eyebrows. “But there’s that other kind of aggression that men experience that can’t always be relieved by blowing shit up and shoving huge loads of metal around, know what I mean?”

“Kind of?”

“Fucking hell, I’m talking about fucking, right? So there’s these amped up guys all hanging out together with too much testosterone and they’re already swallowing their own loads and shit, so how do you think they managed to rechannel sexual aggression when there’s no pussy around?”

“You’re shitting me.” Maddox tried to look appalled. Sherman was smiling and Wolf just sat there with his huge arms crossed over his gargantuan chest.

“It’d be like a huge Greek army, and I do mean huge, all fucking each other and chowing down on each other’s dicks. The solution, you gotta admit, is kind of elegant.”

“Makes sense,” Wolf/Tank intoned.

“That’s what you’re doing?”

“Well, not exactly. Like I said, the Martinez/Lassiter formula was fatally flawed. Obviously, something went wrong. A lot of the work disappeared and it’s hard to locate anyone originally associated with the project. Neither of those guys, Dr. Carlos Martinez or Dr. Jeremy Lassiter, were military and rumor has it that they both ‘disappeared’,” he added air quotes again, “shortly after the first trials. Only one man was actually given the formula and there’s no record of him after that point, either. At least, none that I’ve seen.”

“What’s all this have to do with terrorists?” Maddox asked.

Marshall looked around and spoke more softly. “Nobody’s admitting anything, but what I figure is that some of those first test subjects – and there had to be more than the one guy – some of them, maybe all of them, went rogue.”

“Wouldn’t we know about them? I mean, something like that would be hard to…”

Marshall was shaking his head. “Like I said, sustenance, survival, satisfaction. They could go underground and remain in Black Ops for weeks or months, even years, and then surface where you don’t expect them. Who knows what else they planted in their DNA? The amount of data is limited, but there are hints about impossible shit like pigmentation and skeletal restructuring, shit that would make them able to literally look like someone else. Fuck, Andy, you could be one of them and I’d never even know it.”

“Oh, you’d know it,” Maddox/Andy replied, “by the way I made you swallow my dick.”

“I think we might have a debate about who was swallowing whose dick, buddy. I’ve seen your dick, and I’m not sure my jaw could handle the dislocation.” He smiled and laughed slightly, working his lower jaw back and forth before continuing. Damn, the guy made Maddox horny. “But like I said, it’s impossible. The amount of restructuring and alteration to the genome necessary to do any of that is… well, it would take several generations to see the results.”

“Generations?”

“I guess iteration is more apt than generation. You’d need to alter a subject and allow his system to process the alterations. Then take a sample from him and introduce it into another subject. The original formula will have transmuted to some respect, integrating the original DNA with the augment. The new sample would be a super-sample, and after introducing it into the next subject, it would combine again and yield a super-super-sample. And you’d need to do that hundreds of times, maybe thousands, to get the results I’m talking about. So the chances of that happening are pretty slim.”

“Why?”

“That many generations would require a huge amount of subjects, obviously, and lab conditions, housing, and a hell of a budget. If anything like that was happening inside our organization, I’d know about it.”

“But isn’t the point,” Sherman suggested, “that it isn’t happening inside this organization, hence the whole terrorist plot?”

“Yeah, maybe, but to what end? If they were terrorists, they wouldn’t be infiltrating here. This is all experimental shit and thinktank stuff. Nothing they might damage here would hurt the U.S. at all. Wouldn’t they attack something a bit more, you know, important?”

“You said you’re trying to recreate those other two guys...?”

“Martinez and Lassiter.”

“Yeah, whoever. You said you’re trying to recreate their work, only fix whatever went wrong.”

“Yeah. So?”

“Maybe it’s self-defense.”

Marshall shrugged. “Could be, I suppose. Or maybe they just want you to suck their dicks for them.” He pushed his food away and checked his watch. “Check you later, boys. Got some stuff brewing in a petrie dish I should get back to.” He stood up and glanced over at the table of MPs and smiled. “See you dudes in the gym, as usual? I’ll give you an update on my experiment.”

Maddox nodded and Sherman said, “Cool,” as Marshall sauntered away. Maddox watched his butt as he left their table and Wolf/Tank clicked his tongue.

“Why don’t you just go stick your tongue up his ass, Andy? You’re already drooling.”

Maddox recovered himself and said, “Sorry. He’s very… distracting.”

“Fucking hunky piece of fine ass, is what he is,” Sherman/Cary corrected. “But maybe you should be a bit more careful around him. Good natured homoerotic wordplay is all well and good, but you’re getting seriously close to blowing our cover.”

