Note: This story has been so much fun to write! I can only hope you enjoy it half as much as I do. For those of you who are familiar with my stories, this one is a return to basics, revisiting my favorite themes of butt growth and cock shrinking.

Themes: Hyper butt growth, cock shrinking, hyper cock growth, muscle growth, weight gain, jock-to-bear transformation, hair growth, age progression, cursed, clueless, humiliation, forced changes, straight-to-gay, top-to-bottom

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Quick Links

• Chapter 1 – Scroll down!
• Chapter 2
• Chapter 3
• Chapter 4 – Posted 02 November 2025

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Chapter 1

Blake Sawyer arrived at the cabin with his teammate, Dai Chang. He’d only just met Dai a couple days ago but the dude seemed solid. Tall, gruff and built like a total bruiser, he was in line with the rest of the guys on the rugby team. This weekend was the first time he’d meet his other teammates. Apparently, it was a longstanding tradition for the Marshall State Rugby Bulls to spend the weekend together prior to the season opening. It was billed as a lowkey way to meet each other and socialize before the intensity of the regular practice season.

Dai parked in front of the cabin next to a bunch of other vehicles. Based on the number of trucks already in the lot, they were the last guys to arrive. Blake got out and started to grab his army-ration duffle bag out of the back seat but Dai stopped him, grunting, “Leave it, bro. Yer not gonna need it.”

Confused, Blake noticed for the first time that Dai hadn’t brought along any luggage. This was supposed to be a four-day weekend so why hadn’t Dai brought any stuff? Whatever, he thought, closing the door and following Dai empty-handed down the long, wooden walkway that led across a small ravine into the cabin.

The sound of music and the aroma of grilling burgers greeted them long before they entered the modest but spacious cabin. Dai led him through the kitchen and out to the living room where he pulled off his t-shirt and tossed it on the sofa before motioning for Blake to follow him through a sliding screen doorway that opened onto a large deck. The cabin was empty and he could hear the deep rumble of male voices coming through the open screen.

He started to follow Dai out onto the deck but his teammate stopped him, ordering, “Take off yer shirt first, bro.” Blake didn’t need to be told twice. It was hot and he was as buff as they came. He never wasted an opportunity to show off his beefy yet chiseled physique even if there weren’t any ladies present. He had every reason to be vain about his appearance. With dense, sandy brown hair that he kept styled in a brushcut, he cut a fine figure, the epitome of brutish masculinity, a rugby star through and through. His shoulders were so wide he had to squeeze through most doorways and, standing well over six feet tall, he routinely knocked his head on low doorframes. Doors were a hazard when you’re built like Blake!

He was lifting his shirt over his head when the team captain, Tyrone Powell, spotted them and called out, “Yo, Dai! Thanks for bringing da rookie!” He looked beyond Blake’s shoulder, asking, “But where are the other two? I thought we had three rookies this year?”

Dai lifted his empty palms helplessly upward, “Cristiáno and Ben can’t make it until tomorrow.”

Tyrone seemed disappointed by this news but concealed his annoyance as he pitched his voice low for Blake’s benefit, “Welcome to the Bull’s Jockstrap Weekend, bro!”

Blake froze, his tank top still half-covering his face. Jockstrap Weekend?! Huh?

It soon became readily apparent what Tyrone meant. Lifting the shirt away from his face, Blake promptly started fish-mouthing at the sight of over a dozen beefy rugby bros clad in nothing but jockstraps. His cheeks flushed crimson and he looked helplessly over at Dai only to see the dude was already bending over and pulling down his shorts to reveal the camo green jockstrap he was wearing underneath.

“‘Jockstrap Weekend’?” Blake repeated, aghast. “WTF?” He started to back up, getting ready to flee the cabin but Dai’s heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him. He cast a panicked look over at him. 

“Sorry, bro,” Dai rumbled. “You leave now and yer off the team.” He shrugged as if to say, The rules are the rules. “It’s cool, though. Every guy here lives for the Jockstrap Weekend!”

This sentiment was backed up by a chorus of cheers from the guys on the deck. Blake stared at them, unable to believe this was happening. Why hadn’t anyone told him about this? If he’d known ahead of time, he’d never have joined the team in the first place!

Everyone thought his reaction was supremely funny, swaggering around provocatively pumping their crotches at him. Soon, he was surrounded by a circle of hulking, jocked-up bro beefcake. Worse, before he could stop them, someone reached out and pulled down his board shorts. Blake yelped as the late summer breeze caressed his exposed buttocks but Tyrone applauded as he took in the sight of Blake clad in his spiffy white jockstrap, “Nice jock, dude! See? You don’t even need to change.”

Blake tried to grab his shorts and pull them back up but it was pointless. His shorts were history. He was bare-ass naked with only the pouch of his jockstrap covering his sizable bulge. WTF?!

Slap!

He jumped, abruptly covering his buttocks when someone slapped him on the ass. More guffaws. The guys really thought his reaction was super hilarious alright. The tips of his ears were red and his face was even redder.

“Nice butt, Rookie,” Tyrone praised. “A little small but we’ll fix that.”

“What’s that ‘sposed to mean?” Blake demanded, turning around to cover his bare ass from the captain’s probing gaze.

“Nuthin’,” Tyrone replied, smiling. “Here, drink this.” He stuck a bottle of pink beer into Blake’s open hand.

Blake stared at the fruity-colored beverage and pulled a face when a strong hit of bubblegum and peaches wafted past his nostrils. “What the fuck, bro?” he complained. “Pink beer?! I ain’t drinkin’ this shit!” In less than a minute, his dream weekend hanging out with the guys had turned into a fucking nightmare. What the fuck was wrong with the Bulls? Was this their idea of hazing? 

He started to pour the bottle out but Black stopped him, correcting, “Drink it, Rookie. It’s a team tradition juss like the jockstraps.” He smiled, tilting the bottle up to Blake’s lips and forcing him to swallow. Blake had no choice but to gulp it down before the pink liquid spilled over his bare chest and soaked his jockstrap.

“Well?”

Blake finished swallowing and wiped the back of his hand across his face, realizing the team was watching him with knowing expressions. His skin prickled. He hated being the butt of an inside joke. “You fuckers,” he grumbled. “Makin’ me drink pink beer. Where the fuck’s the real beer?”

Tyrone’s eyes were dancing. “Sorry. Rookies gotta drink pink beer. Team rules. You see why soon enough.” He held out another bottle of the nasty pink stuff. To his surprise, Blake ended up taking it. Other than a cloying aftertaste, it didn’t taste too bad…

Waiting until Blake had finished the second beer and was halfway done with the third, Tyrone officially called the Jockstrap Weekend to order. “Ok, boys,” he yelled, pounding his furry chest, “it’s started! The best fuckin’ weekend of yer whole year!” Applause and raucous cheers. Tyrone held up his hands to calm down the crowd, continuing, “I wanna welcome the newest member of the team, Blake Sawyer. Welcome, Rookie! We’re pleased as punch yer here!”

Blake, feeling pretty good after downing three beers, waved at everybody. The guys nearest him clapped him on the back. One guy even pinched his ass. Blake laughed, swatting his hand away. Dai was right. It was kind of fun wearing a jockstrap. He’d never hung out with a bunch of guys like this before and found he liked the camaraderie. Maybe the Bulls were onto something?

“The Jockstrap Weekend is a tradition reaching back generations,” Tyrone was saying. “It’s when we can relax and let it all hang out for a few days with the bros.” (Lots of cheers and pumped fists.) “We’re the fuckin’ Bulls, right?” (Everyone yelled, “Hell, yeah!”) “And ya know what they say ‘bout the Bulls, dontcha?” When the crowd remained silent, he repeated significantly, “And you know what they say ‘bout the Bulls, right?” Blake could tell Tyrone was waiting for the guys to answer but he had no idea what he was supposed to say. Finally, though, Dai and the rest of the team roared, “THE BULLS ARE STEERS IN THE FRONT AND HEIFERS IN THE BACK!!!”

Wait, what?! Blake thought. He’d grown up on a farm and knew that steers had nothing between their legs at all. And heifers were…

Belatedly, he noticed something strange about the cheering jocks: Their bare butts were extremely large. Almost comically so. He unsteadily set aside his pink beer and examined Dai standing next to him. His ass was big. Really, really big. Beyond big. Almost embarrassingly large. He turned and craned his neck to look over the shoulder of the jock on his other side. That dude also had an extremely large ass. It was so big that it was oversized even on his decidedly beefy frame. Sure, it was muscular but it was also very jiggly and fat. It almost didn’t look natural. The same was true of the next guy over. In fact, that guy’s ass was even bigger and looked almost like it had been artificially inflated. It was quite simply the hugest ass that Blake had ever seen. If it was so ridiculous that it verged on grotesque. How could that dude even bear to show his face in public with an ass that swollen?!

It wasn’t just those four men.

Every guy on the entire fucking team had a giant booty.

That wasn’t all.

Maybe it was because their big butts pulled their straps extra tight but the pouches in the front of their jocks were distinctly unimpressive. So unimpressive it looked like they didn’t even really need to wear a jockstrap in the first place. Wasn’t the whole point of a jockstrap to keep your boys tied down? If your boys were that tiny, they didn’t need to be tied down at all. He snorted to himself, feeling superior as he looked down at the more-than-man-sized bulge in his jockstrap.

Dai turned to the side just then and Blake did a double take, realizing the side view was even more jarring. It looked like he had two giant beachballs attached to his ass! Fuck, they were even bigger than two beachballs! What the fucking hell? How come he hadn’t noticed before?

