Pleasure Boy 5: Sorry, Bobby

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Bobby's heart dropped into his stomach when he walked into the office. With only a week to go until his release from the detention center, he'd thought he was home free. He'd thought he'd be out and back in high school again, and he knew he'd never fuck up again. He'd learned his lesson. Drugs and alcohol were the road to doing really stupid things, like stealing a car and joy-riding, crashing into another car and almost killing a couple of other kids. He wasn't that dumb, to do that again. The chance of being taken as one of those pleasure boys was too great, and he didn't want that. It was enough of a threat to make any guy go straight. But then, as he was dressing after a baseball game in the enclosed yard, he'd gotten the call. Coach came in and said, Bobby, the warden wants to see you in his office.

It was when he saw the muscle-bound guy in the office with the warden that he knew. He'd almost made it. But almost wasn't home free after all. 

"Aww, no," he said. "I've only got a week left. I've done good. Come on, warden. Isn't there someone else?"

"You know we don't get to choose, Bobby. I'm sorry. Blame it on your looks, buddy," the warden said solemnly.

And before he could even reply, the big one with the outrageous muscles was standing next to him, pushing up the sleeve of his tee shirt, swabbing his deltoid with alcohol, and then picking up a syringe.

"Aww, please," he said, but the needle was already in his arm, and a brief sting later, it was done.

For a moment or two, he thought, well, that was nothing. He'd heard how guys were transformed so fast it was almost like a morph video, but he didn't feel any different.

Then it started. He felt light headed, almost dizzy. He started to get physical rushes, like smoking crystal meth or something. He didn't want to feel good, but something about it made him feel very aroused, very hot. He was embarrassed, as though they could see how he was feeling.

"Aww, fuck," he heard himself say.

"No matter how many times I witness this," the warden said, "it always amazes me. Who would have thought something like this could be developed?"

Bobby felt weird that he was being talked about that way. Witness this? It felt like a dream or hallucination, but, standing there with the warden and the enormous muscle man watching him, he realized he was starting to feel very turned on despite how scared he was. He felt his cock hardening in his jeans. He was boning, hard, and there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't even make himself do anything but stand there, the feelings, the rushes were so strong. He didn't want to be some dim-witted muscleboy. He wanted to run away and go back to school and, and...

But his feet were stuck to the floor. He felt his cock bone so hard that it slid up, even in his briefs and jeans, and started to push sideways and strain at the material. And, despite not wanting this, and how weird it was that they were just watching him like that, there was something really hot about it.

"Aw, see," the huge muscle man said, "now it's starting and he's already enjoying it. How fast they change, huh."

Already enjoying it? Because he had a boner he couldn't control? Did they think that showed he was enjoying it? Could they tell it was making him feel hot? He realized the tee shirt was starting to feel tight on his chest and arms. Could he be growing into one of those muscleboys already, this fast? He looked down at himself. Fuck.  He was. His chest was swelling with muscle. He could feel the muscles of his back pushing out on his arms, and his arms were getting thick, veins starting to show on the surface. Even his legs were feeling big, pushing against each other, making his jeans tight. What was it about being so muscular that these guys liked so much, that they wanted to do this to a guy?

But now he began to more aware of his own feelings. It was weird, to be sure, but it was amazing that they could do this to a guy, to him. He was getting very muscular, very, and there was something almost exciting about it, since there was nothing he could do to stop it, now, anyway. In fact, the fact that there was nothing he could do about it made it somehow more exciting. Fighting against it was useless as he felt it overtaking him, and there was some kind of strange feeling of freedom in that. He could let go. Hell, he couldn't not let go. He was so hard he felt like his cock was going to break through his jeans, and his balls ached as though they were being squeezed and squeezed hard.