“That’s not all I’d like to blow,” Maddox said, then he turned his attention back to his comrades. “You’re right. Sorry.” He adjusted his copious length of bulging prick in his military issue pants and asked, “You think he suspects?”

Tank shook his head. “He wouldn’t be joking with you about being one of the terrorists if that was the case. He’d just report you like a dutiful soldier.”

“Something about his demeanor,” Sherman volunteered, “tells me he isn’t exactly a dutiful soldier. For one thing, he’s awfully big for being a lab rat.”

“You think he’s sampling the goods?”

“Could be. Or using himself as a test subject. The fact that he can keep up with us in the gym is rather unusual.”

“Everyone here is rather unusual. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

Sherman smiled. “My dick definitely has. And you’re right, these guys are too big to be merely bodybuilding fanatics.” He looked down at the slop on his tray and toyed with the pasta and sauce. “Think there’s more here than tomatoes and garlic?”

“Possibly. You know Peck better than I do, would he do something like that, given the ramifications?”

Wolf’s eyebrow arched. “Ramifications?”

Sherman murmured, “That they’ll turn into us.” He thought about it. “I wouldn’t put anything past that man. But it seems reckless. He’s certainly not that.”

“Someone else, then?” Maddox glanced around the room, looking at the collection of huge men around them. He hadn’t considered that Main Office could already be moving on something like this.

Sherman considered a moment. The sound of chairs skidding across the concrete floor signaled the end of this lunch shift. “This is pure conjecture, of course, but if I were Mr. Peck and I was facing a force of hundreds of Transformed men and the likelihood of infiltration at Main Office, as well as the threat of someone like Sam who can, apparently, perform wholesale alterations to another man’s genetic pool via electronic stimulus, I’d be loading the cards in my favor in every way possible. And how would you fight a supposed army of super soldiers who couldn’t be harmed by weapons?”

Wolf stated the obvious. “With another army.”

“We need to move the time table up.”

“I didn’t know we had a time table.”

“We do now, and it’s just been accelerated. We need to find Jason, and find out what’s going on in here.”

“And SelfSuckSam?”

“You find anything about him, yet?”

Tank shook his head. “He’s not here. But I think he soon will be.”

“Then we wait.”

“And then?”

“And then we see just how big these dudes can really get.”

“And in the meantime?”

Maddox stood up. He had a prominent hard-on pressing urgently against the front of his pants and a small dark stain was already growing. “Meanwhile I need to get to the bathroom and stroke out a few heavy streams. Just being around that guy gets my engine running hot and hard.”

“You’re not very subtle,” Sherman said, smiling, “but you are effective.”

 

Marshall stepped through the door of his lab and locked it behind him. A sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead and his hands were clenched into fists. His body felt tense and hot, and his heart was beating quick and hard.

He glanced across the room at the video monitor and immediately regretted it. He didn’t want to see the contents of that screen, didn’t want to experience what it always made him feel, and how his body, more and more, needed that feeling.

He looked back at the monitor as he slowly crossed the room and approached his table of experiments, the microscopes and glass containers and readouts all silently awaiting his attention. He’d been neglecting them, but not without reason. Still, guilt sank into him as he looked at the backlog of work, but it only lasted a moment before his eyes were drawn again to that screen at the back of the lab and the vision it broadcast into this space 24 hours a day.

How long had he stared at that screen? How long could he? It was a form of torture, in a way, and he wondered why he subjected himself to it.

Movement on the screen caught his eye and he looked directly at it, and found the subject of his thoughts looking directly back. The face on the screen was small, but the smile and the look of pleasure that always haunted the subject’s visage was clear. The face was small because the man was situated away from the camera, but he was now moving closer, pulling himself from his reclining position to stand up.

It was as if he knew that Marshall was watching him, but that wasn’t possible, let alone likely. As if he had been waiting for him to return, like a lover, and now that they were together again he would give himself over completely to Marshall’s gaze. As if he was performing a ritual they had shared again and again.

Marshall’s mouth hung open slightly as he pulled breath into his lungs. His heart was thumping its hard, steady beat, both excited and alarmed.

The person – the man – on the screen grew larger as he approached the camera’s never blinking gaze. His smile was beatific and beautiful, the smile of a young god who did not know its power. The smile graced a face of utter perfection, a face that belonged to a body of overwhelming power and unrestrained masculinity. Marshall felt himself pulled toward the vision on the screen, the ideal and flawless and muscular beauty that moved with precise sexual supremacy and fluid athletic grace.

