The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Bull

By Limerick

“You hold a… excuse me… you do NOT hold a Bachelor’s Degree,” the office lady said. Her name had evaporated from Martin’s head during the handshake. Her office was providing no clues—no placards or business cards or anything personal at all. Three bookshelves with unrelieved black binders, not even labeled, and an immaculate desk holding only his meager resume.

“I graduate next year,” Martin said. Should he walk out? He smoldered with humiliation. But the truth was, he needed a job, and one where he could discretely study on the side.

“Yes… in Communications, it appears. Talking? A degree in talking?” The office lady was in her late 20s but appeared eager to hit 52. Her hair was wound up in a bun and she wore a flannel skirt. She had watery blue eyes and a short, afterthought nose with both nostrils unfortunately turned up.

“And a minor in philosophy,” Martin said. It had been a philosophy major until just a few weeks ago. It had been a humbling semester. Frustrating and humbling.

“Philosophy. Here we need more sorting and filing than identifying imaginary shadows on hypothetical walls. Does that make sense?”

“I love sorting and filing,” Martin said. It was as close to snark as he could bring himself. His teeth wanted to grind together. But he wasn’t even good at confrontation on the internet. His Mom had found him sobbing in bed after the first time he’d played a game with voice chat.

“Your resume says your name is… Martine.”

“Typo,” Martin mumbled.

“I see,” she nodded, and unnecessarily tapped his resume on the desk. “Thirty hours a week. No benefits as you know. Lets go meet Mr. Weiss.” She rose, and Martin realized he had the job. So he’d passed, presumably by letting her humiliate him. A promising start. But this summer job had to allow him space to desperately study all the philosophy texts he’d skipped all spring so…

“Glad to be aboard,” he said. He tamped the rage into the usual deep-down ball.

It was a short walk, but there were a number of closed and empty offices. Not a thriving practice, then. Explained why they only wanted a short-term part-timer. The receptionist—Haley—why had HER name stuck?—watched him pass. She had dirty blonde hair and chewed on a pen.

“Mr. Weiss? I have the file clerk here. Ahh—the file clerk.” So at least she had forgotten his name too. That was a comfort. The lady knocked on a door with ‘WEISS’ in an old-school placard just outside, the white lettering turning copper with age.

“Sir?” The Office Manager opened the door. She paused.

Then she shrieked.

This room was stacked and piled with papers, an entire library stripped and sacked and reduced to uneven stacks all around the drawers and bookcases and desks. In the very middle of the room, next to an ancient computer with a real CRT monitor, an aging man with too much white hair was face down, headplanted into the wood.

“Call 911!” Martin said, shouting back to Haley. The Office Manager had gone stiff with shock, and Martin had to elbow her aside, which took real effort. He was wan and pale from the unsuccessful semester, unused to the sun.

Martin struggled to pull Mr. Weiss upright, settling for laying him down semi-gently in a clear patch near the desk. He was dressed in a three-piece suit that enveloped a tiny, shriveled body. It took a long time to get underneath his shirt and find his little chest. There was a brief heartbeat. He was breathing. His breath smelled odd—like sugar.

There was a lot going on, but Martin noticed, even so, the out-of-place tub of protein powder, body-builder style, open on the desk.

* * *

After the shock had worn off Martin realized that he had fallen into an ideal situation. He worked for a man who was half-dead, who had been intubated at a local hospital, lost in a sea of white sheets. Which meant Martin was free to collect a paycheck and read course materials by himself. People in comas had few demands.

The plan had started out well. He had arrived the next day to a cheerful greeting from Haley. She was dressed in a careful, neutral dark grey outfit, possibly out of respect for the nearly-dead boss, but that didn’t disguise at all that she was admirably cute. She’d put him in a large office—way big for a mere file clerk. He had an e-mail address. He’d checked out her backside as she left, and then turned to look out the window. His window. It overlooked the wall of a parking garage, but still—window.

And then Anna, the Office Manager, had stuck her head in. He’d gotten her name from Haley.

“Did you close this door?” she said. Unlike Haley she hadn’t altered her wardrobe at all, or possibly even changed. She wore the same cardigan and flannel skirt that Martin vaguely recalled. “Please keep your door open. Are you oriented?”

Martin wasn’t sure how to answer that. She emphatically opened his door.

“Lets assume you are. Come with me. Mr. Weiss’ office.”

They didn’t quite make it there. There was a rap on the front door that surprised everyone—who the hell would be looking to come in to a half-dead office, the principal in the ICU?

Delivery guy, and behind him a half-dozen other delivery guys. They were accompanied by large cardboard boxes that had muscular men printed on them in blue and grey. Not just fit guys, truly ripped monsters with biceps that tried to bulge out of the brown box.

“Delivery for Mr. Weiss,” the delivery men were just as muscle-bound as their deliveries. You could follow the way various biceps and triceps wrapped around the man’s arm. Martin, who usually just lifted his own keys, stuck his arms deep into his pockets.

Anna made a deep, inhuman noise of impossible frustration from well within her own throat. “What is it?” she said.

“American Fight-Warrior Complete Muscle Set,” the man said, deadpan. Haley wasn’t hesitant about letting them in. She opened the other double-door and stepped back, hands wringing the bottom of her shirt. Her eyes flitted across the well-built men. Martin crossed his arms, annoyed. Well. “Complete package. Where are we setting up? It should be a room with strong floor support as this is five thousand pounds plus of iron.”

Anna insisted on reviewing the purchase order, and still seemed about to send it all back, on the not-illogical theory that Mr. Weiss was half-dead and unable to lift weights. But Haley volunteered.

“Mr. Weiss had me clean out the backup conference room,” she said, beckoning the men inside. She had a naturally breathless voice, like she had just gotten out of a very hot shower. A bunch of large men flooded inside the office. “I think he had this in mind. Why don’t you set up in there?”

“Alright. We’re set.” The men trooped into the conference room, toting their extremely big cardboard boxes. Haley stepped back. It was her own turn to admire asses.

Anna turned away. She had both hands balled up and her arms tightly crossed, a large frown spread all the way across her face and well into her cheeks. Martin took the brunt of it before he could look away. “Martin, you are welcome to return to your desk,” she said.

After that, he was a machine for moving paper. Anna seemed to know the precise moment he went through a stack. She might as well have posted a camera on the interior of his office. Indeed he started to suspect there was one, or perhaps some keylogger/pinhole camera combination built into the slogging PC. She bustled in and out with more paper, even while e-mails from her were still arriving in his inbox. He was to methodically categorize and laboriously scan and sort materials dating back five years, at a pace that verged on assembly line speed.

Eventually Anna simply walked in with a ruler and stood it up next to a large stack of yellowing documents from tax year 2016. They all stunk of aging ink toner. “This is your goal,” she said, setting the ruler next to the papers, and then pointing to an imaginary line a full foot above the ruler.

“I don’t know anything about the… I don’t know how these are even sorted,” Martin said. He felt a mild sense of drowning. “Alphabetically?”

“By date,” Anna said.

Martin picked up the first document. There were five different dates on the page—two written in next to signatures, a filing date, a recordation date, and a “MAY 14” written in black ink on the upper left hand corner with no explanation at all. All the other four dates were around November. He pointed it at Anna, defensively.

“Right,” Anna said. She left the ruler in the room with him, and left. When she returned, it was with another big stack of papers. This time she left them without comment, except she had apparently found time to write “SORT” on a dozen stickys and paste them to the sides of the paper stack.

Martin stared at the stacks, dismayed, pissed off. Already the office smelled like a paper tomb. This wasn’t going to give him any time to study. It wasn’t going to give him any time at all. “Fuck,” he grunted, balling up a paper at random. An edge sliced his thumb.

“You’re Mr. Weiss?” the delivery man burst into the office. Maybe, Martin thought, Haley, at least, would be capable of knocking.

“Uh, no,” Martin said. He pushed back mildly in his office chair. The man had a polo shirt on and rough jeans, which barely covered up six feet plus of raw muscle. His biceps glimmered. Apparently putting together exercise equipment was sweaty business. “Not Mr. Weiss.”

“But the machines are for you?” the man persisted. His eyes lingered on Martin’s physique just long enough. Martin followed his eyes to the soft white baby fat of his arms. He flushed, which didn’t make his skin anything other than preschool paper pale.

“Sure,” Martin said, eventually. “They’re for my noodle arms.”

“Good. Glad to see it,” the delivery man abruptly walked out, returned just a moment later. This time he was holding the big bottle of protein powder Martin had seen in Mr. Weiss’ office. The man’s voice dropped from a growly baritone to something even lower.

“Listen… I know this is part of it… but go easy,” the man said. He shook the bottle. “Go real easy. I get it, I do, but… easy. REAL easy.”

“Fine,” Martin said. Christ, how much more insulting did everyone intend to be? Yes, he was both scrawny and pathetic. “I’ll limit my.. gains? Is that what you guys call them? Gains?”

“No,” the delivery man said. He put the bottle down and took a respectful step back from it. “Anyway, you paid for it. Best of luck.”

He gave Martin a mock salute, and whirled out the door. Martin glared at the door.

* * *

He’d forgotten to bring lunch. Not quite forgotten—Martin had assumed it was unnecessary. They lived in a world of convenient and fast food delivery. There were at least a dozen apps that desperately wanted to feed him.

But of course, he was broke. Funny how he didn’t want to think about that. There was a sandwich place a half-mile away that looked like it wrote over the health score in sharpie, and was under five dollars, but Anna had marched in the door at 11 to discuss that aspect of his job.

“Lunch is twenty-three minutes,” she said.

“Half-hour,” he said. “That’s the rule. It’s by law, even I know that.”

“I thought you were getting a philosophy degree,” Anna said.

Martin was having trouble coming up with responses to her. Swear words lurked in his gut, begging to be said. She barged on. “You spent seven minutes testing out the new exercise equipment.”

That was true. The brand new exercise room was full to the brim with sharp-edged chrome and matte-black machines. It was surprising the floor didn’t buckle. Along with the oddly shaped machines with wires and straps there was a simple bench in the very middle of everything, with two hundred pounds of weight already attached to the thick steel bar. Martin didn’t even touch that one.

He was starving. Martin’s eyes slid over to the protein tub. Hell, why not? He unscrewed it and took a look inside. It was completely full, and the inside was a pristine patch of yellow sand, like a section of beach. It smelled like meaty fruit loops, and powerfully so. And somehow, not in a bad way.

“I’m going to try the protein powder,” he told Haley, peeking his head out. She was clearly clicking away on some facebook game or another. It was too rhythmic to be work.

“Oh! Good luck! I try to avoid protein myself!” She kept her eyes on the screen.

Had he really thought that might impress her? Well, fair. Martin dumped a load of sand into a glass of water. Water, at least, was free. It turned the glass bright yellow. He took a sip.

It was… good.

And it had turned the consistency of the water into something just a bit thicker, a bit milkier. Odd, but good. Very good. Not the pop rocks sugar-high he expected. Already, he felt better. He drank the rest of it in one long pull.

Martin poured himself another glass and lumped in three spoonsfuls. This time it was like drinking a milkshake.

Hunger gone, all that was left was irritation. Anger. Anna had left him alone just long enough to let him grapple with his shit situation and desperate life. All of his best case scenarios were grim and unrewarding. Get a philosophy degree no one believed in, even himself. Study frantically and master texts that would be torn apart summarily in later courses. He was 22 and could already see himself at 40, working at best at a book store, maybe with a beard. Making snarky intelligent comments on the internet for strangers.