Worse, Blake swore he could hear a faint clap-clap-clap as Dai’s massive cheeks slapped together. He wasn’t imagining it! Now that he paid attention, all of the dudes’ asses were clapping! It was like a constant beat under the music. Poor Blake was awash in confusion.

What the fuck was up with these bros and their enormous behinds?

He realized that he’d only seen Dai sitting down until now. When they met a couple days ago, Dai had been seated in a booth at the sports bar and Blake had never seen him stand up. And, of course, on the car ride here, Dai had been sitting in the driver’s seat. Fuck. What a freak! 

Taking in the sight of these dumb jocks and their oversized, clapping buttocks, his confusion finally gave way to amusement. Haha! What a bunch of freaks! he thought, his sense of superiority growing. At least I have a normal-sized ass and a man-sized package! He couldn’t wait to strut around the locker room when the regular season started. Then these freaks of nature would see what a real man looked like! He puffed out his chest and thrust his crotch forward, smirking to himself.

Around him, the Bulls weren’t finished chanting.

Tyrone incited them to continue, raising his hands in the air as if conducting a symphony. Sure enough, the bulky bros continued, “THE BULLS GOT TEATS AND UDDERS TO MATCH!”

Wait, Blake thought. Bulls don’t have teats. Only cows do!

But then he got it.

His attention had been so captivated by the Bulls’ big, bare buttocks that he hadn’t noticed their chests. He swallowed uncomfortably when he realized all of the guys not only sported oversized buttocks, their pecs were just as oversized. Protruding and pendulous, their big man teats hung heavily out front, bigger than anything Blake had ever seen on a guy. And that wasn’t all! Nipples. Those nipples! They were so succulent and swollen that they short-circuited Blake’s poor brain. He’d never seen guys with such tender, pink and dangling nips.

Tyrone was in his element. “And last but not least,” he shouted, “what does a Bull want more than anything else?”

The guys clapped their arms around each other’s shoulders, clustering in a sweaty scrum before their captain. Blake was pulled in against his will and was quickly jammed up against all of those overstuffed, over-swole, and bounteously buff bods as they roared, “BULLS WANTS TO BE BRED!”

Tyrone grinned proudly. “Ex-cel-lent. Very good, men! And on that note, everybody line up!”

Blake watched in a daze as the team instantly obeyed. Lining up from tallest to shortest on the deck in front of Tyrone, they all turned around and presented their jocked-up butts for inspection. Tyrone looked at Blake and pointed to the spot between Dai and another guy, “I believe that’s where you belong, Rookie. Now go.” Grabbing him by the arm, he shoved Blake forward. Blake windmilled his arms, toppling forward. He would have face-planted if Dai hadn’t caught his elbow and steadied him, helping him to stand next to him.

With Blake in place, Tyrone drawled, “Good men!” Pacing along the line behind them on the deck, he pulled out a ruler, saying, “Let’s get yer measurements. Now bend over!”

Huh? What’s he measuring? Turning his head from side to side, Blake watched in confusion as everyone obeyed, bending forward and touching their fingers to the deck before them as they spread their thighs wide. “Psst! Blake!” Dai prompted when Blake froze. “C’mon, bro! Bend over!”

“I’m not–” but Tyrone was already pushing him forward. Caught by surprise, he lost his balance and fell forward. His entire face, neck and back flushed red as caught himself on the deck with his hands. His bare ass stuck up behind him, his butt cheeks wide open for all the world–or at least Tyrone–to see. Clenching did nothing; his feet were too far apart. He withered with embarrassment as Tyrone stared down at his behind, smirking to himself.

The team captain walked down to the end of the line occupied by the shortest men. Studying each guy’s spread cheeks, he held out the ruler and called out, one by one, “Two inches. Two inches. Two and half.” He paused, startled, spouting, “Whoa! Would ya look at that? Three whole inches!” He swatted the guy in question loudly on the ass, praising, “Good progress, Johnson! That’s quite a gape you got goin’ down there. Yer on the way!”

Blake cocked his head to look at Dai, repeating, “‘Gape’? What the fuck does that mean? What is he measuring?”

Dai didn’t reply and merely continued staring straight ahead.

Soon enough, Tyrone was standing behind Blake. There was a pause and then, “Huh? Really?” He raised his voice, proclaiming, “We got our first rosebud, boys. You know what that means, right?”

Down the line, all of the guys yelled, “FAILURE!!!”

Incensed, Blake challenged, “I failed? What do you mean?” Even though Blake had no idea what a rosebud was and how it could be considered a failure, he was competitive and it needled him to be labled a failure.

Dai looked over at him and rolled his eyes as Tyrone moved to stand behind him. Patting him on the right cheek, he announced, “Nice one, Dai! Lookie here, men! A four-inch slit! Congratulations, bro! You win! You got a proper man-cunt!” This was greeted by envious cheers and Dai smiled proudly, waggling his huge bootycheeks in the air.

Blake felt his whole body go stiff as he finally realized just what part of the anatomy Tyrone had been measuring. “A man-cunt?” He almost couldn’t make himself say the profane words. WTF? Why the fuck was everyone cheering? Who the fuck wanted a man-cunt?

Dai pushed himself back into a standing position before offering his big hand to Blake and pulling him up. “Dude, you’ve never been fucked, have you?”

Blake stared at him. “Of course, I’ve fucked! I’ve fucked a ton!” He jabbed his thumbs at his broad, beefy chest, indicating his godlike bod. “I just fucked last night!” He couldn’t resist thrusting the very full pouch of his jockstrap forward as he said this. Couldn’t Dai see how hung he was? Did he really think a guy as well-endowed at Blake was still a virgin?

Dai shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I asked if you’ve been fucked yet. By a cock.”

“You mean…as in…?” Blake swallowed, horrified. “No, ‘course I haven’t! I’m straight, bro! Hundred percent!” He shuddered with revulsion. He couldn’t even make his mind go there.

“You should try it,” Dai suggested, clapping him on the shoulder. “It doesn’t hurt to keep an open mind.”

“An open mind?” Blake scoffed. “You mean an open hole.” He shivered theatrically. “Now I see why you grew that ugly slut butt. Gross. I can’t believe you tricked me into comin’ here this weekend.” He folded his arms, “I’m quittin’, bro. This shit ain’t cool. I ain’t a homo!”

The corner of Dai’s mouth quirked. “Bro, be heteroflexible for once in yer goddamned life! Expand yer horizons!” He shook his ridiculously inflated ass cheeks as he said this, making it abundantly clear which of his ‘horizons’ had been expanded.

Revolted, Blake took another swig of his beer to steady his nerves. Fuckin’ queers! He wondered if he could steal Dai’s truck keys and make a getaway before this party got any weirder.

Now that the cunt-measuring contest was over, Tyrone moved on to the next order of business. “A reminder for the rookie, boys: The one rule of Jockstrap Weekend is that you are only allowed to wear a jockstrap for the next four days. That includes for the race tomorrow.”

Blake swung around to confront Dai again, “Race? What race?!”

Dai smiled, “The Tough Mudder, dude. We race as a team every Jockstrap Weekend.”

Blake folded his arms. “Uh uh. No way! I ain’t racin’ naked in public!”

“Yer not naked,” Dai pointed out. “Yer wearin’ a jockstrap!”

Blake stared at him. “Yer serious, ain’t ya? You really expect me to race in this thing?” He pointed down at his jockstrap. “I’ll get arrested!”

“No you won’t,” Dai assured. “Juss wait and see what the other teams are wearin’.” He handed Blake another pink beer, clinking his own bottle against it before Blake lifted it to his lips and drank deeply. “You’ll fit right in.”

“Whatever.” Blake drained the bottle and set it aside, already looking for another. While he searched, he muttered, “I’m outta here as soon as I’m sober.”

“What’s that?” Dai asked, turning to him.

Blake didn’t reply. He was too busy twisting the cap off a fifth bottle of pink beer.

***

By the end of the night, Blake wasn’t feeling any pain and no longer cared about being stuck with a bunch of freaks in jockstraps. The longer he hung out with the guys and the more beer he drank, the less self-conscious he became and more natural he felt being basically naked. He liked being with the guys and shooting the shit. They talked about rugby and other sports, scratching their armpits and crotches like they did in the locker room. The difference was they could relax and enjoy themselves. This wasn’t practice and they didn’t have to worry about the coach shouting at them and making them run countless drills. The first game of the season wasn’t for another week. Right now they could just be guys together.

His body felt increasingly heavy and off balance as the night wore on but he didn’t think much of it. He was pretty drunk, after all. At one point, he lumbered off to piss away some of the beer he’d been drinking and was startled when he had to fish around in the pouch of his jockstrap before he managed to locate his cock. It was buried deep inside his foreskin and he really had to tug on it. In the end, he was forced to pinch his cockhead between his thumb and forefinger and aim his stream out over the deck. This was a funny experience because his hose was naturally so long he was used to it flopping out and hanging far down to his knees whenever he liberated it from his jock.

“Huh?” he muttered. “Must be cold er sumthin’.” Finished peeing, he pulled up the elastic band of his jock. Was it his imagination or did the pouch look rather pitiful? He shrugged his beefy shoulders and sloshed his way back to the party, a muted clap-clap-clap following along behind him. What was that noise? It almost sound like–

“Hey, Rookie!” Tyrone called out, interrupting his line of thought. “Lookin’ more an’ more like a proper Bull all the time, I see!” He slapped him on the bare buttocks as he said this and Blake was startled when he felt a significant tremor pass through his body. It almost felt like–

“Hey, bro,” Dai said, slinging a heavy arm over his shoulders. “Ready for bed yet? You look pretty blitzed.”

