Transform: New Blood 30

Read previous part

Wolf’s voice suddenly appeared inside Maddox’s head. ::He’s coming.::

Maddox pursed his lips, or more accurately he pursed Andy’s lips. He paused only a moment in his duties and then continued switching his view of the cameras monitoring every inch of the facilities. It was deadly dull work. He dearly missed being in the field. But maybe – at last – some action was in the offing. ::Where?::

::The usual place. High security. No contact. You won’t be able to observe him. They’re keeping very tight reins on our Sam.::

::You expected less?:: He furrowed his brow. ::Where’s Sherman?::

Wolf was off duty, resting in his bunk, eyes closed as he debriefed his cohort. ::I’m leaving him out of this, for now. He’s under suspicion.::

::Slip up?:: Fuck.

::Marshall’s been compromised. Seems our young friend has been exercising his talents. The whole section is on watch. Bio, bio-chem. Everyone. Very bad leak.::

::That explains a lot. Remind me to have a little talk with Jason.::

::You may be able to do that in person.::

::What’s up?::

::The time is approaching when we may make our move. They’re scheduled to move Jason to another cell. Robbie – Sam’s real name is Robbie Nelson – Robbie was a naughty little boy. Seems he managed to Transform four soldiers before capture. They picked up another man with him. A third escaped.::

::Six newbies?:: Maddox’s brow arched in spite of his attempt to look neutral. ::What about the soldiers? It isn’t like Peck to allow them…”

::Nothing he can do, now. They’re fully Transformed. Seems Robbie isn’t like Jason or the others Jason was unknowingly altering in stages. Robbie’s 100%. His companion is too. However it happened, he came all the way through – in addition to his new talents with electronics.::

::A trigger, then.::

::Trigger?::

::A term Carlos uses to refer to new Brothers who, once Transformed, develop new abilities or capacities no one else had before. Every new talent, from flying to shrinking to talking like this, they were all triggered by a new Brother. Others might bring accentuated growth or size. Just another little benefit to a constant stream of new blood.::

::Why wasn’t Jason fully Transformed, then? If Sam, er, Robbie was always at full strength…?::

::Not my specialty. Maybe it was unintentional. Maybe it was accidental. We’ll ask him when we meet him.:: Maddox flipped to a new view on his monitors. ::Lots of activity outside. Must be close.::

::Coming in from Canada. The four soldiers are at full height, stuck in mid-Transform apparently. They’re all being kept sedated.::

::How is that possible?::

::New drug. Or massive doses of an old one.::

::Even so, if bullets can’t penetrate then how can… never mind. Bullets are big, hard things. Drugs can be absorbed. Not sure why that never occurred to me before.:: He moved the camera around to try and see Robbie. It was dark outside, and there was a lot going on. ::What’s their plan?::

::I think they’re trying to figure that out. Apparently they’re convinced he’s one of us.::

::Makes perfect sense.::

::They’ll probably try to drill him for info and make some empty threats.::

::What info?::

::The usual. Our plans. How we’re going to take over the world. Just some fucking shit, they don’t know what the hell they’re doing.:: The last came through colored with mirth and some annoyance, but no anger. Transformed men didn’t feel anger. It had been replaced.

Loyalty, however, was still a very strong thread running through their very sturdy fabric. No one fucks with a Brother, unless that Brother wants to be fucked.

::Anything else?::

::I know what Operation Midnight is.::

::That sounds ominous.::

::Last ditch defense. They don’t want a repeat of what happened at the last Main Office. I guess you boys had some fun.::

::I’d tell you it was an accident, but that’s only half true. I couldn’t help it at the time.::

::Regardless of intentions, they don’t want another mass Transformation. So if we take that route this time, the whole place goes up.::

::You’re shitting me.::

::You say that a lot.:: Maddox smiled. Wolf wasn’t accusing, only observing. It was how he was, all stoic observation and steely nerve. It made Maddox ache to touch his muscled body and kiss his soft, warm mouth. He was one sexy fucker. ::Operation Midnight goes into effect at the first sign of an outbreak.::

