Overcast, ch. 22: Consumed (Patreon)

(Voting options to come! Weekend's turning out be busier than anticipated.)

As hard as it was for John to imagine, things were getting worse. He was in a cramped, pitch black space that felt like it was moving, with muffled noises of a crowd filtering in around him. His shredded BMR uniform was still gone, though he could feel unfamiliar fabric stretched around his torso and waist. Whatever he wore, it wasn’t much, and he certainly didn’t like what the soft, silky material implied. Nor was it simply embarrassment that sparked his anxiety. Things were escalating. First it was his and Chris’s unquenchable new lust, followed by their uncontrollable new urges, and now entirely new scenes were being created out of thin air. His best guess was that whatever they’d awoken was feeding off their frenzied arousal, and while John knew there were less pleasant ways to be devoured, he worried that the end result would be the same regardless of the method.

They’d been sent to rural Vermont on what should have been a routine investigation. A man had called the BMR tip line to report a strange cluster of standing stones on some property he’d inherited from a distant relative. The rotten remains of the old farmhouse sat on dozens of acres of overgrown hillside, so the fact that the stones had gone undiscovered for so long didn’t immediately raise any red flags. But now John wondered. Maybe they hadn’t “stumbled” into anything; maybe they’d been the bait the whole time.

It wasn’t as if either of them were rookies. Now in the last year of their twenties, both John and Chris had been with the agency for nearly a decade. And while neither of them strove to be an overachiever, nor were they careless. They’d checked the astrological forecasts ahead of time, they’d trusted the agency to vet the caller, they’d filed their itineraries so someone would know where they were at all times, and they’d triple checked their wards before approaching the stones.

None of it had mattered. The duo’s arrival at the farmhouse and subsequent trek through rolling fields that had long since returned to their primitive state had been uneventful, but they’d both felt the shift as soon as they’d crossed the treeline. The woods were too dark, too dense, and too quiet, the telltale trio of arcane influence. Though it was only noon, the forest was night black, requiring the assistance of flashlights once they’d reached the circle of stones. At first glance, they were relatively unremarkable. Standing roughly ten feet tall, the six monoliths looked out of place against their deciduous counterparts, but not overtly sinister. John had busied himself with taking pictures of the strange carvings that covered the weathered pillars, while Chris inspected the perimeter for any signs that there might be an adjoining site. It was during this preliminary investigation that the bearded bodybuilder must have kicked the wrong stone and disrupted the equilibrium, or so John told himself. The other possibility was that he’d run his own finger over the wrong rune and unintentionally set off a trap, but at the moment he’d rather blame his partner, and not just because it gave him an excuse to think of the other man.

Regardless of who bore the blame, if either of them did at all, the outcome had been as sudden as it was inescapable. The silent woods whipped and rustled as if blown by a hurricane wind while the ground shook in throbbing tremors, both of their heads filling with visions of a massive stone temple carved into the very rock of the foothills around them. As they’d gasped at invading images of a rotund, hairy mass with too many mouths and too many limbs, the pair discovered that they weren’t standing in a traditional circle of stones after all. If the visions in their heads were true, they weren’t surrounded by mere pillars but the weathered remains of an impossible structure that lay buried for millenia.

The scale of it all was overwhelming, the non-euclidian dimensions of the architecture, the immensity of its age, and when their vision finally cleared it was all the two men could do to stay upright. They’d gasped at each other in stunned silence for several moments, catching their breath and knowing full well that they should be reacting, but neither of them could look away. All they could do was stand and stare.

It had finally occurred to John that he was looking at Chris’s strapping frame with increasing desire, and he could see his partner doing the same to him, but he still couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to. He’d always known on an objective level that the other man was handsome, and if he’d been attracted to men he had no doubt that Chris would make the cut, but he’d never actually been turned on by his partner. At that moment, though, and ever since, the intensity of his arousal made John wonder if he’d ever truly been turned on at all. Chris was stunning. His buzzed, dirty blonde hair, his sharp cheeks, his trimmed beard; they all made him quiver, and that was before the handsome hunk’s brawny body was even taken into account. Chris’s shoulders were almost exaggeratedly broad, their wide distance making room for the plump pecs that jutted between, while simultaneously supporting the powerful arms that hung on either side. Adding to the impressive physique was the way the blonde’s waist pinched at the middle, his BMR polo going from stretched and straining at the top of his torso, to loose and relaxed as it tucked into his tactical cargos. The black trousers followed a similar pattern, stretching tight around the buff bodybuilder’s ample bottom and sturdy thighs before loosening at his rocky calves. Though he technically only stood a few inches below his partner at 5’9”, Chris’s impressive breadth made him seem even shorter, which only served to accentuate the abundant muscle he’d worked so hard to build.

