Chapter 4: Personal Temperatures

By Noam de Pluma and S. Q. Neemie - sqneemie@gmail.com
published April 25, 2021
4031 words
Summary

Xavier, the boss, tries to get to the bottom of the mystery of the spreadsheet. Wes and Ahmed work shirtless and discover a new appreciation for each others’ bodies.

Xavier sat in his office chair, surreptitiously squeezing his crotch. It wasn’t just his imagination–there was definitely more in his package than usual. Xavier wasn’t a habitual masturbator–preferring the easy catch of pussy he could pull in from the bars when he was in the mood–so perhaps he didn’t touch his dick as often as the average man, but–dammit, he knew his own cock. And the thing that was obscenely stretching the crotch of his boxers and suit pants–while still clearly his–was larger, thicker, and plumper than it had ever been.

Carefully, so as to not be seen by anyone in the office, Xavier undid his belt buckle. Opening the fly of his pants very slightly, he pulled the waistbands of his suit pants and boxers. Jesus, the thing in there was a monster–so long that it was almost folded over in the confines of his pants, so fat that he could feel the crease the fold made whenever he made the slightest move. If he let it hang free, it looked as if it would hang halfway to his knees.

Frowning, Xavier pulled his zipper up–wincing a little as the zipper strained against the new bulk of his package–and did his pants up again. He’d always been happy with his penis, in fact, it wasn’t something he thought about very often. He knew some men were obsessed by their size and were always wanting more, but he’d always been of the opinion that if he were big enough for his partners, then he really didn’t have to worry about it. So far, none of the women he’d fucked had any complaints. But now he was toting around an elephant trunk of a dick, the likes of which the most insecure man in the world would be thrilled by.

Was he happy about it? Xavier considered. Freaked out was more like it. The cock wasn’t natural. It had grown–several freakish inches in a split second. It had felt weird and sexual and overwhelming, all that sensitive flesh spilling out in his pants, but it hadn’t felt like normal at all.

With another thoughtful frown, Xavier unzipped his pants again and took another look. His cock was still there and still weirdly outsized. To top it off, all the attention must be getting the python going, because it twitched slightly as he stared at it, sending a shiver of pleasure up Xavier’s spine. He scowled. Honestly, he’d never liked seeing cocks or thinking about them before–he hated that moment at the gym when he had to share the showers with all the dangling ugly bits on display. But there was something about the thick, baseball-bat-like length of his cock that was suddenly–arresting. If the moment was right–if pussy wasn’t available, for example–he could see himself really enjoying this new pillar, giving into the pleasure of touching all that hard, manly flesh, teasing himself until it was almost unbearable to grip that center of his manhood–

Xavier shook his head. What the fuck was going on in his head and body? Things had been nothing but weird since—when? He glanced through the glass wall enclosing his office and saw Aaron bent over his desk, studiously working away. Xavier scowled, mentally answering his own question: since he sent that spreadsheet to Aaron. Yesterday, Wes had gone off the deep end and Xavier himself had felt–weirdly rearranged–just after Aaron had cleaned up the spreadsheet and sent it back to him. And today, Xavier’s unexplained growth had happened almost immediately after he messed around with the spreadsheet. Was it possible that–no, of course that was a crazy thought. Wasn’t it?

Xavier peered at the spreadsheet on his laptop. It had been years since he manipulated a spreadsheet on his own, usually relying on Aaron and the interns to put together his data. It wasn’t all that difficult, though–it was just a matter of knowing the functions. He selected the field he had manipulated before, which was labeled cs. What had he punched in? Oh, right–10, because he had to be the big boss. Fuck, that wish seemed to have become literally true. The value was now at 8. A cold feeling settled down over Xavier’s shoulders. Was the thing in his pants 8 inches? If so, that would mean that the value in the field represented the length of his dick–

“Cock size,” he said in sudden inspiration. “Motherfucker!” Of course, it was just a theory, but there were plenty of ways to figure out if something supernatural was going on. He could always measure his cock size, but that might look a little strange, even if he kept it under his desk. Or, he could just–

On a whim, he punched in a 9 to replace the 8 in the field. The next moment he was gripping the edge of his desk, moaning slightly as the snake in his pants unrolled another inch of length. His boxer waistband dug into his side as the fabric stretched. He had to spread his legs wider to accommodate the extra length, whoof-ing as the sensitive flesh wormed its way through the fabric, trying to find a way out.

