A lunar eclipse causes an unsuspecting fraternity to undergo some changes…
My nights had ended up this same way: Alone in my dorm room, laying back on my bed, playing WoW on my laptop. Parties never interested me, which was a shame since there happened to be at least two every night. I had the urge to be an old man as I heard the music thump loudly through the wall, and bang on it to quiet them down so I could pay closer attention to my game. Of course, the effect of such an action would probably get the door to my room egged profusely, and maybe a humiliating experience from a fraternity brother or two in the morning.
My phone buzzed, signaling I received a message, and I grunted with annoyance as I took it into my hand to view it. My three seconds had been wasted by some spam mail, and I tossed the cheap phone aside so it bounced off the edge of the bed and hit the wall, soon sliding straight to the floor. Whether there was this lunar eclipse tonight, I seriously didn’t care. Which meant I felt no need to donate money to some organization to “ward off bad spirits”.
As I went to continue with my game, the wall I was leaning against banged so hard that my head actually jerked forward. Shaken, pissed off, I just slammed my laptop shut and sped out of my room with it tucked under my arm. I really couldn’t concentrate at all tonight. I considered grabbing my phone, but it would just be another distraction. Very unlikely there would be any emergencies tonight, and my parents never called this late for idle chit-chat. For the ever-so-sad-cherry-on-top, I had no girlfriend to talk to, either. I was bumped a few times in the hall by my brothers. They were carrying various things like kegs, game systems, and I could have sworn someone was holding a pig. They called my name as they passed, which I guessed was their version of saying “Excuse me”.
“Dozer! Dude! You chilling at the party tonight??” One of them called, using my nickname. I had only gotten into this school, this fraternity for that matter, because of my reputation as a champion wrestler for my old high school. I had only joined the sport in the first place to gain some muscle mass, to stop getting picked on, maybe to get a girlfriend. Only two of the three had played out, and I was the biggest in terms of muscle-mass in my school. Here, at this fraternity for meat-heads, I was about average. I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it, somewhat, and these people gave me a challenge.
“No, man. I’m not feeling up for socializing. Just going to study,” I answered back, but was irked to see he had already moved on ahead before listening to my answer. Oh well. I trotted down the steps, heading for my “quiet place” that I escaped to in extreme situations, the trophy room. Nobody ever went in there during parties, and it was just low enough to where most of their music and shenanigans would go unnoticed.
I took in the smell of the old room, my body feeling a small electric spark from the all-around vibe of the room. Trophies lined every wall, only a few empty spots for future achievements, then they had another room being built on the fraternity to house even more for years to come. The low light made the room feel very calming, and if exposed long enough you would pass out in the tranquility of the space. I eyed the chair in the corner, folded between two of the trophy cases, with a cushion smushed beside it. Within no time I was sitting directly in the middle of the room, laptop resting on my lap, back to my game.
As I waited for the game to load, I was reminded of how much slower the signal was here than up in my room, but as long as I could relax, then I had time to kill. I scanned the shelves surrounding me, imagining all the years that have gone by, all the tournaments, all the people. A small sense of pride arose in me when my gaze fell upon a certain trophy: “Decklan Howard - Regional Champion”. If you couldn’t guess, that was my real name. This one achievement that I’ve made within the college so far solidified my safety amongst my brothers. Below my trophy, there was a curious little piece that never had a name-plate, and was rusted beyond belief. None of the frat brothers could answer the question as to why it was there, and when the dean was asked, his simple answer was that the strange curio had resided within that cabinet since the school’s founding. It would be disrespectful to dispose of it after all these years.
The shape of the item resembled a simple trophy, a narrow cup with a crowned top. The ornament that adorned the top looked like a muscled man, kneeling down, with a fist in the air. It was hard to tell with the amount of crust covering it, but it was always the first thing that came to my mind. I could make out these little grooves on where I guessed the head was, that I considered eyes, and sometimes I would stand there, just staring into them. Tonight was no exception, as they were looking directly at me while I was seated, and the trophy had this foreign shine to it that couldn’t have been caused by the case’s dim lighting. A light hum resonated throughout the room, and I chalked it up to the fan inside my laptop being temperamental, and I sat it on the floor to my right.
I was unaware at the time of how dark it was outside, thanks to the predicted lunar eclipse, and the only source of light in the sky seemed to be the ring from the edge of the moon. As soon as the ring was complete, the rusted antique shone even brighter than before, causing my eyes to squint to avoid being blinded. The strange hum became louder, drilling into my head and forcing me to cover my ears. No such luck, as it felt like it was coming from directly inside my skull. The lock to the trophy case clicked open, and the sliding glass opened half-way, leaving the many statues and trophies on one side exposed.
The hum became quieter, and I opened my eyes for a second to see the room was bathed in a deep green light. Confusion struck me, and I considered I was being abducted by aliens, but another part of me felt like I was being chosen, hand-picked by some strange force to witness this cosmic event. Within a few minutes I could open my eyes completely, and I ignored what I could of the remaining droning in my ears. The green light was coming from a single source- the antique that I was admiring. Minutes ago it looked like a piece of junk, covered in dirt and rust, but now I could see what it was supposed to look like. The metal was fresh, as if forged just yesterday, and the muscled figure on top was shining in all of its glory. The figure was bald, and the person who created the piece had left no detail to the imagination as my eye caught the hanging genitalia between his massive legs. Protruding tusk-like teeth stuck from his bottom lip on each side of his mouth, and I recognized the overall design as a character from my game. It was an Orc.
The case had slid open mysteriously while my eyes had been closed, and it confused me as to how- though with a strange green light sparking from an old statue, I guess there were stranger things to worry about. I almost wanted to touch it, to see if it was hot, or cold. I wanted to pinch myself to see if I was dreaming. Either way, my hand was betraying my overall common sense to stay put, and it rose until it was level with the antique. Before I knew it, my fingers came to rest on the chilling green metal, sending small vibrations straight through my arm. The statue itself was shaking, and I didn’t take time to really wonder why. I just admired the craft-work, feeling the crevices between each forged muscle. The tip of my finger trailed down, running over the bumpy side of the figure’s perfect abs. My finger stopped right at the base of the Orc’s penis, and what bewildered me was not that I had strange fascination for the detail in the crotch, but that it was warmer than the rest of the metal.
