The Car Lot: Copped (ap musc mc)

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“C’mon, you guys, we shouldn’t do this. The guy who runs this place seems nice.”

Alvin’s pleas fell on deaf ears. His friend Aaron shook his head. “Nawww, man, we’re not stealin’ it! Just borrowing. Think of how fuckin’ awesome it’ll be to roll up to the party in a new car! Dudes will shit bricks.”

It would be pretty fuckin’ cool, Alvin thought. But what if we get caught?

“Awww, Alvin’s scared,” Gary taunted. “It’s okay, little boy, Aaron and I can hop in and you can just walk home. We’ll see you tomorrow after your Mommy cleans your skinned knee and lets you watch Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood.”

Aaron and Gary broke into coarse peals of laughter. Jokes are never funnier than when you’re drunk.

Alvin glared. “Shut the fuck up, I’m not scared, I just…”

“Someone’s Mr. Morals now? You stole us two kegs an hour ago.”

“That’s different, those are kegs, man, this is a car.”

All it took was a quick pop and the car unlocked. Gary slid his frame into the driver’s seat and caressed the wheel. “Not just a car, Vinnie, it’s a ’68 Chevy Camaro.” His hands run up and down the dash, as if he was reading Braille. Cars were better than sex to Gary. “Not a lot of these babies sittin’ around,” he slurred joyfully before taking a huge swig from a paper bag.

Aaron gleefully planted himself in the passenger seat, low-fived Gary and then poked the upper half of his body out of his window. “You gettin’ in, loser?”

Alvin sighed, nodded and stepped toward the door. Neither Gary nor Aaron moved. “One of you shitheads needs to get out so I can get in. It’s a fuckin’ two-door.”

“You can crawl over us.”

“What are you, some kind of fag?”

“Nah, just lazy.”

Alvin reached in, grabbed Aaron by the collar and yanked him out. They tussled for a second before Aaron allowed Alvin to crawl into the backseat. “Little Vinnie’s got a backbone after all.”

“Fuck you, man,” Alvin said, bristling.

They peeled out of the old used car lot and barreled down the highway, breaking multiple laws in the process – especially ones that involved speed limits.

A soft noise emanated in the distance, but got exponentially louder. Soon, blue and red lights were pulsing across the ceiling of the car like it was a night club. The noise – a siren – was deafening, and right behind them.

Gary hit the steering wheel. “SHIT!”

Alvin whirled around and looked through the rear window. “There’s…no one there.”

“What?!” Aaron stuck his head between the seats and looked back too. “You’re right, Vin, holy shit, what…what is this?”

They were the only occupants of the road. Gary pulled the car over and they all crawled out, but the only thing visible in either direction was the car lot, way off in the distance.

“Fuckin’ freaky. You heard a siren, right?”

Alvin and Aaron both nodded yes in response to Gary’s question. “And saw lights?”


“Take me home,” Alvin said, feeling multiple chills up his spine.

“Nah, man, we’re fine, let’s go have fun!”

Alvin shook his head vigorously. “No, take me home, I want to go home.”

“Don’t be a baby.”


“Fine, jeez, we’ll drop you off at your apartment. You’re gonna miss a great party.”

Alvin didn’t respond. His arms crossed and he looked down the eerily quiet highway, still shivering. He didn’t say anything the entire way back to his apartment, until they finally arrived and he said a quick ‘bye’ to Aaron and Gary before watching them drive off.


Although he was dropped off right at the stairway leading up to his apartment, it took Alvin a good five minutes to get to his front door. He moved terribly awkwardly, swinging his legs as if they were stilts. Alvin’s knees would barely move at all, and his bones and joints creaked as if shaken by an internal earthquake. His bones felt like they were all shoved together incorrectly. With trembling hands, he grasped and clawed his way up the stairs to his apartment.

Now, which one is my place? If Aaron and Gary hadn’t dropped him off here, he would’ve been even more lost. There were four doors facing the wooden planks of the landing, and Alvin had no idea which one was his. He pulled out his wallet to look at the address on his driver’s license, and then cursed his laziness when he realized he had been couch-surfing when he got his ID and hadn’t bothered to change the address when he finally got a place of his own. “Fuck.” Alvin had never been close to his parents, so he couldn’t call them. They hadn’t talked to him in a year.

I’ll just try my key on each of them until one works. He reached down to his belt and felt the keys latched onto it. He had never clipped his keys to his belt loop before. That was weird. And it wasn’t his keyring either! There were like twenty keys on the metal carabiner, and they all looked identical. The snap-link was engraved with the letters “FG,” and Alvin perceptively noticed those same letters on one of the doors. That wasn’t right though…just a coincidence. After all, his name was Alvin. Alvin Egerer. AE, like the stupid cable network.

Alvin knocked on one of the other doors to ask which apartment he lived at, figuring that he’d just pretend to be a little drunker than he actually was. He reasoned it would work.

Well, it would work if someone answered, which no one did. Fuck, it was Saturday night, wasn’t it? Nobody was gonna be in. And as that thought struck Alvin’s mind, another crept in with it: wasn’t he supposed to be somewhere tonight? Somewhere important? Shit, he didn’t want to get in trouble. He quickly strode to the stairway and began making his way down it, feeling less pain than he had during the ascension. His perspective seemed different now, dizzying him for a few moments before his mind adjusted. I hope I can remember where I need to be. He stumbled for a moment and grabbed the railing to keep from falling. Looking down to see what tripped him, his eyes fell on an inch-and-a-half of denim puddled around his old beat-up Vans. Extra fabric? He liked his jeans well-fitted – tight, in fact, really tight. But these jeans looked like they were for a guy who was six-one or so,,,Alvin thought he might be around that height, but as soon as he tried to conjure up knowledge of his stature, all he could think of was…five-eight, even though he told people he was five-nine. He was a little on the short side, just like his Dad. Always found ways to make up for it…but couldn’t think of what those were, either…

Alvin Egerer moved robotically, emptily, across the parking lot. His feet shuffled over to his car, an old and beat-up Camry inherited from his cousin. The car seemed bigger now. It was strange, Alvin thought; he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was seeing the world from a smaller perspective.