::What about the situation in bio-chem?::

::It’s been contained. As far as they know. This is an automatic defense. I gather that the presence of scores of men suddenly inflating with muscle and growing tall enough to break through the ceiling did a job on the structure?::

::Pretty much destroyed it.::

::At the first sign of a breakdown in structural integrity anywhere in the facilities, Operation Midnight goes into effect. Sensors are implanted throughout Main Office. So we need to be very careful about how we manage to carry this out. One wall out of place and ‘boom!’::

::Which wouldn’t stop us.::

::But it would halt the spread of the – I hate using this term – the infection. They’d rather kill their own men than allow them to join the Brotherhood. That’s their main goal, of course. Halting the spread of Transform, and doing so at the source.::

::But we’re such lovable guys!::

::Riiiiight.::

::This smells like Peck.::

::Wow.::

::What?::

::What an incredible prick he must be.::

::That sums him up rather well. What are they going to do with Robbie? How are they proposing to interview him?::

::Well, they can’t risk putting a camera on the guy in case he does his magic and makes all the observers explode with muscle, so someone has to be in the room with him.::

::Who’s the lucky man?::

Maddox couldn’t see Wolf’s smile, but a sense of satisfaction and glee came through the mindlink quite clearly.

 

There were four of them. Trained soldiers all, debriefed on the threat, they knew what would happen to their bodies if they became exposed to the menace they were facing. Esteban Ramirez, Bud Charleston, Darrell McDonald and Ronny Tallman. They knew what they were, now. They knew what had happened to them. What had been done to them. And that it could not be un-done.

They had each been brought in separately to their new quarters. Clean rooms with no electronics, no windows, a single door. The ceiling was 25 feet overhead, allowing room for them should they elect suddenly to swell into their ultimate size. They had been issued new uniforms, white stretchy outfits that clung to their bodies like a second skin, making them appear to be sort of superheroes, their new muscles bulging in thickly etched perfection, their new sexual equipment shoving massively against the confines leaving nothing at all to the imagination.

They didn’t know what they looked like. They awoke from their drug-induced slumbers already clothed, already sequestered, already alone. Their new bodies were pumping massive amounts of testosterone through their systems. They felt better than great. They felt huge and powerful and wildly, overwhelmingly, astonishingly horny. Beyond horny. Leagues beyond it.

It was one thing to be Transformed by someone and then be able instantly to enjoy all the new heightened masculine physical and sexual powers with the person who brung you. It was quite another to be fully Transformed in the space of seconds and then be knocked out while your body continues to alter itself into the ultimate expression of male perfection, and then wake up alone and insatiably hungry for another man’s touch.

Jason, at least, had the benefit of being Transformed over a period of days, plus he had been surrounded by an ample and constant audience of worshipful attendants as he matured into his new body. The four men who had been instantly upgraded by Robbie’s powerful metamorphosis had nothing and no one to fall back on.

Esteban awoke and sat up. He knew where he was, immediately. It was not wholly unexpected. Even as he had been kissed and felt himself swelling as he fell through the sky, in the back of his mind he was having a series of major “Oh, shit” moments. Firstly, he thought “Oh, shit” over the fact that his parachute had malfunctioned and he was facing certain death, or at least a very uncomfortable and bone-crushing landing once gravity was through with him. Then, there was an “Oh, shit” when he saw the figure of the huge naked man flying toward him. Another “Oh, shit” blossomed when he felt the man’s hands touching his skin, and then the man’s lips pressed against his mouth. And the final “Oh, shit” that chained them all together as he felt the Transformation overwhelm him and his body changed in the course of a few heartbeats.

It had undoubtedly saved his life, that action. Of course, his life wouldn’t have needed saving if the dude hadn’t torn the tail off his chopper.

As he recovered consciousness and the full realization of what had happened hit him, another sensation hit him with the power of the sun. He was incredibly aroused. More aroused than he had ever felt in his life. He realized that the whole ‘hot Latin blood’ thing was both legendary and stereotypical, but at that moment it felt all too real.