“Fuck me,” said Xavier, looking down at his crotch as the sensation slowly faded. The zipper was definitely straining now to hold all of him in. If he flexed his cock, it was a gargantuan movement in his crotch, like a small rabbit was bundled up in his underwear and trying to escape. Breathing heavily through his mouth, Xavier poked at the crotch and felt another little shudder of pleasure rip up his spine through his crotch. Damn, but the thing was responsive.

He looked at the spreadsheet again. This thing was powerful. Was Aaron fucking around with it, too? He looked at the untoned, nervous programmer, who was clearly deep in concentration as he worked at the task in front of him. If Aaron was messing around with things, wouldn’t he change himself? Xavier certainly would, if he were Aaron. He’d build on his shoulders, and chest, and arms, but he’d keep the chin and those eyes–

Xavier shook his head. Fuck, why was he thinking about Aaron’s potential for hotness? All this extra cock growth must be pulling the blood from his brain. He went to go change his cock back to–what? He’d never measured it before. 7? 6? He was pretty sure it hadn’t been smaller than 6. It would be a shame to lose all his pussy game by putting in the wrong number.

He looked at the spreadsheet, and suddenly realized that he now knew all his employee’s cock sizes. Oof, poor Wes. He couldn’t help but grin and glance at the handsome ex-jock salesman, who was talking animatedly to Ahmed. That had to affect the guy’s game. He was just starting to wonder what the other fields were all about when he saw that someone was writing in a field to the left of the cp category. Xavier watched as the letters came in, spelling out p-r-s-t-m-p. There wasn’t the usual identification marker to say who was manipulating the spreadsheet, but Xavier had a pretty good idea it was Aaron. He watched the programmer, who was definitely typing something into his computer he was nervous about others seeing. After all the letters were typed, Aaron leaned back and looked at the screen of his computer, shaking his head. On Xavier’s spreadsheet, the letters Aaron had typed had resolved to “pers temp” and suddenly the fields populated, leading to a spreadsheet that looked like this:

<Spreadsheet 5>

The new numbers looked familiar. Xavier looked at the thermostat control on the wall in his office and was unsurprised to see the same recording: 70.2. So, if his theory was true, Aaron had made a category for everyone’s personal temperature, and that had translated into real-time, real-life data. Xavier laughed a short, befuddled laugh. What the hell was going on? Was this a magic spreadsheet or something?

Out in the cubicles, Aaron typed something and the pers temp category and its values disappeared from Xavier’s spreadsheet. Aaron scowled, pulled out his phone, and then went back to typing. The conc value listed for Aaron dipped down into the negative and then slowly built back up. Feeling a little like a kid at Christmas, Xavier looked at the values. None of them made very much sense, and he knew from yesterday that if he messed with them he could cause a lot of trouble. But there was no harm in poking around, gently.

Completely forgetting he was originally going to reduce his 9-inch monster of a cock, Xavier highlighted the field labeled ks and carefully raised his score to 2. Nothing happened. He held his breath, but there weren’t any huge changes. Did he dare go up to 3? His fingers tapped the button before he’d fully made the decision. Still no change. Maybe a little less focus of thought, but that could always be–

“Yo, boss,” said Wes, leaning in the door. Xavier let out a very un-bosslike eep! and slammed his laptop shut guiltily. “What is it, Umbran?” he barked, much more abruptly than usual.

Wes raised his eyebrows. “Everything okay?”

Xavier cleared his throat. He gave his employee a once-over. Wes looked really good today, his tucked-in shirt showing off his toned shoulders and pecs. And how was it Xavier had never noticed how soft Wes’s lips were? They should look out of place on Wes’s square and rugged face, but somehow the whole effect was nice. Really, really nice.