John had been well aware of his partner’s physique for several years, but the sight had never caused his cock to spring awake before. He’d blushed as he’d felt himself go hard, and he’d observed a similar reaction in his equally gawking friend. With a thick head of wavy chocolate hair and smooth, square-jawed features, John guessed that his own above-average looks were likewise being reassessed by his partner. The taller brunette wasn’t a muscled meathead like the other man, instead possessing a long, lean swimmer’s build that was covered in sculpted definition. His shoulders were broad, his pecs popped, and his trim torso tapered, but John’s toned frame didn’t consume space in the same way that Chris’s did. Where the burly blonde sat firmly at the “strapping jock” end of the spectrum, his own all-purpose, athletic body sat more towards “fit pretty-boy.” Neither of them had ever lacked for attention from either men or women, and they even had a running competition to see who could score the most whenever they were out on the road, but they never expected to add each other to their lists.

Yet, despite knowing full well that he shouldn’t be doing it, John hadn’t been able to keep himself from fishing his aching cock from his tented cargos. He’d absently unzipped his fly and pulled the lengthy rod free, letting out a series of desperate whimpers instead of frantic apologies as he’d started stroking. Those whimpers had grown louder when Chris quickly followed suit, exposing a stout club that was shorter, though significantly wider. John had watched his friend’s prominent pecs heave, his eyes glued to the way the blonde’s piston arms flexed with each pump, wishing more than anything that he could experience the firm muscle for himself.

That wish had been granted moments later when Chris abruptly came and movement returned to their limbs. Another gale ripped through the forest as the blonde sprayed, the cacophony of rattling branches tinged by what sounded like a deep, subterranean sigh. The overwhelmed brunette had barely registered the odd noise when his partner suddenly darted forward and dropped to his knees, literally tearing John’s pants and boxer briefs free on the way down. He’d immediately swallowed the taller man’s cock to the hilt, and the sight of the blonde’s broad shoulders flexing while his face bobbed, the sensation of his partner’s scruffy beard brushing against his toned thighs, quickly pushed John over the edge.

There was another burst of wind as he’d sprayed down Chris’s throat, accompanied by what sounded like laughter, but the panting pretty-boy had been too busy turning around dropping to his hands and knees to question it. He’d known what was coming, and the searing pain of Chris plunging inside had been every bit as intense as he’d feared, and far more wonderful than he’d imagined. The mere thought that the beautiful blonde was actually inside him had filled John with a kind of satisfaction that he’d never felt before, a sensation that only grew stronger as the pain and ecstasy gradually switched places.

When Chris finally exploded into him, the pair had literally switched places. John had torn his partner from all of this clothes before he’d hefted the blonde’s meaty thighs onto his shoulders and thrust inside, clamping down onto his partner’s shelf of a chest. Like himself, Chris’s virgin hole had taken a moment to adjust, but, once it had, the blonde became an endless fountain of lustful moans, whimpers, and ecstatic expressions. John had loved every second of it. He loved getting blown first and foremost, and when he fucked, he preferred his partners to be on the vocal side. He liked hearing their desperate moans, loved seeing the bliss on their faces as his lengthy organ hammered into them, and Chris was no exception. Seeing his friend’s handsome features twisted into an ecstatic mask and hearing the other man’s deep voice crack in blissful bellows had been amazing.

And eye-opening. As his frantic thoughts raced to keep up, John had finally started to recognize the pattern. He loved getting blown, and Chris had blown him. He loved loud, vocal fucking, and Chris was wailing like a banshee. Every time one of them came, they switched. The initial jerk session had been a race to see who’d go first, and it was then that John had begun to suspect that something was feeding off their erotic energy. His theory had been cemented with the next transition, when he’d found himself with his face pressed into the dirt and his ass in the air while Chris once again hammered into him. He didn’t know which of them had been more embarrassed when he’d started calling the blonde “Big Daddy” and begged to be fucked harder, but he was glad to have found his voice again.

It took a few more rounds of switching before they’d been able to come close to conversing, their desperate frenzy fading to a much more measured approach. The bursts of wind had also stopped, though that was far from a comfort as both of them felt an immense pair of eyes on them. They couldn’t see anything, but they could smell it, and beneath their own howls of abundant arousal they could hear the shifting of a furry mass, and the wet sucking sounds of several, slavering mouths. And although they’d each become increasingly familiar with the other’s body, as well as what turned them on, neither had yet been able to think of a way out. While they’d begun to experience more moments of lucidity, they were still largely passengers in themselves.

And things were escalating. John’s stomach dropped when he felt the confining space come to a stop and his body began to move. He braced himself for a collision with the ceiling when he stood, but instead found himself throwing open the top of what turned out to be a decorative cake, his whole body going crimson when he finally saw the satin bra and panties stretched around his toned frame. Chris, still naked and hard, sat a few feet away, the woods seeming to have been swapped out for a half-formed strip club. There were several figures standing around, but, like the room itself, they appeared only semi-formed, their faces lacking features and the “bar noises” sounding like a canned track playing over old speakers.

“Happy birthday, Big Daddy,” John cooed, pursing his lips as he groped his modest pecs and slowly slinked from the cake. He was grateful for the crowd’s faceless state when he saw the way his aching cock and hefty balls spilled from pink panties, and even more so when he began writhing and gyrating. “Oh my god…are you serious…” he managed to gasp as he squirmed, toying with the strings of his ill-fitting attire.