His blood was on fire. His whole body was on fire. His cock felt like a throbbing, heavy, hot length of massive sex. His balls tingled and bulged with cream. He was acutely aware of his asshole and his nipples. His lips buzzed and his tongue felt thick and every huge muscle on his body was pulsing with something hot and wet and arousing.

His hands began to move across the contours of his new form, and everywhere he touched himself he succeeded in turning up the flame. The suit they put him in did little to alleviate the sensations of sexual bliss erupting everywhere on his body. He moved his hand across the fat hemispheres of muscle across his chest and he circled a nipple with his middle finger. His cock jerked and hardened and erupted with a gush of precum, joyful and eager. He could feel the heat of his tool throbbing against his hip.

Make that tools. He had two cocks. Two huge, hungry, hard cocks. He moved his other hand down to rest it on one of them and it grew against his touch, swelling fatter and longer. The head pushed against its confines and it renewed its gushing pump of precum. His skin-hugging white superhero tights grew darker as the stain of his sexual desire spread across his groin. His second cock begged attention and he put his other hand against its shaft and was rewarded with a third massive flow.

Grinning, Esteban slipped his thumbs under the thin waistband and peeled the material away, allowing his twin monsters to swell and harden, each helmeted plum shrouded in a wealth of foreskin, both piss slits pouring out clear, salty, thick precum in heavy abundance.

As Esteban was exploring his new sexual boundaries, Bud Charleston was exploring his own.

The very first thing Bud did after regaining consciousness was to strip his body out of the ridiculous tights. He was incredibly hot, in both senses, but the only one he knew about was temperature-wise. He wanted to be naked. No, he needed to be naked. So he tore the clothing from his body and stood up, stretching his frame and his muscles.

Transform had done an amazing job on the man’s dark-skinned body. His chest was massive – two squared-off hemispheres of bulging brawn so thick and awesome that he almost looked overbalanced – and so was his ass. Bubble butt didn’t even begin to describe the beauty of the twin muscular globes mounted with jutting perfection on his backside. His lower back was equally impressive, with fat cables of power thick enough to place a hand between them.

His chocolate skin was dusted with tight black curls. His nipples were jet black. He had a belly that bulged with power. No slim waist for this colossus, the man had an 8-pack built for support of the massive upper body he’d been gifted with.

None of that meant that his legs were over-shadowed. On the contrary, it would take a chest and ass of the magnitude with which Bud had been given to compete with the enormous slabs of power lining his long, long legs.

Overall, the man was nothing short of a monster.

Between his gigantic thighs, two fat cocks arched out and dangled nearly to his knees. Both anacondas were drooling thick strands of precum, throbbing insistently for his touch. His balls hung low and fat, churning with their load, and it didn’t take him long to grab on to each of his beauties and start stroking out the first of several copious fountains of thick creamy cum.

 

Darrell McDonald was a career soldier. 29 years old, with eight years spent in the Armed Services. Maybe not the brightest bulb in the pack, but not a slouch, either. He enjoyed the discipline and chain of command. He enjoyed the camaraderie and fellowship. He liked being in the army.

He was awake, now, and living inside a brand new shell. One built for combat, that was certain. He remembered the whole bullshit speech they delivered during pre-launch. “Don’t let them touch you. Any exposure, and I mean any, will result in full infection of your person and the end of your life as you know it. These are not human beings we pursue, gentlemen. These are monsters. These are freaks of nature. Abominations who want nothing less than to destroy our way of life!”

Yodda yodda yodda. Did he roll his eyes in the meeting? He doubted that. But he’d also heard the same speech and turn of phrase thrown at Al Qaeda and the late, great Saddam. Over the top rhetoric designs to get the new recruits jazzed, give ‘em a hard on for war, set ‘em up for the enemy. He didn’t need that shit. Just point him at a target, hand him a weapon, and he was good.

‘Now look at you,’ he said. His voice now emerged as a throaty rumble. How could it not, living inside a chest the size of a tank? He was sitting against the wall of his room – more like a cell, really, but he didn’t want to think like that. He was wearing some weird white suit, kind of shimmery, and when he plucked at it, it pulled away from his body and then snapped right back in place, as perfect as before. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but seemed stupid. Who was it protecting? It sure wasn’t doing much for him.