The smile grew bright and unavoidable. Marshall felt his body growing hotter and his dick growing fatter. The plum of its head shoved against his fatigues uncomfortably and he could feel its heat press against him as it filled up with blood. His heart pumped harder just to fill it. It surged with growth, swelling massively in his pants, but he knew it was nothing compared to what was coming.

It was addictive. It was dangerous. It was secretive.

It felt good.

It felt right.

“Hello,” he whispered to the screen, and the man on the other end of the camera tilted his gorgeous face and licked his full, soft lips slowly, pulling the bottom one in playfully and biting it, causing it turn redden and swell. The man on the screen reached his hand down the muscled contours of his naked form and moved his fingers around the hard, red, beautiful cock arching proudly up from between his legs. He was constantly erect, like a pagan god of sex, and his tool was a massive engine constantly flowing.

He moved his hand from his erection, pulling strings of glistening thick precum from it that clung to his shimmering skin like glass threads, and he reached forward slowly toward the camera. Marshall mirrored his movement, keeping his own eyes on the other man’s clear gaze, moving his touch toward the monitor.

Inch by inch their forefingers approached the glassy separation that kept them apart. Marshall closed his eyes and held his breath. He knew what came next.

 

Jason reached his finger toward the camera’s lens and whomever was watching him. He knew he was being watched. He could sense it, somehow, like a shower of heat bathing his naked form, like that magical sixth sense one feels when someone new enters a room and they zero in on only you. He had stopped growing and had attained the perfection of form he’d been allowed by the gift of the previous god. It was his turn to pass it on.

He touched the lens and sent a thick, hard shock of his sexual and muscular strength through the connection.

On the other end, Marshall shuddered with ecstatic bliss and received a fresh jolt of the magic the other man possessed. A gush of cream erupted in his pants, and he felt his shoulders and chest push a bit tighter against his shirt, forcing a button to pop loose and ricochet against the screen. His cock swelled enormously as it delivered its hot, wet load. Marshall gasped and moaned and felt his muscles sing with strength. His head was filled with the vision of the man at the other end of the camera, his flesh, his muscles, his eyes, his smile, his chest, his belly, his butt. He ached again to be with him, not simply observing him, overcome by the other man’s power.

Jason pulled his finger from the lens and placed it against his tongue, licking the sweet, salty tang of his own cream from the tip. His majestic cock gushed a sudden fountain of cream in concert with his unknown and unseen companion, and his body soaked it inside like a sponge. His cock erupted again, and again, sending incandescent streams of hot cream across his belly and chest. It splashed against his lips and he licked them clean.

Jason stood and stretched his 12-foot frame, bending with inhuman elasticity to flex and bulge his collection of massive muscularity. A smile wound across his mouth reflecting the euphoria his body delivered with every orgasmic rush. He wondered, absently, if there really was anyone else at the other end, and if he was doing anything at all other than relieving his boredom. His visitors were now few and far between, and he sensed that his body was giving off some extreme and effective forms of sexual waves, judging by the care with which any of his visitors took to mask his effects from themselves.

He could feel it, in some degree. Smell it, too. He gave off a kind of heat, and it built up against itself and banked against the walls like waves, swollen with his burgeoning power. It was something he no longer sought to control, allowing it simply to flow from him in abundance, ceaseless and boundless.

His cock was hard again. Or still. It was almost constant, now. He was in a constant state of arousal and capable of cumming as often and as copiously as he desired. He still had not seen himself fully, and could only guess at his appearance and size. He could look down his body and it’s massive pectorals and the rippled glory of his belly and the fat, hard wedges of muscle lining his legs and arms and he knew he looked fucking amazing. But he had no idea what changes had happened to his face and back and butt. He could only pass his hands across the rounded muscular perfection of the twin globes of his ass and feel the sleek, silken, warm flesh. He could reach over his shoulder and feel the thickness of his lats, and the swelling mountains that reached across his shoulders.

He looked into the camera again and knew he was being watched. He winked at his companion and summoned a fresh flood of power into his touch. He took a slow breath, swelling his chest to enormity, and pushed his finger toward the lens again, almost seeing the swollen waves of strength and male sexuality traveling from his hand into the camera.

Into the camera and into the wires.

Into the wires and into the system.

Into the system and into the network.

Into the network and out of the monitors.

Out of the monitors and into the men.

The men who watched.

And the men they touched.

And spoke to.

And ate with.

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