Wishing Star (cock Growth, Mf, Mm, Orgy)

[hugehungyogi]

Part I​

I close my eyes—the acrid taste of bitter drinks lingers on the back of my tongue. I didn’t want to be here. Another party—another endless night where everyone else seems to be having fun, but I feel incorrigibly alone.

My roommate led me here—as he always does. I don’t like him going out alone. I worry about him when he’s at these sort of things and doesn’t have anyone to look out for him. I guess you could say that I’m paranoid and possessive—I just like to think of it as strong paternal instincts. I look out for my friend.

The concrete of the balustrade feels cool through my jeans—I enjoy sitting on the edge of this brownstone roof and letting my legs dangle into the air below. I observe the fleeting, careening arrangement of air molecules dashing about below—completely oblivious to my figure above. And were I to fall, they would all get out of my way—they wouldn’t band together to support me, delay my descent.

I may have had too many drinks—I really shouldn’t be sitting on a fourth-story ledge like this, tipsy as I am. I really ought to get down onto less precarious plateaus.

But it is such a beautiful night. I can see clear across the city, sitting like this. A few stars even twinkle through the orange abyss of light pollution to smile down on me.

I know it’s cheesy—but ever since I was a kid, I used to think that the stars watched back. Unlike the uncaring air molecules swirling around us—I always felt like the starlight cared. Our lives mean something to them. I’ve watched them wink back at me as if they could understand, as if they are in on the cosmic joke—they’re aware of the abstruseness of this mortal coil. The moratorium regarding the seriousness we’re supposed to maintain on human life gets lifted when you interact with the celestial spheres. After all, they’ve seen it all throughout those millennia shining above us. No human impropriety phases them. They know a good mortal joke when they see one—the absurdity of men.

We are all living a mortal joke—impressed with our own incandescent importance. That’s the greatest joke of all, believing that we matter. We are just dots on a green continent floating in a blue ocean on a swirling ball in the middle of nowhere. A little solar system at the butt-end of a galaxy on the edge of a universe that was created for Gods-know what purpose. Perhaps beings in other universes matter more—but not here. Here, we are just ants marching in straight lines from cradle to grave. One following the other. Thoughtless.

Whoa—I am waxing philosophical tonight, aren’t I? There must have been something in that last drink they gave me. Maybe whatever made it electric green also had neurotropic qualities. Absinthe, maybe? I really should get off the wall before I tumble over my own grandiosity.

The door swoops open behind a few paces me. I swivel my head, keeping a tight grip on the balustrade, to see who else has found their way up onto the roof. A mop of dark hair steps into the shadowy lamp-light. He glances around and catches my eyes.

“Hey, sorry,” he growls. “I thought this empty.”

“No,” I say. “But I can share—you’re welcome to stay.”

“No. It’s alright. We were looking for some privacy.”

That’s when I notice the willowy blond huddled behind him. The scrap of silver that deigns to pass itself off as a dress would not keep her warm enough in this autumn air. Even from this distance, I can see her skin pimpling. Her arms cross themselves below her untethered breasts—her nipples stand sentry on metallic ramparts.

He wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her close as they turn and descend back into the pulsing void, the heavy door clunking closed behind them. I remember that guy from earlier—I had seen him standing at a urinal in the men’s room. He wasn’t easy to forget. He was planted more than a foot away from the porcelain, but he was holding the longest cock I had ever seen. It easily spanned the distance to the urine receptacle like a rope bridge crossing a great divide. He seemed to get-off on the fact that the two other guys in there (besides me) were watching him, gawking—he reveled in their disbelief on his freakishly endowed manhood.

Frankly, I’m surprised he had his arm around a woman, up here—I would have posited that such exhibitionist tendencies in front of men would have suggested another sexual persuasion. But perhaps it’s just a big-dick thing—liking to flaunt it and show it off, regardless of who is looking. He’s a universal acceptor when it comes to having his prodigious phallus appreciated.

My mind rolls down through my shirt collar toward the buckle of my jeans and my pelvis—my own thoroughly adequate member coming into view. I love my cock—in some ways, he’s my best friend. He is alert, always does his job—and I’ve never gotten any complaints. But still, I wonder what it’d be like to possess a prolific manhood similar to that of the guy I’d just seen. What would it be like to be so hung and swaggering, a pendulum of sexual energy descending nearly to my knee? How would it feel to live like that, I muse? Powerful? Embarrassed? Perpetually eroticized?

As I study these possibilities—I notice my own phallus stiffening—and discover a swelling orb of longing erupt inside my belly. Perhaps its the alcohol and not having enough to eat—but I suddenly feel as if this is the greatest need I’ve ever felt. I absolutely must become as fantastically endowed as this guy. I’ve never wanted anything so much.

My eyes turn back to the horizon, and I notice one star in particular blinking seductively at me. It seems to be cooing, whispering sweet exhortations, inviting me to supplicate my desires to this pulsing celestial sphere. Breathing into that pit of desire congealing inside of me, I whisper to my new astral friend, “Star in the sky...I wish on you tonight. Make me as monstrously well-endowed as that guy. Bigger, even. Make me the most hugely hung man in the nation. Make others quiver in awe before my mammoth phallus.”

I don’t know where these words are coming from—again, perhaps it is my inebriation—but the words are ballooning within me like an enchanter’s spell. They float on the oxygen molecules like dirigibles—bouncing from one cloud to the next. I imagine my entreaties bobbing their way towards my celestial friend. And he is winking back—his blinking has become nearly salacious. Then, all so suddenly, he disappears. A light out of the night sky—a fallen angel. Maybe he took my wish and ran—because he is definitely gone. Perhaps the orange smog ate him.

I feel suddenly empty—as if that wish had taken up part of me and now was free-floating out amongst the ether. Staggering off the concrete wall, I sway back towards the door to the downstairs. What time is it, I wonder? We can’t be that far off from dawn. It’s time to go home. My roommate can fend for himself from this point on. I am suddenly tired—as if the departure of that wish had dropped me into thick mud. I can barely keep my eyes open. I hope there are no nefarious neighbors on the subway tonight—I probably will fall asleep on the ride home.

Cautiously, holding firm to the railing, I descend the rickety stairwell painted black numerous times over to coat the insipid pieces of gum careless attached to the floorboards and rails. The undulating, neon glow of the raging party continues to burn below. It feels too bright for my eyes. Part of me wants to find Bryan—tell him that I’m leaving and heading back to our place—but I can’t stomach the thought of traveling back into that milieu. I head as quickly as I can for the exit—and swiftly, I am back into the cool night air. It’s three blocks to the subway station. I should be able to make it there and, hopefully, remain awake for the duration of the train ride back home.

* * *​

I awake in a fog. Sunlight is streaming through my window—and my face feels sticky and overheated. My tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth with some sort of pasty sediment leftover from last night’s revelries. I am still fully dressed, I notice—shoes and everything. I must have incoherently collapsed onto my mattress when I got to my room.

The memories of last night mull about in my skull like a jigger full of convoluted spirits. I wish I could drain them. The color of the daylight seems too-orange—it feels late in the day. Pawing the dresser top beside my bed, I uncover a disbanded watch face shining three pm up at me. Ugh. I’ve slept all day—too long. Thank goodness I had nothing of importance to get done this Saturday. I really should get out of bed and take a hot shower. Clear up the mugginess inside my brain with a steam bath.