Blake allowed his friend to lead him away from the party and into the cabin where they weaved their way up to the second floor. A persistent clap-clap-clap followed them up the stairs and Blake felt like his lower body was extremely cumbersome. With each uneven step, he had to lean on Dai for support. Dai laughed, tugging him along behind him and helping him into bed. He went around to the other side and started to climb in when Blake stopped him.

“Hey, whaddaya doin’? This here’s ma bed!”

Dai looked over his mounded shoulder at him. “Not tonight. We’re bunkin’ up ‘cuz there ain’t enough beds, bro.”

The bed was sagging ponderously beneath him, something that struck Blake as odd, but his brain was too addled by alcohol to give it much thought. He blinked back at Dai before shrugging. “S’Ok. Juss stay on yer side, Pussy Boy.” He fell over and promptly went to sleep.

***

Chapter 2

The next morning, still wearing only a jockstrap, Blake stood bleary-eyed among the group of his teammates in the public park where the Tough Mudder race was scheduled to begin in an hour. He had the worst hangover of his life. His temples were pounding and his body felt like lead. Even worse was the burning sensation he felt coming from…down there. He shifted, resisted the urge to scratch his asshole. 

Why was his butthole burning? It didn’t make sense. Fuck! Everything was fucked up this morning! Why had he drunk so much of that damned pink beer? And why was he craving more of the stuff when it was the cause of his current misery? He groaned in pain, stopping himself for the hundredth time from lowering his hand to finger his asshole. Fuck, fuck, fuck! He leaned even harder on Dai for support, something that amused his teammates.

“Look at the rookie now!” one guy crowed. “Not so cocky today, huh?” The smartass elbowed his friend slyly and they burst out laughing as they stared at Blake’s naked body. “Talk ‘bout junk in da trunk! Haha!”

Blake groaned, unconsciously clenching his butt cheeks. He didn’t even notice their ponderous sway or how much heavier they felt. No, his attention was focused elsewhere. He sighed with relief. Somehow just that small contraction of his anus elicited a pleasant warm sensation. He clenched harder, stifling a moan. Shit, it felt so good to clench his pucker! 

“Yep, she’s a heifer ready for breedin’ alright!” the other jock chimed in, laughing outwardly at Blake.

For his part, Blake was too out of it to even wonder about their words. He did brace, however, when he felt something pressing into his calf muscle. He looked down to see Tyrone holding a large, black permanent marker against his skin. As he stared, Tyrone stenciled a number onto his bare flesh.

“Your race number,” Tyrone informed him, standing up slightly to write on Blake’s buttocks.

This was too much! Blake roused himself enough to complain, “Hey!”

“Relax, Rookie,” Tyrone sighed, pressing the marker into his soft, pillowy bootycheeks. “Yer numbers gotta be written in three places. Race rules, ya know!” He turned his attention to writing on the back of his arms next. His mouth twisted into a sly grin but Blake couldn’t see.

Around them were hundreds of men, organized by teams, many of whom were laughing and pointing their direction, especially at Blake. Blake might be hungover but he wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t realize how out of place the Bulls were. They were the only team that was basically naked. Well, except for one. He did a double take when he spotted the team next to them, asking Dai, “Who’re they?”

Dai followed his gaze and grinned, “That’s the Lacrosse team, the Stallions.”

Blake brow furrowed. “The Stallions? You mean our archrivals? That’s them?”

“It’s a friendly rivalry,” Blake countered, his grin deepening. “Very friendly, actually.” Gazing over at the Stallions, he caught the eye of a lanky ginger-haired jock and lifted his chin. The jock grinned and blew him a kiss.

Blake didn’t notice. He was too busy gaping at the horde of strapping, young Stallions clad in their race costumes. Well, costumes might be an overstatement. They were basically naked save for little bow ties around their necks. On top of that, each guy wore the tiniest, skimpiest, briefest thong imaginable. Across each man’s chest was scrawled the word, “PORN,” with a ☆ symbol underneath. Swinging suggestively from the tiny elastic waistbands of their thongs were glistening bottles of lube. This was remarkable in itself but something else caught Blake’s attention. 

His mouth fell open.

“They’re…they’re…they’re…,” he stammered, unable to finish the sentence. For some reason, his buttocks clenched at that moment, sending a renewed wave of pleasure cascading through his body.

“What?” Dai teased. “Hung like horses? Well, they are Stallions after all.”

Blake was beside himself. He knew he shouldn’t be staring at the pouches of those thongs but they were so overstuffed with man-meat that he couldn’t help himself. It almost looked like they had crammed eggplants in their pouches. Were they real? Was it even possible to be that well-endowed? 

Before he could censor himself, he sputtered, “They’re so BIG!” He flushed as soon as he said it because several of the Lacrosse players overhead him and turned to give him knowing smirks. One of them–the team captain, he assumed–even waggled his supremely large eggplant at him. Blake’s eyes popped when he saw that heavy, bloated member swinging to and fro like a bull elephant’s trunk.

The Lacrosse captain winked and Blake’s cheeks colored. He’d been caught staring!

“Oh, look,” Dai said, pointing at one of the thong-clad men. “There’s a rookie!”

“A rookie? Really? How can you tell?” 

Dai smirked, “Isn’t it obvious, bro?”

Blake followed Dai’s finger and felt his heart flutter at the sight of a buff young stud with curly black hair, skin the color of toasted cocoa and startling blue eyes. The letters across his taut, defined chest read, “PORN ☆ IN TRAINING.” He was not only uncommonly handsome–most probably of Brazilian extraction–but also set apart from his teammates in one glaringly obvious way.

“His thong’s not–” Blake started to say but stopped himself before he embarrassed himself by stating aloud that the young guy’s pouch wasn’t nearly as overstuffed as his fellow teammates. Oh, he was Brazilian so his thong was plenty full; the outline of his thick, uncut schlong was clearly visible for all to see. It was just that he wasn’t obscenely hung like his teammates. In any other crowd, he’d stand out for his massive penile equipment but, among all of those godlike bulges, he actually looked pretty small by comparison.

Dai’s smile deepened. “What? Afraid to say it?” When Blake hung his head, he continued,”That’s how I know he’s a rookie. He’s not hung like the rest of the team. But that’s about to change. Just watch.”

“Wh-wh-what do you mean?” Blake stammered, heart rising into his throat as the beautiful young jock looked over and fixed him with his clear-eyed gaze and smiled. Blake felt his knees go weak. He’d never seen a guy as good-looking as that young stud! He lowered his long eyelashes before tentatively raising his gaze again. His heart stopped when the young guy waved at him. He hurriedly looked away, cheeks flaming.

The corner of Dai’s mouth lifted when he saw Blake blushing. Refraining from comment, he said, “See? He’s about to be initiated.”

Thoroughly perplexed, Blake watched as a couple muscular Lacrosse jocks caught the young guy by the shoulders while another one stuck a funnel into his mouth. The dude struggled and tried to shake off his captors but it was no use. He was completely at their mercy and had no choice but to bite down on the funnel. 

“Chug! Chug! Chug! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!” his teammates chanted, circling him as the team captain opened a huge bottle of a blue-colored sports drink and poured it into the funnel’s mouth. The hapless jock’s huge Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he was forced to swallow more and more of the stuff. Not until he’d downed two bottles did they finally release him. He bent over with his hands on his knees, gagging pitifully. 

“Fuck!” he exclaimed in an aggrieved tone. “That shit’s juss nasty!”

The Lacrosse captain slapped him hard on the bare ass, cajoling, “It’s worth it, Alao. Trust me. Just wait. It’s already happening.”

The blue-eyed jock looked up at him in confusion. “What’s happening?”

“Look down, bro,” the captain said, grinning. “Yer about to become a true Stallion.”

Alao straightened, lowering his gaze to his crotch. Blake did the same, his eyes popping wide in shock.

The pouch on the jock’s thong twitched, almost like his cock had a life of its own.

And then the unthinkable happened.

It swelled.

And swelled.

And swelled.

And swelled even larger.

Alao gaped at his rapidly-growing member. “What the fuck?!” he gasped, turning frantically to his laughing teammates. “That’s too big! Make it stop!”

“There ain’t no such thing as too big, Rookie,” the Lacrosse captain goaded. “Who’s the freak now, huh?”

Blake’s heart started pounding as he watched the poor guy clutch at his crotch and squeeze as if he thought that would make the unwanted growth spurt stop. It had no effect, of course, and his pouch swelled even larger. Soon, it had eclipsed the size of the rest of his teammates, growing well past the size of a giant eggplant. 

The thong wasn’t designed to contain a male appendage of such gargantuan size and soon the fabric had stretched to near transparency as his trouser snake grew as big as an anaconda. Everything was plainly visible, down the large veins snaking down his bloated shaft. Alao was clearly uncircumcised because the wad of his ever-growing foreskin sloughed off the head of his big glans like the sleeve of an oversized sweater.

The kid could only stare down at himself in horror as his teammates pointed at him and guffawed. “No! No! No!” he protested weakly. “I can’t live like this! How the fuck am I supposed to play Lacrosse with this…this…MONSTER…between my legs? How can I even show my face in public?”

“It’s not yer face you should worry ‘bout showing, Rookie,” the team captain teased. “Serves ya right for makin’ fun of us last night. We doubled the growth formula as punishment!”

Alao lowered his head and blinked back tears as he quickly became the laughingstock of the team. He hunched his shoulders and hung his head, grinding his teeth.