I pulled my hand back in a sudden jerk, yelping for a second as I felt a strong shock shoot through my finger. I stuck it into my mouth, staring as the gentle green light faded, leaving the room once more in its relaxing, ordinary light. Whatever had just happened, there would be no way to describe it to my friends, since I knew immediately no proof was left. Even the statue had gone back to its original crusty condition. The only thing left was the open case, which I knew I had better close it, or else the only thing my brothers would believe is that I tried to snatch something from inside.
I stared at my ceiling, wondering what had exactly happened just hours ago. My finger had this strange little burn mark, and my entire body felt like it was wrought with goosebumps. It reminded me of that frightened feeling you get when you electrocute yourself by accident. Either way, the sun was rising outside, and I had yet to sleep. All I could think about was how perfect that statue looked. I could only dream of obtaining those muscles. Ones that would immediately intimidate any opponent I faced in competitions to come. I had a decent build as I was, but before tonight, I never wanted to be much bigger.
Speaking of “bigger”, my mind wandered to the orc’s penis. It was sculpted flaccid, but I couldn’t picture something that virile and primal remaining soft. Especially when posing like it had been. A part of me tried to shake the thought, that orcs didn’t exist, that there was no green muse for whatever blacksmith to create that antique from. Then there was the smaller voice, telling me that it was wrong to picture an erect male, regardless of whether they were a real species or not. I looked down at my body- my shirt was pulled up a bit from earlier when I was scratching my abdomen. “I have to visit the gym, soon,” I told myself, running my hand over my hard navel. Even if I couldn’t get as chiseled as the figure, I could at least put in a little more effort.
I started to idly wonder how much work I’d have to put in before my penis started to grow, but there was that little voice again telling me that there wasn’t a workout to increase your penis size. Before I could considering it more, I felt the electric high that was running through my body the entire night begin to fade, and my eyelids felt very heavy. I’d start my new regimen when I woke up…
I heard the banging on my door, and I opened my still-tired eyes, squinting at the amount of sunlight that filled the room. Everything was blurry, and I heard my brothers calling for me.
“Dude! You missed like, half of your classes today, you feeling alright?” One of them asked, which I recognized as Paul. He was the biggest in the frat, and probably the only one I considered a real friend.
“I’m fine, man,” I replied, raising myself, “just had a rough night.” I was holding my head in my hands, speaking just loud enough for them to hear me through the door.
“Okay, well, if you need any notes, I can always copy mine.”
I wanted to say thanks, but I had remembered my new plan for the day. I wanted to work out. I still had another three classes, the first starting in about 25 minutes, but if I missed half of them already, I didn’t see any harm in just slacking the rest of the day. Well, slacking when it came to my school-work, that is. I had gathered up the essentials: towel, water, iPod, and fresh gym clothes, stuffing them directly into my generic gym-bag, and made for the door. My normal routine included my showering as soon as I woke up, but I didn’t recall sweating much the previous day, so I’d be fine for now. I didn’t see any need to change the clothes I had been wearing yesterday, either.
I passed a few of my brothers on the way out, waved back to a few that greeted me, and just barreled past them. I didn’t feel comfortable just standing around while there was a limited amount of time in the day. The gym wasn’t far, maybe a five minute walk on a normal day. Today, however, I was walking at quite a brisk pace, almost rushing. My new record, it seemed, was two minutes. I stood at the door of the mostly deserted gym, taking a breath for a moment before entering.
I expected the gym to be empty at this time. Most of the guys were busy with school, as I should have been. Less people meant less talk, and less talk meant I could focus. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I was changed into my sleeveless muscle-shirt, and tight gym shorts. The bag containing my clothes from yesterday was tossed into an empty locker, which I didn’t even pay attention to. I had nothing but pumping iron on my mind.
Adjusting the weights at the nearest bench, I set it to my normal 210lbs, my comfortable press, to get me started. It was too easy for me, and I found myself lifting with barely a second between each upward thrust upwards. My breathing wasn’t increasing, and I didn’t seem to be struggling too hard once I hit 20 reps like I normally did. With a bit of frustration, I sat the weight back onto the bar, and then upped the ante. For a second I considered if adding an extra 30lbs might be too much, but I didn’t even break a sweat on the last one. Sweat… For some reason I relished the thought, hoping I’d work up quite a puddle today. There was no gain if you couldn’t marinate in your own juices.
Taking my spot once more, I continued as before. I was pleased to find the small added challenge. I think I was even gritting my teeth a little for the first 10 reps. By the 15th, it became much easier and I didn’t see myself stopping. I was distracted for a moment, however, as I felt a single trickle down the side of my face. Finally! I don’t know why I saw my sweat as an achievement, where being able to lift an extra 30 should have given me even more pride. Either way, it was only a matter of time before I could work up the real stuff. I pictured walking back into my frat, smelling to high heaven, watching my brothers cover their noses. An intimidating musk that I would wear like a badge of honor- proof that I pushed the envelope, today.
An unnoticed hour went by before I could feel my arms starting to give out. The weight had been raised three times, bringing it to a whopping 320lbs. I had no clue where I got this sudden burst of strength, but I didn’t really care. I enjoyed the feeling of my sore arms, and my back pressing hard into the bench’s cushion. I even smiled a little as I felt my skin squish into the soggy material of my shirt. With a grunt, I placed the weight back into position, and swung my legs over the bench. Taking a moment, I squeezed my thick tricep, reveling in how much thicker it felt. Stiff, most likely. I had an intense work-out so far. I was far from done, though. I still wanted to work on my chest and my legs.
Staring at my bicep, I could feel the warmth pouring off of me- hitting my cheek which had been pressed against my shoulder. Something else was rising, and I didn’t think twice before inhaling the pungent aroma. I’m sure it would smell worse if anybody else were to approach, but to me, it smelled intoxicating. The lack of showering and deodorant from this morning was taking its effect, but I honestly didn’t mind. Half of the problem with sweating is worrying about what other people are thinking of you. Assuming you’re dirty because your soggy, or keeping a fair distance as to avoid your stench. Right now, I was alone, so I didn’t have any qualms about stinking up the place. I took two fingers and swiped them under my arm, catching a fair amount of perspiration which I promptly brought to my nose.
My head was swimming, and a thought in the back of my head was asking why I just did that, but that very thought wasn’t able to hold me back as my tongue slurped at my moist fingers. The taste was very salty. Hardy. My brain even registered it as “delicious”. Whatever little high I was on, I had to hold myself back just enough so I could continue with my training. I rose to my feet, my back suddenly feeling cold as the gym’s air conditioner hit the damp material of my shirt. I looked behind myself to see the weight-bench practically dripping from the sides. It was a common rule in gyms to wipe it off, as to not spread rashes, but I just didn’t want to. I almost felt like I was marking my territory as I walked away, leaving the musky puddle.