I peel off last night’s garb like a stale, second skin that needs shedding. I toss it into the hamper—boots and all—and stretch nakedly up towards the ceiling. My limbs are long, and I nearly touch the fan blades twirling dedicatedly overhead. I scratch the patch of hair in the middle of my chest and then my right buttock. Stumbling forward, I peel out from behind my door into the hallway. Bryan’s door is slightly ajar—so I peek in and see him still sleeping. Good for him—he made it home.

He and I have an interesting relationship. Friends, mostly—but there has always been a spark of something extra that only rears its head when one of us has become been drunk, lonely, and sex-deprived. Nothing sexual has ever happened between us—but it always felt like it might. Regardless, I am grateful that he and I have such ease with our bodies around one another. It’s nice to live with a roommate and not feel like I have to keep my appendages covered at all times. He and I hang out naked sometimes—not as often as I would like, but sometimes.

I tenderly shut his door and move towards the kitchen. I have to pass through it, stopping to turning on the coffee pot, to make my way to the shower. I enter the black-and-white checkered room, my eyes scanning the counters and floors. It’s neat and organized but in need of a clean. I will try to work on that today. I am halfway toward the coffee pot when I notice an unexpected silhouette piled onto one of the diner chairs that Bryan and I rescued from a recently liquidated cafe. At first my mind assumes that it must be a package or a pile of clothes—but then I realize what it is. It’s a man—a short, bright-eyed man in a metallic coat smiling at me.

I nearly fall out of my skin as I tumble backward. I don’t shout, but as I careen back, the man smiles wider and extends a hand out to me.

“Sorry to startle you,” he whispers in a dusky voice. “I’ve been waiting here for some time—I had thought you’d be up long ago. Sir Astrelous, at your service.”

He keeps his hand extended as if waiting for me to shake it. I am still in shock—and suddenly awkward to realizing my own lack of clothing. I place one hand over my genitals and reach the other out to meet his. I am not sure if he is a deranged individual who has wandered in, an abandoned friend of Bryan’s, or merely a personal hallucination. Whatever I took last night should be strong enough to make the third possibility real. This peculiar man doesn’t seem homeless—his clothing is neat and orderly with a three-button suit under his silvery jacket and a smartly-tied necktie in a knot so elaborate that I could not have managed in my most cognitively alert state.

“Uh, Chris. Nice to meet you.”

“A pleasure, Chris,” he replied, shaking my hand firmly. I notice that his eyes haven’t once darted downward to examine my disrobed frame—it was as if he was accustomed to seeing naked, hungover men staggering around all the time. “We really must get going—I have other places to be before it gets dark again.”

“Sorry, what?” I say, shaking my head. He speaks as if this were a continuation of a previous conversation—as if I should know why he’s here and his reasons for conversing with me.

“Your wish, of course. We need to get started if we are going to make any progress before I have to be back up for nightfall.”

He stands and brushes imaginary dust off of his holographic coat. I realize now that his outer garment is truly opalescent—it glows like star shine.

“My...my wish?” I ask doubtfully.

“Yes, the wish you made last night. Don’t you remember? You spoke to me—quite specifically, I might add. I am so flattered when anyone chooses me out of the trillions of other stars in the night sky. You’d be surprised how seldom it happens nowadays. People are so consumed with their iPhones and earphones and iPads and WhatsApp’s that they hardly notice me—talk to me—the way you did. Well, I was just so plumb flattered that I had to hurry down here once I got off my shift and offer to help you out right away.”

My mind is reeling. This man is a star? Like, a real, heavenly body? This entirely defies my knowledge of cosmology and solar operations. This is not what was taught to me in my elementary, high school, or collegiate astronomy classes. Heavenly bodies aren’t supposed to have, well...corporal bodies. They are supposed to be giant, erupting balls of burning gas millions of light-years away. They certainly shouldn’t be sitting in my kitchen granting wishes.

“Now then,” the man says, stepping forward and brushing my hand away from my nether-regions, “what have we got here? Don’t be so shy, Christopher. I’ve seen lots of naked humans galumphing about over the many millennia I’ve sat watching—there’s nothing to be ashamed of with me.”

I feel my cheeks reddening as he picks up my member and weighs my testicles consideringly.

“Ah, yes. A little larger than average, I think. Girthy, some might even say. But definitely not the pendulous, prodigious phallic specimen you so emphatically wished for last night.

“I have to say, Christopher, the potency of your wish was truly remarkable. I don’t know how you summoned such fervor when you cast it out to me—but it sounded like a bright siren echoing over the quiet cacophony of other protestations. We stars heard your wish clear as a bell—it’s another reason why I rushed down here. You sounded so desperate—so insistent. You seemed to truly need an enormous penis.”

He lets go of my dick, and it swings freely between my thighs. I am beginning to wonder if I should shout to wake up Bryan. I need confirmation if I am hallucinating or not—is this just a dream? Am I still in bed? Or do I really have an odd, little man in my house professing to be a star and manhandling my junk?

“Well, I will need to take you down to Serena’s place for starters. And then maybe Orion’s boutique on Seventh. Yes...and if you really want to get that large, then we will definitely need to stop at Sarin’s demesnes for a final fitting.” He picks up a bowler hat and swiftly turns toward the door. He unlatches the three bolts screwed onto the white doorframe and swings the vestibule open. He is halfway out the door when he turns back to me. “Well, hurry up! Time is wasting.”

I take a hesitant step forward, my cock swaying in the crisp afternoon air—there’s a draft from an open window somewhere.

“Wait—what? Where are we going?”

“I just told you,” he says, sounding exasperated. “Weren’t you listening?”

“I, uh. Oh—okay. Let me—let me go get some clothes on.”

“Well, hurry! We haven’t got time for lollygagging—we’ve got places to be! Penises to grow!”

I rush to my room and hurriedly don a wool sweater, a pair of blue jeans (skipping the underwear), and a beat-up set of old sneakers. Still sticking my heal into one of them, I rush to the door. Should I leave Bryan a note? It is positively bonkers of me to go with this guy—I really should alert someone to my whereabouts. But what would I write to him? Hi, Bryan. A star showed up in our apartment and wanted to take me on an adventure to grow my cock. I’ll be back in time for dinner. Hugs, C? No, not likely.

Following him through the doorway, I feel the thick, oaken door blow closed behind me of its own accord. Sir Astrelous is already racing down the vintage stairwell towards our neighbors below. I race to catch up with him.

“So, where are we going first?” I call out.

“We’ll start with Serena—she has a shop set up in this city, so we haven’t far to go. She’ll be able to increase your size a fair some—and she’ll be the easiest to get to grant the change amongst the three. Plus, she’s always hungry for new visitors. We should be able to catch a cab to get to her.”

We are escaping my apartment building’s front entrance—Sir Astrelous is already hailing a taxi. Before I can get my bearings, we are in a tattered backseat of a yellow cab headed out of the “transitional” neighborhood I live in toward the pencil-thin towers of downtown.

I stare out the window and again wonder what on earth I must have drunk last night to give me these unearthly visitations today. I press the coolness of the glass against my forehead and feel myself begin to doze.