Xavier cleared his throat again. “Yes–yes. Sorry, just busy. What is it?”

“Just wondering if you’ll let me turn down the temp,” said Wes. “I’m boiling out here.”

“We’re already below room temperature, Wes,” Xavier said, indicating the thermostat.

Wes shrugged. “You know I run hot, boss. C’mon, just a degree or two?” Grunting, Xavier pulled out the drawer where he kept the key to the thermostat. “I’m spoiling you, Umbran,” he said.

Wes shot him a lopsided grin that stirred something in Xavier’s stomach. “Thanks, boss,” he said and launched himself back to his cubicle. Xavier stood to go change the thermostat. The sag of his heavy crotch pulled his belt against his hips, and he paused. He could adjust Wes’s temperature experience more–manually, couldn’t he? It would be a good test of the spreadsheet’s powers.

Frowning, he sat down slowly and opened his laptop. The pers temp field was still erased, but there was nothing that said he couldn’t put it back, was there? He glanced up at Aaron. The programmer was packing up for lunch, so it’s likely he wouldn’t be able to see Xavier’s…manipulations.

Xavier waited till Aaron was out the door and then typed out pers temp back into the empty field. As before, the column populated with 70.2’s–except for Aaron’s, who must be stepping outside, as his field suddenly shifted to 50.3. Xavier went over to Wes’s pers temp number and changed it to 68, keeping an eye on the muscular salesman the whole time. Wes visibly shivered and then glanced up at Xavier through the glass wall, giving him a thumb’s up and another of those lopsided grins. Xavier grinned back before he could help himself. Wes really was kind of a hot number…Xavier shook his head. So many weird thoughts happening today. Clearing his throat, he tried to turn his attention back to his work.

Focus was not an easy thing, though. No matter how he tried, his eyes kept wandering of their own accord to where Wes was sitting. Why was the young man so visually interesting? Something about the way the muscles of his torso were so–manly. He reminded Xavier of himself at a younger age, but with an extra air of…what? Pure sex, that was it. Xavier allowed himself a mental image of the young salesman playing basketball or football, his wet tee clinging to his muscular chest, maybe enough to see the hidden points of the ex-jock’s nipples…

Xavier paused with his hands over the keyboard. If he was jonesing for an image of Wes with a sweaty shirt, that was all within his grasp, wasn’t it? It was all a simple matter of raising the temperature a little. Xavier put on his headset–the unspoken sign to his staff that he was on a call and didn’t want to be disturbed–and looked at the spreadsheet. Was there an arrow-up function for him to raise Wes’s personal temperature gradually? A quick right-click on the field revealed there was. Grinning, he began slowly and methodically raising the temperature surrounding the salesman. At 73 degrees, Wes started pulling on his collar irritably, loosening it and glancing longingly over to Xavier’s office, where the thermostat was. Xavier glanced at the thermostat himself, just to be sure. It still read a comfortable 70.2 degrees.

By 80 degrees, Wes was visibly sweating, wet patches appearing under his arms and little beads of sweat forming across his forehead. When he reached 95 degrees, Xavier paused for a second. He’d have to be careful–too high a number in this field and the handsome salesman would burst into flames. Still, Wes was still not experiencing anything worse than the hottest day of the year, even if it was localized to his seat. And all the heat was having the desired effect–the light lilac shirt Wes was wearing was now a wet, dark violet, and was clinging to every muscle, even showing fine details like the cords of his arm muscles and–yes, the delicate points of his nipples. Xavier stopped increasing the temperature and leaned back, enjoying his one-man wet T-shirt contest a little guiltily. Probably wasn’t fair to make Wes suffer just for his own enjoyment, but–damn. It was a fine view.

Ahmed, who was working next to Wes, was watching his coworker with a worried line between his eyebrows. He said something to Wes and Wes responded, scowling, pulling at the wet collar of his shirt. Still pretending to listen to his headset, Xavier stood and walked to the door of his office and propped it open slightly. With the door propped, he could listen in on the conversation.