Next on my list was a leg work-out. I looked forward to feeling a strong burn surging through my lower-body, crouching down to set the weight. My legs could always take a little more than my arms, so I set it to 250lbs, ignoring how high I went on the bench. Taking my seat, I hooked my legs under the padded knobs and began to push my legs out, forcing the weights that were hooked on the side of the machine to rise. A steady breathing pattern and a comfortable pace were always what got me through this kind of workout, but it just felt too easy today. I didn’t have to control my breathing, and I my legs were moving at a faster pace than usual.
After a few more tries, setting the weights higher and higher, I seemed to settle on the highest possible choice, 305lbs. This time, I could feel it. The leg-extension machine was finally giving me some resistance, and I had to clench my fists on the side-bars to handle the push. My shins sang with ache, but I didn’t want to stop. I was grunting, trying hard to control my breath with each forceful shove. After about 20, I collapsed in the seat, panting, feeling the sweat pouring down my calves. It was then that I noticed a new sensation between my legs. A bit sore, like my limbs, and I opened my eyes to see my thin shorts tenting. It surprised me at first- I’d never gotten an erection while working out. I could see the shaft twitching with each heart-beat, and I started to consider whether I should stop.
The rod was throbbing with need, and I reached out to touch the head through the cloth. I couldn’t help but shiver as I massaged the glands, feeling the material begin to moisten as I leaked pre. It was definitely strange, considering the time and setting, but I just couldn’t help myself. I could smell the musk I left on this machine, and I seemed to stiffen just a little more. I was at the mercy of my cock, but it wasn’t enough to just play with it. I had to give it something else, something it needed. I started to realize why I was so hard, and deep down I knew I had to continue my work-out. I reluctantly let go of my cock, and placed my hands back onto the side bars as I started another set of reps with the machine. I stared at my crotch as I did so, watching the spot dampen even more with every push.
Each time the weights rose, each time I strained my lower-body, it felt like a miniature orgasm. There was no controlled breathing, as I was panting like a ragged dog. Every push was accompanied with a breathy moan, and soon I heard myself snorting. The throb in my legs were mimicked by a similar throb in my dick, and I knew if I went just a little longer I’d be rewarded. With a final, harsh, powerful thrust, I heard the cord on the weights snap. The sound shook me inside, and I felt my balls pull up against me as I released all that built up tension inside my shorts. The dark spot spread profusely, and my body was jerking like I was suffering from a seizure. I could see more of the milky release pooling outside of the shorts now, dripping down the underside of my cock and then falling- adding to the puddle I was leaving with my sweat once more.
My body felt limp, a little tired, and I was almost hanging off the side of the machine as I tried to move. Another snort sounded from my nose, and I briefly wondered why I was making such animal noises. I could see from the corner of my eye that even though I shot harder than I ever knew I could, I was still quite hard. The shorts didn’t feel big enough to handle it, and any movement I made caused the damp material to slide over the swollen glands, sending little spikes of pleasure through my crotch. I didn’t know if it was how tight the shorts were, but my dick looked bigger. A foreign thought slipped into my mind and reassured me that it was just the workout. You get enough blood-flowing down there and things are bound to get a bit swollen.
With much distraction, I was finally able to pull myself from the leg-extension, and head straight towards the locker room. Whatever just happened to me, I couldn’t just walk around with a raging hard-on and cum dribbling down my leg. It would cause some suspicion among my brothers if I was caught like this, but even as I thought of the consequences, another part of me just wanted to forget about it and go back to working out. So what if my dick was squishing around a little? I could always compromise, I guess. With that I took a towel and wiped as much of the runny discharge from my thigh as I could, and dabbed at my insistent bulge (resulting in a lustful moan). No surprise that it was still obvious I had man-juice soaking my shorts, since it left a nice white circle, centered with a still-damp spot between my legs.
It wasn’t helping that I had light-colored shorts, and the dampness was causing the already tight material to cling to my crotch, giving the world a perfect outline of my erection which had clung to my left thigh. Something about it made me feel proud. Proud that I could still carry a youthful and virile symbol such as an erection as hard as this one. The size was decent, and the girth felt just fine against my palm as I stroked the outside of my shorts, running my fingertips along the rigid outline. I’d have to stop, for now, before anyone noticed me. I was sure the gym was empty, but there may have been a technician or a stray student lurking about…
I had made it safely back to my room, the door was locked tightly and I was laying back on my bed. My cock had never deflated even for a second, and I was left to satisfy and obey my urges. There was no denying that I felt thicker, all over my body, and especially what I held in my hand. I used to be able to cross my thumb and forefinger, but now I had trouble just getting the tips to meet. I recalled the workout, and my sudden worries were put to rest in that instant. I worked out pretty hard, and I viewed the harsh throbbing in my loins as the same dull, aching throb my muscles had whenever I finished lifting weights. I grunted, thrusting my hips and arching my back into the air, gripping the plump head of my cock.
I could hear myself snorting, making strange noises as I forced air from my nose. They reminded me of the sounds that boars or larger feral animals would make when either angry, or in their mating season. That made sense, I was getting pretty big. I may be closer to human, but I felt like a big, humpy animal now. Close to human…? Before I could ponder the thought, I felt a geyser of cum erupt, the first three spurts hitting me square in the face, while several after that trailed to hit my chest, and settled on my abdomen. I could feel the warm pool that gathered in the crevices of my navel, and my nose twitched from the musky scent I had marked myself with. My tongue, seemingly leaving my mouth without a second of consideration, slurped the juices that lingered on my face. A growling “mmm” resonated from my throat, and my hands idly rubbed my spunk into my already-salty skin. It certainly added to my B.O., making my body smell like a stud that was ready to mate at a moment’s notice.
My broad hands moved to rub the cum into my pits, and my nails dug into the scraggly hairs that nested below my arm. Why not get it everywhere? I removed my hand, looking at it in the darkness of my unlit room, and I could see a little shine from the various juices that I had coated it in. It approached my face, and I had other plans than just taking in the amazing musk- I wanted to taste it. The salty fingers swiped my tongue, and I rumbled my approval as I took the remaining saliva on my fingers and ground it into my chest hair.