 

[hugehungyogi]

Part III​

I awake in my bed and immediately recognize that the color the light is too orange. It’s evidently late in the afternoon—and I cannot remember the last time I slept so far into the day. What was I doing last night that would justify my somnolence? My mind feels foggy, lethargic. Like a car engine that doesn’t want to turn over.

My hand reaches out for the nightstand beside me and feel for my watch. It takes a few fumbles, but I finally grasp it in my paw. It feels wrong in my hand—too heavy and cold. My detachable watch face is usually adhered to cheep, worn leather. This watch is metal and thick—cool to my touch.

My bleary eyes blink to discern the time. My sheets feel too soft, too. Not the well-washed cotton I had purchased from Target eight years ago. These are silky, Egyptian, high thread-count sort of things.

The watch says five pm. Sheesh! I slept through most of the afternoon. I only have a moment to recognize that thought about the passing of time before I’m distracted by my watch. It isn’t mine—where did it come from? It’s got a fancy designer name inscribed across its face. Not a watch I could ever afford. Did someone leave it here?

I swivel my head toward the center of my room. And it’s still my room—but things are...off. There are high-end-looking clothes I’ve never seen before. My cheep PC has been replaced with a souped-up Mac with dual screens. A sleek racing bike leans against one wall. Where did all this stuff come from, I wonder wearily?

I don’t have long to ponder. Bryan gently taps his knuckles on my already ajar door and doesn’t pause before stepping in. He stands there in his boxer shorts, his curved pecs gleaming in the afternoon sun. I immediately feel my belly lurch and my member start to swell.

“Hey, Kong. You’re up finally?”

I rub my eyes. “Yeah. God, I don’t know why I’m so tired.”

He crosses his thick arms in front of his torso and smirks.

“Well, I do. You kept those two, hot blonds squealing until seven in the morning. Thank God that I’m a heavy sleeper. The way you kept them going, you probably kept the whole apartment building awake.”

“I..uh, I did?”

I rub my palms together. They feel hot. Sweaty. I’d just been using them on two women? I feel like I would have remembered.

“Anyhow, they left their numbers for you,” he says, holding up to Post-It notes. “Want me to add them to the pile?”

“What pile?” I ask, sitting up. I feel a heavy thud land between my thighs as I upright myself. I get the distinct feeling that there is something unusually large in my boxer shorts—but right now is not the moment to investigate in front of my roommate.

“You’re out of it, huh?” he says, smiling again. He crosses over to my desk and tosses the colored scraps of paper on top of a small pile of other Post-Its.

I don’t understand. I carefully stand on to my feet—my head feels like its spinning several stories above me. What the hell happened to me last night? I’m normally never like this. I uncoil myself and stand tall—my legs are too heavy, wooden. And, speaking of heavy, there is an uncommon sensation of pulling happening down in my nether regions. I go to reach for it, and my foot slips—sending me crashing down onto one knee.

“Whoa, Kong. You alright there?” Bryan asks, reaching for me.

My shin stings—but I notice for the first time what he’s now twice called me.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” I ask.

“Calling you what?”

“Kong,” I say, righting myself back to standing.

He looks confused. “Everyone calls you that.”

“But my name is Chris,” I say, feeling stupid, like I’m not getting the joke.

“Yeah, but everyone calls you Kong.”

I must look dazed and confused—because Bryan seems to be pitying me. He lays it out. “Kong. Donkey Kong. Everyone knows that you’re the dude with the donkey dick. So we call you Kong. It’s been your nickname since you were seventeen, and the boys at Boy Scout camp found out what you were packing.”

“I...” I am speechless. The monster between my legs thickens even more. He seems to notice.

“Ah, you’ve probably got a cam show to do now, don’t you? I won’t disturb you.” He gestures toward my dual computer screens. “I’ve got to run anyway...I’ve got a date, and I’ve got to go all the way out into the fuckin’ burbs for it. She’s so worth it though, man—an eleven out of ten. Tits out to here,” he says, holding his arms more than a foot away from his chest. “Can’t show you to her, though—because we know what’ll happen,” he says, laughing.

He pats me on the shoulder, and then—blindingly fast—he taps me on the dick. Without further remarks, he exits from my room, shutting the door behind me.

I am so confused. My roommate calls me “Kong” because of my “donkey dick,” I have a bedroom full of fancy shit, and I have a cam show that I’m supposed to be doing? And more pressingly, I seem to have an enormous semi ballooning in my boxer shorts.

I stumble over to my computer chair and take a seat. A tremendously prodigious dong slips out of my boxer leg and onto the plastic beneath me. Fuck. It looks so thick and long. That is definitely not my penis as I remember it.

I pull it further out of my shorts...and boy is it mammoth. It’s reaching full hardness now...and damn! He wasn’t joking. I really am the proud owner of a legitimate donkey dong.

I notice a tape measurer crunched up on my desk. Do I measure myself during these cam shows to flaunt my size, I wonder? I must. Why else would I keep a fabric tailor’s strip on my desk.

I measure my length first. Whoa. Eight and three-quarter inches. That’s...that’s intense. It’s a legitimately huge dick. Reaching the tailor’s tape around my shaft...six and a half inches. Whoa. I am...huge. No other way to say it. I am a fucking hung stud.

Gripping my meaty manhood with one hand and marveling at how amazing it feels to stroke, I fire up my computer with the other. On my desktop, Chaturbate is left open. I navigate to my profile and quickly discover that I have over ninety-thousand fans. Holy shit. I must do this a ton! I flip open another screen and pull open my bank account. Sure enough—there are a whole lot more zeros in there than I remember there being. Like, I don’t need to worry about paying rent anymore. I don’t need to worry about paying rent for the next four years, in fact.

Holy crap. What the fuck happened to me? I hear the front door close—Bryan must have just left. I stagger out of my wheely chair and head toward my door—my massive manmeat swaying heavily side to side with each step. I feel the reverberations of his heaviness each time my heal strikes wood.

I head into the kitchen—suddenly hungry and thinking that maybe things will be clearer if I eat some breakfast and drink coffee. And I almost somersault in surprise when I realize that there is a man standing by the front door. And it’s not Bryan.

“Ah, you’re finally up!” the short man in a metallic coat cries. “I was worried that you’d sleep through the entire afternoon, and we’d miss our next appointment.”

My heart is pounding rapidly. Who is he? What is he doing here? Where did he come from?

He doesn’t seem to be surprised by my confusion. He rushes up to me, spins me around, and pushes me back toward my room.

“Hurry up. Get some clothes on. Serena took too much time with you, and we need to hurry if we are going to make both other stops before nightfall.”

I let him push me—a spark of recognition is burning in the back of my brain. I know this man. How do I know him?

He ushers me in and throws a silky, black t-shirt and a pair of jeans at me. I catch them and effortlessly pull them on. My enormous phallus doesn’t easily fit, but I bash him in. As I button the last button of my fly—memory finally catches flame, and I remember.

“Sir Astrelous! It’s you...I’ve been—“ It all flashes back. The wishing star. The trip to Serena’s shop. Fucking that woman in the train station.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he cries, flitting his hands about, encouraging me to hurry. “Serena’s powers rewrite history—so it often takes time for the mortals at the center of it all to remember the way things were before she intervened. The other two people you’re going to meet aren’t the same—they will make alterations within the fabric of this time, this reality. But yes, good, you remember who I am. It could have taken much longer.”