God damn it. Martin clenched both fists. Life stretched before him like a bad road. A long trip, and spent alone except for books on tape.

“I’m taking a nineteen minute walk,” he said, stepping outside. Maybe the sunlight would—no. It was just windy and cold. Nothing about the buildings or ratty birds or dusty streets did anything to make him feel better, and when he checked his watch, fifteen minutes had gone by with just him walking along pissed off.

At least he had energy. Gobs of it, when Martin paused to consider his options. He pulsed with heat, from deep inside his gut, transformed into anger and radiating the inside out. Martin started to jog, in his work pants and ugly rubber-soled shoes. The black ones meant for hotel desk employees that had cost him thirty bucks. He hadn’t run anywhere in four years, but it was easy to start to jog, then jog faster, and then run.

He ran right past the office.

This, this was better. Much better. Productive, useful. He’d definitely regret it very soon, once the skin wore off the back of his heels, but it felt downright amazing to run. Purposeful. He didn’t even care if people stared, wondering why the lanky white guy in khakis was whipping down a street in the middle of a workday. He sucked in air and somehow found room to laugh. God! Why was he being so pathetic? He was young and maybe, maybe, he could be powerful.

He got back to the office forty minutes later.

Anna was lurking inside the office—not in his chair but up against the far wall, where he’d only spot her once he got inside. Haley’s eyes traced him as he made his way into the room. She’d started to suck on a lollipop. Sweat coursed off him.

“I clearly said that…” Anna started, frowning. Martin had no idea how he looked. Probably like he’d fallen into a water park. Sweat stung his eyes. “You… you had twenty and a half minutes when you…”

“I don’t care,” Martin said. He made sure to step on her sentence. When she opened her mouth he repeated it, slowly and deliberately. “I don’t. Care.” And then just for effect. “Anna.”

Chest heaving, Martin watched her. She was watching a droplet of sweat make its way down his face. The room steamed with his sweat and the smell of protein powder. She seemed to be trying to say something.

Eventually she whispered a curt “very well” and walked towards the door. Martin took his time moving aside. When she was gone he collapsed into his chair. His lungs felt withered, useless. A burn started, all over his body. And for some reason he had a really powerful erection.

* * *

Living by himself meant he could jack off however he wanted.

So usually Martin went with the reclining pose of pretty much everyone—in front of a computer screen, with one hand on the mouse. Thumbing through catalogs of mild fetishes. Like most people in his generation he hadn’t gotten off without staring at a screen in almost his entire life. So it was a surprise, even to him, when he started jacking off in the shower.

His erection just would not dissipate. It didn’t hurt and it was hardly uncomfortable, except that it was snaked down his pants. It was just mildly—there, ever since his impromptu run.

Martin got into his tiny apartment shower right after getting back. He smelled, even he could tell. All those sweat glands, unactivated since he had stopped taking P.E. classes, had spewed a bunch of gunk. He smelled like livestock, and after just one run. It filled the car to the brim. And if he could sense it, he had to be pure barnyard to everyone around him.

In the shower he started thinking about fucking Haley from behind.

His mind had slipped from fuming idly about work to bending her ass over and slipping his dick all the way inside of her. He even imagined her surprised, pleased little ‘oh!’ And then just a nice mental image of him destroying her desk, her computer tumbling onto the floor, pages of papers fluttering around them, as she babbled around his dick.

His cock throbbed. He stroked it, his hand wrapped around all the way around it. It was pretty nice to jack off in the shower.

Anna tried to ruin it, barging in on the two of them, but it was easy enough to imagine her overcome, sinking to her knees. He had dream-Anna just wait, thirsty and wanting, while he plowed the secretary. His body was tense, firm, his balls clenched up… no, they REALLY clenched, and then he was cumming inside and out.

Martin opened his eyes. It was already washing down the drain, but he’d spattered the shower wall with a big wad of jizz. Did he normally shoot that far? It typically went right into a tissue. Haley lingered in ihs mind, cooing over her own orgasm.

He finished up, keenly aware of his dick bouncing between his legs. Well. He’d just fucked a coworker, in his head. Haley wasn’t ordinarily his type—he usually got off to some proto-goth with tattoos, or at least a girl in glasses. Haley seemed like she had got through math classes by counting on her toes.

On the other hand, she’d been a hell of a fuck, metaphorically.

* * *

He jacked off in bed the next morning, too. Martin felt good about it—he was developing a new skill. Absolutely getting himself off without pornographic aid was an important life skill. What about when the world collapsed and the screens shut down for good? The man who could manually self-stimulate would be a king.

Haley was just as wet and spectrally ready the second time. It didn’t take Martin any longer to cum, banging her phantom snatch from the comfort of his own bed. She came just as hard, too. And he laced a long arc of jizz all the way up his chest. It was great.

Then he tried to move.

Each leg shook with each step, far more than his impromptu jog should’ve warranted. They ached terribly, and he was out of aspirin. No, not out. He couldn’t afford tylenol, and advil was right out. Pulling on pants was a journey, especially because his cock decided to reappear at half-mast.

He froze, slowly walking in the office door. Haley. Right. The girl he had cum over, twice, in his head. Seeing her there in the actual flesh was disorienting.

She wasn’t as hot as she’d been underneath the weight of his imagination. No longer a real blonde, and not even close. And she wasn’t in the taut, overripe yoga pants he’d briefly put her in, with the scoop-neck top holding in two wobbly tits. Still, she was cute—especially her two wide eyes and a cheerful smile that seemed genuinely happy to see him. Martin nearly fell over.

“Oh! You okay?” she said, from her desk. It was her desk collage that had made him think—dumb secretary. She’d filled it with a battlefield of figurines, pictures, office toys, and all other sorts of junk, a forest of secretary gear. And all her pens had bright pink casings.

“Running,” he said. “Wasn’t used to it. Yesterday. Feeling sore.”

“Oh, there’s so many muscles down there!” Haley said, sympathetic. “Do all of them hurt or just most of them?”

“It’ll.. It’s no problem,” Martin said. He realized too late that he didn’t want sympathy. Was there a way to see if the pictures contained a boyfriend? There were a lot of them, so the odds were unfortunately high. “It’s just, you know, fibers. Muscle fibers. It’s a good pain.”

“My boyfriend said he got horrible muscle cramps when he started running,” Haley said.

Of course. Martin fought back a wave of anger. What was going on with him? It wasn’t her fault he’d jacked off to her mental image. It was him being gross.

“What does he bench?” he blurted out.

“Oh! Just cardio.”

Just cardio, huh?

* * *

He was supposed to study.

The summer had been allocated to it. After all, he’d put a lot of mental self-image in himself as a philosopher-king. True, he’d known that after college it wouldn’t count for much. Anything at all, in all honesty. But there was going to be a shining if brief moment where he would be a spark of true knowledge, master of symposia, a font of pure thought who would act as a beacon of intellect. And then he’d gotten a lot of Cs and Ds on his essays and switched his major to Communications.

It had turned out that philosophy required, if not math, the next closest thing to math. It was a long ways from the Socratic ‘whither truth’ stuff he’d perused in High School. No more Sophie’s World. And he had to learn facts, actual facts, about how the brain operated. It was terrible. And getting even to competency, to where TAs didn’t speak to him in soft, concerned tones, was going to take real study.

Instead he had skulked into the office, after hours, to lift weights.

He didn’t own workout gear of any kind, so this was in a scratchy Glidden-brand band t-shirt and too-tight drawstring shorts. On his way in he took a detour around Haley’s desk, where a picture of her glommed onto a clean-chinned man. Martin glared at the man.

Then he sat on the bench. His erection poked up. It had come back in the afternoon, surprisingly strong, after another completely free lunch of protein powder. He’d been tempted to self-abuse all afternoon, even in the office bathroom. Only that morning of Haley humiliation had put him off.

He put his hands around the bar and heaved. The bar and all four weights rolled off and on to his chest.

“FUCK!” Martin managed.

He was pinned, his arms shaking just to keep his body from getting crushed. He could feel steel and gravity exploring his rib cage, stretching it slowly apart. It hurt horribly. Panting, he cantilevered just a bit upright, which made the bar pinwheel all the way down his body. Halfway there it ran into his dick.

Martin swore, and, after the bar fell to the ground, keeled quietly over.

After a bit the lights clicked off for lack of motion.

So that was it, Martin thought, waiting for his balls to stop throbbing. He’d hit the lowest possible point. He expected to feel the typical wave of angry, morose sadness. But instead he felt… ready to try again. The ache died down. His stomach growled. He needed to try again. Although maybe with fewer weights.

Martin waved his arms until the lights turned back on, slowly took off weight until the bar was manageable, and tried again. He held the bar upright for five good seconds. And then he went for some protein powder.

An hour later he was done. It was hard to believe the time — had he done any thinking during it? It was all sleeplike, dream-ish. The machines and weights shone with his sweat, and he’d drained three water bottles, all of them doped with plenty of healthy protein. Martin hadn’t really challenged himself after the first fiasco, setting baselines, but the weights had burned nicely. And most importantly, when he’d shoved, they’d moved — he’d done it, time and again.

Slick with sweat, he sat down in Haley’s chair, and, before he quite knew what he was doing, started to jack off.

It was strange and degenerate behavior, but he was still deep in a glassy-eyed workout fervor, and it was easy to rationalize as just another muscle. Besides, he was truly horny beyond belief, his dick screaming for relief. But to sit in Haley’s chair, for no reason, and stare at her photos? Awful behavior. When he came it was powerful enough to make him shudder, slip in the chair. He lost control of his aim, a white shower that was nearly a spray. Like a rainbow from a hose.

Martin came to. It was — what the hell had he been thinking? Mucking up Haley’s stuff? He dabbed at his cum with a tissue. It was gummy, thick. He cleaned up as best he could, shuddered, and left. What was wrong with him?

* * *

There was a girl smoking a cigarette a few doors down from his apartment when he got back. She wore dark black jeans and a loose red cami, with stark black hair. She looked out over the balcony with intense concentration.

Martin had adored girls like that his entire life. He’d wasted an enormous amount of time at parties trying to impress bored-looking women with their first few tattoos.

“Everything okay?” he said. He was still sweating. It was weird, he wasn’t overheated or anything like that. It just kept soaking his shirt.

The girl nodded over with her cigarette as the guide. “Someone blocked my car. I’m trying to glare them out. Use the force of my mind to destroy their car.”

Martin leaned over and examined the situation. It wasn’t just a small hatchback. Someone had dumped an entire F-250 with very large tires in front of no fewer than three cars. It was sleek, dark black, and had tinted windows. The only good news was that the flatbed was pristine except for a single unused shovel, which pointed to a fake tough guy.

“Let me help,” Martin offered.

“With what? I don’t think you’re any more telekinetic than I am,” the smoker said. She punctuated sentences with drags. “I’d complain but I don’t even know whose truck it is. Some asshole.”

Martin flashed with irritation. All she was doing was staring and whining and smoking. Usually he chased around tobacco from room to room. Well. Not tonight. Tonight he was strong.

“Telekinesis is easy up close,” Martin said. He walked down the staircase. The purpose felt good. Everything felt good. He never wanted to go to sleep, never wanted to lose this feeling. He couldn’t remember feeling strong before.