Besides, he’d seen what that guy could do, the man who tore his chopper apart and then did… what he did to him. He’d fired bullets directly at the man. And not just the usual bullets, these were armor-piercing 35mm anti-air ammunition firing through twin 90 caliber barrels at 1,100 rounds per minute. This was armament designed to take out fucking aircraft, and he watched it bounce off the guy’s body like he was fucking Superman or something.

Course, the fact that he was fucking flying was another hard-to-miss detail. Pity nobody mentioned that before he sat his ass down in the fucking chopper. But he thought of the old saying, ‘military intelligence is a contradiction in terms.’

He smiled and shifted his weight. Damn, this body was amazing. He could feel all his muscles with an intensity that defied logic. He had a new connection to his physical self he never imagined before. He moved his finger against his chest and pushed, wondering why it seemed so, well, human, when he knew he could now withstand those same fucking bullets.

What had they said? “In case of exposure, be prepared for enormous physical changes. The disease infects the mind as well as the body. There’s no telling how you will react afterwards, and it is likely you will suffer severe mental disorders.”

Fuuuuuck. Darrell shook his shaggy head – where the fuck did all this hair come from, anyway? He had been halfway to bald before this happened, and now he had this lion’s mane of dark brown hair. He pulled a handful into his grip and tugged. Yep, definitely physically connected. It felt really soft, too, and smelled nice. He pushed it all back behind his head and sat back again, as that unavoidable feeling of warmth crept through his body.

He recognized the feeling, of course. It was sex. It was that feeling he got looking at porn. Or he used to. Now that feeling was cropping up constantly, but he noticed it happened most intensely at times like now, when he was thinking about Ronny.

He liked Ronny from the start. They made a good team. Ronny was a good pilot, fast reflexes, cool headed. He could hold that fucking chopper on a dime and just hang there, in the sky, like a falcon on a warm breeze. Tall fucking dude, stood 6-foot 7 in his bare feet.

Big feet, too. Size 14, was it? Something ridiculous. Huge. And he was always smiling. Nice smile. Made his face light up. Made him seem almost pretty. His eyes were a kind of green, but there was a gold fleck in the left one. Long eyelashes, too. Everything about him was long. Bet he has a long fucking d…

Fuck! There it goes again! The warmth was all over his body, sinking into his skin and tingling agreeably. Was this that severe mental disorder they talked about? He steered his thoughts away from Ronnie’s smile and the contents of his pants and thought about his situation, again.

What was he supposed to do, now? Why hold him in here like this? Hell, they had to have seen what that other guy was capable of. What a fucking amazing soldier he’d be now! Flying? Fuck! He could fly! Why didn’t they set him loose, let him fly his ass into Iraq, let him get in there and get some of them swarthy, sweaty fuckers in a room, all those hairy muscular soldiers, and he could grab them all and strip them naked and kiss them and…

Fuck! What the fuck?!? Kiss them? Naked? Hairy? The fuck?

Okay, get a grip, son. You’re First Lieutenant Darrell McDonald. Serial number 38447502. Assigned to Main Office, special forces. You’re a gunner in the chopper Louisa along with its pilot, Sergeant Ronald Tallman. You went down during Operation Impound after being attacked by… by a… a naked man with muscles out to here and a dick the size of a liter of Coke and he touched you on the arm and you felt like you were gonna fucking bust a nut and now you’re sitting in a fucking cell because you fucking did your duty and now what? Now what?

“Now what?” The rumble of his new voice sounded very loud in the otherwise silent room. He missed Ronny. Ronny could joke it up. He could always see the silver lining. He was a good kid. 21 years old. Hardly even a man, yet. What the fuck are you talking about, Darrell? You’ll be 30 next week.