I pause with my shirt halfway down my abs. “So...all this stuff, my nickname, my dick...it’s as if it’s always been this way?”

“As if it were the way you were born, yes. You’ll eventually have to rediscover how people treat you. For some people, it’ll have made no difference—for others, it’ll be quite the change.” He motions to the pile of small papers on my desk, “As you already see, you have quite the expanded list of romantic suitors.”

Well, I’ll be struck dumb. She did it. Serena actually did what she promised. I am now the proud owner of a heftily enlarged member—and my life has been made different from the experience. Apparently, I’m a lot more popular in this reality.

I strive to glimpse, to recall the way my world used to be—how things were different. But my memories feel like grains of sand slipping between my fingers. I can tell that before too long, I too will forget that I was ever any different than I am now. This is my new truth—it is the way things always have been.

“Hurry up! If you still want to get bigger...there’s two more stops we need to make. And these aren’t going to be as easy.”

“Why? What do you mean?” I pull my shirt down and jam my feet into flip flops. I notice their logos. Prada...fancy?

“Serena had a shop in this city—Orion and Sarin do not. So we are going to have to travel by starlight to get there.” I follow him out into the kitchen. He pulls a small, clear, cylindrical device from one of his many pockets. “You’re going to want to close your eyes. And be prepared to vomit—this is distinctly uncomfortable for mortals...especially the first time you do it.”

He reaches an arm around the small of my back and pulls me close. The top of his head comes up to the bottom of my chest.

“Are you ready?” I am confused, but I nod. “Then here we go.” He flicks the device in almost an indiscernible pattern. The next thing I sense, I am dissolving. Spinning into starlight. I feel the molecules of my body forced into what feels like a black hole. I become infinitesimally small—almost the size of a single atom. And suddenly, we are gone. Blink out of existence.

 

[hugehungyogi]

Part II​

Serena’s shop turns out to be a ratty, tattered storefront. A garish, pink awning spans over a fire-blackened brick entryway sunk half-a-story below an desolate street. Her windows glow with the twisted, neon signs declaring “Celestial Rock Shop” and “Metaphysical Tokens.” Palmistry is available, apparently, from three pm until midnight, Tuesday through Saturday. I’ll have to remember that, in case I ever desire a repeat trip of this incredulous endeavor.

Sir Astrelous is skipping down the chipped, concrete steps and prying open the battered, once white-washed door. He calls into the dark interior.

“Serena! It’s Astrelous—are you decent?”

“No, but come in anyways,” replies a husky voice that sounds somehow both like a whisper and like a bellows. She’s warm caramel oozing over jagged sea salt.

I follow close behind him and listen to our yellow cab zooming away. Stepping into the twilight room, I notice a fluorescent assortment of gauzy scarfs hanging from the ceiling, creating a motley canopy. I feel like I’ve stepped into some mythical Bedouin’s tent—I am expecting Scheherazade to materialize in an ephemeral swathe of incense smoke. Low, round tufts are scattered around on plush, Turkish carpets. A tea set stands on a low table made of too-many ornate, spindly legs.

Sir Astrelous crosses confidently to a emerald tuft of brocade and sits, seemingly entirely at ease. I follow, and sit myself on one beside him. It squishes underneath me, as if filled with rubber shavings. The room is still dark, even with me giving my eyes several seconds to adjust. I take in the artwork on the walls—scantly-clad men and women frozen in provocative postures. Oiled and undulating bodies trapped in time—mid-ecstasy. I seemed to have stepped into the midst of an artistic rendering of the KamaSutra. So many heaving bodies in various states of copulation. My eyes turn down to the table before me, and I nervously jangle a teacup.

From out of the back, a woman swoops in with a haw-like nose and deep eyes that glow with a soft, internal radiance. She is dressed normally enough—nothing eccentric to match the gaudy interior of her shop. She dives low and circles around Astrelous, kissing him on either cheek.

“Astrelous! What a surprise! I haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.”

“Serena, such pleasure to see you again. You haven’t changed, even by a day.”

She laughs as if pleased. “Oh, Astrelous. You flatter me—but I do so appreciate it.”

Her hungry eyes sweep over to me and drink me in. I watch her observe every aspect of my figure—from toes to crown. She is radiates libidinousness—her breasts swell in anticipation as she inhales.

“And what have you brought for me today? This fine specimen of a young man.”

I feel my cheeks get hot. It’s not everyday that I have a woman so overtly compliment me—stares, I am accustomed to, but not words. Not since I was a teenager and my mother’s friends would get drunk and try to seduce me at her canasta parties.

“He needs your assistance, Serena,” my guide says, tapping me on my knee. “We were hoping that you could change his karma, slightly—re-arrange the placement of the planets at his time of birth, so they would have cast their light on him to make his phallus more profound.”

My cheeks are definitely burning, now. She smiles dreamily.

“So, you want me to work my magic to change the spheres and make this man’s cock grow, is that right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The tip of her tongue touches her upper lip. She undoes the top button of her blouse, exposing even more bosom. They heave achingly.

“Well, I don’t have any clients coming for an hour and a half—so I’ve got time. Go ahead—erm, what’s your name?”

“Chris,” I whisper.

“Go ahead, Chris. Head into the back and take off all your clothes.”

I look at Astrelous and he nods excitedly. “Trust me, Christopher—if this is what you want, she will be able to help you.”

I honestly don’t know why I’m acquiescing. This is all so absurd. I should be home, I know—I should be getting out of the shower and checking in with Bryan regarding his exploits last night. Instead, here I stand being steadily stripped by a woman’s mind as she paws at her own breasts and cheered-on by a diminutive man in a kaleidoscopic surcoat.

Shaking a little, I lift myself off my tuffet and traipse towards the back of the shop. The lighting grows even dimmer here, so I use my fingertips to trace their way along the walls. I feel the crackling of old wallpaper under my fingerpads. The air feels thick with perfume and aromatic oils.

I arrive into a wide, candlelit chamber with a massage table set up in the center—a white sheet draped across it. I remove my sneakers, jeans, and to—and hop onto the table. The air feels electric; I feel my arm and chest hairs standing on end, and my skin tingles. I am conspicuously aware of my breath—it feels deeper, more robust. As if I am breathing more fully than I am used to.

The woman arrives in the doorway. She smiles at me and casually removes one earring after another, her head cocking to each side. She sets them on a countertop on the far side of the room, beside a sink. She washes and drys her hands and turns to face me.

“Do you know who I am?” she asks in a voice that sounds like midnight.

“I believe Astrelous called you Serena—is that right?”

She smiles wider. “But do you know who I am?” she repeats herself. I’m feeling embarrassed—am I not hearing her or not answering correctly?

She takes a few strides towards me, further unbuttoning her white shirt to reveal a lacy, black brazier underneath.

“I am the goddess of the dawn. The bringer and taker of fortunes. I am the guardian of the wanderers, the lost, and the forgotten. I am the protector of in-between spaces, the places of change and unknowing. I control the fates of these things—I am the purveyor of that which is in flux. And so do you, Christopher—do you wish me to change something for you?”

She is so close to me, now. Her lips are inching towards mine—plump and supple. Her bosoms are practically spilling out of her bra—copious as they are.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, I would.”