When he got to the truck Martin picked up the shovel, hefted it, and then slammed it edge first into the truck’s rear brake light. The right one. It made a satisfying crunch noise, and red plastic tinkled on the ground. It felt so right he did the same thing on the other side. A spray of LED dripped behind the truck, like it had bled lighting. He threw the shovel back in the flatbed. No one came out of any doorways. He was vaguely disappointed.

“That was good telekinesis,” the girl said. She was trying to hide it, but her eyes were wide and she smoked in nervous, quick puffs.

“Yeah, the key is to use your legs,” Martin said. “I’m going to bed.”

“What do I do when the owner shows up all mad?”

“You tell him to go two doors down and speak to Martin,” Martin said. He nearly pointed at someone else’s door. But no. He wanted a fight. It’d be fun. God, he wanted it. “And then you’ll know whose truck it is. I’m Martin, by the way.”

“I’ll do that, Martin.”

“What’s your name?” he said, cocking his head.

“Alyssa,” she said, after a quick pause.

“Is it?” Martin said. He leaned in just a little. His nose twitched. No, he didn’t like cigarettes. Interfered with working out.

“Y-yes,” she stuttered, and took just a tiny step back. He raised his eyebrows. “Thank you,” she said.

There it was. “Night,” Martin said, and went right to bed, although he did double-check the lock on the door.


He was back at it when Haley got in to work.

In part it was desperation. He’d woken up a broken, sore mass of shrieking muscles. Martin had needed to will his neck to turn to look at the clock, which read 4:45 a.m. His eyelids were weak, possibly in sympathy with the others. For the first half-hour he’d laid in bed, aghast at himself, wondering when a thundering truck owner would burst in the the door and destroy him.

But on the other hand.. Muscles. He had them. There was proof every time he attempted to move a finger underneath the sheets. They were the parts of his body yelling at him. He’d done something with his body. True, it wasn’t exactly on the normal route to becoming a sage, but maybe he was being too western. Didn’t eastern philosophy basically demand becoming a badass martial arts warrior? Or was that just movies? He thought about this while creaking upright and stumbling into the shower.

When he got out Martin had eaten every single bit of food in the house.

After the second bowl of cereal he’d run out of milk, and switched, without letting himself think about it, to water. It didn’t matter so long as he was pushing big heaping spoonfuls into himself. At the end he opened his mouth and let a sluice of cheerio dust filter down his throat. It was like eating nutritious wood, but he did feel better afterwards.

There were eggs he didn’t recall buying in the fridge. It seemed like a bad idea to check the expiration date. He fried up a half-dozen and ate them still hot, with extra pepper just in case they were half-chicken.

At that point it was still 5:40. He had plenty of time before work. He could read Wittgenstein, he could read Kant.

He was lifting in the office gym at 6:15. It was easy to justify — lifting would make his muscles feel better. He could tell that they wanted it.

“Wow,” Haley said, walking in with her arms crossed. Martin was in the middle of leg presses. “Look at you.”

“Six,” Martin said.

“Nope, it’s seven-thirty,” Haley said. She wore a simple black cardigan and grey professional pants. Her nose scrunched up. The air smelled like wet Martin and protein powder. “Getting built, huh?”

“Seven,” Martin said. Don’t interrupt a man in the middle of reps, he didn’t say. But Haley didn’t seem about to go anywhere. Her eyes lingered on him. He was a sluice of sweat, and for the past few minutes had felt a droplet from his forehead get all the way down to his waistband.

Her eyes took their time looking him up and down. He’d found old black drawstring shorts in the back of a drawer, but it was pretty probable she’d make out his erection, if she looked. Martin hadn’t blown a load that morning — it seemed wrong — but now his cock was pushing him towards it. He’d been telling himself he’d jack off after the morning workout was over with. His reward cum.

“You need anything?” Haley offered. “Water?”

“Eight,” Martin said. Women. And then she actually sat down on the office chair just inside. Her mouth hung open.

“Are you——” Haley started.

“Shh!” Martin said, giving her a look. For fuck’s sake. Haley snapped backwards and dropped her gaze, guilty. Martin felt his own surge of embarassment, and fought it off. He really was working out, it wasn’t a time to chitchat. Plus he wasn’t sure how to talk to Haley after busily jerking off to her mental image more than once.

She sat there quietly, thoroughly hushed.

After a few minutes Martin almost forgot she was there. He glanced over from time to time, and she’d quickly drop her eyes to the floor. It wasn’t like she was on her phone, or anything at all. Haley was just sitting there, legs crossed, while he worked out.

Well, fine. This was taking concentration, anyway. He’d spent time that morning watching videos on how to properly do exercises, and it turned out he’d been doing everything wrong. Plus neglecting important leg and upper body muscles. No point in having a developed chest if it was on top of two spindly chicken bones. Just as interesting had been the guys doing the workouts. Assured, confident, smooth and regular movements. That’s what his body wanted to be, right? No wonder he couldn’t get his head in gear, he wasn’t properly physically developed anywhere. Like he’d quit on puberty the moment it got at all challenging.

“Martin!” the voice whipsawed through the room. Anna had stuck her head in. Her eyes were wide open, and he knew her well enough to recognize that as her danger mode. “You’re — what are you doing?”

He finished his set and put the weights down on the ground. The videos had recommended tracking weights and exercises but he felt like there was no need at all. It was all in his head. He knew exactly what to do next.

“My shift doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes,” Martin said.

“Yes, but…” Anna’s eyes darted to Haley.

“My shift,” Martin said. “Doesn’t start. For fifteen more minutes.”

Anna took a deep breath, and then just slowly, slowly let it out. She backed up without turning around, and left.

Martin took up the weights again.

When Anna popped her head in again, at starting time, she didn’t say anything, and simply watched him go, for ten full minutes.


“I think its great!” Haley enthused. The break room at the office was comically oversized. There were two entire tables with enough chairs for well over a dozen. The fridge was empty excepting the light bulb and what appeared to be Anna’s locked-down lunches. Literally with small locks on them. “I don’t have that kind of willpower to work out and stuff. Plus you know. Boys lift girls jog.”

Martin had already had lunch — protein powder plus a banana he’d bought for twenty-five cents — but be damned if he was going to keep working. His body itched to get back to the weights. He’d gone thirty minutes into his shift working out, and then done the morning grind sweating into his office chair. There was a nearly-visible cloud of his sweat from workout room to bathroom to office.

“Do you run?” he said. Haley had picked the closest chair she could, and it hadn’t escaped his notice.

“No! I mean, I know I should but I have been lazy as heck since college,” Haley said. “I still have all the gear, maybe I’ll start coming with you.”

“Can you keep up?” Martin said. It slipped out quick, and he cringed inside. There were all sorts of rules about talking to girls, and he’d broken a lot of them.

Haley just giggled. “I mean you’d slow down a little, right? Or maybe I’d catch up to you at stoplights. Or do you think I should lift? You make it look pretty easy.”

It was, actually, surprisingly easy. Martin deeply wanted to take his shirt off and look in a mirror. The videos had promised that visual results were easily obtainable, and he just felt… different. But it wasn’t time yet. Not yet. “Then I’ll have to start wiping the weights down,” Martin said. “Right now they’re all mine.”

“Oh, don’t do that!” Haley said, too fast. She flushed, giggled again to cover it up. They were right next to each other in a huge room. She wasn’t even bothering to pretend she was having lunch. “But I do need to lose weight.”

Even Martin recognized that as an open, gilded invitation for a compliment. It didn’t hurt his perception that she looked right at him, lips slightly parted, intent and eager to hear what he had to say. His blood pounded in his ears. “Don’t lose weight.”

‘“Don’t tell girls what to do,” was somewhere on his list. But Haley didn’t seem offended at all. Not at all. His erection was doing the thinking.

“Actually, yeah. We should go running. You have to take lead,” Martin said.

Had he just told a coworker he wanted to stare at her ass? But it was hard, all of a sudden, to think why that would be a problem. He did want to stare at her butt. His cock demanded it. And hey, she’d spent a long while eyefucking him all morning. It was all very confusing, and he covered it by taking a long pull of protein water, and waited for her reaction. Which was a nervous giggle, a squeaked out “Okay!” and then Haley walking out of the room quickly.

What the hell was all that?

* * *

This time Alyssa knocked on his door.

He’d been looking in the mirror, fully naked. Martin wasn’t totally sure how long he’d been standing there.

He was starting to look like—he could hardly believe it—a man.

Not that he had been androgynous before or anything. His shoulders had been basically male-standard broad and he had that squared-off body. But other then that it was all flab and poor decisions, sallow tubs just waiting for middle-age spread. Now he’d been working out for, what, two days? And he could see clean, fit lines sprouting all over his body. Even his hated chin-line, which was like a gradated map of a mountain peak, had started to come into view.

And then there was his penis.

He was starting to get used to walking around with a bit of an erection. But wasn’t it… wilder? It hung between his legs after he’d coaxed it soft, sorta soft, and it was still red and long and, especially, prominent. Even his tuft of pubic hair felt more grizzly. Martin wrapped his hand around it. Had it… always felt like that? Like, amazing?

When the girl knocked on his door he was starting to jack off again. That was getting to be absurd. He had made it until lunch before skeeting into the office bathroom, and it had been pure necessity. HIs balls had hurt. He needed to look up workout side effects. Maybe all the blood rushing around from exercise was backing up in his dick. Something like that.

“He’s back,” Alyssa said. Smoke curled around her. She wore a black leather jacket and nearly black lipstick.

Martin winced when he walked outside—his cock was stuffed down a leg. Alyssa was right. The offending truck was still in front of her car. And the tail light had even been repaired. Hadn’t they learned their lesson? Maybe this time he’d start with the front window and then go from there.

“Do you own a bat?” he said.

“That’s very nice of you. But I was thinking we’d just take your car,” Alyssa said.

He looked at her for a long time. Alyssa wore a loose shirt, a leather jacket, dark denim. Going-out clothes. She wore a lot of dark makeup. So she was asking him out. Because he had busted up a neighbor’s car? Women were difficult to understand. Doubtless she was trouble.

“Alright,” Martin said. His dick pulsed between his legs.

* * *

Eventually he realized—she was slumming. And he was the slum.

It didn’t become clear until she directed him to park not far from one of the remaining dive bars in a generally gentrified part of town. Washed-out paint and a name from the 1970s. Smoking had been banned from the premises by state act but it didn’t matter—the cigarette was in the marrow. Alyssa took a seat at the bar and ordered white wine, of all things.

Martin had no idea how to act in a dive bar. Of course, a look around made clear it was college students playing make-believe, albeit the ones who had tattoos and had worked service jobs at some point in their lives. What was the right beer for a violent lunk? Probably not a lite.

“So why break a tail light?” Alyssa said.

“Beer,” Martin said, to the bartender. Let him decide. The bartender paused, shrugged, and pulled a glass up.

He hadn’t given it much thought. It had felt good was the real answer. Martin searched for something witty to say and came up dry.

“It felt good,” Martin said. Honesty couldn’t hurt, right? The bartender returned with something amber. Martin tipped his head back and, not quite registering, drained it.

“Was it good?” the bartender said, cocking his head.

“Search me,” Martin said. “I’ll have another.”

Alyssa didn’t seem to mind any of his answers. She had her hands knotted underneath her head and had pulled her barstool up very close. “Whatever feels right, huh?”

“What’s the alternative?” Martin said. “I can do a lot of thinking about it if you want. Do you want me to break something else? Is that why we’re here?”

“Would you?”

Martin paused. Hell. Breaking a tail light had gotten him this far. “I guess. What’s the going rate? If I bash in the guy’s windshield do you buy me drinks? What do I get for slashing his tires?”