“Happy fucking birthday,” he said, and then he laughed. The warmth was back, stronger than ever. His dicks were getting hard. He could feel them growing hot as they lengthened along his thighs, crawling up his legs under this stupid white suit. He spread his legs apart and watched his dicks climb his thighs, their veiny shafts and bulbous crowns clearly evident against the hard contours of his leg muscles. Shit, he had some big fucking cocks.

They grew bigger from his admiration. He brushed them with the backs of his hands. They felt so firm! So huge! He moved his touch along their girths. So fucking hard, like glass. Like steel. The sleek material allowed them to easily slip along his muscled inner thighs. They just kept growing, bigger and bigger. The heads plumped, the mushroom caps blooming. He moved his grips around each thick shaft and squeezed. Twin plumes of precum erupted suddenly with a wet sounding squirt. A shock of intense sexual pleasure electrified his whole body. He could feel the warm wetness spread down them, dripping along the hot skin, heating them up even further. They continued to grow longer and fatter and harder.

Ronny’s smile lit up inside his head.

 

Ronny was wandering in a circle in his room. He had managed to accidentally discover a few of his new capabilities that no one had bothered to tell him about. Growing and shrinking. Controlling his new body with innate and pinpoint accuracy. Swelling with masses of muscle or compacting it to a more manageable size. He was used to being big, but there was big and then there was ridiculous.

Ronny had always been practical. Methodical, too. Searching for solutions in every tricky situation.

And really, what was so bad about this? What was he going to complain about? Oh, poor me, I can fly. I can bend steel with my bare hands. I own two huge pricks. I feel fucking amazing and I’m virtually indestructible. Somebody shoot me.

He laughed. It was true, he did have an amazing smile, but its wattage had increased substantially under the power of Transform. He owned the face of an angel. Maybe a god. And not some lowly demigod, no, an honest to goodness fucking Greek God, with the chiseled chin and the sharp cheekbones and the masculine brow to prove it.

Not that he knew any of that. But it wouldn’t have mattered to him, anyway. It was his nature to take things like that in stride. “You think I’m handsome? Really? I guess that’s nice.” The fact that he owned a face that could make time stand still in awe of its beauty? Oh, well.

His body was no less impressive – perhaps even more so. Bud had developed into a muscular monster with a bubble butt of ungodly beauty. Esteban was an Aztec idol with kissable lips and a muscularity of deeply etched perfection. Darrell, when he managed to get his ‘whoa is me’ head out of his gorgeous ass, would realize that his new body was a collection of brawn almost too dense to be believed. His body was made of nothing except solid, rock-hard muscle, with a vascular network of veins pumping blood into the heavy bellies of power.

But it was Ronny’s body that had really morphed into something beyond amazing.

Maybe it was because he was tall to begin with. Maybe it was something in his genes. Maybe he was just lucky. Whatever the reason, his body displayed a perfection of form and power that had to be seen to be believed. Everything was pumped and primed and perfect. Nothing seemed to stick out too much, or overshadow another part. Every muscle flowed effortlessly and beautifully into the next. He was gorgeous.

Even his cocks were incredibly developed. Thick, heavy, full and meaty, his new pricks – two of them! – begged to be worshipped, fondled, sucked and stroked. They were fuck machines, massive pistons built for being shoved deeply and entirely into a waiting ass that would then be fucked to blissful heavenly orgasmic paradise.

And if anyone was lucky enough to encounter his worshipful butt, they might have think they died and went to ass heaven.

And if anything, he smelled even better than he looked.

He was pacing in his room like a caged tiger, restless, bored and itching to do something. Or, more accurately, someone. Just as Transform had worked its magic to utter perfection on his physique, so too had it amped up his sex drive to something even beyond what a Transformed man could expect.

The only thing that kept him from simply jerking off continually was his discovery that he had control over himself, and the need he felt not to simply relieve his pent-up sexual energy on his own two pricks but to be with someone else. He needed to touch someone. He wanted to be touched.

But he knew it wasn’t going to happen. They’d been told of the consequences. They were warned that the infection wasn’t pleasant, but this was maddening.