“–fucking boiling, man,” Wes was complaining. “It’s like the middle of summer here. Can’t you feel that?”

“It feels fine to me,” said Ahmed uncertainly. “Maybe–you’ve got a fever or something?”

“Dude, or something,” said Wes. “Check my forehead, will you?”

The cute intern scooted closer to his muscular co-worker and laid a hesitant hand on Wes’s forehead. The image of the two of them huddled close together stirred something in Xavier’s guts, and his gargantuan cock perked up, causing the left leg of his pants to pull up as the fabric contended with the ballooning prick. He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t–but then again, he had already messed around with things. Quickly, he typed “95” into Ahmed’s pers temp field. The slight intern shivered and pulled his hand away from Wes’s forehead like he’d been burned.

“Geez, now I’m feeling it,” he said. “It feels–really hot. Like a heatwave in the office.”

“So it’s not a fever, at least,” grumbled Wes. “But–Jesus, I’m dying here. I’ve got sweat running into my underwear, it’s that bad.”

Ahmed nodded, picking up a nearby file folder and fanning himself with it. His shirt was already beginning to cling to his thin frame. “Can we change the thermostat?”

Wes glanced over at Xavier, who managed just in time to drop his eyes down to the computer. “I asked Xav to change it fifteen minutes ago,” Wes said. “He must have done something to the dial on accident. We can get him to change it when he’s off his call. In the meantime–whoof. Wish I could fucking take off my shirt, man.”

Xavier’s heart started beating faster. Yes. Yes. Wes taking his shirt off would be the perfect conclusion to this little–adventure. Seeing all that sweat-slicked muscle would be enough to appease the needy python that was still feeling its way down his pants leg. But, how to make it happen?

He considered the spreadsheet. He still didn’t know anything about most of the categories. But–he could still add things, couldn’t he? What sort of field would convince Wes–and Ahmed, why the hell not–to take off their shirts? Xavier considered for a second and then typed “exhibitionism” into the field next to pers temp. Automatically, the column shortened to exhib and the sheet populated.

<Spreadsheet 6>

Xavier frowned. The numbers didn’t mean anything to him, though it was slightly funny to see how high George’s score was. Were the numbers out of a possible 100? Likely, since none of the numbers went over that. If Aaron were there, he could check quickly if there were caps on the field numbers, but all Xavier had was his own aging technical knowledge. What number would make Wes respond? Holding his breath, he changed Wes’s field from 30 to 50.

“I’m gonna do it,” said Wes with a grunt, pushing himself away from his desk with a powerful movement. Standing, he stood with his legs slightly spread and began stripping off the clinging, wet shirt, rolling his hips ever so slightly as he did and giving the slightest suggestion of a strip show. Ahmed watched him with wide eyes. At last, Wes finished unbuttoning and peeled off the clinging shirt, revealing thick pale chest muscles, an enviable set of abs, and a fine swirl of chest hair right at the center of his chest.

“Fuck, that feels better,” growled Wes, shaking his head, his thick hair scattering droplets of sweat. He grinned down at Ahmed. “C’mon, Aboulila, it’s the new office uniform.”

Ahmed’s face, staring up at him, was a priceless mix of awe and shock. Almost in sympathy, Xavier switched Ahmed’s exhib field to match Wes’s 50.

The shock slowly faded from Ahmed’s face, and he grinned a huge white grin. “Okay,” he said. Standing, he mimicked Wes’s slow reveal on his own less fashionable shirt, at last stripping down to reveal a lanky but attractive chest and arms, with a taut stomach and generous treasure trail running down to his belt buckle.

The two men stared at each other appreciatively. “Check this out,” said Wes suddenly, flexing his beefy arms so that his round pecs stood out in delicious relief. “Nice, huh?”

“Really nice,” said Ahmed, grinning. “I wish I were that ripped.”