Blake was unwillingly transfixed. He couldn’t take his eyes off that gorgeous package. He clenched his butthole at the sight of it, swallowing hard. The mere sight of it was enough to get him drooling. He could think of a few things to do with a cock that size…

Wait.

Where the fuck had thought come from?

He shuddered at himself, chalking this wantonly gay fantasy up to his hangover and the proximity of his faggot teammates. He forced himself to tear his eyes away from that beautiful cock…and found himself studying the rest of the young guy’s body.

Alao’s penis wasn’t the only thing swelling. As Blake watched enraptured, the young jock’s shoulders broadened, thrusting proudly backward. His jaw grew thicker and wider. His chest muscles swelled until his pecs were blocky and angular. His waist narrowed even as his hips widened. His long legs thickened as his quads and calves put on new heft. In the blink of an eye, he appeared to age more than a decade, becoming a man in his prime. It didn’t seem possible but the guy was even more handsome…and he’d been a total stud before these new additions appeared.

Alao’s wails of despair abruptly shifted, growing more resonant, more masculine. A low, harsh “FUUUUUUCK!” came out of his mouth. His voice was so deep that Blake could feel his sternum reverberate like a bass drum as the soundwaves echoed through him. It was an incredibly sexy voice.

The hapless Alao was oblivious to the ways his body was maturing and buried his face in his hands, wide shoulders shaking with humiliation. As his cock and balls continued to grow bigger and heavier, he was forced to bow his legs to accommodate their tremendous size and weight. The entire crowd of race participants watched him with expressions that ranged from disgust to amusement. More than a few were pointing at him and laughing. Some had taken out their phones to record the spectacle. Blake was actually glad to have some of the unwanted attention shifted away from himself. Ever since he and Dai entered the park, he’d felt like everyone was staring at him.

“Blake? Is that you, bro? What the fuck happened to you???!!!”

He swung around to find his friends, Cristiáno Delgado and Ben Hines, approaching. This was the pair of rookies who had missed the grand opening celebration of ‘Jockstrap Weekend’ the night before. Blake was relieved to see them; he was worried he’d have to face the entire weekend as the lone rookie. Their arrival definitely took the heat off of him! He smiled happily, stress and worry slowly falling away.

Cristiáno’s face was pale as he approached Blake and his brown eyes filled with concern. For his part, Ben had the opposite reaction and covered his mouth to hide his derisive grin. Blake stood there dumbly as Cristiáno placed his hands on his shoulders, staring up at him with his eyebrows raised in shock. 

“What’s wrong, Blake?” he demanded, searching his face. “Your pupils are dilated and yer sweating. You look totally blitzed!” His gaze dropped downward and he flinched, face growing pale. “What the fuck happened to your–?” His voice choked off and he forced himself to look away from Blake’s lower body. Instead, he rounded on Tyrone and Dai. Pointing his finger at them, he demanded, “What the FUCK did you do to him?”

Tyrone shrugged innocently. “Nuthin’. Juss inducted him, that’s all. He’s a full-blooded Bull now.”

“More like a full-bootied Bull,” Ben snickered. He yelped in protest, though, when Cristiáno elbowed him.

“Huh?” Blake asked, completely clueless. “Whaddaya mean? In-duck-ted?” 

His head was swimming from the combined effects of the hangover and mesmerizing experience of watching Alao’s transformation. He kept glancing longingly over, willing the dude to look back at him. It took him a while but, when Alao finally lifted his face out of his hands and met Blake’s gaze, Blake felt a jolt of pure electricity run through his body. It centered in one particular location of his anatomy and he felt his tender little butthole twitch. He turned away, embarrassed but, when he looked back, the blue-eyed jock was still watching him. Slowly, the despair and humiliation faded from Alao’s chiseled, handsome face and he smiled back at Blake seductively. His eyes were so blue and his skin was so dark! What a killer combination! Blake turned away again, shoulders burning. What was wrong with him this morning?

Cristiáno turned his fury on Tyrone. “You drugged him, didn’t you? He’s on drugs!”

“Look, Rookie,” Tyrone soothed, placing a firm hand on Cristiáno’s shoulder. “Why don’t you calm down and get ready for the race. We can chat about this later. Our wave is up in fifteen minutes.” He held out a bottle of peach-flavored sports drink, stuffing it in Cristiáno’s hand. “Drink this and get hydrated.” 

He tossed another bottle to Ben who caught it deftly and untwisted the cap, draining the bottle in one go and smacking his lips. “Good shit, bro!” he pronounced. “Kinda fruity but good. Got any more?” Tyrone tossed him another bottle and Ben guzzled it down enthusiastically. Next to him, Cristiáno seemed hesitant and set his bottle aside.

“You two need to get into yer uniforms,” Tyrone ordered, hands on his wide hips and big buttocks clapping noisily behind him. “Strip. Now.”

Cristiáno immediately complied, bending over and pulling down his shorts. Underneath, he was wearing a black jockstrap. Ben, however, refused, stating flatly, “Nah. No way. I ain’t racin’ like that. I ain’t no faggot.”

Blake expected Tyrone to put up a fuss over this blatant insubordination but he merely gave Ben a sphinxlike smile. Ben was in the ROTC and consequently very militant and socially conservative. He possessed a wide, stocky body with incredibly built muscles. His blond hair was buzzed short in a crewcut. He was quite handsome but somewhat thuggish with a pugnose and a strong lantern jaw. Wearing a loose pair of army-ration shorts and a dun-colored tank top with dogtags swinging around his bullneck, he looked like a total badass…and he knew it, too.

Cristiáno was taller than Ben but less bulky. This is not to say he was waifish, though. Quite the opposite! He might be lean but he was built like a total brick shithouse. He was incredibly sturdy and a total bruiser on the practice field. With creamy caramel-colored skin, tawny brown eyes and dense, black hair, he cut a very fine figure. And the ladies knew it! Cristiáno got more pussy than anyone Blake knew, including himself and he was no slouch when it came to tomcatting.

Blake’s eyes caressed Cristiáno’s naked body like a lover. Cristiáno looked up at him and, noticing his hungry gaze, wrinkled his eyebrows questioningly. Behind them, someone cleared his throat loudly and Blake turned to find Alao watching him stonily, his beefy arms crossed. Blake abruptly looked away from the very substantial outline of Cristiáno’s cock in the pouch of his jockstrap. It was so long and thick, mouthwateringly so!

“Blake,” Cristiáno whispered so Tyrone wouldn’t overhear. “How did you get like this?” He gestured down to Blake’s lower half. “You’re so–”

“I’m juss fine,” Blake mumbled, brain fuzzy and mind swirling with all of these unfamiliar but tantalizing thoughts and feelings cascading over him like warm, soft, silky water. “I’ve never felt better!”

“And you’ve never looked like a bigger freak,” Ben added. “Jesus, bro! If you could only see yerself right now! Haha! That’s one fuckin’ huge slut butt you got goin’ on back there!” He reached out and slapped Blake on the ass and a loud CLAP echoed across the park.

“Shut up, Ben!” Cristiáno caught Ben’s hand before he could slap Blake’s ass again. “Leave him alone!”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Whatever, bro. Why’re you stickin’ up for him anyways?” His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t know you swang both ways.” He shuddered theatrically. “Gross, bro.”

“Alright, Rookies,” Tyrone called out. “We’re up. C’mon. Get in position. We’re in front of the Stallions in the lineup.”

The Bulls lumbered up to the starting line as the Stallions champed at the bit behind them. Blake bent over and cast a covert look behind himself as he did so. He braced with delight when his gaze met Alao’s. The super-hung jock seemed to have recovered from his emotional breakdown and was staring avidly at Blake’s behind.

And they were off!

The smirking referee lifted his cap gun and pulled the trigger. The Bulls stampeded out of the gate, their massive ass cheeks clapping loudly behind them. Blake pushed himself as hard as he could but he was quickly outpaced and left in the dust. He grunted and heaved, unable to figure out why he couldn’t go any faster. He’d always excelled at Tough Mudder races, possessing almost preternatural speed and agility despite his big frame. He couldn’t think of a time when he didn’t place in the top ten.

Now, though, he struggled just to move. The first part was a 1-km sprint that ended up being more of a slog for poor Blake. At some point he became aware of an alien sound echoing behind him. It started out soft but grew in loudness and intensity until it was almost deafening. When he stopped, though, it faded gradually away. What the fuck was going on? He furrowed his brow, putting his hands on his hips, before starting off again.

clap-clap-clap-clap-CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!-CLAP!!-CLAP!!!-CLAP–CLAP-CLAP-CLAP–CLAP-CLAP!!!

He stopped again. WTF?

Unable to figure it out, he waddled along. The clapping returned, growing in intensity again but he forced himself to ignore it. He was only barely able to flop over a low fence and then struggled to grapple his way up a wall, clinging haplessly to the scattered rungs and hefting his body up with great effort. He teetered at the top, the clapping louder than ever, before he tumbled over into the mud below.

SPLAT!

He face-planted and looked up just in time to witness the next wave of race participants soaring over him as they jumped effortlessly off the top of the wall and landed far ahead of the shallow mud pit in which he lay sprawled.

Blake gaped up at them in confusion. That should be him! What the fuck was wrong with him today? Was it the hangover? He lifted himself out of the mud, crawling forward until he reached the edge of the pit and hoisted himself into a standing position. He teetered back and forth, feeling like something huge and significant was pulling him backwards, but then squared his shoulders and resolutely slogged forward. Blake Sawyer wasn’t a quitter! There was no way he’d give up! He’d make it to the end of the race if it was the last thing he did!