He stopped in the center of the room and looked up. “Hello?” He paused, not expecting an answer but hoping for one anyway. “I was just… um… wondering if maybe someone could just talk to me?” He had no idea that his voice was saturated with the power of Transform, that his every utterance, every syllable spoken, could cause an ordinary man to lose control and suffer an orgasm of ungodly proportions. If he did know, he could have controlled it, as he was controlling everything else.

It just didn’t occur to him.

“Hello?”

Ronny Tallman sighed and started to flex and stretch his new body. It didn’t feel tired or worn, but it just felt really good to stretch all his muscles, feeling them pull tight, bunch, and release. He found he could now practically bend over backwards. He could lift his leg parallel to his body, kissing his own knee. He could perform effortless splits, moving his legs apart with no pain. The floor felt cool against his asshole through the thin material. His dicks wanted to get hard from the sensation but he kept them pliable. He could do that now.

He stood erect again and closed his eyes, centering himself. Calm overtook him, but he could still feel every millimeter of skin and muscle and bone with intensity. He had never been so fully aware of himself before. It was thrilling and captivating. He shoved blood into one prick and felt it surge. He pulled the other into his body cavity and it disappeared as if it had never been there. He smiled, that was good. No sense shocking anyone too badly. Being a bodybuilder was one thing. Being a twin-dicked bodybuilder would take more than a little explaining.

Opening his eyes again he looked down to check his dicks. He rested his hand on his thigh and brushed his thumb along the length of his observable prick, still feeling the other one as fully as if it was still obvious. Of all his body parts, his cocks seemed to have minds of their own, reacting instantly and automatically to his attentions, swelling with sudden size, eager to please. He smiled and moved the pad of his thumb slowly across the semi-hard expanse of cock under his tight leggings. It bulged and hardened with happy urgency.

He pulled his hand away and sucked in a cool breath of air. His mighty chest expanded enormously. He felt his nipples rub against the material and a fresh lightning bolt of sexual bliss erupted from them. He wondered if all clothing felt like that, and was that the reason the men on the beach were naked? Was it easier to live inside this body if one weren’t constantly aroused by the touch of cloth on the skin?

He tentatively moved his fingers to the hem of the shirt and pulled it upwards, exposing his cobblestone belly. His skin was super-sensitized to everything. The air on his flesh tingled and excited him. He moved one hand onto the firmness of his abs and a fresh, sudden tremor of pleasure erupted. God, his skin felt amazing. So smooth, so warm, so sensuous. He lifted the shirt higher until his chest was exposed as well.

He was hairy now. He’d been smooth before, but the changes had given birth to a thick dark forest of curls that grew thickly between the heavy globes of muscle and spread across the expanse. Dark, fat nipples poked their heads through the sea of curls. He wondered, idly, what it would feel like to have someone chewing his nipples. The very idea made them throb agreeably.

His chest seemed to pour forth from the shirt once exposed, as if it was growing more massive. The shirt clung to his body so tightly that he didn’t have to hold it up, so he moved both hands onto his torso and felt the power coursing through his muscles, and the intense erotic pleasure his skin delivered. It was like a drug, the impact this soft, slow touching was having on his senses. Could he even survive having sex with someone, pressing his naked body against theirs, wrapped up in their arms?

It was becoming overwhelming. Clearly, his body needed this. The touching. It rewarded even the slightest caress with cascades of sensual bliss. He was almost afraid to find out what fucking someone would feel like.

But he wanted to know even more badly.

His balls ached. He knew he was full of cum. Bulging with it. He would have to relieve himself again, soon. This time he would swallow it all. It tasted good, the little he managed to splash on his lips. He would pull his cock inside his mouth and suck his own balls dry. Something told him that would be very satisfying, indeed.

He moved his hands down his muscled body and peeled his pants downward. His heavy cock sprang outward and he finally allowed it to achieve erection. It swelled hugely, arching up and gushing precum. He bent his mouth down to the flowing fount and sucked the plum into his warm, wet mouth.

He was cumming a flood instantly. Ronny gulped it down and felt his cream fulfill and energize him utterly.

He decided that clothing probably wasn’t that important, after all.

Read next part

CAPTCHA