She licks her lip again. “Then, you need to name your desire.”

“To be bigger—my cock. To make it as big as you can make it.”

Her eyebrows rise toward her obsidian hairline. “Is that so? Well, I will do what I can. But first, you need to make me an offering.”

“Wh—what kind of offering?” I ask, my lips trembling as they linger only a finger’s breadth away from hers.

“You need to offer me some of your life-force.”

Sharp, polished fingernails tickle the periphery of my foreskin. I feel my cockhead engorging, lengthening. She wraps her fingers around my mast and slowly begins to stroke.

This isn’t any sort of normal handjob—it feels as if electricity is pulsing out of her hand and into my manhood. Thousands upon thousands of neurons are firing—tingling my nether-bits, stimulating them into full arousal and beyond.

My cock feels long and hot in her grip. She rubs some fragrant oil into my skin and pumps harder. I have left my body—I am flying through sun-streaked clouds miles overhead—I am ebullient. What little part of my consciousness is still inside my body has clamped my other hand firmly onto the table top to keep me upright—I could easily collapse, topple over. My eyes—which no longer feel like my eyes—watch her pull a small dish from under the massage table and hold it under my urethra. She’s milking me harder—and I am climbing higher into the stratosphere.

I don’t know if it’s seconds or hours that pass by—but I feel deep rolls of orgasm roiling in my perineum. My cock is throbbing, and I am cumming. Glob after gooey glob of man milk rushes out of me and into the bronze dish she holds. I fill it with more semen than I think I have ever produced in my life—my whole body is shuddering uncontrollably. On a scale of one to ten, this orgasm is a seventeen.

After minutes of uncontrollably spasming—and what must have been a dozen or more spurts of semen—I feel myself coming down. I see her mascara’d eyes looking at me approvingly. Her fingernails brush over my cheek with tenderness, as she turns from me and approaches a shelf opposite of the sink. My cock is still throbbing and hard.

She opens a round box and stares inside. Turning around, she asks, “Are you sure this is what you want? Once this change is made, it cannot be undone. It will be as if you’ve always lived your life this way.”

I feel an echo of that pulsing hunger in my gut that I experienced last night—that immense need to be more hung. With the greatest certainty I’ve ever known, I confidently say, “Yes.”

She nods and pours my sexual fluids into the box she is holding. Suddenly, the world goes dark. I vaguely sense my body hitting the tabletop before my conscious mind spins into blackness.

 

[hugehungyogi]

Part V​

The days spin past more quickly than I could have anticipated—each one repeating in more or less the same pattern. I awake early, light spilling through my diminutive window (an alien landscape lingers outside—interestingly, each window in this strange building depicts a different vantage, perhaps reflecting the home planet of the various patrons). Orion, or one of his other trainers, meets me in the front-of-house gym for a strength-based workout. I retreat to the cafeteria for my first meal. A burly and handsome cook with free hands serves up omelets alongside handjobs.

The late morning is spent in the back gym, pulling on my dick with the various machines Orion has taught me to use. Each day, I find myself able to stretch just a little bit further, hang a little bit longer and thicker. I eat a second meal, spend some time socializing in the pool area. I have begun to enjoy some daily penis massages courtesy of some strategically arraigned pool jets. Orion says that taking time to get fellated by the the pulsing, warm water is a great way to keep the tissue expanded and healing in its extended state. After getting wiggled, kneaded, and massaged by the warm water, I am more than happy to mingle with one of my new friends (from some very interesting locales ranging from Mars to MX45INQ to Schenectady). It’s not unusual for me to have four or five orgasms before meal three.

The afternoons are spent in a second strength training session and cardio. Often, I take these in the back gym, totally naked. I am so learning to enjoy feeling my mammoth meat swinging around freely while I deadlift, cable-press, and clean & jerk. I’ve had other members offer to hold it for me while I explore various lower-body exercises—which I have learned to sincerely enjoy.

Another meal—and Orion often spends the later part of the afternoon with me. Turns out, he has a particular fascination with Earth—and we have more in common than I would have expected. You know, he being a constellation and all.

I notice myself more and more looking like him. My shoulders are becoming broader—far more so than my expanding musculature could explain. I am confident that I am growing taller as well, though I can’t be sure. He doesn’t seem as tall and imposing as he used to.

“Would you like to be as big as me?” he sometimes whispers when we are cuddled up together. He skin is surprisingly silky for being so hairy and strong.

“Bigger,” I whisper back. When I say that, I can feel his penis lurch in excitement as he squeezes me tenderly.

Evenings are often spent on my own. Even though I’ve engaged in countless sexual acts with others over the course of the day, I still enjoy getting myself off for a few hours each night. There’s a room with a special mirror. When you stand naked before it, you can ask it to change your reflection to show yourself back at you with whatever dimensions you’d like.

I tell it to show me my body with the maximum amount of muscle I can hold, and the largest my penis will be able to grow. My reflection shifts before my gaze, and suddenly I look like a smaller mirror of Orion. Tall, burly, bulging ovals of shoulders, pecs, and biceps. Legs that look like tree trunks. A penis and balls that can only be called gargantuan. I pleasure myself before this mirror, my mind accepting the fact that this is my reality, this is my truth. After a final meal for the night (and sometimes a quick blowjob) I return back to my room giddy and exhausted—and collapse into a deep and sated sleep. My nocturnal erections have become too big to swing freely, so I now sleep with my manhood fastened to the ceiling so I don’t accidentally roll over onto it and get tangled in my bedding.

Before I know it, my three months have passed. The scale by the pool now tells me that I weight a staggering two-hundred and forty-five pounds. My penis now hangs three-quarters of the way down my thigh—and grows to be eleven and a half inches long when fully erect. My mid-shaft girth is now an impressive seven and a half inches. It’s not as large as many of the men here—but they all came from different planets where their starting size or potential was greater than mine. Orion tells me that I am pretty close to my maximum that I can attain with him. My balls have plumped up to the size of large lemons and hang considerably lower. I love feeling them bounce about robustly when I run or move.

“I want you to know,” Orion whispered to me late last night, “that you have an open invitation to come back anytime you’d like.” He passes me a small, plastic, red whistle. “Blow on this, and you’ll find yourself inside my front doors. Lifetime membership—on the house.” He then winked and then blew me for the the third time that evening.

It’s departure day, and I’m standing by the front door, awaiting Astreouls’ return. I’ve outgrown the clothes I arrived in (I haven’t needing apparel very much since being here), dressed in a kilt, greaves, and black t-shirt to match the ones Orion wore the day we met.

“I hope you know, Chris, that I expect to see you back and getting as big as me. One day, I want us to wrestle with me at my full strength.” There is a mud pit behind one of the doors to the pool area. There are only a few who were able to go head-to-head to him when he is giving it his all.

“Oh, I look forward to it,” I reply enthusiastically. He kisses me hard on the mouth—and the world spins. God, I am going to miss these kisses and caresses. I have become greedy for them, demanding them dozens of times each day. All of us here feel like that—and he is generous with spreading his affection. Though, I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I think he showers me in special affection.

All too soon, the door is clinking, and Sir Astrelous is stepping through, just as I remembered him—silver, sparkly coat and all. He smiles approvingly at the two of us embracing.