He lightly placed his hand on his beloved car. The contact felt like a million little bugs crawling under his skin, and he wrenched his hand back in surprise. Yet, Alvin desperately longed to touch his car, to feel it. He knew that was strange.

Always a thin man – most punk drummers were – Alvin somehow looked even skinnier with his shorter height. He placed both hands on his car and rubbed them up and down. “Hey, sugar,” he purred strangely. He knew his car was part of his job, somehow, but he couldn’t think what he did with it – he just knew that he was supposed to love his car and treat it right as part of his occupation. His mind was rife with curious thoughts. I’m supposed to be working right now, aren’t I? Why can’t I remember my job?

Not even thinking about the fact that he was in a public place, Alvin scaled onto the hood of his car, unzipped his fly and began rubbing his dick across the metal. “Mmmmmmf.” His mouth formed into a silent ‘O’ shape and pleasure began to make his body shake. Slowly, rhythmically, his hips pumped strangely on top of the car, as if he was fucking it. His dick got stiffer and more erect with each pass. The pelvis found its tempo and rocked up and down with the accuracy of a metronome.

Alvin’s pale green eyes were heavy with the weight of self-satisfaction, but still stared lazily into the windshield of the car, which acted as a sort of mirror on which Alvin could watch himself fucking his own car. A creepy smile wafted onto his chapped lips and he moaned with incomprehensible joy.

If Alvin had been watching his reflection in the mirror, he would have seen some odd happenings when it came to his clothing. The hem of the tight white t-shirt he wore, ratty from the music festival he had bought it at seven years ago, was right above the low-slung waistband of his black skinny jeans. Bit by bit, the t-shirt slid into the waist of his jeans, until his shirt was tucked all the way in. The fit of both the pants and shirt began to loosen, the jeans becoming less form-fitting and the t-shirt looser in the chest and shoulders.

Alvin didn’t notice. Hump, hump.

As if they were one item, part of the color of the jeans began to seep upward into the t-shirt, slowly pushing the music festival’s logo out of view until there was no graphic on the shirt at all. The black dye of the jeans got lighter at the same rate that the white threads on the tee darkened, leaving Alvin’s clothes the exact same shade of navy blue.

His keys jangled on his belt, an eerie percussion to the changes that were occurring. Hump, hump.

The fabric of his jeans was getting softer, as the denim was eradicated from the weave, leaving slightly loose navy-blue slacks in place of the ultra-tight black skinnies Alvin had worn seconds earlier. His t-shirt had gone from an extra-small to a large, hanging sadly on his scrawny punk body. The threads of the old crewneck sprang to life and reached up one by one around Alvin’s neck, fusing together like an army working in unison. As the back and sides rose up to form a collar, the front dove down, splitting itself down the middle. Buttons grew on the right side of the shirt and went into the new buttonholes on the left, and soon Alvin’s tee had progressed into a short-sleeved, collared button-down.

The 19-year-old humped obliviously, desperately longing to cum. God, he loved his car. His car was his wife for the time being, his home, his base. “Fuckin’ love you,” he whimpered, his voice intoning like an oversexed babydoll.

Beads of sweat rolled down his face and chest, and big stains appeared under his armpits and on his lower back. Alvin had never been much of a sweater, but now he was more drenched than he was after a shower, and it felt wonderful – so deliciously sexual and masculine. He licked his forearm and felt the salty brine in his mouth…mmmmm. The windshield was too opaque to allow him to see the way the sweat was altering his skin, smoothing out the redness and evening out the blotches, darkening deeply until its tone was the beautiful dark olive of a true Mediterranean man. Alvin’s teeth, still stuck in their lazy smirk, were stark white against the new pigment.

Hump, hump, hump, hump. The car creaked up and down like the world’s heaviest mattress.

Alvin was too engrossed in his twisted sexual pleasure to notice the sensation building in his chest. His nipples, on view through the unbuttoned collar of the blue shirt, were becoming horribly sensitive. As they rubbed back and forth against the buttons of his shirt, each pass felt like a slap instead of a gentle touch, and they became painfully hard. Instead of the dime-size Alvin knew, they were almost as big as a half-dollar. Muscle tissue began to build behind them, slowly pushing the nipples outward, tightening the shirt across his chest ever so gradually. At first, Alvin’s chest resembled a woman’s breasts, the loose-hanging tissue pointing slightly sideways. But like a virus, each pump of Alvin’s hips pushed his chest out further. The muscle spread up to around his collarbone and crept into his shoulders, broadening them at the same rate his pecs inflated. The nipples shifted downward, like stoppers holding in the over-stuffed chest, as if they were filled with air that was trying to escape. And it looked like they could be by now; they were so huge and gravity-defying. His shirt, once loose, was now stuffed to the limit with meat and brawn. His nipples were barely out of view now but poked through the soaked cotton. Beads of moisture coursed down into the canyon between his pectorals.

Hump, hump, hump.

A clatter turned Alvin’s lusty gaze to the right. His phone had fallen out of his pocket, he saw, and clanged into the car’s hood. He picked it up and triggered extreme growth in his strengthening hands, which he took no notice of. In fact, Alvin reasoned, in his fucked-up mind, that the phone was getting smaller instead of his hand and fingers enlarging around it. The growth spread up his arms rapidly, veins shivering with power, muscles pulsing. By the time Alvin clicked his phone in place on his belt, next to his brand-new walkie, his upper body was completely transformed. Instead of the twiggy drummer who wore an extra-small, there was a hunky, humping man. The brawny chest and shoulders connected to arms that looked strong enough, and certainly big enough, to bend a steel bar, and they were all stuffed into a half-buttoned short-sleeved shirt that would look more in place on a stripper.

Alvin re-adjusted his stance and let his dick rub loosely back and forth against the hood of the car, a pole hanging between his legs. He looked at the streaks of precum left on the hood and smiled contentedly. What a great night this was turning out to be. But aren’t I supposed to be working? Maybe I’m on break, that’d make sense. His substantial fingers brushed against his walkie. Oh, shit, I need to call Pops, he realized. He’d always been close with his father; after all, he was the only son his parents had, and Alvin knew it was his duty to be a good son, a faithful son. He talked to at least one of his parents - usually his dad, his Pops - every day. Usually called during work when there wasn’t a lot going on...