Alyssa practically purred. What the hell was this? He’d never understand women. But if blunt, crude honesty worked, he’d go with it. His cock ached. He could practically smell Alyssa. Actually, thinking about it, he could kind of smell her—an acrid taint of cigarette smoke and old leather. It wasn’t great. But there was something he could just sense… just barely… and ti was making him hard.

“I appreciate you sticking up for me, that’s all,” Alyssa said. He could pick up what a fucking lie that was, too. Was this what self-confidence felt like? Martin took a look around—there were a half-dozen co-eds in the bar, mostly in pairs, and he felt a sudden, unshakeable confidence that he could fuck any of them. He’d never felt that way about anyone, and it made him blink, confused. What was this? Testosterone from lifting weights flooding his bloodstream?

He noticed that he’d put a hand on Alyssa’s thigh. Her purr deepened. She huddled against him, leather jacket rustling.

“This isn’t me being protective,” Martin said. He drained beer two. The hell with everything. She wanted to slum with a risky man, he could go with it. “I’m just trying to fuck you.”

“Two sides of the same coin,” Alyssa murmured.

“Yeah, no, they’re not,” Martin rubbed her thigh. It was smooth. Her legs gently parted. She was breathing heavily up against him, her head nestled next to his chest. This was all moving very fast. “Pay and we’ll go. I don’t want you to ruin the barstool cover.”

“Oh my god,” Alyssa said, and for a moment Martin worried he’d gone too far. What was he going to do if he didn’t fuck this girl tonight? His penis wouldn’t allow it. But then that self-confidence floated in—he could do no wrong. He was a man. “Am I being that obvious?” she said. Oh, so she just didn’t want to be seen as a cheap slut. She frowned, just a little. “Can’t you pay?”

“You invited me,” Martin said. And he was entirely broke. He rubbed a little higher up her thighs, and watched her shudder and pull her purse out.

* * *

Their clothes tumbled off back at his place. Martin did a lot of the work. Usually—well, the few times he’d been successful getting anyone in bed—he let the girl get herself undressed. It seemed respectful, and he had no idea what he was doing with respect to bras.

But now that seemed tedious and slow. Martin unbuttoned her fly and pulled her pants off, Martin pulled her shirt over her head and then lost interest as soon as her tits were on display, leaving Alyssa to struggle while he groped her boobs. He yanked down her panties in one move, leaving them around her knees, loosely binding.

He did let her undo his fly and pull down his underpants. His cock nearly hit her in the face, which was what he’d been hoping for. They hadn’t said a word to each other since getting back, and had barely talked in the car at all. They had just sat there, breathing in each other’s lust. It had been very nice.

Alyssa finally spoke. “Holy geez,” she said, looking at his dick. “That’s a cock.”

“It’s just a penis. Don’t be scared,” he said. Partially to minimize what he didn’t want to consider. It was definitely bigger and thicker. And stronger, if that made any sense. Not just a minor organ that stuck out but a real shaft. It impressed. It looked like it had hit the weights too. And part of him thought: a girl just complimented your junk. Life is good.

“I’m a little concerned,,” Alyssa admitted. She looked around his sparse apartment. Most of the furniture was from streetside. “I don’t… I mean… doesn’t this all feel a little odd? I don’t… normally… you know...”

“Feel free to go,” Martin said. He feigned boredom. “You can walk out the door and be home in three steps. Go ahead.”

“I don’t... “ Alyssa’s eyes were drawn down to where she’d started to jack on his cock. “It’s just… do you smell something?”

He did, and he didn’t want to think about that either. He could smell Alyssa’s pussy and it was driving him nuts. He stared at her slit hard enough that she squirmed. He needed to fuck her so bad. She ran her hands across his chest and made the obvious decision. “Lie down, okay? And put a condom on.”

“Aren’t you on the pill?”

“Yeah, but… I think I’d need more than the one.” he was already dripping precum. He did own condoms, although they were musty and aging. But he’d waited long enough.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered.

Alyssa had lost a lot of her willpower, and knew it. Clearly her plan had been—take out the guy, get him mildly intoxicated, and then ride him slowly, as long as she wanted. Now she was naked and facing a ploughing of real intensity with her legs up in the air. Vulnerable.

Pussy juice ran down her leg. He laughed, gently picked her up and tossed her onto the bed. It was so simple. Her legs were wide open and inviting.

“No, I’m… I’m always on top,” Alyssa said, breathing hard. “I’m always on top, really. Martin.”

Martin shifted his weight forward. “I’m not gonna just LIE THERE,” he told her, now comfortably between her legs. He paused for a moment. Right. Condoms. Well, no STD would mess with him, he could sense it. And the truth was, he could feel his balls tense with enough cum to burst through any pathetic amount of rubber. Alyssa was still trying to say something, but her hips kept bucking up and down, and she was having trouble making any sense. Whatever the word was ended with a drawn out gasp as he sank all the way in.

Martin felt much better. He pulled almost all the way out, then back in, and made sure he made long, lingering eye contact. He wanted her to understand: he was going to fuck her however he wanted. Alyssa’s eyes fluttered, and her tongue lolled around. See, that’s why he had to be on top. She had all the control of a wet piece of spaghetti.

But he had control. Oh yes. He grabbed hold of her hips and matched it to his thrusts. To think he’d spent all that time in the past trying to figure some sort of complex come-hither motion when in bed. Like he had to have a sex move or something similarly stupid. The sex move was to let her feel every inch of his cock over and over as it rubbed right up against her clit. Alyssa was clearly deep into it. Her hands clawed at his sheets.

He could’ve lasted longer, but Martin felt an urge to let loose. Spray seed inside of her. “Hold on to something,” he said.

“Wait,” she babbled, somehow, around what seemed to be intense waves of pleasure. “I’m not—I’m not—”

Martin didn’t feel like listening. His first load sent her over the edge, anyway.

* * *

The next day he had a horrible headache, and Alyssa was nowhere to be found, and he was already late for work.

He’d expected to feel a real triumph in the morning. Alyssa had fallen asleep in his arms—well, passed out might be a better word for it. After their first round she’d tried to stand up on shaky legs after he’d put a batch of cum in her, and it hadn’t gone well. Alyssa had walked around like on the high seas, sperm dripping between her legs, her expression a dazed look of shock. It had been kind of hot, so he’d pulled her back into the drenched sheets and put the wood back to her. She’d been twice as wet. His refractory time seemed to no longer exist. A good night.

But she’d been gone in the morning. Not far away, as her door was ajar, but not in his bed. Martin was left with sodden blankets and her underpants and leather jacket and a dawning realization that that had really happened. He’d fucked her senseless. It was… out of character.

No one said anything when he got to work. Actually, no one was apparently in the office at all, although the lights were all on. It took a moment before Haley poked her head out of the gym.

“Oh!” she said, disappointed. “We… okay! Hi Martin, good morning.”

She had her hair tied back in a ponytail, and had gone a lot more bright and summery than her previous JC Penney Sedate attire. This time she wore a summery dress with a thin rope belt that was way too cold for the chill outside. She’d done her makeup very carefully.

“We thought you were gonna… lift,” she said, abashed.

The “we” part was Anna, who walked stiffly out of the workout room, making no eye contact, and into her own office. She shut the door behind her.

She was wearing a dress too.

“Ran out of workout clothes,” Martin said. It was the first thing that came to mind. “And… I don’t know.” It didn’t seem right to say—working out is making my balls heavier and my dick bigger. He wasn’t even sure if it was true. It couldn’t be. “Yeah, I don’t know.”

“Oh, oh well… I think we can fix that!” Haley said. She seemed genuinely distressed. “Lets run over to Goodwill, how about that? I know they have tons of stuff, it just has to absorb a lot of sweat, right? A lot of sweat. Lots and lots of… you know. Sweat.”

They both glanced at Anna’s closed door. She had to have heard. The door stayed shut.

“Alright,” Martin said. The truth was… there were mirrors at Goodwill, and he really, really wanted to take a look. See what was going on. “Lets go.”

They shut the door to the office behind them.

A moment later Martin came back in, opened up his protein powder, swallowed two heaping spoonfuls, and then left once more.

* * *

“Geez,” Martin said. He barely recognized himself in the mirror.

Not because of the new muscle definition. He’d expected that, and there it was. He had pecs. They sat on top of muscle slabs, themselves connected to bigger biceps. That was all stuff he’d gotten used to.

What was different was his face. It was definitely not the weak little skull on top of a more defined body—he had cheekbones, and a jutting chin, and his eyes had a hard glint in them that Haley kept shooting glances at. It was like his entire skull had gotten a bit bigger, or at least hung more stuff onto it.

Haley took it the wrong way. “You look good!” she said. “Jean cutoffs are just about to come back in for men. My boyf—” she checked herself. Martin had definitely noticed her working conversations around him. “I saw somewhere that light denim is on the way back in a HUGE way.” She kept saying words like: huge, large, big, massive. He had noticed all that, too.

They were both in a Goodwill dressing room. One large mirror hung up with bare screws—Martin needed to not think about bare screws—the thinnest carpet he’d ever stood on, a small bench chair with chipped blue paint. With all that plus the cheap lighting it should’ve been enormously unsexy.

And yet…

What was wrong with him? Haley had her legs crossed and her arms folded. She kept her eyes chastely on her phone while he tried on shirts. And yet Martin could sense how much each of them wanted to fuck each other. He had to keep it on the edge of his thinking, to try and keep his dick from springing up in deloused clothes.

“I’m just not used to… these shorts. At all,” Martin said. He should’ve looked like a clown. A stretched out A-top from some marathon race five years ago and 80s-era jeans with the hems ripped. The outfit should’ve come with sand kicked into his eyes. And yet… it wasn’t bad. It felt good. Right. It showed off his body, and for the first time ever, Martin wanted that. A lot.

And he wanted Haley. What was weird was, he knew she wanted him. Just felt it.

“We should really get back to dress shirts,” Haley said. Her crossed legs were starting to hump each other. They had a batch of yellowing dress shirts already. His neck size had apparently gone up. A lot. “And… you know… get back to our jobs...”

“Anna hasn’t e-mailed, has she?” Martin said. He let himself admire the reflection. Damn. He looked good. He flexed a bicep and caught Haley’s sharp intake of breath.


“She’s probably three fingers deep,” Martin said.

Haley went with her nervous laugh. “Martin!”

“Lets check her drawers. I bet she’s got a half-dozen vibrators. She’s way too uptight not to have some secret horny side. It’s the law with those types.”

“There is no way Anna has orgasmed in this calendar year, Martin,” Haley said. He stripped his shirt off and rubbed affectionately at his new pecs. Haley snapped her gaze back down to her phone.

Oh, the hell with that. He lifted it out of her grasp. “What’s so interesting? You into pokemon go? That it?”

Someone named Christine (heart emoji heart emoji) texted “SEND ANOTHER PICTURE!”

“Secret snaps? I should charge,” Martin said. Haley stood up, indignant, and then he had one sinewy arm around her, pulling her close. There it was again—that total confidence in himself. Here was a fairly hot girl who, for all he knew, was this close to getting engaged. She’d made clear there was a boyfriend. And yet he was pressing her close with the absolute assurance that she desperately, needily wanted to fuck him, would throw her entire world away for a look at his cock. It surged between his legs.