“Move it, Fatso!” a racer yelled as he flew past.

“Yeah, Piggie, you shoulda stayed in the mud!” another guy spat.

A third guy didn’t say anything but smacked him hard on the ass he ran past.

Blake bridled at this abuse. Who were they calling fat? He was a total buff stud, as lean as they came! Indignant, he marched laboriously onward. He wasn’t about to let haters get the better of him. But the torrent of abuse didn’t stop and ended up slowly wearing him down. Soon, he was clenching his jaw as taunts of ‘lard ass’, ‘fatty’, ‘oinker’, and ‘pig fucker’ were hurled nonstop in his direction.

He lowered his head, blinking back tears. He hated himself for letting them get to him. After all, insults were common in sports. On the rugby pitch, he’d been called far worse and it had never bothered him. Now, though, the ridicule stung and he couldn’t figure out why. Maybe it was because he was having such a bad day? 

It only got worse from there.

***

Chapter 3

The next challenge seemed simple: A tunnel. When he saw it, he smiled to himself. Finally, something easy! Probably about twenty feet long and three feet in diameter, he could see a forest of trees through the hole on the other end. If he wished to circumvent the tunnel, he could opt to scale a hillside covered in razor wire instead but why would he do that? It was a simple matter of getting down on all fours and crawling through to the other side.

A couple other racers flew by ahead of him, scrambling through the hole with ease. He grinned and fell forward, catching himself on his hands with a dull thud. That’s weird, he thought. Why did the ground shake under me when I landed? 

No matter. He couldn’t waste more time if he was going to salvage his reputation. He crept forward into the wide tunnel, grinning to himself with victory…only to get stuck after he’d only managed to squeeze his shoulders and chest through. He grunted in surprise. What was going on? Why was his ass stuck? He gritted his teeth and wiggled forward…only to get stuck even more.

Behind him the next wave of racers had already arrived and were angrily decrying the bottleneck he’d created by clogging the tunnel with his ass. He cringed, their muffled exclamations of disgust echoing around him. “GROSS!!! WHY DO WE GOTTA LOOK AT THAT!!!??? UGH!!! WHAT THE FUCK???!!! YOU CAN SEE HIS NASTY HOLE!!!” It didn’t take him long to figure out that his backside was on full display behind him. Wearing only a jockstrap with his butt cheeks stuck in the tube, his asshole winked salaciously as the guys lined up behind him. “GET A MOVE ON, FATTY!” one guy yelled. “WE DON’T WANNA SEE YER UGLY ASSHOLE!!!”

Others took advantage of Blake’s humiliation by pulling out their phones and recording his ignominious predicament. “FUCK!!!” one racer sputtered, aiming his phone at Blake’s giant, spread cheeks. “What’s that written across his ass? ‘BREED ME’?!?! Yuck! Is this fat pig a faggot, too???!!!” (Wait, Blake thought, remembering Tyrone writing his ‘race number’ on his ass. What did Tyrone do to me?) 

Behind him, his ‘personal videographer’ shuddered with revulsion but didn’t stop recording as he captured the lurid scene for later upload to various social media platforms. With Blake’s race number visible on his calves, it was easy to find him on the Tough Mudder participant list, thereby linking him inextricably to the illicit and demeaning videos.

Someone else slapped his butt painfully. He yelped, hitting his head on the concrete above him. Soon, his entire body was red with humiliation. Clenching his butthole, he clawed at the slick rock beneath him, fingers bleeding as he tried desperately to move forward. He couldn’t get stuck like this! 

“Blake?” a familiar voice called out then. “Are you stuck?”

He looked up toward the tunnel’s exit and heaved a sigh of relief when he saw Cristiáno peering back at him. His friend’s face was shadowed but his buff outline was unmistakable. “HALP ME!” Blake wailed, renewing his struggle. “HALP ME! I CAN’T GET OUT!”

Cristiáno sighed, inching his way toward him as he soothed, “Don’t worry, bro. I got ya. I’ll help you get out!”

“How?” Ben demanded behind him. “His bloated ass is too big to fit through. We’re gonna need a fucking wrecking ball to break him outta here.”

“Shut up, Ben!” Cristiáno snapped.

But Ben didn’t listen and redoubled his insults, this time taking aim at Cristiáno or, more specifically, at his hole. “Ugh. Bro, what the fuck?” he complained. “I don’t wanna see yer hole! Keep yer cheeks clenched!” Like Blake, Cristiáno was clad in only a jockstrap and, while his ass was a lot smaller, his hole was no less obvious as he crept forward into the tunnel to rescue Blake.

Cristiáno rolled his eyes, purposely flaring his asshole just to gross out Ben. He laughed at the ROTC jock’s exclamation of disgust.

Nearing Blake, he reached out, urging, “Here, hold out your hands. I’ll help pull you through.”

Blake complied, allowing Cristiáno to grasp his wrists firmly. Cristiáno’s tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth as he braced himself against the tunnel walls and tugged backward. Blake helped as best as he could and, after a minute of intense struggle, he did finally manage to move forward a couple of inches.

“That’s good!” Cristiáno praised, smiling reassuringly. “We’re making progress!”

“And yer makin’ me sick,” Ben whined behind him. “But at least I got some good photos of your asshole, bro. Can’t wait to share ‘em with yer girlfriends! What do you think they’ll say when they see yer ‘brown eye’, huh?” There was a flash as the tunnel was briefly illuminated by Ben’s phone.

“Don’t you dare!” Cristiáno threatened. He didn’t give up trying to free Blake, though. It was touching how he put Blake’s rescue ahead of his own dignity.

“Hahahahaha!” Ben continued gleefully snapping pictures until he abruptly stopped. 

When he let out a low moan, Cristiáno called back to him, “What’s wrong? Are you Ok?”

Ben’s reply was weak but emphatic, “I’m fine. Just feelin’ a little weird is all. Must be sumthin’ I ate.”

“Huh.” Cristiáno smiled at his good fortune. With Ben indisposed, he was forced to stop taking pics of his asshole!

After several minutes of intense struggle, though, they only succeeded in making a little progress and Blake’s fat ass was still blocking the tunnel entrance. Cristiáno sagged back on his haunches, wiping sweat from his brow. He was about to offer to get more help when Blake felt a soft touch on his butt. A deep, lilting voice called out behind him, “Can I help?”

Blake instantly perked up. He knew that voice well even though he’d barely heard him speak more than a few words. A few words was all it took, though! That baritone with its lovely Latin resonance was forever ingrained in his heart. It was Alao!

Cristiáno was likewise heartened and immediately yelled, “Yes! Yes! Can you push?”

“With pleasure,” the young jock replied and immediately placed both of his huge hands on Blake’s jello-y ass cheeks and started pushing. When he only succeeded in pushing him a few inches, he stopped, saying, “Hang on. I’ve got something that’ll help.”

“What’s that?” Cristiano asked but Alao didn’t answer.

A moment later, though, Blake understood all too well when he felt those big, firm, confident hands slathering his ass cheeks with lube. He braced, his butthole eagerly contracting. The jock was lubing him up!

“There,” Alao pronounced even as the racers clustered around him grunted in disgust. Many of them were emotionally scarred from witnessing such a prurient scene. “You should slide right through now.”

“Ok,” Cristiáno grunted. “I’m pulling!”

Sure enough, with his big ass thoroughly lubed up and with Alao pushing from behind, Blake rocketed forward several feet. He got stuck again in the middle of the tunnel, though. Before he could despair, Alao rumbled, “Mr. Bull, do you trust me? If you trust me, I can help but it’s gonna be weird.”

“What? What are you gonna do?” Cristiáno demanded suspiciously.

“I’m not talking to you!” Alao snapped, lightly patting Blake’s booty. “I’m talking to my friend here. Do you trust me?”

What choice did he have? “Y-Y-Yeah,” Blake stammered. The touch of Alao’s hand on his bootycheeks was having a strange and alarming effect on his asshole. The burning he’d been experiencing all morning built in intensity until it became something new and unexpected: An abject need.

Blake swallowed, shaking from head to toe as he realized how incredibly empty he felt down there. It wasn’t a barren sort of emptiness, though. No, this was emptiness born of a desire to be filled. He craved something–he didn’t know what–to fill him up and make him feel whole again. All he could think was that he wanted this eager young stud to touch him more down there!

There was a low chuckle behind him and Cristiáno rolled his eyes, feeling like he’d suddenly become a third wheel in this situation. Alao’s next words stopped Blake’s heart. “I’m gonna use my head,” he informed him. 

“Which one?” Cristiáno muttered, cheeks coloring, but Blake didn’t hear. He only had ears for the studly Stallion behind him.

“UNGH!” Blake moaned as he felt the jock bury his face between his massive, slippery butt cheeks. Using his head as leverage while surreptitiously teasing Blake’s virgin hole with his tongue at the same time, he resolutely pushed forward. Cristiáno pulled and soon Blake was nearly free of the tunnel.

His progress drew to a halt, however, just as his head and chest emerged into the sunlight streaming down on the other side. 

“What’s going on?” Cristiáno demanded. “Why’d you stop?” Standing up, he stared down at Blake as he writhed in ecstasy, moaning and whimpering in a completely wanton fashion. Cristiáno harumphed, putting his hands on his hips. “Hey! HEY!” he yelled loud enough for Alao to hear him inside the tunnel. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING BACK THERE?”

The answer didn’t even need to be stated: Blake was getting his salad tossed in a most obscene and glorious manner by the hot, young stud behind him. This was Alao’s first taste of hole and he wasn’t about to waste a golden brown opportunity!