Just gotta cum first! Humphumphumphump…

Epaulettes sprang out of the shoulder seams of his crisp shirt, as two scalloped flaps appeared over new, pleated pockets on each side of his chest. Alvin absent-mindedly pulled his pen out of his pants pocket and placed it in the hidden pen opening behind his right breast pocket. Other contents fell out of his pockets and he methodically put each in its place without missing a beat: a patch that quickly fixed to his left shoulder, then a second on his right. Some kind of metallic pin insignia, shaped like a shield, went pinned over his pumping heart. A rectangular name badge went underneath. Finally, two small gold pins went on either side of his collar. Alvin couldn’t see or feel the holes that got torn into his Vans, or the laces that lased up through them, or the cheap canvas becoming highly glossed leather. The soles thickened and the light color shifted to inky black, leaving a pair of shiny heavy-duty leather Oxfords on Alvin’s feet.

Fuck, this feels so good. “Unnnnnnnggghhhhh,” he groaned through grit (and perfect) teeth, not hearing his voice drop lower into his chest and take on a manlier resonance. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuccckkkkk.”

Everything started happening at once. The seat of his pants was stretched to its breaking point as his flat glutes swelled into a massive globe of an ass, perfectly pert and circular and dangerously close to being bottom heavy. Always did have a big ass, runs in the family. One of Alvin’s hands wrapped around his flopping dick, which immediately responded by growing to ten inches and forcing his hand open with its thick girth. Veins shot up and down the shaft, reflecting the road-map on his forearms. His balls exploded to the size of small plums, round and symmetrical, and Alvin’s body went wild with pleasure. “UUNNNHHHH!” He went into a full-body spasm, pumping furiously, sweating profusely and nearing climax.

Alvin was forced to spread his legs wider, as his thighs grew disproportionately large. He and his Pops never had to spend a single day training legs. If he ran a mile he’d gain an inch on his thighs, just like that. Same with my calves. As the thought crossed his mind, his lower leg muscles spasmed into massive diamonds, big enough to display in museums. Every muscle looked enormous on his shorter stature.

Alvin was doing full body rolls, his massive member completely engorged. His mind was awash in colors. He balled his hands into fists and held them out in front of his chest, flexing his big muscles furiously, desperately trying to cum. The starched fabric of his shirt was pulled every which way by his twitching muscles.

He looked down at the hood of his car. Wasn’t his car white? Nahh, this baby’s black ‘cept for the doors. The silver mirrors on each side looked so good, the way the red and blue lights reflected off ‘em…he looked with affection at the lights across the roof of his patrol car. He wanted to turn them on and blast his sirens loud. “Unnnnn yeahhhhh…”

So close. Almost done.

The skin around his neck started to gather on the underside of his jawline, slowly forcing out the bones until they looked painfully chiseled. The shifting of his bone structure caused the quivering lips to change shape into a smirky pout of a mouth, like a preening model. His short brown haircut grew into silky black waves on top, but remained short on the sides.

Almost…there….ahhhhh…he could hear himself panting and see his heart beating through his shirt. His shirt was darker because of all the sweat. Fuck, shit…oh God…

Cheekbones flared so prominently that his skin was pulled taut and dipped inward, making him look even more like a runway model. His nose got wider on the bridge and pushed out further from his face. Always did have a nose that was on the bigger side, just like Pops. He liked his nose, it gave him character. Lightning-shaped sideburns grew down onto the cut cheekbones, and his forehead flattened perfectly, leaving two straight black brows over his eyes that muddied from a soft blue into an intense green-flecked brown.

OHHHH Fuckfuckshitshiitttshhhittttttfuufuuckacjkj…

Cum exploded all over the hood of the patrol car. The orgasm felt like it lasted for minutes. The young police officer fell onto his hands and tried to catch his breath, watching sweat stream off his face and mix with the seed he had spilled.

He crammed his dick back into his jock, zipped up his fly, made sure his gun, taser and nightstick were securely place, and hopped off the hood of the car. His reflection in the side mirror made him want to cum again. Nothin’ like a freshly starched, crisp cop uniform over 185 pounds of Italian muscle. He cocked his hip and saw his ass strain the fabric, he flexed his chest and watched the button in between his pecs fight to stay attached to his shirt. On his global left delt, something caught his attention…he rolled up the sleeve to see a pair of angel wings tattooed right where they would be hidden by the fabric. He remembered getting them in memory of his beloved grandmother. He was her only grandson and he loved and missed her so…family was so important to the young cop. That’s why he’d gone into law enforcement in the first place. His father was a cop, and he wanted to be just like his Pops. His family had been so proud watching him put on that badge.

Gotta call Pops.

He dropped his body into the front seat of his patrol car and buckled up, then put his phone into its holder. Always careful to drive with speakerphone, not with a handheld. The car went into reverse out of its space – why was he at this ghetto apartment complex? Probably to check out the Saturday night parties, but everything’s clear – and rolled into the street, heading for the highway.


“’eyyyy, Pops.”

“Hey, Ferro buddy. How’s the night goin’?”

The minute Ferro Gallucci heard his name, a cocky grin formed on his thick lips. He loved his name – his parents named him Ferro because it meant “iron strong,” as they knew he would be, just like his dad. He was the first in his family to be born in America, and it was only natural that he would protect the country that his family had adopted as their own. And their surname, Gallucci, it meant…well, it meant ‘rooster’, or ‘peacock’ depending on who you asked, but the overlying message was clear: cocky. Ferro Gallucci’s name personified him: strong as iron and cocky as a rooster in the hen house.

The more Ferro thought about his name, the more those very thoughts transformed him into it. His spine became ramrod straight, as he realized how he had been raised to carry himself. His chest puffed out proudly. His jaw set with determination. He became cockier and prouder and somehow more handsome with each passing breath, and his sense of ethics and morals exploded into a frenzy, each thought of ‘protect and serve’ steaming his brain until it was almost all he ever thought about, aside from his family and having sex. He loved fucking, he loved his job, and he loved his family.