Haley didn’t disappoint. She flinched for a half-second, then pressed into him, intense and mewing. They were kissing, which was fine, but even more important his hands were all over her, pressing and feeling and taking. She had to be his as quickly as possible, and rubbing all over her seemed like the best way to do it. Her tits pressed against him.

Haley even surprised him, sticking her hands down the front of his shorts after deftly undoing the button. Her hands were shaking hard. She pulled his cock out from where it was wrapped down his leg, and started to jack on it as they made out. His hands dug hard into her ass, drawing her close. His dick was already leaking onto her, and he smiled as they kissed, feeling his body seep into her. He’d have her dump the boyfriend, suck his dick, and then the two of them would knock on Alyssa’s door and—

“Excuse me! Hello!” some woman’s voice. “I see four feet very close together!”

Sickly red anger colored his vision. Of course he would savage whoever it was. He was about to make this female his, cloak her in spunk that would never really wash away. His girl to fuck. And some godawful woman—Haley drew away from him. Her hands were dripping wet with sperm. Martin pulled open the changing room door.

“THE ROOM IS OCCUPIED,” he snarled. There were cords of muscle visible throughout his body. An aging woman with square glasses the size of car windows gaped at him, his dick turgid and pulsing, his arms tense. He restrained himself, with true effort, from throwing the woman like a bowling ball across the room. No, he.. That.. was not… who… he… was…

The woman helped everyone out by fainting.

The fever broke. Martin staggered back, gamely tucked his dick back away.

“Lets go,” Haley whispered, her eyes on the ground.

“What about the clothes?” Martin said, halfway back to normal. What the hell had he done—had he been doing? Coating his female with spunk? What the hell was all that?

“Just take them,” Haley said. She strode out of the room, still examining the carpet, and went straight to the exit. Martin followed behind, sheaf of new equipment clothes in his hands. No one did anything to stop him.

Haley didn’t speak with him the rest of the day. They worked quietly. Anna never reopened her door—it wasn’t clear if she was there.

At about 3 p.m. it struck Martin that her hands had been nice and clean as she’d left the store. Had she licked them free of his cum?

Maybe she had.

* * *

He ended up at a bar, putting beer on credit.

It was a dark hole with hand-written lettering in the industrial area between work and home. He’d passed it a number of times before during the school year. It had never made the slightest impact on him at all. Martin did his drinking at college pubs that had all the grit of a rubber ball.

He’d told himself it would help to get shit-faced drunk. That’s what guys did in times like these. Get drunk and sad and angry.

Haley hadn’t said anything to him the rest of the day. Martin had channeled his frustration into a marathon workout session. It did help. But his erection hurt from unrelieved tension. Wearing his new workout clothes, still scented like Goodwill, just made him feel worse.

What the hell was he thinking, breaking up someone’s relationship? Grabbing his coworker’s ass and pulling her in? He could fuck anyone, why steal a girl?

“One more,” he told the bartender.

“You sure?” the bartender told him. He had a beard like a sheaf of wheat and a bunch of tattoos on both arms that looked possibly racist.

“Two more,” he said.

The bartender looked good at making business decisions about who to cut off. He uncapped two more. Halfway through the session Martin had switched to, as he’d told the bartender, the “cheapest fucking beer you have,” and it was definite rotgut.

What was going on with him? Some sort of delayed testosterone boost. He’d thought he knew what it was like to think with his dick—every guy did at least a little, right? But this was fierce, and not just that, untroubled. No self-doubts, just a sure sense that he needed and would fuck.

God, he needed some pussy. He rubbed at his chin. Even his beard was coming in faster. It was all scratchy stubble.

He should fuck Haley. There, he was being honest with himself. But civilized, he had to do it civilized, as much as his testicles didn’t like it. A calm discussion about their feelings. And at the end, he’d pump so much cum in her she’d squirt out her nose. Yes. Perfect.

“This is good beer,” he told the bartender. “What’s the—what’s the name of it?”

The bartender shrugged.

Cheap Beer, then. A good name. But it wasn’t working. He just felt more sad. He needed to—life something heavy, fuck someone wet. He needed it.

An argument broke out behind him. It was immediately obvious from the way the bartender tensed, the tone of voice, that this was a real one. He turned—the men behind him were still seated, but leaned forwards, asses starting to raise off the seats. God, he didn’t need to kick a bunch of asses. He needed to FUCK.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Martin said. Had he really just said that? “I CAN’T HEAR MY BEER!”

He drained it for emphasis. There was a shock of silence, and then the men sunk back into chairs, butts firmly placed.

“Thanks,” the bartender said.

“I mean you, too,” Martin said.

* * *

He was shit-faced. Usually alcohol temporarily solved a lot of problems—Haley, his dick, poverty, his life in general. This time it was just… fine. It was fine.

The idea percolated through his head, somehow avoiding the eight or ten beers he’d put away. He should go fuck Alyssa. Or at least say hi, after he’d dumped a gallon of jizz in her. See how she was feeling about that, and then fuck her.

He thumped her door down the hall and then just tried the handle. It was open. A wind of ancient cigarette smoke hissed out.

“Oh fuck,” Alyssa said. “Its you.”

She was sitting drawn up on the couch, a lit stick in her hand. She gave him a look of mottled annoyance and resignation. “You better come the fuck in,” she said, eventually. “God damn it.”

Martin inched his way in, suddenly cautious. This was not the kind of space he was used to inhabiting. Alyssa had taken a small, college-area apartment and turned it into a den of shadows and darkness, including an actual vanity mirror that she or someone had painted dark black. It occurred to him, through the drink fog, that he might’ve fucked a witch.

“I hate that I don’t even know your name and yet I’m like, come on in,” Alyssa said. Martin picked his way in. There were folds of black and grey fabric everywhere, quite possibly clothes. A lot more books then he felt comfortable with at the moment. He made it to the other side of the couch.

Alyssa wore a pair of black panties and an oversized band t-shirt. His erection pricked up, untroubled by all the booze.

“Can you at least tell me your last name?” a tremor blew into her voice.

“Oh. Witte,” he said. “It’s Witte.”

“Well, Martin Witte, I don’t know what the fuck you did to me. I haven’t called the cops or anything. But I think you owe me an explanation for why I’ve been so fucking…” she looked away. “Nevermind. Just go.”

This close it was unmistakable. He was too drunk to think how strange it was that he could say—she’s horny. She’s wet and horny and she is desperate for you to fuck her again. He could smell her. And himself, still clinging to her body. It was intoxicating. This, this is what he needed. Not alcohol and self-pity.. He needed to fuck.

“You’re horny,” he said. She tsked as Martin reached forward and grabbed the waistband of her panties, but made no move at all to stop him. He pulled them off and tossed them away. “You’re horny for me, huh?”

The mask broke. She eyed him, wary. “Did you do something to me? I’m so… I’ve been horny all day, I was supposed to give this important presentation and instead you blurping so much god damn cum in to me just keeps running on a loop through my head. Its not even romantic. I’m not falling for you or anything. Its just… you came in me. A lot. Why can’t I stop thinking about it?”

Talk talk talk. “I didn’t do anything to you,” Martin said. He thought about that. “I mean yeah I fucked you. And there was a lot of cum.”

“You’re SURE?” she let him grab her hips and position her on the couch. It wasn’t a dignified position, her head crushed up against her chest, her legs up in the air. “Like, sure sure? I—maybe this is a bad idea. I just… I should go to a doctor or something… you put SO much cum in me. And I can still smell your—oh god.”

He’d let his dick out. It swung between his legs. His new shorts were perfect for casual fucking. He just had to lower them slightly. It wasn’t clear if he’d ever wear pants again.

“I should put a cond—” her breathing was so fast and quick. She put the cigarette out on the couch, burning a hole in the cover. “Oh god. No, I mean, look, I shouldn’t be this horny for your big dick… Marrrrrrrrrrtinnnnnnnnn!” her whine turned into a confused wet shriek.

After that she had trouble talking.

Martin pumped her. It was so nice to not have to think during sex. No bullshit about finding her clit or humping in some weird position just to push her over the edge. All he had to do was pump. Thrust his cock in and out of her pussy until he felt like cumming, and then cum. Really, that’s what sex was supposed to be. None of the overthinking crap where it was a feelings party. He was there to dump a huge load of cum into her slit and, as a bonus for her, she would orgasm so hard her vocal cords would frizzle.

After her second orgasm Alyssa stopped doing much besides murmuring and humping back weakly. It was a good time to think, especially about the fuck after this one. Obviously he couldn’t fuck Haley while she had a boyfriend. It was not cool. He’d have to tell her his dick was off limits. Probably she’d come around in a day or so but he had to be patient and wait. In the meantime he needed to find more people to fuck because Alyssa was not going to be able to handle all his jizz.

It struck him that there was another girl in the office.

Satisfied, Martin let himself squirt a healthy, oversized load of bright cum into Alyssa’s slit, and then, just so she understood who’s girl she was, he made sure to cum all over her tits and face, too.

It felt like the right thing to do.

* * *

“You’re like, doing something to me,” Alyssa insisted, again. She was naked in the bathroom. Martin admired her body from the couch. He was late for work, but it was no longer bothering him. Although he did need to get a morning workout in.

“Come here for breakfast,” Martin said. He had just his boxers on. His dick poked out, large and serious. It was at least eleven inches long. It felt incredible just to stare at. He didn’t need to do anything else in life to feel accomplished. He had a big cock. He wasn’t drunk anymore, although that sense of calm frizzy-headedness hadn’t quite gone away. But it was fine. He felt—good.

“Martin, I’m fucking serious!” Alyssa said. She had creamy white skin that was still spackled with his cum. “My tits are huge today and I feel… weird.”

“Weird, how?” Martin said. He bounced his dick back and forth. It was getting hard to sit and listen to this complaining. He really needed to go work out, and he’d been a long time without the protein powder. Part of him was shouting—pay attention to what Alyssa was saying. Something was wrong. No one put on four-five inches of cock in a few days. But the room was filled with Alyssa’s scent, with last night’s fuck session, and his balls ached for release. It was so hard to concentrate. On anything. “Weird how?”

“I’m just…” she stared at his dick. He stared at her pussy. Why was she still talking? It made no sense to him. “I’m just… I have a… I have a job and I just want…” she turned away from him. “Something is WRONG!”

“Look, its okay to want to fuck me,” Martin said, placating. She was leaking between her legs. He felt confident she’d stop all this whining about bigger boobs and feeling dumb and cum-hungry pretty soon. He could smell it. “I’d want to fuck me too.”

“I’m not into big dumb men,” Alyssa said. It was the boldest statement she’d made yet, and she undermined it by sighing and sinking to her knees. “I don’t want this. This is some sort of weird drug. Weird. Its just fucking weird, okay?”

“Oh my god,” Martin had reached a limit. He put a hand on her head and lowered it onto his dick. “Stop saying weird. Find a new word. There. Christ.” She didn’t stop him, and, in fact, started to suck right away. Women! Conscious of the time, he emptied into her mouth quickly. It took Alyssa by surprise, although she did her best to swallow as much as she could.

“I’ve got to go to work,” he said, standing up. His dick was still oozing goo. It spackled the floor. Something occurred to him. “Stop smoking. You’re done smoking. It’s gross. Unhealthy. I’ll be back tonight, I’ve got a lot to do, okay?” What else did men say to women? Right, right. “Love you fuckbunny. I took money out of your wallet.”

Alyssa sighed, defeated. She watched him tuck his python back in and walk out, all steely muscles and spunk. She felt a strange urge to giggle. His cum was doing odd things to her head, there was no doubt about it. Her hips were larger, for god’s sake.