I started to feel a little tired, winding down from my massive orgasms of the day, and I certainly didn’t feel like removing myself for a shower. A shower didn’t sound appealing any way I looked at it. I recalled for a moment how my cock was still throbbing, but I was able to ignore it, and I rolled over. The gathered sweat and spunk rolled off my body, soaking into the sheets, and I found my most comfortable position was laying on my chest. The erection normally would have made it harder to lay flat, but I kept my thighs in the air, letting the leftover cum dribble into a growing wet spot on my bed. I could feel the soft material grinding against my cock, and I would hump into the sheets, letting my entire body grind into the bed, which made it easier to force my scent into every fiber.
I woke up to the harsh pounding on my door, just like the previous day, and found myself with my head buried in my pillow. My body was still in the position I passed out in, but a little more slack. I could feel my cock sandwiched between the bed and myself, already throbbing, and everything under me was very slick. Taking a nice, deep whiff, I knew immediately that I must have cum in my sleep, about four of five times. The worry that my brothers will notice my current state, and smell all the fluids I leaked, never seemed to hit me. Even as I heard a key in the lock of my door, I just grabbed my sheets and went under them. They were very warm, which made me think I blew a big load a couple minutes before I woke up.
The door opened, and I saw Paul enter alone.
“Dude, you missed half of your classes again! The brothers saw you leaving the gym yesterday, and you locked yourself in your room like…all night!” Paul seemed angry, but there was a hint of worry in his voice. I tried to recall the time I returned to the dorm, and the time I passed out. I must have gotten at least 13 solid hours of sleep.
I had my legs closed, trying to hold my erection between them and off to the side so I wouldn’t tent my sheets. I popped my head out, letting out an accidental moan as the head of my cock brushed a couple of my thigh-hairs.
“Sorry man, I haven’t been feeling too well… I went to the gym yesterday because I don’t want to just sit around and get soft while the tournament is coming up…” My voice sounded deeper, and I tried clearing my throat, which made it only worse, “I’m sorry to worry you, bro.” Each syllable was accompanied by a tiny growl from the back of my throat. As I looked at his face, I saw it contorting a bit. He probably detected my scent. I simultaneously felt worried and proud, wondering what he truly thought of it.
“Jesus, man. You sound horrible. You don’t look too good either…!”
I momentarily thought “I don’t??” but instead went along with it, softening my tone as much as I could “I…don’t?”
“No way, you look kinda green. Your bed is really wet too. You must have one hell of a fever. Look, don’t worry about the tournament or your homework, dude. I’ll take care of whatever I can. Just stay here and get some rest. Don’t forget you have my number if you get any worse and need a ride to the hospital or something…”
Paul waved at me as he walked off, locking and shutting my door. I guessed he was only able to unlock before because of the R.A., sending him in to check on me. I heard another light knock, and Paul’s voice came through the door, “Oh, and take a shower if you can or wash your clothes or something. You stink, dude.”
It was more of a taunting tone, but I felt that same strange pride that he could detect my smell. Whatever was running through my head, I hadn’t a clue. I ducked my head back under my blanket, and open my legs wide to release the monster that had been growing all night. It lifted up a nice tent in the blanket, and was still slick from the non-stop flow of pre. Last night, when I got into position, it barely rubbed against the sheet. This morning, I felt it stuck between my body and the blanket. The growth was obvious, and the thickness certainly was fun to ogle. I ran my finger around the base, and tapped it, causing the whole thing to bob between my legs. Aside from the small moan that escaped my lips, I laughed at how much enjoyment I had playing with my pole.
The moment faded fast, as simple enjoyment turned to pleasure, and the simple baps on the side of my rod were replaced by loving strokes. In the low-light inside the blanket, I realized that my skin did have a sort of green tint forming, and I looked to the tip of my finger. The burn mark that stuck out yesterday was gone, and in its place was a green splotch that was extending over the length of the digit. The shade of green was darker than the rest of my body, but I didn’t feel worried at all. My hand even looked thicker than before, resembling a meaty “paw” that only bearish construction workers or bikers possessed. My palm and bottoms of my fingers were devoid of that spreading green, still pink and vibrant compared to the rest of my skin.
Without much thought, I plunged my emerald forefinger into my mouth, slobbering the length, getting it perfectly juicy and slick for whatever my urges forced me to do next. The hand gravitated towards my lower body, and the wet digit tapped the side of my cock, leaving a thin trail of saliva that disappeared as it stretched, and my thick palm rested on one of my ass cheeks. I was pulling my lower-half up, using my palm to hold my bottom while I bent in half. I couldn’t do it all the way, as you’d expect from a heavily muscled body, but I could do it just enough so the end of my dick bobbed against my chin.
Before I could wonder why I wet my finger, I felt it plunged into my virgin hole. The loud moan that forced my mouth to open was silenced as a harsh rock backwards caused my cock to invade, and my lips immediately wrapped around the length. I couldn’t believe how long I was now, and as my tongue swiped the sensitive glands on my cock-head, and tasted the hearty pearls of pre, my finger was pumping in and out of my tight hole. The motion seemed so natural, like this was how I was meant to masturbate. I considered how quickly I took my own meat, realizing it was instinct driving me to pleasure any throbbing flesh that touched my lips.
Before long I surprised myself in feeling that three whole fingers were now invading my hole, the knuckles grinding against the walls of my anus as I shoved them deeper and deeper, the urge to be filled hitting an uncontrollable point. I would have stuffed a flag-pole up my ass if I had one ready. I was rocking, my arched back surprisingly free of fatigue as I held my pose, and even bent just a little further until I felt the soft head of my green dick bumping the back of my throat. With a hard pull, I was able to roll back and balance on on my neck and shoulders, and for a moment I felt like a gymnast. My entire body was perfectly balancing, without a bit of strain, and I was sucking myself off like a pro. The hand that had been holding my ass no longer had a purpose, so I used it to grab my swollen testicles, squeezing them, rolling them, treating them like fleshy stress-balls while I growled into my own cock.
This routine wouldn’t hold long as I felt my balls pull tight against myself, four fingers jammed as much as they would go into my hole, and my dick jumped in my mouth as it began to release another load. I drank the first few spurts, but I intentionally slackened my body, allowing it to pull out a bit so I feel it burst all over my face. Globs stuck to my cheeks, my nose, and ran down my forehead as the spurts came to a very slow stop. I breathed heavily, opening my eyes to see a small trickle of cum still leaking from the tip of my cock, and I felt the warm trail running down the sides of my neck. I wasn’t at all opposed to it hitting my sheets, seeing as I soaked them the entire night with way more than this.