Ferro had a nice talk with his Dad as he drove the town’s empty country roads. It was getting late. He drove past the creepy old car lot and got a shiver down his spine. That place was so weird…good thing he’d always have his hot-ass police car, which in turn paid for his Jeep. No need to get a used car from that weird guy.

A car blasted by him in the other lane. His radar flashed red and Ferro, with a big smile, turned his lights on. I love my job.

Ferro expected to see a car full of crazy college kids, 40s in hand. The shit you see people doing is unreal. How do they expect to not get caught? He was surprised when he saw the car’s lone occupant, a mousy teenage boy who was pale as a ghost. Ferro didn’t let any of his surprise register on his face, and his handsome visage radiated power and control over this wimp.

“Wh-what seems to be the trouble, Officer…,” the kid peered over his glasses to look at Ferro’s badge, “Officer Galucky?”

“It’s pronounced Ga-LOO-chee, kid.”

“Oh. Sorry. Something wro-ong?,” the kid asked again, his voice cracking in nervousness. He hastily took off his glasses and hung them from his polo’s collar.

“Do ya know how fast you were going, kid?”

The boy began fiddling with unbuttoned collar of his polo after he saw the way Officer Gallucci’s shirt was stressed to the limit by his chest. Looked like a girl wanting to show off her tits, the way the cop’s pecs played peek-a-boo.

He lodged a good guess. “Too fast?”


“Please don’t tell my parents.”

The tips of Ferro Gallucci’s mouth flipped up into a small smile. Ah, those were the days. “License and registration, please.”

The kid sighed and with one trembling hand – the other still clutching his shirt collar – he reached into the glove compartment and produced the needed paperwork.

“Licensed for two days, huh? Happy 16th birthday from the Police, Alexander.”

Alex groaned in frustration. “My parents are gonna kill me.”

“What’s the rush?”

“Debate tournament went late,” Alex sighed dejectedly, knowing he was screwed, “and there’s a Star Trek marathon on TV.”

Poor scrawny nerd, Ferro thought. I always felt bad for guys like you. “I’ll be right back,” Ferro said. He turned and headed back to the patrol car. Alex watched the officer’s broad back and bubble ass as they swaggered away.

Alex turned back to face his steering wheel and sat, slumped. His fingers vacantly fiddled with the polo’s buttons and his glassy eyes were fixed in his rear view mirror.


There was a wispy little brown mustache above his upper lip. At 16, Alex Webber hadn’t even had a zit, and facial hair was right out. He was an ultra-late bloomer. “Cool,” he whispered, looking at the light fuzz.

The soft strands began to thicken, and it itched like a mother. The whiskers became wiry and bristled against his skin. Slowly, the area between his nose and lips was covered with stubble, until the skin wasn’t visible at all.

Alex grinned with pride at his mustache, not even stopping to think how unnatural it was. “Cool,” he said again, stroking it with his free hand. His eyes fell upon what looked like a switchblade hanging from his rearview mirror. Was that there a few seconds ago? Giving no more thought to the matter, he yanked it off and flipped out the “blade,” which was actually a mustache comb. With expertise, he smoothed down the wiry hairs poking out into the air, and before long the mustache was neatly combed and trimmed. It followed the same downward trajectory as his lips.

But as he groomed, the teeth combed the color out of his mustache, too. The brown became lighter with every stroke until there was no brown at all – just shimmering, vibrant silver.

Alex’s eyebrows and hair began to change color with his mustache. The middle of his brows arched up as the ends dipped lower toward his nose, giving his face an unmistakable intensity. His brown shag began to fall out in clumps, and the excess hair was carried away through the open window by the breeze. Sideburns crept down to his earlobes, indicating a new ability to grow a full beard. The brown swirled away as Alex watched, emotionless, his eyes now viewing a bushy, masculine brow and a perfect military flat-top haircut, both the same shade of silver.

Air blew out through his nostrils, which got bigger immediately. The immovable eyes didn’t blink as their irises lost their green color and became gunmetal grey. Crow’s feet crinkled around Alex’s eyelids, folds got deeper around his enlarging nose and thinning lips, and deep grooves burrowed onto his forehead. His very head enlarged, soft tissue hardening into a clenched lantern jaw. Alex’s lip curled into a sneer as his head was yanked back, repositioned on top of a neck that bulged with well-earned muscle. His skin pulsed as it aged, earning years rapidly, becoming deeply tanned and coarse to the touch. 16, 20, 25, 32…

Alvin’s changes had come in soft waves, lapping at the edges of his mind. Alex’s were a tsunami overtaking every part all at once. His hand still rubbed around the buttons of his collar, even as the fabric changed and the buttons spread downward until they reached the waist of what had been his jeans, even as his prescription eyeglasses changed into a pair of mirrored aviators. His scrawny limbs all swelled with muscle at the same rate. Forearms bloated into Popeye proportions, biceps grew bigger than full watermelons, hugged by music-note triceps that stretched out of his shirt. Alex’s sleeves shredded as his arms grew to 24 inches. His shoulders became so wide that his left side would’ve broken through the window had it been rolled up. New sleeves, crisp and form-fitting, formed around his bowling-ball deltoids.

32, 35, 39, 43…

“Cool,” he whispered in a husky bass. Two pecs ballooned outward and Alex hurriedly undid the next button on his shirt to make room for his swelling chest. His arms were pushed out more and his back quickly flared out at the same right, ensuring that he’d be able to walk without being bogged down by the two continents he called pectorals. He threw his seat back to make room for all his muscle.

He felt his stomach press against the waistband of his jeans, and sucked in his breath to ensure he wouldn’t burst his pants. However, the jeans grew with him, and he exhaled to reveal a nicely-shaped ab gut, not really a gut at all, but abdominals so overly trained that they had become convex in appearance.

Now reaching his fifties, the man who had been Alex grinned like a Cheshire Cat at the overwhelming sensation in his pants. “Oooh, yeah baby…” A small dick shot outward like it had a weight attached to it. The man grunted as his testicles swelled, quadrupling his supply of testosterone. He started to sweat profusely.

And then he started to itch.