Alyssa looked at the floor and the jizz he’d left there. There was a ton of it. She realized that she was definitely going to lick it up.

* * *

“So that’s why we have to be friends,” Martin said.

“Right,” Haley said.

She was looking very friendly, and was all in pink. A hot pink top with black piping, her hair in a ponytail, pink tights that seemed to be brand new, with a neon blue line down the thighs. Her tits were a lot bigger than Martin remembered.

Martin was having a hard time putting things into words. He chalked it up to the inherent strangeness of the situation. He’d never sat down a coworker before to explain that they couldn’t fuck. There wasn’t a script for it. But on the other hand, words at all weren’t fitting quite right. It helped to take them a few at a time, in bite-size chunks, and preferably between reps.

The good news was, Haley didn’t seem to mind. She sat very patiently and very very quietly while he worked out, her back against the wall, her mouth open. The only sound besides his occasional sentence and her agreement was metal clinking together. It was getting hard to find weight that was a challenge for him.

“Men don’t fuck other people’s girlfriends, not even if they’re hot like you,” Martin said. His entire body was dripping with sweat. He hoped Haley didn’t take his obvious boner the wrong way. There was no way to hide it, absent some kind of tent or hazmat suit. It was probably going to get even bigger—he’d spent Alyssa’s money on an enormous breakfast, including “a fuckload” of eggs, as he’d told the waitress. “Not even if they’re SUPER fuckable like you.” His dick was a very visible outline just barely restrained by one of his new basketball shorts. The fabric grimaced against it. But Haley didn’t seem to mind.

It was very slowly percolating into his head that Haley was acting kind of odd. Her mouth was open, for one thing. Sort of lolling open, gaping, as she took breaths way too deep considering she was just sitting there listening to him talk and watching him lift. Her eyes were half-closed, and, most of all, her legs were wide open. He could see clear up to her snatch, which was itself just barely behind her workout clothes. There was a dark patch between her legs. Heck, if he wanted to, Martin could easily tear them off and fuck her.

“You okay?” he said, after a set of pushups. He was getting good about doing them one-handed.

“Ohhhh yeah, just great,” Haley said, smiling.

“Because you’re taking this really well,” he prodded. She tried to focus on him.

“You smell good,” she said, and giggled.

Well, whatever. He’d asked. It took him two sets of squats to get his train of thought back. “Right. Sex. So yeah, I think we’re just gonna be friends. Unless you break it off with your boyfriend, then I’d definitely fuck you. Okay?”

She was not really listening. He sniffed. Did he smell like anything? It was definitely not ventilated very well in the workout room. The air was humid and muggy with sweat and protein powder. He’d taken the bottle down to one-half, chowing down on it. He felt like he could fight a god.

“Hello, Haley, come in,” Martin leaned in close. Haley’s nostrils flared. He peered at her, up close. Sweat streaked down his face and into her cleavage. He blew air into her face. “You there?”

Her thighs started to shake and quiver, and then she whimpered, hands white against the bench. It went on for a good minute, her thighs thrashing while she gasped and shook. It was almost like she had cum. But, of course, he hadn’t fucked her, so that was impossible.

“Friends,” he repeated, patting her thigh. “Glad we, uh, talked.”

* * *

“You’re fired,” Anna repeated.

Martin sat there, shocked. The first time she had said it had just not penetrated. “Fired,” he said, sounding out the word.

He was still slick with sweat. After letting Haley down, and gently depositing her back in her office chair, where she was still mildly comatose, he’d gone right back into the gym. The carpet around the machinery was damp. He himself felt amazing. He’d improved on his gains since just that morning, and was looking forward to finishing up the workday and spending an entire evening and night cumming in Alyssa.

When Anna had called him in he’d assumed it was to suck him off.

“Fired!” Anna put a little more force into it. His mouth hung open. But if he lost this job he wouldn’t be able to work out. He’d just be able to do cardio. Running around neighborhoods. Cardio work was important but frankly he got a pretty good heart rate workout dumping jizz into Alyssa.

The funny thing was, he’d walked into Anna’s office and known right away that she was desperately, needily horny. He didn’t know when he’d started to smell how aroused girls were, and it wasn’t really bothering him. This one was damp as anything. Absolutely gushing wet. Fertile, without question. If he put his fingers between her legs they’d come away slick.

That wasn’t the only tell. Anna had dressed up. She wore a grey dress that would’ve been demure on someone with little boobs. Curvy as she was, all the dress did was show off a line of cleavage that started just under her chin and went on for a mile or so. Her arms were bare. She wore pretty red lipstick and gold hoop earrings. Her forehead was wet with sweat. And yet she was firing him. Women were inexplicable.

“Why are you firing me?” he said, about a minute later. They’d just looked at each other, trying to think through a haze of mutual hormones.

“Martin, you have done no work, no work at all, in days. Have you even been inside your office?”

“Yes,” Martin said. That was where the protein powder was.

“This same paper has been at the top of the stack,” Anna gestured at a piece of yellowed paper on her desk. Martin glanced at it, winced. There were so many words there. His eyes went right back to her cleavage. For all her “firing him” nonsense he’d been staring at her tits nonstop with no protest at all. “Instead, you’ve been working out, building those raw… powerful… biceps….”

She stopped talking too. Martin saw an opportunity. “These?” he said, flexing an arm. They both admired the ripples of muscle. He was reasonably sure he could tear open a truck with his bare hands now. Anna’s mouth hung open just like Haley, her eyes went momentarily glassy. But she shook herself free.

“We’re not running a charity to give you a ripped, perfect… body,” Anna said. “That body. The one in front of me. It’s not… it’s not work appropriate.”

“Work is boring, workout is fun,” Martin pointed out. He had to keep this job. He tried to summon all his rhetoric knowledge from that place he’d gone for learning stuff. School. Whatever it was called. “You should come watch me do squats.”

“No!” Anna said, pushing back. “No, no. I… can’t.” she shook her head. She’d put a personal fan on her desk, pointed right at herself. “And your… attire. Is inappropriate.”

He was shirtless and in the same basketball shorts as before. He really needed to wash them at some point. “What’s the problem?” Martin said. “I’m wearing shorts. You can’t see my dick.” He stood up to emphasize it. His cock nearly poked out of the bottom of his shorts, somewhere around his knees, but didn’t. “See?” The bulge strained at her.

“Oh my god,” Anna said, to herself. She leaned forwards. “It’s… unprofessional. So, so unprofessional. What are… what are you doing…”

She carefully put both hands on the desk. After a bit, she looked back up. Sweat streamed down her face.

“Martin, you need to go. You’re fired.”

“No, I’m not,” Martin explained. He stood up. This seemed easiest. He would just not be fired. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Anna said. She was clearly having trouble concentrating. “No. No, Martin. You’re fired. Go home.”

“For today,” Martin said. He left the room. Fuck. Haley was touching herself at her desk, her hands lolling around her crotch. “Haley, I’m sort of fired. I’ll be back later. See you. Stay fuckable.”

* * *

Martin was coming to grips with the fact that he couldn’t really read anymore.

He’d been hopeful, at first, that the sheet Anna had waved at him was some sort of foreign language, like Spain or something. Franch. But no, he’d peered at it and, if he moved his lips a lot and concentrated, it did in fact resolve into the english language.

He’d gone into a busy coffee shop to help him read. That was where he’d spent innumerable hours, coffee shops. Little undernourished Martin, clutching a library book or textbook with some old guy’s statue head on it, nursing one coffee while he read and read and read.

It hadn’t helped with the reading process. And to make matters worse, he was 100% and completely broke. He’d ordered coffee, figuring maybe that was how people read—part of the process, you had to drink coffee while doing. And then the machine had buzzed angrily at him.

So, he wasn’t a reader. Even as much of a big lunk as him could do some basic analysis, using his fingers and with both brows deeply furrowed. The protein powder had clearly turned his brains into bulk. He’d brought the can with him. It was mostly empty. Actually it was nearly entirely empty—he’d been drinking sludgy water all morning, chunky blobs of undissolved powder dust in the water. It was possible the can had a warning on the side of it about becoming a completely ripped stud, but it was pretty damn rough to read right at the moment, so who could say.

On the other hand… it wasn’t all bad. No. No it was not. After all, when he’d walked in the coffee shop had hushed, just for a moment, like a gunfighter slouching in to the saloon in the old west. The girls had all given him Looks. Every one of them. A look that said—oh. A man is here. Yeah, there were other males in the coffee shop, Martin politely acknowledged. You could call them that. But he was what they should aspire to be. Hell, he was even taller than before. The door frame brushed against his hair. His chest could hold a small train track, and he could even see the women appreciating his shoulders. You could yoke any weight to them.

He was STRONG. It felt so good, so very good, to be strong. There was a purity in it that erased all his already-fading doubts. Forget about fucking girls, forget about everyone, everything, it felt great to be so incredible, unstoppably strong.

Not that he had forgotten about fucking girls. That was another important fact. Martin briefly considered making a list. One—strong. Two—females. It was at his new mental limit, but he felt like it was important.

There were maybe a dozen girls in the coffee shop that were in his generous range of fuckable, and Martin felt very sure that it was just a matter of managing his time. All of them were tantalizing options. The blonde with her hair in a braid recovering from a run, watching him wide-eyed over her own coffee cup. He could rip those pants off and take her from behind. The friends catching up with each other, trying to keep the conversation going while side-eyeing him—he could do both of them, make them take off those glasses and bob side by side at his dick. Their careful master’s degree outfits getting shredded and cum-spattered. Not to mention the twosome at work behind the counter. The brunette had given him his coffee for free, blushing and stammering.

Why not spend his life pumping cum into girls? Was he losing anything? Getting to three items on the list seemed like a headache, but what fun would it be to BREED? To rut all day long, shooting cum into these needy girls that wanted it so bad? Hadn’t there’d been some conquerer guy who had bred a million women? He could do better than that. He wanted to.

GOD, he wanted to. His balls were like huge squishy water balloons. They ached to be emptied out, all the time. Why not the entire coffee shop, for starters?

It felt all very right and natural. Heck, he could even smell arousal, fertility. The girl across from him, dusky and severe, her body unnaturally encased behind a sweater. He could smell her responding to him, his nearness, his sweat. There were intense chemical exchanges going on, he could nearly sense them. Whatever else she had been, she was young and fertile, and that meant her body wasn’t going to give her much choice. He was just too much man to resist.

Really he was doing all of them a favor. Look at the other men in there, avoiding his gaze, checking out the floor. It’d just be sad if they got to breed. Pathetic. Martin felt a deep pity. Maybe he would have his girls jack them off from time to time, to show there were no hard feelings.

He nodded, resolute. The way forward was clear. Reading was just distracting him. He had to be swole, fuck women, knock them up serially. He leaned forwards towards the brunette. She was already basically his, his chemicals soaked into her system, pumping urgent signals to every hormone and pleasure receptor she had. If he wanted to, he could simply slide a finger up her skirt, right into her pussy, and start to stroke, without her saying anything more than “oh.”

Instead he said, “let me have your number.”

She was already uncapping her pen.

“You want to talk to me?” she said. She smiled at him, shy, confused. What if she had a boyfriend, he briefly wondered. Well, easy not to ask. Problem solved.

“No,” Martin said, frowning. He took the sheet. It had her name on it—okay, whatever—and Martin scrunched his face up to read it.