After letting my body rest, laying on my back, it felt only natural to notice the same erection saluting me, even after the intense masturbation I gave into. I didn’t think it would ever go down, but I really didn’t care. My only interests now were playing with it, sucking it, getting rough with it, and I also want to compare it to something else. A strange curiosity brought me to daydream of my brothers, remembering being in the showers with them, and accidentally catching glances at their cocks. If I were showering with them now, I’d proudly walk up to one of them, hands on my hips, displaying my green monster for them to admire. They weren’t gay, but I was sure that not even Paul could resist playing with it.
Paul…now he was the only brother I could see matching me in the ring, even as I felt now. My mind was harboring such dirty thoughts for him now, including raping him after I pinned him in a school match. Before I could allow the fantasy to continue, I reluctantly removed myself from the bed, pulling the sticky sheets from my ripe body, and stepped into my bathroom. It felt tiny, tinier than I could remember, and I struggled find a comfortable stance to stare at myself. After giving in to the space, ducking and turning my hips to the side to fit my erection inside the small room, I gazed into the square mirror above the sink.
The sight startled me, confused me, and I watched my slightly-rounder nose twitch as it snorted out a small cloud in response to my surprise. The entirety of my skin had taken on the strange grassy hue, while my dick turned an even darker shade. I was unsure of how this could be, even my hair had changed to a raven black and shined with a newly-greased-look. I assumed the hair could be explained, being as I hadn’t showered in a couple of days. I touched my new green skin, running my fingertips down the soft, yet hard skin of my chest. I was feeling every crease, every bump that my body now had to offer, and my greedy green pole was begging to be fondled just as I was doing to my pectorals. My nipples were still pink, erect like my cock, and I enjoyed rolling my right one between my sausage-like fingers. It elicited a growl from my lips, and I peeked at my reflection once more to notice that my bottom lip had grown a serious under-bite. I reached my free-hand upwards, sticking a finger into my lip and tugged it outwards. The flesh was rubbery, almost bestial as the color darkened at my touch, and I saw the tusk-like protrusions that were once my bottom teeth.
The feeling of dread never arose in me, only surprise, and I quickly began to enjoy every part of my new self. I felt another jack-off session beginning, lowering my nose to take a grand whiff at the stink resonating from my pits, and I pictured how I would share this with my brothers…
My hands idly tugged at the towel that straddled my neck, and I walked through the gym at a relaxed pace in the early morn and waved to the lady always working in the front as I strode directly towards the weights. I had just finished my cardio routine, which was a good hour on the treadmill, and a half-hour on the exercise-bike. My ear-buds were tucked firmly into my head, but I recalled removing them a few times and had to pause the music. I could have sworn I heard the sound of someone yelling from all the way across the gym. Either way, the gym seemed relaxed enough now, so it was probably the crappy headphones tricking me with a bit of static.
The next thing I always hit after running was the weight-bench, not usually able to take it as long as the treadmill, but I didn’t complain. I had been part of the wrestling frat here on campus, and because of my age and overall health I was placed in one of the lower weight classes. Some of the guys picked on me for the very reason I was normally a foot shorter than my brothers, but I took care of my frustrations on the mat. Best way to show up my tormentors was to always speak to them through the only language they understand: strength. The weight-bench was my ticket to a higher class, and my ticket to winning most of all.
As I approached, a strange scent began to waft around me. My nose twitched and my nostrils flared as I turned in each direction, trying to pin-point the exact location of where the smell was coming from. My eyes rested on the bench, taking another whiff of the musky air as I looked for any signs of sweat. Even after bringing my face in closer, my nose just barely brushing the material so many weight-liters rested on, I still didn’t see any stray beads or small puddles falling off the sides. If there was sweat, it had completely dried. The common thought here would be to wipe off the surface, even if the sweat wasn’t visible, but I just never entertained that idea- not even pausing as I hung my towel on the side and began to lay my body down. All I could think was “it couldn’t hurt me if it was dry, right?”. I heard the tell-tale squish as my butt pressed downward, indicating that the sweat had somehow sunk into the bench itself, and I felt cold trickles soaking through my thin shorts, and running down from the backs of my legs.
Unsure of why I lingered for just a moment, slightly in a haze from the odor filling my head, I rose, grimacing as the sudden wet feeling that coated my calves ran down my legs in speedy lines. I never thought anybody could sweat that much, let-alone enough to soak through a sweat-proof bench. I hadn’t noticed the stray moistness covering my hands, having pressed down to raise myself, and I brought them up to my head to brush my hair back. The stranger’s scent glided through my chestnut brown waves, and a single drop fell to rest on my top lip. So close under my nose, a simple inhale became more powerful then a forced whiff, and I instinctively licked the salty drop from my lip.
My knees reacted, buckling under me in a phantom rush of euphoria and I was sent back onto the bench, my ass landing harder than before and I could feel the sweat nearly squirt from the material, spraying my arms and legs, the wet-spot over my behind growing larger and extended to soak the bottom of my shirt. I bit my bottom lip to stifle a moan. At this point I hadn’t been aware if it was a moan of regret or one of pleasure, but I didn’t dwell on it. I tried wiping the drops from my arms, only aiding in the spreading of the mysterious spray. I know I smelled like that person now, having been coated in his musk, his secreted bodily fluids that tainted my bench. With my body stinking to high-heaven, I considered to running to the shower, and finding another bench, but I knew it would cut into my training. A small whimper escape my lips, secretly forcing myself to lay back as to “save time” in my routine, and deal with the horrid moisture for now. I could shower after, if I wanted.
My entire body was in position, and with my weight evenly spread out I didn’t feel the squishing as much. I didn’t even considering the weights already placed on the bar, too distracted with the torrent of sweat, and I grabbed for it anyway. As I realized just before lifting, I should have paid attention to how much weight was set, easily 100lbs too heavy than I could handle, and the whole thing sank to chest, trapping me and pressing my body harshly down. I could hear the steady trickle of sweat dripping off the sides, and I could feel the cool spreading across my back. I almost called out, but suddenly became worried about getting caught like this. I didn’t want to be branded as the tiny idiot. The weakling. The sicko bathing in someone else’s perspiration.