Disgusted, Cristiáno leaned forward and unceremoniously yanked Blake out of the hole, yanking the hot stud’s eager tongue out of his hole in the process. Alao looked up at him, blinking in the bright light as Blake moaned in happiness. “What?” he asked innocently.

“You’re disgusting,” Cristiáno spat, turning his back on the amorous pair. “I can’t believe you took advantage of him like that! Have you no shame?”

“No, I don’t. Not anymore,” the jock said, brushing himself off and staggering with difficulty to his feet. “Not now that I’m like this.” 

It was at that moment that Cristiáno beheld the behemoth sagging down between Alao’s muscular thighs. If anything, his mutant zucchini had swelled even larger and now nearly hung down to the ground. The poor thong was threadbare, barely holding together under the onslaught of such an appendage. His balls were even more impressive, easily larger than a pair of basketballs. The poor guy labored to remain standing with that ridiculous weight hanging off of him. It was no wonder it took him so long to catch up to them! He was in worse shape than Blake when it came to being overburdened.

Cristiáno’s mouth hung open. He didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. He’d never seen such a thing in his life!

The crowd that had gathered on the other end of the tunnel began to funnel through as soon as the ass logjam was removed. They exited, staring down at Blake in disgust as they straightened and resumed the race. Blake didn’t notice or care. He was too busy swooning over his buff, beautiful rescuer. Alao grinned as he bent over and helped him to his feet.

“You Ok, Senhor Touro?” he asked, dipping his head as his cock and balls swung lazily back and forth.

A low moan interrupted Blake’s reply and they looked over to find Ben doubled over and clutching his tummy in pain.

“Ben? You Ok?” Cristiáno asked, placing a hand on his back.

“Fuuuuuuck,” Ben groaned. “What’s wrong with me?”

A strange sound caught Cristiáno’s attention and he tilted his ear, trying to determine the source. It almost sounded like fabric stretching. As he listened intently, the sound grew in intensity. Looking down, his eyebrows lifted when he realized it was coming from Ben’s shorts.

“Holy shit!” His eyes widened as he watched the jock’s formerly baggy pair of army-ration shorts gradually grow tighter and tighter as his buttocks began to swell. “Dude! Yer ass!”

“Huh?” Ben looked over at him in confusion. “What about it?”

A loud RRRRRIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPP!!! echoed around them, getting caught and amplified as the soundwaves traveled down the tunnel. They all stared as Ben’s shorts completely shredded, falling off his body in strips. Underneath, he’d either been going commando or his undies had shredded along with his shorts.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” he yelled as he tried ineffectually to clap his hands over his buttocks. They were far, far, far too big, though. Everyone gaped as Ben’s ass cheeks exploded with renewed growth, expanding and expanding until they resembled perfectly round balloons of hefty flesh. Ben gripped them, crying openly, as he bemoaned his fate, “NO! NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” Like Alao had done earlier with his growing gonads, Ben clutched at his ass as if trying to force it back down to its formerly pert, perky state. It was no use, of course. If anything, his bootycheeks grew even larger and fatter.

By the time it was done inflating, Ben possessed a slut butt to end all slutt butts. It even made Blake’s seem small in comparison. He sniffled piteously, unable to stop himself from touching his mutant globes. His lower lip thrust out as Cristiáno’s laughter rang out, taunting, “Hahaha! It serves you right, dude!”

Ben opened his mouth to reply but froze, his eyes swiveling downward toward his bare crotch. In his angst over his giant buttocks, he’d forgotten his big man was hanging out for everyone to see.

Only it wasn’t very big anymore.

“What…is…happening…to…me?” he panted, staring at his penis as it began to contract.

Ben had always been impressively hung, a total stallion who loved walking around naked in the locker room with his hefty cock and balls slapping provocatively against his thighs. Now, though, his dick was decidedly less impressive. Rather than hanging down over his floppy balls as it succumbed to the blessing that gravity bestowed on the super-endowed, his circumcised cockhead poked straight out from his well-trimmed, blond pubes. 

His balls weren’t faring any better and drew up in his sack, hugging the base of his cock. His scrotum shrank up around them, its loose, saggy flesh disappearing until it contracted around his balls in a smooth, uniform way. It didn’t stop there, though, and kept pulling his balls in tighter and tighter until it was almost painful. When it stopped shrinking, his balls were permanently pinned on either side of his shaft and his cockhead was so diminished that it looked like a third nut. Just like that, Ben was hung like a squirrel!

He looked plainly ridiculous with such a tiny peanut between his hulking thighs and those grandiose cakes sagging off of his behind.

“HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Cristiáno couldn’t contain his glee. Ben had always been such a big, arrogant bully that it was supremely gratifying to watch him get his comeuppance. He laughed until his stomach hurt, unaware that he alone found the situation funny. Both Blake and Alao swallowed uncomfortably, exchanging knowing glances. They knew better than to mock Ben!

Finally, Cristiáno snapped out of his glee long enough to read the room. He abruptly sobered, wiping at the corners of his eyes before moving to Ben’s side. “Hey, Ben,” he apologized, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it. It was just…well, anyway. I’m sure it’s not permanent.” He looked over to Blake and Alao, asking hopefully, “It’s not permanent, is it?”

Alao shrugged, frowning down at his oversized eggplant and basketball-sized testes. Blake remained silent.

Cristiáno swallowed, feeling awful. “I’m sorry, buddy! Really. I didn’t mean to hurt yer feelings!”

Ben stood there woodenly in a state of complete shock. Finally, Cristiáno couldn’t stand it any longer and hugged him tightly, whispering, “It’s Ok. It’ll be Ok.” 

Ben hung his head and leaned against him, allowing his friend to support him. Finally, he lifted his head and said, “You know what would make me feel better, bro?” He winced as he heard the sound of his butt cheeks clapping behind him. From now on, these butt claps would be a chorus that followed him wherever he went, the kind of applause that no straight guy ever wants to hear!

“Yeah?” Cristiáno’s hands gripped Ben’s shoulder.

“This.”

Acting swiftly, one of Ben’s hands shot upward to grab Cristiáno’s jaw while the other poured a steady stream of pink liquid into his gaping mouth. It was one of those bottles of ‘sports drink’ that Tyrone had given him. Cristiáno tried to resist but he’d been caught off guard and ended up swallowing a bunch before he managed to wrest his head out of Ben’s grip.

Bending over, he tried to puke up the horrid stuff but nothing came out of his mouth. He glared up at Ben, demanding, “What the fuck did you do that for?”

Ben shrugged, smiling. “Paybacks’re hell, bro. Juss wait. Yer gonna find out exactly how it feels to be me soon enough.”

“I HATE YOU!” Cristiáno shouted but it was too late. He’d swallowed more than enough of the stuff. He could only wait in horror as the sports drink worked its ‘magic’ on his body.

***

Chapter 4

Alao and Blake did not finish the race. Cristiáno knelt, holding his head in his hands in despair, waiting for the peachy butt augmentation drug to take effect, Ben stood beside him, his hand on his shoulder. Cristiáno tried to shake it off but Ben just moved it back, squeezing apologetically. “I’m sorry, bro,” he murmured. “I was pissed off. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Fuck off!” Cristiáno cried, openly sobbing. He didn’t shake off Ben’s hand again, though.

Ben sagged down heavily beside him, his massive ass cheeks dragging in the dirt. “Hey, bro! Look at me! Do you think I’m happy ‘bout what happened? Not only do I got a huge, slutty butt now, but I don’t even have a dick no more!” He sighed, consoling. “But there are perks.”

Cristiáno looked over at him questioningly, “Like what?” He wiped the back of his hand across his face.

Ben looked innocently upwards. “You’ll see soon enough, bro. Trust me.”

“I don’t believe you.” Cristiáno’s lower lip thrust out. “Yer juss tryna make me feel better.”

Ben spread his hands. “No, I’m not. Believe, bro, I ain’t tryna make you feel better.”

With that, Alao placed his hand on Blake’s shoulder and guided him away from the race course and into the woods. Blake didn’t hesitate; he’d follow this hung stud anywhere!

The going was difficult because both of them were encumbered. Blake’s fat ass was a serious drag and Alao could barely waddle with his ‘penis tumor’ sloshing ponderously back and forth between his legs. It tripped him up all the time and he would’ve stumbled if Blake wasn’t there to steady him. Finally, Alao couldn’t stand it and tore off his thong. It was beyond threadbare by that point anyways and did nothing to provide any support. Plus, the constant friction of the string against his little butthole was torture! 

He stood there completely naked and held out his arms for Blake’s inspection. “Well, Senhor Touro? What do you think? I’m a freak, no?”

Blake was stunned. Alao’s cock was longer than his legs and at least as thick. It looked more like a bloated worm than a penis, especially with its bunched up foreskin lying listlessly in the dirt. The fact that the skin of his sheath was a lot darker than the rest of him only added to the resemblance.

Somehow, the shock of the sight of that ridiculous appendage snapped Blake out of his delirium. He wasn’t sure if he’d dissociated due to the trauma or if it was an effect of the peachy drug but suddenly he found himself in a state of complete and utter mental clarity.

“Fuck.”

The corner of Alao’s mouth quirked. “I agree.” He gestured to Blake’s jockstrap. “Now you? I want to see how you look without that thing covering up your beauty.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

Blake reluctantly took hold of the elastic waistband of his jock and tried ineffectually to pull it over his bootycheeks. Predictably, he failed; his ass was an order of magnitude larger than when he’d pulled on the strap yesterday and there was no way to peel it off. In the end, he ripped the waistband apart with his bare hands and let it fall down his significant thighs in tatters.