“Vanessa,” he said, eventually.

Vanessa held her hand out. Martin solemnly took it. Weird, but, again, he was about to fuck her brains out and pump her full of babies. He could smell her arousal. If she wanted to shake hands, that was okay. He wasn’t angry anymore. Anger was for people who didn’t get what they wanted.

“Martin,” he said. “Come over tomorrow. At night. I’ll..” hmm. This was getting complicated. “Whatever, I’ll figure it out.”

Other people could hear. Vanessa knew the right thing to say was—don’t be a creep. Instead she nodded, eager. Tomorrow. At night. If she could wait that long.

God, was she wet.

* * *

Alyssa’s day had started with her licking a dumb jock’s cum off the floor, and it hadn’t gotten a lot better.

She’d made an effort to look at things objectively, even as her body took the reins and made demands. First of all, she was absolutely addicted to this man, to his—secretions, and to him more generally. Even thinking about Martin was difficult, like she was staring into the bulb of a lamp. Instead it was easier to think about bits of him—his strong arms holding her up, the way his body wasn’t so much built as constructed, like expensive architecture. The crags and juts of his face. If he said “bark” Alyssa was fairly certain she’d woof. Her brain had clearly been rewired and rebuilt through jolting orgasms such that his voice could probably make her walk into walls if thats what he asked for.

“Fuck,” she said, pacing around her apartment. All she’d wanted to do was slum with a hunk, and perhaps have some meaningless sex. Now she was bound to some sort of demigod with a cock like a structural beam. “Fuck!”

Rebellion of any sort was unthinkable. Any idea that she could beat this, that this was just some odd chemical dependency, had been dashed when she had licked his cum off the floor. Only afterwards had she thought—very slowly—that she could’ve scooped it off the ground with a spoon, or her fingers, and THEN shoveled it into her greedy mouth. No, she was screwed. He’d done something to her, something nearly magical, and now she needed that insane dick in her so very badly. “God damn it!”

It had been a long, challenging day. She’d started it by flushing all her cigarettes down the toilet and opening all the windows. Martin had told her to, so she had to do it. It had still reeked of smoke. So that meant ditching all fabrics with their tell-tale scent of American Spirit. In other words, just about all her clothes. She had some lacey, synthetic undies that seemed immune, and some old t-shirts and shorts at the very back of her dresser. They weren’t that sexy, but she did keep soaking a wet patch down the front, so that would have to do.

The good news about quitting smoking under her man’s ordes was that she barely noticed any craving. It had been replaced with a wild desire to have a penis the size of a plumber pipe to penetrate her over and over. It ran on a loop in her head. Her mouth watered nearly nonstop. It was crazy to want something that large inside of her, but she did, every single throbbing inch.

Her body was apparently slutting up to match Martin’s desires. Her tits had gone into overdrive, and were a slatternly bell-shape. She was ten, fifteen pounds heavier, and had eaten out the entire refrigerator. Her lean smoker’s body was quickly disappearing under padding and curves. She could feel a new ass filling out as she paced her now half-empty apartment. As insane as it was, she was glad for it—she needed the flesh to absorb his pounding. Her former body, all nicotine and taut lines, would’ve been shattered.

She was dumber, too, no doubt about it. That, at least, was some sort of weird poetic justice for wanting to bang some dim male. Always practical underneath the wreath of smoke, Alyssa had taken steps when not touching herself. She’d cancelled college for the semester, set up away messages, withdrawn from various clubs. She’d thought about telling the truth—“I’m being inseminated and transformed into the fuck meat of this guy I just met”—but it seemed weird. And writing was getting kinda hard.

After finishing off every bit of food she owned, Alyssa had summoned her fading willpower and literary talent and made one last effort at fighting back. It was her last hope.

“Fuck, fuck, damn, fuck it,” Alyssa said. It was cold in the apartment and she’d tossed her blankets as too smokey. She really needed Martin, not only for his cum but just his intense warmth. She needed to be beneath him. It seemed unfair to ask her to start a new career as his needy cum sponge and then leave for work. He could’ve taken a sick day, eased her into the new role with a lazy day of transformation and anal sex.

She’d tried to call him only to realize she didn’t have his number. And didn’t remember his last name. It had been fucked out of her head, that and the classics. She could probably smell him a half-mile away, but no last name at all, that seemed like a bad start to a relationship.

Alyssa rubbed her stomach. There was still one tiny pill in there fighting off gallons of sperm. She didn’t have much hope for it. Not just a breeding bimbo but a new mommy. It was a lot to take in, and, ironically, her only stress relief now was that foot-long dick.

She’d made an effort to envision the future, but it clearly contained so much fucking and sucking that it was hard to think about without getting desperately horny. She was definitely going to rate her days in liters of jizz, spend a lot of time dizzy from the physical impact of getting fucked by someone that enormous, that overpowering. It was like fucknig one of those dim greek gods—overwhelming, bad for you, but… who said no to a god?

Alyssa sure as hell wasn’t. She checked her clock, which had narrowly escaped the purge. It was past 5:30. Where the heck was he? Martin owed her a night in, at any rate, making up for lost time with hours and hours of that wonderful cock.

It occurred to Alyssa that she had just gotten married, more or less. She giggled, nervously. Then she giggled a lot more.

At last the door jiggled. She got onto her knees in front of the door. There was a rattle in the lock, and then a muttered oath—her master had clearly forgotten that he didn’t live there, didn’t have a key.

“It’s open,” she called out, realizing he was winding up to bust the door down.

And when he came inside, stooping to avoid the doorframe, in jean shorts from the 80s and a muscle shirt with lots of muscle, it was suddenly worth it. His scent washed over her and let her know—she was owned and used and had and thoughtlessly made over into a form more convenient to fuck, but he did want her. Martin’s smile grew broad and long when he saw her with her open mouth, and he pulled out his cock just over the top of his underpants. It was even bigger than that morning, and she struggled to get her mouth around it.

The first creamy spurt made all of it, all of it, worthwhile. She lit on fire, her nerves trembling all over. The orgasm soothed and quieted her, and that little objective part in the back of her head thought—couldn’t take many more of those. They were like artillery fire to girl brains. He hadn’t even touched her pussy yet.

“Oof, sorry,” Martin said, about the load he was already squirting down her throat. “Long day. LONG day. I got fired sorta. I know you’re not like a, cum toilet, but WHEW.”

It was okay, Alyssa thought. She needed the warmth. Her next thought was: she was going to have some truly enormous tits in a few days.

There was an angry knock on the door after she’d spent some time sucking on his dick. The Revenge, right on time.

With her fading willpower and ability to spell Alyssa had written “I FUCKED UP YOUR TRUCK” and put her room number on it. The owner was unlikely to be a beef sex god like Martin, but it was her only hope. Maybe he knew ninja arts.

“Pizzas?” Martin wondered. He turned to open the door, which dragged Alyssa along with it. At least that meant she got to see who owned that big, stupid truck that kept taking up a parking spot.

The owner was a very angry, very petite girl with long straight hair, up in a hairband. She had big ears and wore a sensible pair of jeans. She looked about to yell, which then turned into her reacting to a slab of muscle getting sucked off by an increasingly thick former punk girl.

Alyssa let him slide out of her mouth.

“Where are the pizzas?” Martin said, looking behind her. The girl took a deep breath, which was her major mistake. If she’d just turned and run, she’d probably be fine—hornier, wetter, but okay. Instead the scent of spunk and muscles hit her full bore. She was already in a highly aroused state to yell at Martin. The chemicals just redirected it.

Martin didn’t help matters by dribbling cum all over the floor. Some got on her shoes. Her eyes struggled to absorb the length of his dick.

“Come in,” Martin said, in a voice that didn’t brook argument. Truck girl took a step forwards. Alyssa sighed. At least the girl looked warm.

* * *

He got in at 4:30 in the morning and went right to the workout room. Someone had changed the locks, but that someone hadn’t accounted for Martin being extremely strong, and simply running his big body into the particle board door until it opened up.

It had occurred to Martin that he wasn’t angry anymore. True, he did feel flashes of irritation, like when his key didn’t work. But that problem was easily solved by him ramming his enormous, powerful body into the door until the lock ripped out of the socket. Or when truck girl—her name had turned out to be Lucy—had babbled something about leaving the oven on while he was getting ready to sink his dick into her. That problem had been solved by fucking her until she stopped talking about it. Getting angry was something that happened when there was a problem he couldn’t solve, or he was stymied in some way, and that just wasn’t happening anymore. Issues could be handled by using muscles or having sex.

He hadn’t slept all night. There’d been too much sex to have. Lucy, especially, had needed to be coated with cum until she smelled right—Martin had a very definite sense of what girls belonged to him, and it was the ones that at least faintly smelled like his spunk. They’d ordered pizzas from an all night place at 2:30 or so, ravenous and all needy for carbs and proteins. And then, when they had all snuggled up in an unthinking pile of tits and ass and dick, oozing and comfy, the fire alarm had gone off. Due to the building burning down.

Martin had left the girls in the car in the office parking lot with stern orders to lick each other senseless. Lucy kept talking about how it was all happening to fast, and why did she need to fuck him so bad, la la la. At least Alyssa was mostly just cooing and giggling now. She’d deal with the problem. So, problem solved.

He clicked on the lights and woke up Haley, who was sleeping on the floor in a sleeping bag.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Martin said. “Sorry Haley.” He looked at her. She sat up, wan and pale and bleary-eyed. Something about her seemed off. “Can you scoot over? I need to get at the rack.”

“Sure,” Haley said. She scooched up against the wall.

“Thanks,” Martin said. He was still wearing his clothes from yesterday. They were getting scrunchy and stiff. He’d nearly stumbled out the building naked, but it was sort of cold out, and the firefighters probably didn’t need to see his dick. A small switch flicked on in the empty powerhouse of his head. “Everything okay?”

Haley started to sob.

Martin paused his first rep, thought about it, and then put the weights down. He could make up the rep later. “What?”

“It’s just… everything’s been so CONFUSING, you know? Like all of my shit?” Haley said. She’d slept with her hair in pigtails, which seemed uncomfortable. “I just feel so… weird… and I keep thinking about the gym and you and my tits are super big and it’s just all so UGH and my boyfriend broke up with me and the only place that felt right was here and that’s so weird!”

“Shhh. Shhhhhhh,” Martin said. Once again a problem had an easy solution. “Your boyfriend broke up with you?”

“Y-yeah,” Haley sniffled. Her tits heaved in her top. “I looked at his cock and said, “is that it”, and he threw me out. He was so mad.”

Martin nodded. “Ahhhh, see, that’s my fault. I took some weird drugs and now my cum and sweat makes girls horny and dumb for me, and then I came all over your desk.” He patted her head, happy to be able to help. Haley stared at him. “And you’ve been breathing my sweat like crazy. Yeah. Its totally making you into my cum slut. I should’ve said something.”

“What?” Haley said.

“Yeah…. I didn’t mean to but here we are. Your tits are huge now, right?” He groped them. They were easily twice the size of before. Haley moaned. “Yeah, those are nice big boobs. That’s on me. You’re mine now. I own you.”

Haley still looked confused. “Its okay,” Martin said, placating. “I guess its hard on girl smarts. BUT you get large titties to compensate and I think maybe it does stuff to your pussy too.” He reached into her sleeping bag to cup that, too. She was drenched, obviously. He felt bad. In retrospect it had to be difficult to get turned into a personal whore without anyone around to whore with.