I stopped thinking for a second, the bar pushing even further onto my chest as I rested my legs a little, and considered the choice of words in my head. “Bathing”… it was like that, wasn’t it? I was sinking into the bench, and the wetness was creeping up my sides. The smell wasn’t too bad at this point- the harsh bite had faded from the musk and though the sweat itself was cool against my skin, the scent felt warm when it hit my nostrils. I took a long sniff, turning my head as much as possible to try and smell the bench, but grunted when I realized the sheer weight that was compressing me. I gripped my hands tighter around the bar, and inhaled sharply. I felt my lungs burn with the myriad of scents that surrounded me, and a sudden rush burst through my arms, allowing me to lift the bar just high enough to place it back onto the rack.
My tired arms hung at my sides, my tongue lolled from my mouth and I panted like a tired dog. I didn’t mind that I could taste the thick musk inside my mouth now, almost welcoming it as I took a deep breath through my lips. It was then I realized the tightness centered on my shorts, and I looked down to see my cock swelling over my leg. The short covering of my thigh inflated as the concealed tube extended out, nearly reaching the end and exposing itself. I never got hard working out, but there was a first time for everything. There was also a first time for public masturbation, I told myself, and it felt like my hand was moving without my consent, stroking the covered lump. A sharp jolt shot through me, causing me to clench my teeth and rub my groin even harder, my other hand roaming over my chest. My palm would rest on a single point, and knead the semi-toned muscles that lay beneath my shirt. At my very touch, I felt small sections of soft skin on the little fat I had melt away. It was like I was rubbing the impurities from my body, molding, sculpting, shaping myself.
Before long I felt strong diamond-like ridges where my abdomen should have been. Gone was the toned feeling with soft layers hiding the muscle, and what replaced it felt like marble. No pain entered my body while I changed, or at least I felt no pain while I became distracted with another urge. My upper body twisted and my face planted itself within the cushion of the bench so I could better take in the earthy smell. I pressed my face in so hard the hidden sweat was soaking my face and my tongue was quick to collect the residue on my lips. I had never smelled nor tasted anything as heavenly. It was only a matter of minutes before my new-found urges became even stronger, and I laid face-down on the bench, my tight crotch humping gingerly into the seat while my face nuzzled and licked the moist material. Whatever was happening to me now, I wasn’t showing any resistance. Even welcoming it as my lips made an ‘O’ and I began sucking the sweat directly into my mouth.
Stale, musky, and sour, I should have hated the tastes that were rolling over my tongue, but instead I moaned and kept up in my endeavors as if I was tasting the finest wine in the world. My muscles were still growing. I could feel my skin stretching to accommodate them, and I could hear the creaking on my shirt as the seams were only centimeters from giving up and ripping wide open. While nuzzling, I heard a tiny tear from the bench, and looked at a small vertical slice in the covering, revealing the dampened stuffing below it. How I made that tear worried me for a second, and I reached a beefy palm to my face. What I found was a protrusion inside my bottom lip, forcing its way out. The tip was blunt, and I suddenly realized how far my jaw was extending. A gruff breath was forced from my nose, and I just barely noticed the small fog that followed it as I suckled at my fingers, being able to hold only two of them between my tusk-like canines. I could hear myself growling, snuffling, and grunting the more I pushed my aching erection downwards, and I felt the head of my growing prick push out from the legging of my shorts. The soft, scarlet tip smushed and rubbed fervently over the bench, and I could already smell the musky pre leaking, joining the stale sweat running down my leg.
I could picture myself cumming all over, especially the bench, leaving another puddle for the next person who wanted to use it. They would end up covered in MY scent, and their ass would belong to me. My thoughts ceased there, and I felt a small panic building on why these thoughts were taking over. That is, until another shot of pre powered from my cock and I could hear the hard splash against the floor. I pretended the bench was the next person using it, and I gripped the sides tightly while my hips went into overdrive, banging my balls harshly against the seat. The pain caused me to growl even louder than before, but I drew pleasure from that pain, and my body would not let me quit. Not until I dowsed every inch of this place with my seed.
I stood, panting, staring at the dripping bench that was stained white with my cum. I did that… The river of spunk came from me… I only felt pride, and even lowered my nose to the puddle to take a giant whiff of what I left behind, scratching a foreign itch on my chest. I looked down, just briefly to see the sprinkling of soft hair was gone, and in its place was a forest of black curls, settling over a patch of discolored skin. Something wasn’t right, and while my mind tried to correct it, I scooped up a handful of my own cum and splattered it against my chest. A sigh of great relief escaped my lips, and I relished the warmth covering my front. This was what had been wrong, apparently. I needed to stink more. I rubbed it further in, watching the gooey mess mat my furry pecs, and even took a sausage-like finger and rolled it around inside my belly-button. As I finished, I brought my sticky hand to my now bulbous nose, and slathered the thin layer left over my face, licking the cracks in my leathery green palm. I know I smelled and tasted delicious, but I wondered how I looked…
With my thumb and forefinger rolling a nipple very tightly between them, forcing a grunt from my darkening lips, I lumbered to the nearest mirror. Before me was a green Adonis. Every muscle was bulging, resonating strength and virility, and every article of clothing I had been wearing laid tattered a few feet behind me. My monster cock hadn’t gone limp, and bobbed with a curve to the left. A new foreskin had grown in, green as the rest of my skin was turning, and bunched up over the still-dripping head. My eyes finally wandered to my face, and I saw the strong under-bite, the thick tusks, and my wild black eyebrows. My hair disappeared somewhere during the transformation, leaving me with a shiny emerald scalp. Not even a hint that I ever grew hair on top of my head. Aside from the muscle and cock-growth, I had remained the same height. Possibly shrunk, even. It might have looked foolish before, being only 5’ 4", but so big that it would be difficult to step through a doorway, but I didn’t mind it. Short meant they would underestimate me, and I would surprise anybody willing to challenge me by shoving my foot-long fucker up their ass.
My ass…I was curious of that too, and turned my hips to see the firm globes twitching as I flexed my legs, covered in the same curly hairs that blanketed my chest. Licking my fingers again, it was all I could do to resist spreading my own ass wide and allowing my dark-green pucker to swallow my digits whole. I would wait in the gym today, in the sauna, where I could sweat and spray my cum all over the walls, and the heat would amplify what I had to offer so much, that any man who entered would easily present himself to me, the short-but-hulking orc wrestler, to be stuffed full of green sausage.