“Ah. I just stepped outside for a moment, but it seems like you’ve made excellent progress here.” Without asking, he steps forward and lifts up the front of my kilt. He nods.

“Excellent work, Orion. You exceeded even my expectations,” he says, referencing my hefty penis. Orion smiles and slaps my back.

“Do you still long to go even bigger?” Astrelous asks me. “We still have time for one more stop before the evening is out.”

I feel Orion squeezing my shoulder, and I look into his eyes. In them, I see Orion’s hunger for me to be even more hung, absurdly huge. I so long do fulfill his unspoken request—and my own desire to be monstrously endowed. I may already be so, but I want—without question or doubt—to be the most well-hung man on Earth. I want not be the biggest.

“Absolutely,” I say. “Let’s make me as endowed as I can possibly be.”

Orion slaps my back. “That’s my boy!” He chortles heartily—his bass voice still makes my spine tingle every time. That hasn’t ceased.

“Well, then,” Astrelous says, gleaming. “Let’s perhaps give you a quick stop at home to change your clothes (if you’d like), and then we will take you to Sarin’s.”

He turns to exit again. I step after him, but Orion pulls me back. “See you tomorrow?” he asks sexily.

“You can count on it.” I tug at the whistle now suspended between my meaty pecs and show that I intend to use it. We kiss again, and then he pushes me toward the door.

Stepping outside, I have a sudden experience of how my body has changed. I feel myself taking up more space in a way that I hadn’t realized when bunkered inside Orion’s domains. I feel taller, fuller. I feel my massive genitals hugging my thighs. I feel powerful and radiant.

“Alright, you know how this goes. Gather close.”

I step into him, and he again hooks his arm around me. He pauses for just a moment and eyes me up and down. After a moment of reflection, he adds, “You look really good, you know. He did excellent work with you.”

I feel my face flush. For some reason, having this celestial being compliment my looks feels more validating than any of the dozens of other men that existed in Orion’s alternative reality.

“Gee, thanks,” I say, modestly.

“Your online followers are going to be beside themselves,” he chuckles.

With an elaborate gesture, we are again spinning into nothingness. This time, I feel less queasy and embrace the dissolution.

 

[hugehungyogi]

PART II (cont.)​

I stand in a smoke-filled room. It’s like that penultimate scene in the Harry Potter films where the protagonist stands with Dumbledore in a misty train station that resembles King’s Cross. I somehow remember that when Rowling was writing the books, she didn’t actually mean King’s Cross—she was picturing another train depot in her mind and she gave the wrong name.

I don’t know why I am thinking about that now. The room is swirling in fog, and I only see the vaguest outlines of shapes in the periphery. I hold up my hand—it looks luminous. I seem to be glowing.

I take one step forward, and the noise of my foot hitting the pavement ricochets through the space like a gunshot. The air quivers.

I stop—and smell what seems to be rose petals. Fragrant, fresh—newly crushed. And then, in the distance before me, a shape emerges. Dark at first, the figure moves closer and becomes more discernible. Part of me wants to run—but I stay. I am curious.

It’s a woman, I can tell by her outline. As she steps closer, I see that she is naked. Broad, wide hips of golden skin. Round, full breasts that seem gravitationally impossible—they’re so wide and buoyant—they move like Jell-O on springs. She has long, dark hair curling down to the middle of her back. A small waist and an overflowing bush. As she walks, I can see meaty labia dangling between her thighs—they must be enormous for me to see them so clearly from here.

She has a lascivious smile on her perfect face. She appears timeless—both youthful and mature at the same time. Her arms are long and willowy.

Without a word, she comes up to me and grabs my cock with one hand. I try to speak, but she holds up a manicured finger to my lips and smiles. She is, unquestionably, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen—it’s as if a horny teenage boy had drawn her.

She pulls on my tumescent manhood and kneels before me. Putting it into her mouth, she begins to move her tongue around my glans and gently suck. I’ve had quite a few blowjobs in my life, but this one is instantly the best. I would have thought she had a dozen tongues, the way she kneads and massages my knob. I am actually seeing stars, I am in such ecstasy. My feet are lifting off the ground, and I am floating midair. This is not a metaphor—I am actually flying as she sucks me off.

A cascade of fireworks is exploring within me. A fire is burning, threatening to erupt out of my skin. I never knew I could feel this way. She is sliding her hand up and down my shaft—and I look down and am astounded to see that it appears unusually long. Her mouth is wrapped around my head, but I still somehow have enough length for her to fit both her hands around my length, with room for a few more. As she sucks, I am floating further away from her, but my cock still stays in her grasp—a leash extending out.

I reach the point of excitement where I would ordinarily cum, but my orgasm just keeps climbing. I feel like I am about to burst. She releases her lips from around my inflated, bulbous cockhead and slides my otherworldly-sized phallus down to her vagina.

Her pussy is wet and dripping. Strands of clear fluid descend from her beautiful lips. She pulls me into her as a thirsty person gulping water. She wraps herself around my flesh—and my orgasm climbs higher. I feel myself throbbing—her gripping me with her insides. Bigger yet, I grow. She slides herself down repeatedly on my meaty shaft. Her eyes roll back in her head and lightning dances around us. We float higher into the misty sky, rotating and fucking. I still keep thinking that I’m about to cum, but nothing happens. Higher we ascend. This is a mountain with no valley on the other side.

She continues to thrust onto my enormous poll—both of our bodies quiver uncontrollably. Her mouth drops open in silent euphoria. There is a light passing between us that is so bright and brilliant that I am practically blinded. I close my eyes, and feel her fingertips wrap around my arms.

Finally, I erupt.

 

[hugehungyogi]

Part IV​

Spinning back into flesh is not the most comfortable of experiences. Feeling your molecules rearrange themselves in a quixotic manner—expanding from a single pinpoint of matter into the collective unfolding of one’s physical body—is unsettling. All my organs, limbs, and appendages assume their regular shape and functions in the briefest of flashes, and I find myself standing on a strange and distant street—gleaming towers leaning overhead.

Sir Astrelous seems far disoriented than I. Hardly faltering at all, he steps out of oblivion and onto concrete sidewalks with aplomb. I stagger and have to catch myself against a bronze balustrade neatly spaced across an at-hand portico. I feel nauseous; I feel elated. I just crossed time and space in the blink of an eye.

“Just this way,” he says in a squeaky voice, launching himself quickly down an alleyway. Trying to keep my stomach in check, I follow. My knees feel turned gelatin, and I walk in a manner reasonably impersonating a duck.

Down a cobblestone corridor he takes me to a small, formal garden hidden in the shifting shadows of the towers. Past a row of box hedges, he spins on his heels to turn to face me. Placing a palm on his lapel, he cheerfully says, “Orion’s boutique gym. Our second stop.” I follow the direction he gazes to spy a blue awning. Emblazoned on its lip in curving script is the name he just spoke along with a logo showing the outline of the consultation of Orion. I take a step in that direction.

Sir Astrelous stops me, placing a hand firmly on my shoulder. He eyes me significantly; and I notice for the first time that his irises flicker between countless hues. At first I think that they are blue, then red, then green. They twinkle like starshine.

“You should know that this place is stripped from the flow of time of your reality. Once you step inside, no time will seem to pass in your home world. You could stay for weeks and return only moments later.”