Even as his legs grew into solid tree-trunks, the man was furiously scratching his arms. Hair sprouted everywhere. A dense coating of salt-and-pepper follicles – darker than the hair on his head – covered his forearms. Small curls crept over the scoop neck of his undershirt and wriggled through his open collar. His horse-sized cock was surrounded by a dense forest of pubes. Through it all, his legs grew in power, warping the stripes on the side of his pants as the muscle underneath bulged out in every direction.

The uniform was forming around his unbelievable physique. His leather belt criss-crossed into a braided one, twice as thick as before and heavy with equipment. He felt a gold watch wrap around his right wrist, nestled in the arm hair that went up as high as his knuckles. There was an embroidered debate club logo on his soccer-ball sized left pectoral – the last remaining evidence that a high school kid had been in the car. The strands hardened, becoming metal, cold metal against the policeman’s skin. A gold shield formed there. A cord twirled upward toward the epaulet on his shoulder, finally connecting with the radio that was carefully balanced on his swooping left trap.

“Captain Webber?”

The man blinked and looked down at the full cop uniform now on his body, then back up at the earnest young officer, who he recognized as handsome Ferro Gallucci. Good kid. Good cop.

“Hey, Gallucci,” the deep bass rumbled.

“Everything alright, sir?”

Les Webber wasn’t sure if everything was alright, but he didn’t know why it would be any other way. Still, he felt a little out of sorts. He nodded, opened the door and stepped out, wobbling slightly. Gallucci grabbed his Captain’s forearms to help support him.

Even at 5-8, Officer Ferro Gallucci was taller than Captain Les Webber. Both men inhaled and exhaled in slight confusion. This feels wrong. Webber reached his bulging arms up toward the night sky and stretched, popping his neck and lower back.

“Ahhhh, feels fuckin’ good to stand up.”

He stretched, and stretched, and stretched. His clothes grew with him, his spine lengthened. Les almost sang from the pleasure. He grew to Ferro’s height, then passed it, then grew even more into a solid 6’2”, 240 pounds of rock-solid Daddy beef, finalizing his transformation and towering over the younger Italian cop. The buttons of Les’ shirt pockets struggled to stay put over his enormous chest.

“Thanks for pullin’ over to check on me, son,” Les said with an affectionate pat on Ferro’s back. “I’m feelin’ fine now, had a couple o’ long nights so I thought I’d pull over and rest my eyes.”

Ferro looked downward and saw the dick outline stretching from between Captain’s legs all the way up to his waistband. Looks like your eyes aren’t the only things that need rest, Captain.

“Where’s your tie, sir?”

Ferro’s shirt wasn’t buttoned until the middle of his chest, showing off his powerful body. But his shirt was short-sleeved. Captain Webber’s was long-sleeved, and the sleeves were just rolled up to give his thick wrists and forearms some breathing room.

“In my passenger seat, boy! I don’t usually wear it when I’m alone, my neck’s too big. Gets uncomfortable real quick.” On cue, Webber popped his neck from side to side. Muscles and veins bulged. Even his chest quivered.

“Oh. Just wondering, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“It’s alright, sonny, it’s alright.”

The Captain did have a big wrestler’s neck. They joked that it had to be that big to make room for his voicebox, since he had a voice like a foghorn. Les was ultra-masculine and thus an inspiration to all his officers, Ferro included. A decorated collegiate wrestler, Les Webber had entered the Army after school and made one kickass drill sergeant. But he still felt unfulfilled, even after having a couple of sons of his own. So he entered law enforcement, and that did it. It was a perfect fit for his rigorous physical conditioning and unshakeable sense of ethics.

“I’m headed home, sir. Do you need anything?”

“No, thank you. How old are you, boy?”

“26 years old, sir. Why do you ask, sir?”

“Exactly twice my age,” Les said with a shake of his head. “Good for you. Good for you. Goin’ home alone?”

“No sir, I live with my girlfriend.” She has a gay friend with her tonight and she’s going to watch me fuck him went unsaid. So did Sometimes men pay me for sex because they can’t resist my big muscles and beautiful face.

Les Webber wouldn’t have cared even if Ferro had told him his unsaid thoughts. Les fucked dudes sometimes too. It was all about power and dominance, they didn’t kiss or do any dumb shit like that, kissing was for their wives. Les would wrestle his sexual partners, hold them pinned as they happily submitted, and fuck them until their asses were blistered.

“Have a good night, sir. I’m glad you feel okay.”

“Feelin’ fine, feelin’ fine. Night, Gallucci.”


Blue and red ghosts flickered across the ceiling of the Camaro, and a familiar siren kicked in once more.

“Aw, not this creepy shit again,” Aaron groaned.

Gary stole a quick glance up at the ceiling before looking back toward the road. “Do you think it’s the car’s security system?”

“I don’t think it’s that souped-up, and besides, it ain’t doin’ a very good job.”

Gary leaned back and drove. Aaron relaxed his head against the passenger window. After a moment, his eyes wandered down to the side-view mirror and saw a heavy-duty patrol car bearing down on them.

“Shit! It’s really a cop this time! A real cop!”


Hardly a hardened criminal, Aaron had only gone along with the plan because he was, one, drunk, and two, Gary could talk him into anything. “We gotta pull over, man.”

“Fuck, I don’t wanna.”

“Otherwise he’s just gonna chase us and we’ll be more fucked. DUI and a stolen car plus running away ‘n’ shit. What do they call that?”

“Evasion, dumbass.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Gary snarled and pulled over to the side of the road. They sat in the car, waiting.

“Hey,” Aaron muttered as he looked in the rearview mirror at the stern silver-haired hulk approaching their car. “Hey, I know this guy.”

“This guy? The cop? The dude who looks like Chip Hazard?”

“Shut up,” Aaron said as he opened up his door. “Lemme go talk to him.”

“I don’t think that’s a good-” Gary started to say, but the door slamming shut interrupted him. He rolled down his window and looked at the scene in his side mirror, fully expecting to see Aaron get tasered.

“Get back in your car, son!” Captain Webber flared with anger as he barked as this frat reject twerp.