My encounter with Decklan had left me worried. Normally he was a diligent worker in both studies AND wrestling. The past couple of days gave me the impression he was slipping. The tournament was approaching, and I’d prefer him to not be booted from the team because of shitty grades. Still, at least he was confident. If it came down to it, I’d probably have helped him with any work he was missing, and let him copy from my notes. Being a team captain meant looking after everyone. At least, that’s what Coach always told me, and I wasn’t one to argue. Aside from worries, Decklan was a very good friend. He’s helped me in the past with subjects that seemed to escape me. Shakespeare, Trigonometry, all that jazz. I owed it to him to show him some support on whatever he chose.
I walked back into my room, able to settle down for the day as my classes had ended, and I took a seat over my bed while gripping the two 20lb dumbbells that were poking out from under the box-spring. I watched my arm flex with every movement, proud of the bulge that was constantly getting bigger every week. Everyone knew I was the captain as soon as I entered. I maintained the best body out of all my brothers, which took three long years to perfect, and it gave me joy to see the others working harder once they saw me “perform” in a match. Decklan was getting closer- probably the closest to my physique, and I’d welcome him passing me since I didn’t have long until my own graduation. Somebody needed to take over proper once I was gone.
One thing began to distract me, my arm slowing with every lift, and I pictured Decklan in my mind. I thought of the way he looked poking out from his blanket. He looked a bit taller, which I assumed was a trick from the bunched up sheet. His hair seemed darker, gone were the chestnut highlights and replaced with a greased raven-like shine. The only thought that trumped my confusion with his appearance was his smell. I could almost still sense it, as if I was standing beside him at this moment. He really needed a shower. Though I knew it was a musk that only sweat could produce, I didn’t find it as horrible as normal B.O.. It had another quality, an almost masculine resonance that caught my attention in every way. I felt my nostrils open, and suck in a bit of the stale air in my room while I pictured Decklan next to me.
I almost wished it was him that I could smell, and depending on how funky he was, I could be detecting him from down the hall. But for the moment I could pick up my discarded jockstraps. I only did laundry maybe once every fortnight, so the used jocks were thrown into a small pile beside my bed. I never appreciated them as much as I did now, unable to resist licking my lips while my hand stroked my inner thigh.
Snapping my eyes open, I sat up from my bed and realized I was getting hard from the smell of my jocks. What’s wrong with me? I looked over to the building pile, noticing five, maybe six lying there unattended. The ones on the bottom were probably the most rank, being the oldest. I’m sure the one I was wearing at the moment was pretty ripe, too. I had failed to remove it for the past two days because it was my last, and I had lots of practice in the ring the past week for the upcoming competition. I guess now was as good a time as any too sort of the jocks and get them in a wash. I wouldn’t want to compete in a dirty jock. The idea sent a small shudder down my spine, and I felt a phantom twitch from my dick within my jock’s pouch.
Tossing the thought aside and ignoring the growing bulge, I walked over to the discarded straps and scooped them into my hands. I was immediately assaulted by the strong odor that I unleashed, feeling a bit nauseated. I’ve cleaned them before, and they’ve been pretty rank, but I was always able to just ignore it. I smell this kind of thing all the time in the locker room. Now, though… I was betraying myself and opening my nostrils wide. The funk was like shoving your face in a fat guy’s under-belly when he hasn’t showered for a couple of days.
Why was I picturing stuff like that? Taking a deep sigh (unable to ignore the musk I was inhaling), I set to work on getting my laundry cleaned. I had clothes everywhere, and the actual laundry basket was lost under my junk. I dumped the jockstraps onto my mattress, and began digging through my room to find it. As I threw probably the tenth shirt to the side of my bed, I remembered that my roommate Aaron was using it. I recalled passing him by while I checked on Decklan, and his arm was holding a full basket.
“Just great”, I said aloud, walking to my bed to rest once more. I stared down at the mess I left there, ready to push them off, but I felt too lazy at that moment to care. A little dirty underwear won’t hurt me… I threw myself onto the mattress, jumping over the pile and landed with a bounce. I was quick to roll onto my side, my usual sleeping position, and found my nose touching an elastic band. So close, I found it impossible to resist the smell that invaded my space. It reminded me of Decklan again… Why did I keep thinking about him? I must have just been worried… Yeah, I was worried about him being sick. It would suck if he couldn’t compete. He was rising to the top, quickly becoming the biggest, and from what it looked like, he was almost there. My hand stroked my chiseled abs, and I felt a bit envious. He smelled so strong.
I meant he looked so strong. I was distracted, to say the least, by the pile of jockstraps I had apparently moved closer to while lost in thought, and was now laying directly on them as if they were a pillow. Taking long, slow inhales, I felt my body relax further, my muscles settle, and my mind was beginning to shut down. A long day deserved at least a short nap…
I awoke to a sour taste on my tongue, sitting up straight and spitting to the side to rid myself of it. It took me a minute to remember where I was, and I couldn’t remember why the hell I was sleeping with my head buried in a shit ton of jockstraps… Shit ton? There were only like six or seven before… Now it seemed the pile contained not only mine, but a few multicolored ones, and a black-and-yellow striped one that I recognized as Decklan’s. Was this some stupid joke?
My eyes shot to my door, noticing the lock was still secure, and back to the newbie-collection of athletic underwear. I felt a little creeped out that I was laying on those. No telling how old they were, or how soaked they were with sweat, or…even worse… I shook my head, pushing the thought aside and grabbed Decklan’s. I’d return it to him immediately, and ask what the fuck it was doing in my room to begin with. I tried to get angry at this childish prank, tried to build a grudge, but what really frustrated me was that I couldn’t. Thinking about Decklan only gave me a slight twinge in my pants, and a little worry about his health. He was still sick, right? Also, he would never do something like this.
I looked at the dirty jock (confirmed through the small crusty stains) that sat in my hands, and pictured him wearing it, confined in his bed by a random illness, and my heart did flips. The poor guy was missing his favorite jock… It had to be his favorite, because I never saw so many cum-stains streaking a strap before. I also recalled getting a glimpe of mostly this one when he would strip down for his showers. I remembered the last match we had, where my foot accidentally hooked onto his shorts, and tugged them down. I saw the yellow-striped pouch grinding into my leg while he was forcing me to stay down. Something hard and pulsing was continuously prodding into my thigh, while his need to win turned into some primal need. He lowered his head over mine, and humped into me like some animal. It would be counted as a dry hump, except I could feel the rush of hot precum slipping from the fabric and running down my side.