“Fuck. My dick!”

He had to force back tears as he beheld what had become of his formerly long, thick cock. Now it was more foreskin than anything else and his balls were pulled up tight in his shaved sac. His cockhead was so buried that his foreskin looked like a fleshy straw poking out from his crotch.

Blake looked from Alao’s monster back to his own giant cakes and shriveled dick and felt his world crumble. Just like that, he understood that his life had changed completely. Yesterday, he’d been a total jock stud with fresh pussy on his dick every day of the week and now…well, that life was over. The question was who was he now? He rubbed his forehead, ignoring the clap-clap-clap of his butt cheeks, and sighed heavily.

Alao’s fingers enfolded his own. Blake looked over at him and lost himself in those crystal clear blue eyes. He felt his heart flutter. The sensation made him clench his jaw. He was straight dammit! In the end, though, he didn’t look away. And he didn’t pull away when Alao’s lips met his.

“I was straight, too,” the hung stud said after kissing him gently, “until this morning.”

“Are any Brazilians really straight?” Blake grumbled.

“Fair point, Senhor Touro,” Alao laughed. “We Brazilians know how to enjoy life and like to sample its pleasures. But what I meant to say is that until this morning, I’d never sampled this sort of pleasure.” He gestured to Blake’s magnificent buttocks. “And I find that now I can’t get enough.”

“Well, ain’t we a pair?” Blake said. He smiled as he said it; Alao’s grin was infectious. “And my name’s Blake, by the way.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Senhor Blake.” Alao’s grin widened and he took Blake by the hand, leading him into the woods.

Before they could walk two steps, though, Blake stopped in his tracks. When Alao looked back questioningly at him, he pointed to the ground where the bottle of half-empty lube lay discarded along with the shreds of Alao’s thong. His cheeks colored as he suggested, “You, uh, might wanna bring that along.”

Alao’s eyes were dancing. “What are you saying, Senhor Blake?”

“Just shut up and grab it.”

Laughing, Alao reached down and picked up the bottle, twirling it around in his hand as he whistled merrily.

***

They made it to the edge of the woods and emerged on the shores of a big lake. Its waters glistened in the early afternoon sunshine. As Blake shielded his eyes and stared out across its expanse, he recognized a cabin on the far shore. “Hey, Alao,” he said, pointing. “I think that’s the Bulls’ cabin. How ‘bout we swim over there?” When Alao wavered, he suggested, “The water will help, if you know what I mean.”

Alao’s brow furrowed, “I don’t know what you mean.”

Refusing to look down at himself, Blake gestured to his lower half and at Alao’s giant appendage. “You know. With gravity?”

“Ah, I see.” Alao nodded and promptly waded into the lake, pulling Blake along with him.

Blake was only partially correct but the water had opposite effects on their inflated anatomies. His butt cheeks were naturally buoyant, holding him up in the water like a pair of beachballs, but Alao’s cock and balls dragged him down like a heavy anchor. He didn’t care, though. It gave him the excuse to ride Blake’s butt cheeks like a pony and he gleefully clambered on top, nestling his cursed organ between his thicc thighs.

“Kick, Senhor! Kick!” he ordered and Blake obliged, deriving incredible pleasure from the sensation of Alao’s equipment rubbing against him down there.

They made it to the other side of the lake without mishap, although they did manage to offend quite a few weekend boaters in the process. (They couldn’t resist getting frisky with each other once their naked bodies came together.) They ignored the shouts of protest and abuse hurled their direction, lost in their own world. Alao’s lips were never far from Blake’s and Blake was worked up into a near frenzy by the time they pulled up before the dock that led to the Bulls’ rented cabin. The rest of the team was still at the Tough Mudder so they had the place to themselves.

“Let’s stay in the water,” Alao suggested, climbing off Blake’s bum to take him in his brawny arms. “It’s warm and it helps your ass float.”

“True dat.”

Blake didn’t need to be asked twice. He turned around and sighed with happiness when Alao nestled between his cheeks. His butt was so big that the hung stud could easily fit between each globe. Alao wrapped his arms around him and nibbled his ear. In short order, the ravenous emptiness in Blake’s behind was reawakened and all he could think about was losing his ass virginity to this macho young buck.

“Can you fuck me?” he pleaded. “I’d do anything to have you inside me.”

Alao’s laughter was rueful, “How I wish but I’m afraid it won’t be possible.”

Blake was stricken. “Why? I’m sure if we worked hard enough, my hole could–” Part of him couldn’t believe he was even saying the words. If the Blake from yesterday could hear the Blake from today uttering such wanton gay nonsense, he would have vomited blood!

“Shhh, Senhor Blake, shhh,” Alao kissed him into silence. “That’s not the issue. The issue is I can’t get hard anymore.”

Blake blinked. “What?!”

Alao hung his head. “It’s true because I’ve been completely aroused ever since I saw yer beautiful booty and this is all I’ve got to show for it!” He guided Blake’s hand down to his behemoth. It was massive, true, but also completely soft. “I don’t think a man’s penis was meant to be this big,” he admitted sadly. “I’m sorry.”

Blake thought for a moment before he had an idea. “Here,” he said, “drink some of this but,” he held up his finger in warning. “Not too much! I don’t know what it’ll do!”

Alao stared at the bottle of peach ‘sports drink’ that Blake had swiped from Ben before leaving the race course. His eyes narrowed, “Where were you hiding this, Senhor Blake?”

Blake’s cheeks colored as he revealed, “In my fanny pack.”

“You don’t have a fanny pack?” Alao pointed out. “You’re naked.”

“My ass is my fanny pack!” Blake lamented. “I could fit a small child in there now!” It was true; he’d stuck it between his ass cheeks when they left and it had remained there this whole time.

Alao grinned impishly as he accepted the bottle. He sniffed it appreciatively before untwisting the cap. He didn’t drink it, though, and instead offered, “I have an even better idea.”

“What’s that?”

A mischievous look crossed Alao’s face as he bent over until his head was underwater and he began fishing around for something. He was down there for so long that Blake began to worry but he finally emerged, gasping for air, and triumphantly handed something over to him.

Blake stared at the bottle of blue liquid. “Is this…?”

Alao nodded. “Yeah, it’s the same shit they forced me to drink this morning. Wanna try it? It might make your dick grow back!”

This time it was Blake’s turn to ask skeptically, “Where were you hiding this? You’re naked.”

Alao shrugged, “In my duffle bag.”

Blake rolled his eyes. “You don’t have a duffle bag, unless you mean–?”

“That’s what I mean,” Alao finished for him, grinning. “There are advantages to having a really big foreskin!”

Blake looked at the bottle in Alao’s hand, “Maybe not for much longer. I gotta warn you before you drink that, yer ass’ll probably grow pretty big even as yer dick shrinks.”

Alao shrugged, “Fine by me! I’d love to look like you!”

“If you look like me,” Blake complained, “we still won’t be able to fuck.” He gestured down towards his vestigial pee pee. “We’ll be in the same boat as we are now.”

“I’ll be careful,” Alao promised. “But you should know that I would love for you to fuck me, too. If you’re into it, that is.”

Blake’s nub twitched. “I’m into it, alright! I just don’t know how much dick I’ll grow back is all. If yer ass swells too big, my little boy won’t be able to reach yer hole!”

“We’ll take it one sip at a time,” Alao promised, holding up the bottle of peachy drink and knocking it against Blake’s bottle of blue liquid. “Saúde!” He knocked it back and took one swallow, exhaling with satisfaction after doing so. Hesitant, Blake took a sip of the blue stuff and was surprised how good it tasted. He forced himself to stop after one swallow, though.

“Now what?” he asked.

“You gotta ask?”

Alao took him in his arms again and kissed him deeply. They were so lost in their private little sexcapade that they didn’t even hear the police boat as it chugged its way in their direction. They jumped, though, when the sirens blared and a gruff voice called out through a megaphone, “Alright, lovebirds, that’s enough! Time to put on some clothes!”

They looked up in embarrassment to find two police officers staring down at them from a large powerboat with its blue and red lights flashing. The man holding the megaphone was wearing a sheriff’s uniform and the other, younger guy appeared to be a deputy.

Blake recovered first, brazenly pointing out, “How do you know we’re naked? And is it illegal to kiss in public?” It was true that they were underwater below the waist, although the water was so clear it was impossible not to see they were naked beneath the surface.

The sheriff’s face colored, although it was hard to tell if this was due to anger or embarrassment. Beside him, the deputy–a handsome blond guy with a fresh face and a very buff body bulging beneath his tailored uniform–whispered something they couldn’t hear. The sheriff nodded and the deputy took the megaphone and set it aside. In a low voice, he said, “We’ve had numerous complaints from the cottage owners association about you. We don’t wanna make the situation worse, though. Would you mind either covering up a little or, um, taking this somewhere more private?”

Blake glanced down at himself. “You really want me to climb out of the water like this? I don’t got no bathing suit.” He didn’t mention that there wasn’t a bathing suit in the world that would fit his giant booty. He jerked his chin at Alao, “And neither does he.” Likewise, there wasn’t a piece of clothing anywhere that could possibly make Alao presentable in public.

The deputy swallowed and the sheriff looked to be on the verge of apoplexy. At that moment, Blake had an idea. Looking back towards the cabin above them, he suggested, “My buddies’ll be back soon. How ‘bout you let us stay in the water until they get home and then they’ll help us find something to cover up?”

The deputy and sheriff consulted briefly before the deputy brightened and said, “That’s acceptable. Please remember to obey local decency laws in the future.”