“Dude, dude, it’s me,” Aaron implored, his hands outstretched with their palms down, a gesture of calmness. “It’s…me.”

Les put his fists on his hips and flexed his chest wide. Most men would’ve cowered in fear at the masculine sight, but Aaron stared blankly. “It’s me,” he kept repeating.

Webber’s eyes narrowed. “And who are you, boy?”, he said patronizingly.

Aaron put his lily-white hands in his shaggy hair and scrunched up his face with comical confusion. “I, I’m not sure.”

“Can’t remember your name, boy?”

“I ain’t able to remember,” Aaron slurred, his body starting to wriggle uncontrollably, stuck in a bizarre singular dance.

“Dumbass can’t remember his own name!” Les started to laugh, a cold bellow that echoed through the night.

The frat guy was starting to look…strange. His hair appeared to be receding in length, at the same rate that whiskers were gathering around his chin. A swelling in his arms began to tighten his sleeves.

“Ain’t that funny?” Aaron drawled, not noticing the accent he now sported or the altering structure of his physique. “I just done plum forgot my name!” He laughed oddly, a strange bark of a laugh that mixed with the Captain’s. His voice began to deepen with every vocal inflection, getting froggier and huskier at every syllable. “I plum forgot!”

What had started as a long shaggy mane was now a barely-noticeable brown buzz cut. Aaron rubbed his head as if he were rubbing a crystal ball, as a creepy smile formed on his mouth. “Tryin’ to think,” he mumbled, the last word coming out like thaaaank.

“Hey, dude,” Gary slurred from the car as he watched his friend. “How d’you know this cop?”

Aaron turned and looked at Gary with stark confusion. “Who’s that,” he mumbled to the Captain. “That boy’s talkin’ at me like he knows me.”

“I’m not sure of his name, either,” Les Webber said truthfully, clamping a strong hand on Aaron’s shoulder. The gesture started an odd process – blue spread across the old fabric as a collar and buttons formed out of nothing. Aaron’s khaki shorts got longer on his legs until they weren’t shorts at all, but pants, and well-fitted pants too. Khaki darkened to navy, the same color as his shirt. Aaron squirmed with discomfort. “Sheeeeee-yit, itchy…”

“You’re doin’ fine, boy.”

That drunk in the car was talking again. “DUUUUDE, that’s so cool! How’d you do that to your clothes?!”

“Mah clothes?”

The confused Southerner looked down on the cop uniform on his body, but before he could think much of it, he became suddenly aware of a cramping in his chest. He tried to stretch it out, but that only made it worse. He grimaced.

It started as bumps behind his nipples. The bumps grew into mounds, then two mountainous shapes revealed themselves in the fabric. They pushed out. Bigger. And bigger. And bigger. A button popped. The pillowy muscles puffed out on the side, then at the top, then in the middle, then at the bottom. Another button gave way, revealing a worn undershirt underneath. The man’s arms pinwheeled as he tried to maintain his balance. The divide between his pecs was deeper than most women have between their breasts. He was 100% man, all pectorals.

“Bro, man,” Gary squealed with admiration, “That’s so fuckin’ rad. Ya gotta teach me how to make myself big!”

“I don’t…know…” The growing muscleman was interrupted by a powerful swelling in his back, finally resetting his balance, as lats unfurled to be so wide that he looked like he would soar away. “But I’m mighty sore. Fixin’ to sit a spell.” He leaned down to tuck his pants into the tops of his leather boots, giving a perfect view for Les and Gary to see his shoulders square into magnificently broad shapes, pressed clearly against the short sleeves of his shirt. His chest heaved upward as his posture became straight, like a broomstick was held against his back. Ribbons of muscle tied themselves like rope around the bones of his arms, leaving two massive limbs jutting out of his enormous shoulders. He continued to wriggle, but no movement could hide the insane ‘V’ taper of his torso. “So tired!”

“No rest,” Webber said. “You got work to do.”

“Boy, Cap’n, I sure do wish I could remember my name.”

Les Webber reached over and cupped a big chunk of the Tennessee cop’s pectoral. A silver name badge reflected in the moonlight. “Your last name’s Bell,” he said tersely.

“Bell! That’s right!”

As if in response to the sudden rush of memories, the new cop’s ass swelled big and tight, pulling the pants tighter than the skin of an apple – and almost the same shape. So high and pompous, it seemed to silently gloat. At the same time, the whiskers that had been sprouting formed themselves into a square goatee, the same shade and length as his buzz cut. The cop’s tongue licked his chapped lips and felt the thousands of bristles decorating his face. He smiled, and the smile quickly changed from a stupid frat-boy’s grin to a masculine cop’s leer.

“Unnnngh, I reckon, I reckon I…” Poor Aaron’s thoughts were so jumbled in his head, he couldn’t finish his sentence. “I-I-I-I reckon…”

“Whaddya reckon, boy?”

The former Aaron was struggling valiantly, even as his changing voice dropped further into a whiskey-soaked bass, even as his thighs doubled in size and his legs grew two inches in length.

“I reckon, nnnngh, Cap’n, I reckon I gotta have a first name…”

“Well, what’d your Daddy call you?”

“Ruh…Air…Aaaarrrr…ruhhhh…ddduhh…” So hard! So FUCKING hard! As the young man fought to think, he aged. The face of Aaron grew hazier and the face of a hard-edged patrolman began to take its place. Angles and crags shot into view as lines etched their way into the man’s skin, leaving a late thirties man in the place of the young college kid. He bore absolutely no resemblance to the man he had once been. His now-strong jaw locked into a tense position. Dark, menacing eyes peered out of deep sockets.

“Duuuuude, look at you! All the guys are gonna be blown away by that!”

Les sneered back at the dumbass in the Camaro. “Shut the fuck up back there!”

“That boy’s gittin’ on my last nerve,” the Tennessee musclehead mumbled. “Distractin’ me. Cain’t think straight…”

“What’s your name, boy?”

The more former-Aaron thought, the more memories flowed into his head to go with the new life he would lead. He fixated on one particular instance, hunting with his Daddy when he was just a lil’ squirt, and being in the woods and his Daddy calling his name…his Daddy’s voice, yellin’ through the brush…

He was trying so hard. He’d never wanted anything as much as he wanted to have this one thought. “Dahhhh…dahhh…oookkk…” Almost there…

“Are you a fuckin’ retard?” The Captain laughed coarsely. “Tell me your fuckin’ name!”