He looked down to see his jeans strained to bursting with the log of his cock pushing so hard against the hip, and the ache was coming from what looked like a couple of lemons in the crotch pushing out hard against the fabric already pulling so tight on his legs. His legs were huge. They were so thick they were pushing apart and pressed together almost to his knees, forcing his knees apart, and his nuts just squeezed in there, no place to go, so tight, and, holy fuck, now they looked more like a couple of grapefruits and they hurt, and his legs were straining, so tight. He reached down to feel those balls, that cock that was pushing harder, getting harder and thicker, and when he did, his pecs bunched so thick he could hardly see over them, and he heard the material of his shirt ripping. The back ripped first, and then the sleeves as his massive triceps fought against the bulging biceps, and the shoulder seams tore apart. He felt the size of his chest, the thickness of his pecs, back, arms. He was getting huge, and the muscle was growing bigger and thicker. He tugged at the buttons on the shredded shirt and yanked, finally releasing himself from its confines completely, exposing his massive torso and finding that he had already grown a pelt of dark hair covering his pecs, most of his abs, and his forearms. He flexed his arms, as though they were someone else's, feeling their mass, the thick veins all over them, the hair on his massive forearms. Damn, the hair felt hot. He reached up to feel the hair on his pecs, to see how far up it grew. He wished there was a mirror. It grew all the way up to his neck.

"Amazing," he heard the warden say.

"Yeah," the muscle guy answered, "he's gonna be a real good one."

Bobby looked at them. Yeah, they were talking about him again, but somehow, now it turned him on. The physical rushes were getting stronger, and he could feel his muscles getting thicker. Gonna be a real good one. Fuck, he really was turning into one of them, one of those muscleboys. He was already as big as, as big as, fuck…it was hard to think of what, but fuckin' huge and still getting bigger. He heard the seams of his jeans start to tear. His legs were so thick now, they were forcing him to stand with his feet spread apart wide. First the side seams and inseams on his quads split. Then the butt seam. The muscles seemed to be exploding out of the torn seams, and his legs, exposed, were covered with hair. But his balls were aching from being squeezed, even with the seams torn. They were almost the size of coconuts now, felt so heavy, and his cock was pushing so hard against the hip of his jeans that seam started to give and he had to get it out, he had to see how huge it was. Fuck, his cock was so huge bulging inside, pushing, it had to grow free. He jerked open the waist and fly, and the shredded jeans and briefs fell to the floor with a firm tug to pull them out from the press of his massive thighs.

Now he was standing naked in front of the men seeing how they were watching him change. His cock sprang up and his enormous balls dropped down against the muscle of his legs, and he realized the fur on those legs had grown all the way up, his groin was surrounded by it, and his cock strained against its own skin to grow bigger still as it jerked against his abdomen, the swollen head smacking him where his pecs came together. This is what they fucking wanted. Make him huge. He flexed both his massive arms, each the size of his head, grinning, feeling his oozing cock slapping his chest, now in the middle. A real good one. Yeah. He could feel the muscle still growing, everything still growing, and it felt so fucking hot.

"Aww, fuck yeah," he heard himself say, and his voice was low, almost rumbling out of his chest. But he didn't think of that. Just how he felt, how even the sound of his voice felt. How it felt, those guys watching him, flexing for them. He wanted to cum for them. Fuck, he'd cum for anyone. 

The huge muscleguy spoke again. "Yeah, he's a real pretty one. New serum works great. Now, what was it you were bitching about, huh, fuckboy?"

But Bobby was lost in the feeling of his thick, massive, fur-covered muscles, rubbing his pecs, his abs, feeling his furry muscle butt, flexing his huge arms to see the muscles and veins pop. It took both his hands to wrap around his huge cock, and the head was at the top of his chest so all he had to do was bend his neck down and lick the taste of his own precum, lick all around the head, the rim. It was too big to get into his mouth, but using both hands to stroke the whole length and head, feeling orgasm building, he came, just letting it go, watching, tasting the spurts of thick cum, spurt after spurt after spurt, going on and on, flowing down his cock, all over his hands, onto the floor, onto his chest and abs, wetting down the thick, dark hair.

"I was talkin' to you, fuckboy," the massive guy said. "What you think now?"

Bobby looked up as he rubbed the sticky, slippery cum all over his massive, hairy muscles. His cock was still hard, and he could cum again. He was bigger that the muscleman talking to him. What did he..? Fuckboy. Sounded fuckin' hot. Made him feel so hot.

"," his voice came low, slow. "Huge." He tried to think of what the man wanted, what to say. It was too hard. He just wanted to flex his muscles. He just wanted sex. He held his huge cock out to show them. "Fuckin' huge fuckboy," he said, and his mouth went slack as he felt the sex building in him again.