I nod as if any of this makes sense to me. The boundaries surrounding my understanding of reality are not only dissolving, they are ragged beyond recognition. I no longer know what is possible or practical. What are the rules of physicals, logic, or nature when anything seems capable of happening? This experience has already shaken my belief in sanity, my understanding of self, and my place in the universe to its bedrock.

He opens the aluminum and glass door and motions me inside. The familiar smell of sweat, lifting chalk, and crotch-stink greets my nostrils—it’s a basement gym like many I’ve seen before. Dimly lit, my eyes fight to adjust to the perpetual twilight; the sound of clinking weights and primal grunts greet my ears.

I follow Astrelous down to a small landing and toward a wide expanse of desk. A collection of protein bars, shakes, and miracle pills sit piled across the counter top; a chalkboard listing different custom-blended smoothies register prices in a currency symbol unfamiliar to me. I am sincerely wondering where in the galaxy he has brought me. I thought we were just traveling to another city, or perhaps another part of my own city—but it appear I was mistaken.

A shining, blond girl stands attentively behind the counter in a too-tight polo that accentuates her massive bosom. She smiles at us in an overly exaggerated manner that makes me wonder if she had Vaselined her teeth.

“Hi there! Welcome to Orion’s Boutique Gym. Are y’all members?” If I didn’t know better, I would have said her twang was undeniably Texan—probably a product of Houston and it’s overtly gentrified suburbs.

Sir Astrelous paddles up to her and shakes his head. “No, but Orion is an old friend of mine. Please let him know that at Astagonia is here.”

She blinks, the smile never dropping, and she turns with a small bow of her head to retreat around a chainlink corner. Moments pass, I try to sneak a glimpse at the the clientele, but everyone is hidden around bulky shapes of iron and faux-leather padding.

“Astagonia?” I ask.

“Astagonia Arrebella Astrelous,” he says without inflection.

I nod as if that were the most commonplace name I’d heard all day.

After only a few moments, quite possibly the burliest man I’ve ever laid eyes on emerges from around the corner. He is close to six foot, five inches—and his shoulders are so wide that he must have to turn sideways to fit through a traditional doorway. His chest muscles look four-fists deep, but his waist is no wider than my own.

“Astrelous!” he cries out in a booming bass. He spreads his ham-thick forearms wide to embrace the diminutive man in a bear hug. I notice that his wrists are wrapped in leather greaves. Combined with his ample beard, I guess that he is part Viking.

He nearly crushes the corporeal-embodied star in his embrace. Astrelous yelps a little and I hear a few joints crack. He pats the behemoth man on the side of his bulging lats before being released.

“I have brought someone for you to work your magic on, Orion. This is Christopher. And he would like to be a member of your special gym.” I can hear the emphases he places on the word “special,” and I suddenly feel intimated. What sort of program is this celestial creature signing me up for? I could be snapped in two by this muscle giant without the slightest resistance.

The übermensch eyes me up and down. “Oh, is that so?” he says with a congenial smile. “You think he has what it takes?”

Astrelous nods. “He was practically desperate when he called to me. I already brought him to visit Serena...and you seemed like the logical next step.”

The giant begins to circle me now, eyeing me like a Christmas dinner. “Not bad bones. He’s got a well developed skeletal system. I am sure we can do a great deal with him while he’s here.”

“How long do you think it’ll take?” the star asks, now leaning on the counter to regain his breath.

“Give me two or three months, and I should be able to max out his latent potential.”

My eyes bulge out of my face. Intimidated by this man as I’ve been, I’ve refrained from speaking hitherto. Despite my intentions to remain quiet, I blurt out, “Three months! I can’t disappear for that long. Everyone will wonder where I went.”

My mind flickers to my loyally devoted online fanbase. Even though part of my brain recognizes that I’ve never actually ever done a cam show in my waking life, there’s a part of me that has hundreds of memories of past performances. I realize that soon I won’t even recall that this hasn’t alway been the case—that I haven’t always flaunted my private bits online. I also know with equal certainty that when I miss a nightly performance, my following grows rebellious. They demand my attentions with fanaticism.

“Relax,” Orion booms, slapping me on the shoulder with a palm that might have been a sledgehammer. I try not to buckle under his strength. “Time flows differently here.” He starts massaging my shoulders with his meaty hands. I feel my tense muscles liquifying under his grip. For being so immensely strong, his caresses are unexpectedly tender.

My mind starts to feel gooey, but I recall what Astrelous mentioned to me before we entered—no time will pass once stepping inside these doors. Orion goes on, “Judging by your lightly pumped physique, you’re no stranger to a gym. You know how you can spend an afternoon inside one and feel as if no time has passed at all? It reflects the truth that is here—that to work on and refine your body is an experience outside of time. Time flows differently in every gym—but especially here, one of the nexus gyms of the universe.”

“And not just any gym,” Astrelous added in. “Aries and others have their own...but Orion’s is known for something special.”

The behemoth turns, smiling with his pearl-like teeth, toward the logo of the facilities. “You recognize our logo?” he asks.

I nod. “Of course: the constellation of Orion. Which, I am now guessing, is actually you?”

He nods in return. “in the olden days, before your so-called modern times, those three stars in the middle didn’t represent ‘Orion’s belt.’”

I see Astrelous smiling knowingly. “It didn’t?” I ask.

“No. The third star represented Orion’s penis.”

Unable to control myself, I glance down. For the first time, I notice that this man isn’t wearing the gym shorts I was expecting. He is wearing what might nowadays be called a kilt...a skirt of some kind. Before I can fully register what he is doing, he is lifting up the front edge of the fabric, revealing the largest, fattest log of man-meat that I have ever seen. Totally flaccid, it’s bulbous head is dangling directly above his knee caps. I see crisscrossing veins like tree roots flowing down his hairy shaft. I imagine how incredibly mammoth this phallus must be when erect: easily a foot and a half or more.

My mouth is hanging open, I discover. It is one of the most startling sights of my life...events with the past several hours included. The man drops his kilt back down, and I now observe the enormous bulge pressing out on the fabric. No wonder that this man wears skirts; he’d never fit that log into a pair of trousers.

Sir Astrelous goes on, “Orion’s gym the is hub in the universe not only for building muscle, but for growing penises, as well. He’ll get you set up here, train you for a few months, and I will come pick you up and return you as if no time has passed. And if you still wish to be bigger after you depart here, I can still take you to a final locale.”

“Sarin’s?” Orion asks with a smirk. Astrelous nods. Orion then barks a laugh as if he is all too-familiar with the destination.

“Well, if we are all set, I will be seeing you.” Astrelous turns to go.

“Wait, Astrelous...I...” He turns and eyes me questioningly. I have nothing really ask. He promises that not time will pass, that in this place I will finally have my burning desire quenched. I gesture that I have nothing to say, and he skips to the front door.

“See you soon!” he calls before the glass closes.

I turn my gaze to the smiling giant beside me. He is still rubbing my shoulders, and I feel that I would do anything he ever asked of me. He is so brawny, powerful, and beautiful to behold. No matter what he asked, I would acquiesce.

“So...” he says in a manner that can only be described as lascivious, “let’s get going, shall we?”

He pushes his hips against the small of my back, and my whole body erupts in electricity. To know that I was only a fabric’s breadth away from that magnificent member makes me feel like I’m on the verge of coming. I know that I have an impressive dick; but his is on a whole other level. He makes me feel microscopic down there.