“Daaahhhoookkk…Daook…” ALMOST…THERE… “Duke! DUKE!”, he realized proudly. “Duke Bell’s mah name! Officer Duke Bell.”

The fulfillment brought with it a firestorm of brain activity, as Aaron’s innocent stupidity was ripped into shreds and patched back together as Duke’s experienced, cunning hunter’s instincts. Duke began to chuckle. This felt like a rebirth. His memories were so charged, so vivid, and he remembered each one with precision. Everything from boyhood to high school to manhood to his career.

And his muscle…his amazing muscle…it continued to grow at alarming speed, as the uniform begged for mercy under the power and sag of each tissue. Every part of Duke’s body was perfect for his line of work – quick, taut, and exceptionally powerful.

He placed a pulsing hand on Aaron’s small dick, a dick that had no place on Duke Bell’s body. Electrical currents rocked his huge body, taking a four-inch penis to a ten-inch fuckstick, pressed hard against the inside of his thigh. Giant balls took up so much space in his underwear that it kind of hurt – he loved the feeling all the same. Duke’s mouth dropped open as he reached climax, and he placed his hands behind his head, ready to embrace his new amazing identity and let his old one explode into his pants – but a feeling of sharp pain jarred him from his euphoria. He looked down to see Webber squeezing the life out of his balls with a big scarred hand. All the air was sucked out of Duke. “Ahh…owwww….AHHHH!”

“Not yet,” Webber chuckled as Officer Bell roared from pain. “This cock’s got some work to do before it can have it’s fun.” Bell felt Webber’s thumb feeling the length and girth of his package. “Shit, Bell, you’re one big boy.”

Duke Bell just squealed in response, like a stuck pig. His eyes wandered over to that stupid idiot sitting in the Camaro, drunk as a skunk and guffawing at the incredible transformation he had just witnessed.

Les Webber saw that Duke Bell already was eying the prize. “That’s it, boy. You see him.” Webber leaned in close to Bell’s ear. “That’s your prey. Boy.”

Duke winced as his testicles were released from the iron twist. Tears even gathered in his eyes, but he made sure his captain didn’t see them. He wanted to cum so badly. First his thoughts, now his cum…it had been a rough night.

After stealing a glance down at his incredible chest, and the light dusting of hair peeking out from his visible undershirt, Duke swaggered over to the car.

“You know who I am, boy?”

Gary stared up at the massive figure standing in the moonlight. “Uhhh…I, I’m not sure. Are you still Aaron?”

“Who the fuck’s that?”

“Guess not,” Gary shrugged casually.

“I’m an officer of the law, boy,” Duke sneered. He leaned his frame down into the car, inches away from Gary’s face. “And I got reason to believe you’re breakin’ it.” He leaned back and scratched a pec, which barely moved even as he rubbed. The muscle took up all it could, and there was no free space for it to move to. On his mouth was a predatory sneer. “That’s some pretty fragrant breath ya got there, son. I’m gonna need you to step outta the car.”

Gary groaned. “I don’t want to,” he laughed. “I respectfully refuse,” he continued, with a mock bow.

“Get the FUCK out, ya piece of shit!” Duke practically ripped the door off its hinges and Gary tumbled out. Before the kid knew what was even happening, he had been pulled onto his feet and thrown against the car.

Gary could feel Duke’s mouth, centimeters from his ear. “Not gonna cooperate, huh boy?” Strong hands wrapped around Gary’s waist and ran up and down his torso aggressively.

“Dude, stop!”

Duke chuckled and ignored the plea. The large hands went down and cupped an almost non-existent ass, then shoved Gary’s legs apart and vigorously grabbed the bulge in his pants.

Gary grunted and felt himself forcibly thrown into the air, twisted and held up against the car. To keep himself from falling to the ground, he threw his legs around the cop. Duke tore Gary’s pants clean off and Gary heaved horrified, excited breaths when he caught glimpse of Duke’s cock in the moonlight, sticking out through his unzipped fly – the biggest dick he’d ever seen; he didn’t know humans could even have equipment like that. He wanted to say “No,” but when he opened his mouth nothing came out.

“AHHHH!” Gary felt it impale him, forcing his cheeks apart, and he couldn’t help but scream. He couldn’t believe how it simultaneously made him feel extreme pain and extreme pleasure.

Duke rocked up and down, the force of his thrusts making the Camaro – which he didn’t know to be his former car – rock up and down along with their bodies. Les smoked a cigar and watched the show, chuckling.

Gary’s head slowly fell back as he took Duke’s cock deeper and deeper, his face flush and his breathing scarce. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuckkkkk…” All the nerves in his body were aflame, already exploding, so much so that he didn’t notice the surge of platinum blond tendrils snaking out of his head. The short black crewcut was overtaken by thick yellow locks, several inches in length, like a glistening halo on top of his head. The hair of angels. As he panted and moaned, Gary’s eyebrows and day’s of worth of beard turned to the same spun-gold color. He itched as his stubble retreated beneath his skin, leaving it baby-smooth; however, his eyebrows doubled in thickness.

Gary tried to wriggle free, but this Hulk fucking him was far too strong, and Gary slowly gave in. This felt good. So good. His fingers curled into the cracks of the car door and he moaned excitedly. “That’s it, boy,” Duke grunted in between pumps.

“You’re doing fine,” Les said from behind a haze of cigar smoke. “Keep on goin’.”

At 6’2”, Gary had always been taller than Aaron’s 6’1”. But now Duke, once Aaron, stood a few centimeters short of being 6’4”. And as Duke pumped the ass of his former friend, Gary started shrinking. Not too much, just a few inches. Legs became shorter and quicker, arms more mobile, leaving a 5’9” Gary moaning away.