What? That never happened! My eyes were closed again, and when I opened them, I was horrified. Somewhere in my sick fantasy with my frat brother, I had pressed his jockstrap close to my face, my nose trapped in the pouch and using it like some disgusting oxygen mask.
Mmm, I could smell that very pre that coated my leg…
NO, I COULDN’T! I ripped the thing away from my face, and watched the long trail of saliva follow. I was LICKING it! I smacked my lips and rubbed my tongue over the roof of my mouth, working to taste what I cleaned off the jock. I switched hands, freeing up the one that was so passionately gripping the underwear and used it instead to mash my palm to my face. I took in the musky scent that absorbed into my skin, and allowed it to join the myriad of tastes dancing over my tongue. This was disgusting! I wanted to vomit, I wanted to cry for help, but all of it was ignored while I dropped to my knees and wrapped the elastic-band around my head.
The pouch was left hanging over my face, and I laid back onto my bed, right next to the other jocks, savoring every hot scent that I could not escape. My hands groped my rock-like erection, surprised at how much…thicker…it felt. The length wasn’t a surprise, but the fact that I couldn’t wrap my fingers around it at the moment would have bothered me, if not for the jockstrap I was thoroughly enjoying. Just as I worked myself into a rhythm, pulling my cock from my shorts, I heard a deep rumbling chuckle come from my closet.
Without moving, only turning my head and opening my eyes, I saw the sliding door squeal open. From it walked a hulking green man- or man-like beast. I couldn’t tell with all the black fur coating his chest, down his forearms, and the crusted bush that accentuated a throbbing emerald pole between his legs. The tip was dripping, staining my carpet with what I guessed was an even muskier pre than what I was sucking into my mouth. I whimpered, scared, but still unable to move anything other than my hand, which was gripping the head of my needy prick and massaging the glands.
“Enjoy my gift, little brother?” It sounded faintly like Decklan, but his addressing me as ‘little brother’ was yet another factor that was confusing me. This had to have been a sick dream. Even as he approached and stroked my chest with his beefy hand.
Even through the pouch, I could smell dick on his hand. Musk, and pre, and cum, and just about any other odor a real man would exude, “Decklan…?” I whimpered, looking into his eyes. They were another hint to whom I was speaking to. Before he responded, he lowered his bearded face to my covered one, and began roughly kissing me. It was strangest, sickest, and most erotic kiss I ever experienced. I felt his tongue push the jock further into my mouth, his saliva leaking through which pushed the excess dry cum out, wetting it enough so it felt fresh and sticky. I moaned, I didn’t want to, but I moaned and thrusted my hips into the air. This was the hottest thing ever.
Decklan pulled away, a few strands of saliva (or cum, I didn’t care) hung between our hungry mouths. He wiped them onto his hands, and then rubbed what stuck into his chest fur. He probably did that with everything, and at the moment I really wanted to bury my head into that fur.
“When I’m finished with you, you certainly will still be the biggest, just not the strongest…,” his smirk simultaneously turned me on and scared me, and I felt his leathery palm smack my stomach. The wind was knocked out of me, but forcing myself to breathe in was heavenly. Only having the cum-soaked air to appreciate. My own hands lowered to rub the sore spot on my abdomen, but after touching it, I was forced to lift my head and look down. The area wasn’t red like you’d imagine freshly-smacked patch of skin to look like, but instead took on a shade of green. A tad darker than Decklan’s new complexion, but that wasn’t what made me jump. The feeling of my abs..they felt all wrong. The inspection confirmed my worries, and I saw the chiseled definition slowly fading. Within a minute the marble-like abdomen had became a bit doughy, rounded, like I grew back my baby fat.
Looking up to Decklan, pleading with my eyes to not take my muscles away, he laughed, harsher than last time, and removed the jock from my face. Before I could ask for it back, my vision was blinded by his massive arm, and my mouth was filled with the fur growing under it. He was shoving his pit in my mouth! I gagged, and my hands gripped his arm to push it back. The more I tried, the less my struggles mattered. Decklan was forcing it deeper and deeper in with every push, showing me that my strength could not compare to his.
“Lick it.” A simple, harsh command that I could not deny, and my tongue betrayed any doubts I held and ran itself over the greasy hairs. I tasted his efforts for the day, and I could detect splashes of spunk he must have rubbed in there too, just like his chest hair. I was getting a “taste” of what to experience from his burly pecs, which made me give in all the more. I felt those sausage-like fingers of his gripping my new belly, kneading it, and it felt like he was almost tugging on it, stretching the skin like rubber and whatever room he made was quickly filled by a mysterious fat.
My hands massaged his bicep, pulling his pit deeper into my mouth and I audibly groaned, my dick jumping and spitting pre with every raunchy slurp. He moved, and began smearing my rank saliva over my own face using his damp armpit. Another slap, and I almost bit down on the rock-hard flesh of his arm. He did it harder this time, and the jiggling from my new rotund midsection caused my entire body to shake. The gelatinous rocking translated to sheer pleasure, drawing more noises out of me. The jiggle felt like it was spreading, invading other muscles in my body and quickly converting them to more fat. More fat, more green, more. I wanted more! I was too busy kneading his muscles, admiring, worshiping them to handle the intense itching spreading. I was growing a pelt of fuzz like him.
Deckland moved my belly enough to rub the underside of it against my growing fat-pad that encircled my cock, making it look smaller, and soon I felt the same tickle between the two sections of blubber, as a thick bush grew there too. If the fat-pad wasn’t enough, the hair REALLY made me look small. I didn’t mind- sniffing someone’s pit or savoring their jockstraps were enough to get me off. I didn’t see a need to ever touch my cock again. I would be content getting bathed in my brothers’ cum, sleeping in their pile of dirty clothes, shoving my nose between their thick toes, forever crusted with a layer of sweat and matted hair all over my body.
Speaking of hair, I felt Decklan’s hand stroking my head. Nothing was causing friction. I even felt the full force as he spit once on my head, and rubbed it in, giving it a green shine. My hair must have fallen out, leaving me with a “clean” scalp, devoid of even seeds of hair. A pig like me didn’t need hair, I suppose. I only needed it all over my body. The last thing I could feel was my bottom lip jutting out, giving me this really primal look to my face- especially when the small tusks grew in…
Within the hour, while I was on my knees and servicing “Dozer’s” giant dick, I looked to the side to see my disgusting round body. Jiggling with every movement, a couple rolls sitting atop my belly, and my dick completely hidden by my fat. I couldn’t wait until there was more like Dozer, so I could serve them all…