Martin brightened. “But since you broke up with your boyfriend we can fuck!” He pulled out his cock, and then turned to the side so Haley could see it. It had the desired effect. In the future, whenever he turned some girl into his rutting fucktoy, he should just whip his dick out and let them look at it. It had worked with truck girl, whatever her name was. Lisa. Something like that. Haley’s eyes turned over to the soft, unfocused gaze he was getting really used to.

It was an absolutely magnificent penis. Gloriously long, with a rippling shaft tightly wrapped with veins, a wavering head already slick with cum, and heft.

“Holy shit, that is a penis,” Haley said. Martin slapped his chest, stretched. He was so incredibly happy.

“Go ahead, play with it,” he said, grinning. He’d had Alyssa quiz him on math that morning—which had been a real struggle for her, too—and had been unsurprised to learn he didn’t miss any of it. All of that stuff, reading and math and geography and whatever, had just been ultimately about getting and fucking girls, and not even a good way of going about it.

Haley froze, unexpectedly. She shrank back into the warmth of her sleeping bag.

Women. “What?” Martin said.

“It just… its so big and its so MUCH and this is all so CRAZY, Martin. You walk in here like, Haley you’re my bimbo now and part of me knows its true and….” she was breathing fast. Martin reached in and enveloped her in a massive, nearly crushing hug. Her tits squashed against his chest, and her feet dangled off the ground.

“Haley, you are going to be SO HAPPY,” he growled at her. “You are going to have the best tits and this incredible fuckable ass and I am just going to fill you so up with cum you’ll just lie there giggling and its going to be the best. Like yeah you’ll be dumb but who cares. And you’re MINE now.”

“Its just so much!” Haley whispered.

“My cock? Of course!” He made a decision. Haley was special. She’d earned it. He put her down on the exercise bench and slid her sleeping shorts off. If anyone got to touch the weight equipment, it was her. “You’ll feel better once this is in you,” he promised her.

She really was perfect, and when he let go she kept her legs up in the air. Her pussy was bright pink and wet under the lights. She shook when he put his cockhead right at the tip of her slit. He paused, just for a second. There was a mirror over in the corner that reflected the two of them, her legs resting on his shoulders, his body filling the frame with harshly drawn lines. He flexed at it, winked. The bulk in the mirror with the thick beard winked back.

“If this feels bad when I push, tell me,” he said.

“You’re… already… in…” Haley huffed.

He looked down. His dick had slid all the way in. “Huh!” Martin said.

This felt like a special moment, and there was no hurry—the two bimbos in the car had plenty of heat, and each other. He took his time fucking Haley. It was so cute how she tried to grip him, like her pussy could handle his raw dick. She wasn’t a screamer, like the other two—Haley mostly went for long “ohhhhhh goddddds’ before shuddering herself into orgasm. He let her go for three before realizing something.

“Oh shit baby, I kinda need to do something,” he said, pulling out.

“Ehhhh?” Haley said.

“I super need to cum all over you. Its been my lifelong dream for like three whole days now.” Martin said, and let loose. His weights would be all cummy, but it was worth it.

* * *

The lock had been forced. Of course it had.

Anna very quietly opened the door and peeked inside. No sign of Martin, or Haley, for that matter. The scent of the office hit her immediately—gym mixed with bathroom and brothel. The smell of men and their genitalia and their cummy—their emissions. Emissions.

She considered backing up and calling the police. Perhaps telling them to bring en elephant gun. Dozens of tasers. But no—she didn’t want police attention to the matter. She was quite close to figuring it all out on her own. Anna took a deep breath of relatively clean hallway air and walked quickly to her office. She shut the door behind her. There.

Even with the door shut he could hear her employees loudly fucking each other. Haley seemed to be enjoying herself, the little bimbo. In truth Anna was surprised only that the nymph had lasted that long—she had the attention span of a chipmunk and liked to surround herself with pictures of boys. Mr. Weiss had hired her over Anna’s objections, she assumed because the man needed something to jack off to.

She was going to enjoy suing him.

Anna felt calmer at her desk. No doubt that was in part because even her space was contaminated with a potent, narcotic fog of boy stink. She had to remind herself about it—after a few minutes her conscious mind stopped processing the danger, and she was just breathing in buckets of pheromones, absorbing them through every pore. She’d considered a gas mask but rejected it—she could deal. And besides, they were far from unpleasant. One just had to have the intelligence to deal with them.

All her findings were in a manila folder kept in the first drawer on her desk. That protein powder Mr. Weiss had spent considerable money and effort locating—rampant rumors throughout the body building community, people reporting visits from the FBI and, even more concerning, the FDA. Unconstrained muscle growth, excited men reporting about their girlfriend’s sudden and extreme new interest in sucking dick, and then going radio silent. There were tantalizing hints in biochem circles about the ingredients listed in 7 point font on the wrapper. So Weiss’ plan had been to bulk up, turn her and Haley into obedient little sex toys, and then retire. No wonder he’d asked to hire Martine. A nice trio of girls to fuck.

Anna looked up at the clock, drowsy. Somehow an hour had gone by. She pulled herself upright, shook her head firmly. It’d be a lie to say the sexual air hadn’t affected her. Her own tits were noticeably larger—she’d documented their growth for Exhibit A in her court filing-to-be. For Exhibit B she’d documented her sexual thoughts in her journal—degrading, disgusting images of her bathed in ropes of jizz.

Exhibit C was in the second drawer. An entire collection of sex toys. She picked one and spread her legs. Keeping well-fucked was important to staying on top of it. Plus it felt really fucking good. The buzz filled her world. God, that was good.

She’d tried not to fire Martin, but the man was just… concerning. Of course she wanted him, that was the entire point. It had taken all her willpower, plus her biggest vibrator shaking between her legs, to order him out.

She really should go. There was no reason to stay—just pick up the folder and get out of there. Let Martin enjoy himself. But it felt really good to sit there, legs spread, hands cupping her tits, listening to Haley get roasted one door away. Lucky girl. Anna hadn’t been properly screwed in a really long time. Martin probably had the girl against the wall, slamming away, her vocal cords half-raw. Getting hotter and dumber with each stroke.

She sighed and shook in her chair. Noon already. God, she really needed to go. Didn’t they ever stop in there? It didn’t seem human. Although Martin was barely human now, honestly. He was an animal. An alpha, unstoppable animal.

The noise stopped.

Anna’s squeezed-shut eyes popped open. She looked at the door, wary.

A minute later, Haley walked in. She had made a cursory effort to towel off, and had actually put pants on. It wasn’t much of an effort. Yummy cum clung to her. It was probably permanently caked on her skin. Anna shuddered. Her body ached for it. Now it was definitely time to go. Her muscles tried to move.

“Hi Anna!” the girl chirped. Her voice had gone up a full octave. The girl’s boobs were enormous. What had Martin fucked her into?

“Yes?” Anna managed. She realized, too slow, that she hadn’t removed her dildo from between her legs. Hopefully her underling wouldn’t notice how wide her legs were spread.

‘I brought you some water!” Haley put down a glass. It was one of the cheap disposable ones they had in the kitchen. It was cloudy and dank and looked warm.

Anna relaxed. Her hand started to move again, between her legs. So this was some sort of plan hatched by morons. Get her to drink a cup of sweat and what had to be delicious, lukewarm jizz. Drain her brain into another simpering toy for Martin to thoughtlessly fuck into ballooned-up proportions. Uh-huh. She might as well fuck herself, Haley wasn’t going to notice.

“Haley, are you and Martin trying to trick me?” she said.

Haley smiled, coy. “Mayyyyybe,” she said, giggling. She wiggled back and forth. “Drink up!”

Martin poked his head into the room. “Did she drink it?” he whispered to Haley, who shushed him out. It was like a bull had briefly looked in.

“Haley, I am not going to be another dumb cunt for Martin to fuck, knock up, and forget about,” Anna said. She put her hand on the glass. Yep, disturbingly warm. “I don’t know if you know this, or anything, but his cum is a one way ticket to being a very dim girl. Sexy,” she conceded, “but… well, look at yourself.”

Haley took that as an opportunity to paw at her own tits. Lord, the girl was something else. Magnificient, of course. Even her lips were fatter. Maybe the real play was to take the protein powder and try and clone it. How much would men pay for a girl like Haley?

“I mean, that wasn’t the only thing we did,” Haley murmured, playing with her self.

Anna froze, still holding the glass. “What do you mean?” she said.

“Uhhhhh… I mean, I was kinda smarter when we came up with the plan... but…” Haley squirmed. She seemed like she couldn’t stand still.


“Martin came in and jizzed on everything in your office,” Haley said. “Like, everything.”

“Everything?” Anna said. She paled.

“OH yeah. We fucked all over this office,” Haley said. “Desk… computer…”

Anna opened her precious manila folder. It was gummy—how had she not noticed? And the pages were all stuck together. Oh, god.

“Plus we used all your sex toys in that drawer and they are all SUPER cummy,” Haley finished.

Oh no. She looked down at her lap, where seven inches of plastic buzzed away inside of her.

His little swimmers were inside her. She was probably getting a thick dumb ass that very moment. Anna tried to think of a way out—she had to get up, leave, run. Maybe give Martin ONE good bye handjob. He deserved it, for being so hunky, and tricking her so completely. What a man.

“No, no,” she told herself.

“Drink up,” Haley said.

“I can’t,” Anna said. It was right up to her lips. The scent was unworldly. Her body shook for it. She might as well—she was already coated in jizz, sinking into Martin’s idiotic fuck group. He opened the door, grinning. There were two other sluts with him. Anna could be the smart one, the one that knew how elevators worked, the one that could do basic math. The reliable fuck bunny.

“Drink it,” Haley said, enjoying herself. She danced around.

Martin raised one bushy eyebrow. That did it. Anna drained the mucky glass. It was the best thing she’d ever tasted.

* * *

“Hello?” Mr. Weiss said. His voice shook. The door to his office had been forced, and there were odd, mechanical noises from inside.

He pushed the door open with difficulty. He had never been a big man, and the heart attack had reduced him to wind and sticks. The doctor had prescribed more bedrest once he’d woken up. But no one was answering the phone at the office. Not even reliable Anna.

Plus.. had she discovered the bottle? His contact had assured him it was untraceable.

Haley was at her desk. Was it Haley? She was fleshy, beautiful, shimmering with curves and health. She squealed when she saw him, gave him a chesty hug. She wore barely anything, just a pair of yellow boy shorts and a zip-up hoodie. She smelled like… he didn’t want to think about it.

“Mr. Weiss! You’re back!” she said, smiling. Her tits pressed against his chest. “Oh my gosh, come and talk to Martin!”

“You mean… Martine?” Mr. Weiss said, hopefully. She drew him on through the office. It had been transformed—there were mattresses on the floor, girl clothes littered around, pizza boxes on his immaculate carpet. He’d been gone for two weeks. What the hell had happened?

Anna’s door was open. He caught just a glimpse of a lot of curves sitting on top of the desk, getting eaten out by a blonde with golden hair.

“Anna?” but he was dragged on, painfully, into the exercise room he had been putting together. He was going to get so swole. Except now there was a gigantic man inside, effortlessly doing reps, while a girl sat on top of his dick. He was fully naked, and shiny with sweat. Mr. Weiss turned to run, only to find Haley’s tits blocking the exit. The man was a gorilla, a bear, a bull.

The bull finished his reps. He gently pulled the girl off his dick. He turned his attention to Weiss. “Hi,” he said, and smiled.