Blake dipped his head, calm and cool as ever. “Right back atcha.” He couldn’t help adding, “And come back when yer off duty, Ok? We’re gonna have quite the party tonight!”

The sheriff’s eyes widened and the deputy’s cheeks grew rosy. Without a word, they turned the boat around and sped off down the lake. After they were gone, Alao praised, “That was amazing, Senhor Blake! How’d you do that?”

Blake shrugged like it was nothing. “It’s easy now that I got my balls back! Look!” He took Alao’s hand and guided it beneath the surface of the water to his submerged penis and testicles. Alao’s hand jerked in surprise when felt Blake’s regrowing manhood. It was still decidedly average but, hey, he’d take average over boy-sized any day!

Alao stroked him to an erection–a whole four inches!–before dropping his hands down and feeling his own equipment. “It’s shrinking!” he gasped, ecstatic. “It worked!”

“I hope it’s not shrinking too much,” Blake grumbled but didn’t resist when Alao took his hands and cupped them around his shaft. It was still incredibly girthy but definitely not as huge as moments ago. Even better, it was ever so slightly firm. Alao’s ability to get erect was coming back!

Blake reached back and felt his butt cheeks. He knew better than to expect that they would shrink–the blue ‘sports drink’ only made your cock and muscles grow, after all, but he let out a startled whoop of surprise when he realized his cakes were smaller. Oh, he still had a super-sized slut butt alright, just not quite as huge.

It came with a downside, though.

He gazed down at his formerly taut belly in dismay when he realized his six-pack abs were disappearing, engulfed in a pad of fat. “My abs!” he cried. “Fuck! There go my abs!”

It was a, ahem, heavy blow to Blake’s ego. He’d always been especially vain about his rock-solid abs and thin waist. Now, though, he couldn’t help but bemoan their loss as he watched pound after pound of flab congregate around his middle and slowly creep up toward his tits. When his pecs swelled and began to sag like a pair of udders, he despaired.

“It’s Ok,” Alao soothed. “I think you look even sexier now.” He laughed ruefully, “We can grow fat together, no?”

Blake looked away from his growing belly, conscious that the weight had made it to his face because he could feel his cheeks and jowls swelling, only to see Alao’s formerly tight, ripped physique fading away before his eyes. As he stared, the big stud’s belly thrust out, growing rounder and fuller by the second. At the same time, additional pounds stacked on everywhere else, too. His facial features softened, growing heavier and more ponderous, even as a dense, black beard covered his cheeks. By the time it was finished, his impressive musculature had all but disappeared and he was decidedly flabby.

Alao was unrecognizable now. Blake blinked back at the heavyset man with the beer gut and love handles, realizing that he looked basically the same. Between his big, thick thighs, his dick grew hard, thrusting out to a modest six inches. When he looked down at it, though, it was completely eclipsed by his new, soft belly. Rolls of fat sagged over his formerly narrow hips in a distinct muffintop.

“I guess we screwed up, huh?”

Alao shook his head, thick jowls jiggling with the movement. When he spoke, even his voice sounded thicker. “No, we didn’t.” He took Blake’s hand and moved it underwater to the shaft of his very erect cock. At over a foot long and four inches thick, it was more than enough to give Blake the biggest gape on the rugby team. “I didn’t like Lacrosse very much anyways.” He patted his big belly, chuckling, “Now I’m more suited to rugby…and so are you!”

“Fuuuuck, we’re so fat!” Blake exclaimed. “Look at us!” A prickling sensation on his face caught his attention and he lifted his hand to discover he was growing a dense beard to match Alao’s. “What the fucccck?!”

“C’mere, meu urso!” Alao enticed, holding out his big, thick arms. “I wanna fuck you.”

Blake looked around, his little poker red hot between his ponderous thighs. “Here? But we promised–!”

“Get up on the dock and drop down on all fours,” Alao ordered. “Now.”

Blake complied, struggling to pull his new, ungainly and unbalanced body out of the water. It was like the fat from his butt had redistributed itself all over his body, accumulating more in certain places like his gut and thighs. The new heft threw him for a loop. It would take a lot getting used to this new body of his. He clambered up onto the wooden planking and collapsed down onto his hands and knees, looking over his shoulder as the massively obese Alao hoisted himself out of the lake and lumbered over behind him. Blake’s cock spasmed as Alao reached down and spread his cheeks, squirting them liberally with lube. Slicking up his cock, he positioned it right over Blake’s tight rosebud and gently thrust his hips forward.

Blake moaned loudly, convulsing with wild elation as his anus parted and accepted a cock for the first time in his life. He didn’t even care that his belly was so big it sagged down onto the dock beneath him or that his whole body reverberated like a bowl of Jello with each of Alao’s thrusts.

He was getting fucked but the hottest man in the world and that was all that mattered!

***

Both their assholes were freshly fucked by the time Ben and Cristiáno found them reclining on a pair of beach chairs on the dock. The chairs looked like they were about to collapse under their weight but neither Blake nor Alao gave a fuck. They were happy together and that was all that mattered.

“What the fuck happened to you two? You’re fatter than shit!” Ben demanded, his ass cheeks flapping with agitation behind him. He had donned the obligatory jockstrap and now fit in with the rest of the Bulls. His butt was the biggest on the team now that Blake’s had shrunk down somewhat.

Beside him, Cristiáno warned, “Be nice.”

Ben looked over at his friend and scowled. “Shut up. I’m not talking to you. You’re a traitor!”

Blake cracked an eyelid and stared in surprise at Cristiáno. “Hey! How come you still look the same?”

Cristiáno smiled. “Ipecac. I took some just in time and threw up most of that nasty peach shit.” Turning to Ben, he added, “And I’m not a traitor because it did have some affect on me. I mean, look at my ass!”

Still clad only in his black jockstrap, he turned and presented his big, round bubbles for Blake and Alao’s inspection. It was true. He did now possess a very large ass but it was just very large, not obscenely humungous like Ben’s. He could easily still find pants that fit him. And his bootycheeks didn’t clap when he walked.

Blake noticed that Cristiáno had also paid a price up front. The pouch of his jockstrap was distinctly less full but, judging from the size of that modest bulge, he was only a little less than average-sized now. Yeah, he’d never again be considered a hung god but he could be worse off: He could be hung like ‘Peanut Ben’!

Ben harumphed, plopping down unhappily in a chair next to Blake. His giant ass sagged down to the deck beneath him, spreading out in a pool of flab. Cristiáno’s eyebrows lifted sympathetically and he sauntered over and squeezed his shoulder.

“Hey, Ben?” he coaxed. When Ben refused to look up at him, he said, “That stuff had another effect on me besides making my ass grow and my dick shrink.”

“So?” Ben folded his arms resolutely.

“So, I’m gay now, dude,” Cristiáno informed him. “And hot for yer big, fat ass! I think if you bend over and pull your cheeks back far enough, my little man might even be able to reach your buried hole.”

“You sure know how to sweet talk a guy,” Ben grumbled but he couldn’t stop a smile from creasing his lips. When Cristiáno saw it, he folded himself down onto his lap and, wrapping his arms around his bullneck, kissed him.

“All’s well that ends well,” Blake commented, eyebrow arching at Ben’s significant cakes. “And that’s quite an end he’s got there.” He sighed, adding, “But I’m not one to talk. Fuck.” He folded his hands over his big belly, feeling miserable.

Alao reached over and squeezed his hand, moving it coquettishly over to rest on top of his giant cock. He was hard again and ready to fuck some hole!

He would have done it, too, if a voice from the deck above them hadn’t called out right then. “Hey, Blake!” Dai yelled. “Did you invite this guy to our party?”

Blake tore his attention away from Alao’s raging boner long enough to see that the sheriff’s deputy from earlier had taken his invitation to heart and was now standing nervously on the deck, surrounded by his teammates. The buff stud was shirtless, wearing only a pair of khaki shorts. As expected, he was completely ripped, his physique incredibly lean and defined. His cheeks were rosy as he cast a shy but hungry look down at them.

“Yep,” Blake replied, waving. “He’s legit. Let him join us!”

“Ok,” Dai grumbled, clearly unhappy. “But he’s gotta follow the rules.” Folding his arms, he turned to the deputy and ordered, “Jockstrap or nuthin’. Yer choice.” The deputy lowered his head bashfully before bending over and stepping out of his shorts. Beneath, he was wearing a baby blue jockstrap. Dai’s eyebrows went up. “Niiiiiiice,” he drawled, reaching down to pat the guy’s smooth, hairless ass cheek. His butt, while shapely, was very tiny and tight. “But you need some work.”

“I promise to work hard, Sir,” the deputy replied, tonguetied around such an abundance of man flesh. 

When he stood there uncertainly, Blake prompted, “Don’t just stand there! Come down here and introduce yourself to us. I don’t believe we’ve properly met yet.” He held out his arms, making it abundantly clear what sort of welcome he had planned for the young guy.

“On my way!” the deputy chirped and scurried excitedly down to the dock where he settled his bare bottom on Blake’s lap.

Blake looked over at Alao and smiled, “He’s nice but he’s too skinny. How ‘bout we fatten him up a little? Make him into a proper cub?” When Alao returned his grin wolfishly, Blake held out a bottle of bluish-pink liquid. He’d mixed the remnants of the Lacrosse and rugby teams’ drinks, intending to make some mischief with his teammates later on but the deputy’s arrival had given him a wicked idea.

Holding out the bottle to the adorable stud, he coaxed, “Drink this. It’ll put hair on yer chest…and other places, too. I promise it’ll turn you into a whole new man. Haha!”

***