“Hey, we should hit the gym sometime,” said Wes, stretching in a way that showed he knew Ahmed’s eyes were still on his flexing, well-toned muscles. “Wouldn’t mind giving you some pointers. You got a nice frame for some real gains.”

Ahmed flushed. “You think so?” he said.

“Yeah,” said Wes, stepping closer to him. “We could do some work here” –he tapped Ahmed’s bony shoulder– “and here–” the hand slid very lightly over Ahmed’s flat pecs, “but, this is already looking pretty good.” He knocked Ahmed’s trim stomach with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I wish I had a six-pack like yours, though,” said Ahmed.

“It’s pretty nice, huh?” said Wes unselfconsciously, moving slightly so that Ahmed could get a better view of the thick bands of muscles. He made his stomach move in an undulating motion, muscles pulling over muscles, and laughed when Ahmed’s eyes grew huge. “Those are the hardest muscles to get looking 100%,” he said. “Pecs grow almost without thinking about it, but abs–” he shook his head with a grin.

“I go to the gym but my pecs don’t just grow,” said Ahmed, “not like that, anyway.”

“We could get them there, buddy,” said Wes. “Don’t worry. Do you want to touch them?”

Ahmed blinked. “Um, really?”

“Sure,” said Wes with a shrug. “Might as well know what’s possible, yeah?”

Hesitantly, Ahmed brushed the slab of Wes’s hefty pecs, which were still shiny with sweat. Wes grinned, obviously enjoying the attention. Slowly, Ahmed grew more confident and began squeezing Wes’s muscles, his hands drifting to explore Wes’s thick shoulders and the curve of his thick-corded arms.

In his office, Xavier stared openly at the tableau before him. Unconsciously, he reached below his desk and began stroking his thick salami of a cock through the pants fabric, enjoying the sensation of all those extra inches being stimulated by the fabric and the hairy side of his thigh. He could feel his balls drawing up and his toes curling as he watched his two hot employees rub each other’s shirtless torsos.

Ahmed was just admiring Wes’s triceps when Xavier suddenly came, his stiff, pants-trapped cock leaping under his furiously stroking hand and belching out several thick spurts of cum. His cock was so long now that even though he’d come in his own pants, his crotch was bone dry and it was the pants leg around his knee that was soaked by the sticky goo. Xavier sagged into his plush office chair in the glow of his cum, completely unconcerned by the fluid starting to ooze down his leg.

A sudden reminder of his next meeting pinging on his computer broke his haze, and he sat up, shaking his head. “Jesus, what the hell am I doing?” he muttered to himself. He had a major call with one of the company’s biggest contracts in five minutes. Swiftly, he changed the temperature around Ahmed and Wes back to a balmy 68 and set their exhib fields back to–was it 40? Yeah, probably. Out of habit, he then saved the spreadsheet and exited out of the program as he tried to compose himself for the call.

In the cubicles, Wes and Ahmed sighed as the air around them rapidly cooled. Blinking, they looked back and forth at each other’s shirtless torsos.

“Um…” said Wes.

“Yeah,” said Ahmed. “I guess we should…?”

“Yeah, for sure,” said Wes, pulling his still-damp shirt from where he’d flung it on the back of his chair and putting it back on. Ahmed hurriedly did the same, trying not to look at Wes. When they were both buttoned up, their eyes inadvertently met. Ahmed smiled nervously and Wes returned the smile. In seconds, the two of them were giggling like old friends, trying to keep from laughing too loudly as they settled back into their work chairs, trying not to glance at each other as they turned back to work with giddy smiles on their faces.

Not long after, Aaron walked into the office from lunch, much later than usual. Xavier, deep in conversation on his headset, gave him a distracted wave. Aaron returned the wave, nearly as distracted. Confusion furrowed his usually clear brow. Wes and Ahmed were bent over their workstations, but they were softly giggling like madmen every time they caught sight of the other one’s face. Their shirts had the stiff look of fabric that has been soaked and then dried quickly. Aaron barely noticed as he walked past them and settled into his seat.

Hot
Mind control
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