Then the muscle started. Gary could feel his arms cramp, but gave no thought to it; soon, the tightness spread into his chest and back and further into his abdomen and thighs, and each muscle plumped and pulsed larger and stronger with each ecstatic thrust. Blood rushed everywhere at once, small tissue tears filling in right as new ones appeared, until Gary was twice the size he had been. The body of a rippling hunk began to make itself apparent. Beefy muscle looked all the more impressive on his smaller frame. Powerful shoulders leaned down into a puffed-up chest and swollen back, and knotted arms ran into vascular hands and forearms. His clothes, unable to sustain the power swelling underneath, began to give way. Powerful pecs tore his t-shirt straight across, from arm pit to arm pit, revealing an unbuttoned blue cop shirt underneath.

“Unnnnnnnnnnn,” Gary squealed.

Duke struggled not to cum as he felt Gary’s ass cheeks swell around his dick, a plump cherry ass forming underneath Gary’s buff body. Gary looked down at his own penis, stretching longer and thicker in front of him like a kind of sick magic trick, his manhood magnified right before his eyes until he had a cock to rival Duke’s. “Wow,” he murmured with an excited grin.

Duke thrust furiously and mercilessly, by now completely overwhelmed by the sex and unnoticing of the incredible changes his partner was undergoing. Reedy dark-haired Gary had transitioned into strapping blond Gary, and was barely halfway done with his changes.

Through grit teeth, Duke asked the question that had once been heatedly demanded of him: “What’s your name, boy?”

“Guh, Guh, Guhhhrry, Garrett…Gary’s short fo-fo-forrrrr…Garr…rett…Rett…unnnghhhh…”

The former Gary’s features began to fine-tune themselves. Germanic facial structure began to assert itself on his face, but at the same time a boyish innocence crept in. His jaw shot out so wide that it flared out past the width of his temples, two 90-degree cliffs jutting out over a precipitous neck. His chin became square and cut. His bone structure was strikingly German, but his eyes became green and delicately moony, as if they were deeply wounded. High cheekbones were masked by a soft layer of rosiness, giving Gary’s new visage the feeling of two faces: an uber-masculine super soldier, and a sweet young boy, blended perfectly together. Even his lips stuffed themselves with a sweet, thick pink color.

“Y’know, we almost didn’t approve your application to be a cop,” Duke said as he ground away.

“A cop? I’m not a…”

“We all thought you were too precious for this job,” Duke interrupted. “But then we saw that body of yours, and heard that voice, and we knew you’d be fine. Jussssst fine.”

“Voice?” And immediately, Gary’s voice dropped into the lowest register on the force, a resoundingly loud bass that contrasted with his boyishly handsome features. It had the beauty of Ferro’s, the depth of Duke’s and the husky power of Les’s. “Oh,” Gary continued, now understanding. “That voice.”

He smiled at the sound of his own speech, revealing perfect teeth almost radioactive in their whiteness. “Such a fuckin’ pretty boy,” Duke grunted as he stared at the angel’s face before him. “How you like this, pretty boy?”

“So fucking much, sir.”

Gary’s skin darkened into a ruddy bronze, made darker by the coating of thick sweat. A musky odor wafted off his powerful, young body and danced around Duke’s nostrils. “You smell good, boy.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The studly young man’s pilgrimage into his new form continued. His hips became narrower as his shoulders hummed wider. His feet exploded through his shoes, which reformed as leather boots. The straight blond hair crimped slightly, becoming wavier on his head. Dimples popped into his cheeks, and a tribal sun tattoo peeked out from his chest through his open, soaked shirt. Unlike his friend, Gary aged only one or two years, making him barely 24. He was young, handsome, hunky and oh so horny.

“What,” huffed Duke, “What was your name again?”

The angelic bodybuilder’s green eyes clouded over. “I don’t know,” he muttered.

“You told me it a second ago.”

“I…I know I did. A man should know his name.”

“It was a…a…a…nice name,” Duke moaned as he built ever closer to blowing his load.

“My last name’s Bernheiser,” the young man contributed helpfully as he stared at his name badge.

“It was like…Cory…or something…”

“No,” the young man shook his head, a motion that made his neck swell as wide as a tree trunk and lowered his voice all the more. “That wasn’t it.”

“It was…”

“Unnnghhhh…” Precum poured out.


“Unnnngh FUCK Duke!”






Cum shot everywhere. It soaked the side of the patrol car they were up against, it soaked their clothes, it soaked their skin. Les watched with pride.

Rhett collapsed against Duke’s broad chest and licked it tenderly. Duke wrapped his arms around his protégé. Gary had bossed Aaron around, but now it would be Duke who lead Rhett, the experienced police officer mentoring the young rookie.

“Nothin’ like a young man’s body, huh Les?” Duke grinned to his Captain as he stroked the mop of blond hair atop Rhett’s head.

“Nothing like it. Get yourself dressed, rookie, let’s see how you look,” Webber commanded.

Rhett pulled his pants up and tucked them into his boots, as he preferred. His massive tool and wide thighs looked like stuffed sausage within his uniform trousers. He double-checked to make sure all the items on his belt were there. He moved rather slowly – Rhett knew he served as eye candy to the force. He was certainly not the brains of the operation. His power lay in his voice and body, not his mind….while he wasn’t stupid, he sure as hell had never been bright either. He slowly buttoned up his shirt, watching the fabric struggle to cover his muscles, just as it looked on Les and Duke.

At 5’9”, Rhett loved and hated his height. It made his muscles look so huge, but it also didn’t compare to the 6’2” of the captain and the 6’3.5” of his partner Bell. He stretched himself as tall as he could, as the captain and Bell gave him the once-over.

“You look fine, boy, you look just fine.”

Rhett rolled his back out proudly and flexed his arms, watching the softball-sized muscle bunch against his sleeves. The other men did the same, chuckling as their dicks grew harder, until they came close to cumming again at the sight of their impromptu competition. Only their radios could interrupt them, and they did.

A car had been stolen from the used car lot out of town. The owner wanted to talk to the police.

They would never know why, but Duke, Les and Rhett all wanted to go talk to the sales guy on their own. And so, all three of them did, forcing their large frames into their patrol cars and burning down the highway. Les even considered calling Officer Gallucci to bring him along, but decided against it. Kid was probably asleep on top of his girlfriend by now anyway.

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