He guides me around some of the weight lifting machinery, and I get a first glimpse at the other clientele. Other, boulder-like muscle men, incredibly jacked women, and then others that I wasn’t expecting. Humanoid figures with scales instead of skin, some covered face to foot in fine hairs. It hits me suddenly, that they said this was a nexus point for gym-goers across the cosmos. I guess sentient life on other planets also gain access to this place. Once again, my sense of logic and understanding takes a bashing. This is so far beyond my scope.

He guides me past lat pull-down cables, bench press setups, and squat racks. A few patrons smile and nod in his direction—he smiles back. As we make our way through the various gear, he whispers in a bass that makes my spine vibrate.

“This is my front-of-house gym. We will have daily training sessions out here, as well—but only a select few are invited into my back-of-house area. Astrelous is a great friend of mine; so someone he vouches for is welcome there.”

Then, he leans closer and adds, “Plus, you’re very cute. I can only imagine how much even more-so you will be once we’ve added inches to your cock and fifty pounds of muscle.” If my spine was vibrating before, now it is full-on capitulating. I am glad he still has his hands pressed to my back; otherwise, I would have collapsed into a puddle.

He guides me to what seems like the back of the gym, to a door that says Staff Only. He presses through, the metal clanging behind us as it re-latches. Down a cinderblock hallway, we turn a few corners, skipping over closed doors. He spins me out, finally, through another doorway. I emerge in another gym; but, immediately, I notice a stark change.

Fist and foremost, everyone here is naked. Completely naked. They are all human-shaped and sized; no furry or four-legged creatures here. Second, they are all men. They stand in two’s and threes chatting when not actively engaged in their sets. And each of them has a massive, elephant trunk of phallus snaking down from his crotch.

The very smallest has to be eight or nine inches. The largest is even more substantial than Orion’s; I see a man with a penis that is actually touching the floor, it is so long.

“Welcome to my private gym,” he whispers. “Admission is limited to a select few.”

My senses settle down and I begin to notice the exercises the men are doing. While there are a few doing squats and bicep curls (the squatters are sometimes being assisted by other men who are holding up their mammoth members while they sink low into their dips), most of the men were hooked up to machines and mechanisms that were pulling on their penises. Pulleys, levers, and devices attached mid-shaft or behind the glans, and the men yanked, pulled, and sweated in heavy grunts—hoisting substantial weights with their gigantic pricks.

There were dick pull-downs, penis pushes, phallus raises, member flys. Dozens and dozens of different machines all designed to expand and grow the tissues of the genitals. I observe that some are even for testicles—more than a handful of men engage with devices that are stretching out their ball sacs and making them more rotund.

“I will get you set up with a training program and show you how everything works, but there’s more to show yet.”

Reluctant to retreat, I slowly follow him. Several of the men had caught my gaze and smiled at me. More than a few members stiffened at my returned attention.

We retreat back to the concrete corridor. Orion pushes open the third doorway on the right and steps inside. I follow, and before I can see anything of note, my nose catches the whiff of chlorine. Through a second, successive door, and I hear the sound of water splashing.

We step into a white-tiled space. Huge, bathing pools steam at different temperatures across the space. Men lounge, talk, and fornicate on different ledges and seats. Some conversations seem entirely platonic; others are overtly sexual and reflect the carnal acts the various men are engaged in. A tall waterfall in one of the corner raises up merry jumpers who careen themselves off its lip and into the waters below, their mammoth phalluses slapping against their abs and chests.

“The wet area. Places to swim, train, or get a load off,” he says with another wink. He grabs my bottom with his cupped palm and squeezes gently. I feel my manhood elongate. “There are steam rooms, saunas, and further wet areas beyond those doors yonder.” He motions to doors around the perimeter.

He turns back again, and—again—I am reluctant to go. I have never been to a gay bathhouse, but this far exceeds even my most wild imaginings of what it would be like.

Back toward where we initially came in, he brings me into a small room off the main hallway. “This is your sleeping area while you’re here training with me.”

There is an iron headboard, a bed with crisp white linens, a small chair, and a lamp. Spartan...but I have a feeling I’d be spending very little time in here, anyways.

“There’s a cafeteria in the back serving high-protein, low-carb meals at all hours...all of which is complimentary with the price of your membership. So, eat up at any time you’d like.”

I feel my stomach jerk. “Oh, Astrelous didn’t mention anything about prices. How much will I owe exactly?”

That predator-like grin returns to his face. “I’m happy to take you on as a favor to my good buddy without any payment required. But...if you wan’t to make it up to me...I know how you can show your appreciation.”

Without looking over his shoulder, he shuts the door behind him. I find myself pressed backwards and being seated onto the bed. With one quick motion, Orion has his kilt unbuckled and falling to his knees—his shirt comes off with one, easy shrug (impressive for his massive muscularity). His enormous penis stiffens, swiftly rising toward eye-level before me. The head is the size of a small cantaloupe. His shaft is easily as long as the door behind him is wide. He nuts are softballs and dangle most of the way toward his knee, swaying hypnotically.

I reach out with both hands and wrap them around his thick shaft. I slide my tongue into his urethral opening, and his eyes roll up and back into his head. He moans loudly, and the tremble of his groan make the walls rumble.

 

[hugehungyogi]

Oh wow. I had no idea people wanted more of this — I’m on it!

 

[hugehungyogi]

Hey all! So sorry for the lack of writing. I have a queer fantasy book coming out this spring, and I have been busy with revisions on that. (Interestingly enough, there actually is element of penis growth in that ;-) ) I will try to get more written for this in the coming weeks! Thank you for your patience

 

[hugehungyogi]

Gosh, you guys are persistent. You really want to see more? Maybe I can write some in the coming weeks

 

[hugehungyogi]

I’ll get to work on continuing this story over the holidays. I’ve had the book I wrote come out recently, and I’ve been swamped with getting everything involved finished (I just completed the audiobook three days ago). Now, I should have more time for other creative projects! Thanks for letting me know you’ve been enjoying this!

 

[itsallaboutsize]

I’m so eager for Part III.

 

[ItalMusc]

I’ll get to work on continuing this story over the holidays. I’ve had the book I wrote come out recently, and I’ve been swamped with getting everything involved finished (I just completed the audiobook three days ago). Now, I should have more time for other creative projects! Thanks for letting me know you’ve been enjoying this!

I am so happy I stumbled onto this story! I’m hooked but not surprised to discover another layer of your talents.
Like the others I shall wait for more chapters whenever they appear,
although with everything you have going on I might have to be patient.

 

[Xyze97]

Same here!

 

[Xyze97]

This story is awesome

 

[Xyze97]

Looking forward to more from this story!

 

[Xyze97]

......bump?

 

[Xyze97]

I’ll get to work on continuing this story over the holidays. I’ve had the book I wrote come out recently, and I’ve been swamped with getting everything involved finished (I just completed the audiobook three days ago). Now, I should have more time for other creative projects! Thanks for letting me know you’ve been enjoying this!

That’s awesome... congrats!

 

[George_Pantelis]

Interesting start mate

 

[deparent]

Hot af dude can’t wait for more

 

[deleted363616]

Really great writing!