“What? I’m a…simple man…” Chris grunted defensively. “You’re not usually the one comin’ outta the cake, either. Should be more tits and ass.”

“Like this,” John purred, his eyes going wide when his body began to swell. His toned pecs ballooned while his ass and thighs expanded outward, taking his tapering frame and curving it out of shape. For a moment John feared that he was actually developing breasts, and he was only slightly relieved when he discovered that the oversized, pillowy pecs were still solid with muscle. Regardless, they were far too large for his otherwise trim frame, as were his now-colossal cakes and chunky thighs. But instead of screaming, John simply batted his eyes and groped his new proportions, tweaking his enlarged nipples and bouncing his fattened bottom. “Better,” he asked, his heart racing when he heard the higher, softer register to his voice. “This what Big Daddy wanted?”

“Oh fuck…John…I’m…I’m sorry…I didn’t…” Chris stammered, his cock aching despite his horror. “I don’t know what I want anymore! I’m used to thinking about women…it’s like my brain can’t decide which way to go.”

“I…I know,” John purred, teasingly untying the top and tossing it aside. He did the same with the bottoms, clapping his enlarged cheeks before tugging on his unaltered cock. “Guess that’s why I still have this, huh,” he asked in his husky new voice, grinding the leaking organ against the blonde’s washboard as he straddled his friend's lap. Without waiting for a response, he grabbed the other man’s face and pulled it forward, letting out a shriek of delight as his partner’s beard competed with his partner’s tongue for what his new muscle tits liked more. After a few minutes of motorboating, John popped his hips and impaled himself on Chris’s waiting cock, his inflated pecs swallowing the other man’s groan of pleasure. “Big Da…Chris…listen…we…we have to think of a way…way out…” he gasped, trying to ignore the increasingly detailed faces staring at his warped, naked frame. “We don’t know how long it’s…been…or if help is…coming…” he whimpered. “This thing’s clearly…feeding…I don’t think…it’s a standard lu…lust demon…we…we…”

John was cut off when Chris erupted into him, darkness once again overtaking them. The discordant “club” noises faded, and the dazed brunette’s first thought when light returned was that they were back in the forest. He breathed a sigh of relief when he discovered that his body had reverted to its natural state, but his stomach dropped when he saw the slinky loincloth wrapped around his tight waist. He knew exactly what this fantasy was, knew that it was tropical foliage that surrounded them, not New England woodlands, and he knew exactly where he’d find Chris.

“What the fuck is this?!” the blonde cried when his partner emerged from a nearby cluster of foliage. His brawny body strained against the ropes binding him to a wooden pillar, his impressive bulk clad only in a similar loincloth. “You gave me shit about a strip club while you’re jerkin’ off to this Tarzan shit?! Get me out of here,” Chris barked.

“Not Tarzan,” John said, a massive, thunderous step sounding in the distance. It was followed by the flapping of fleeing tropical birds and loud snapping of trees, though it was hard to tell in which direction the noise was headed. “You can’t see the giant gorilla statue behind you.”

“I don’t want to! I just want you to…to…untie…what’s…what is this…” Chris gasped, not liking the look on John’s face when a sudden tingle ran through him.

“I’m sorry! I just…I usually like my women, you know, smaller…” The brunette trailed off as his partner suddenly dwindled. Chris’s beard vanished, his ample muscle seeming to melt as his body shed both pounds and inches until the strapping stud had been replaced by a slender, supple twink.

“WHAT THE HELL?! DID I JUST SHRINK?! WHY AM I SO SMALL,” Chris shrieked, his softened voice now sounding like a true damsel in distress. “GET ME OFF THIS THING! NOW!”

John shook his head and darted forward, the ropes untying almost by themselves. There was a moment of stunned silence when Chris fell forward into his arms and their new size difference was truly made clear, with the brunette now standing at least a foot taller. Instead of pulling away, the shrunken blonde clung to John like a life preserver, frozen in place until the now-bigger man scooped him up and tossed him over a shoulder. It was nothing like the way his normally-confident partner would have acted, but that was all part of the fantasy. He trotted off through the jungle until they reached a clearing, the earth-shaking steps now obviously heading in the opposite direction. “That’s better,” he said, giving Chris’s softened bubble a squeeze before gently setting his partner on the ground.

“My hero,” the blonde squeaked, bashfully batting his brightened eyes before shaking his head. “Wait…no…that’s not…” he sputtered, his thin, three-inch cock pushing the loincloth aside as it surged to life. “What did you do to me,” he sighed at the sight of his shrunken member.

“Like you said…you’re not usually the one I’m thinking about,” John shrugged as he reached down and pulled the loincloth free. He couldn’t hold back a chuckle at the way Chris’s waifish new body went crimson, his own cock springing to life as he ran his comparatively huge hands along his partner’s softened frame. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your beard,” he said, running a finger across the shrunken stud’s delicate new jaw.

“Don’t…don’t get used to it,” Chris chirped, trembling in John’s now-massive embrace. Though he was accustomed to being shorter than the other man, he wasn’t used to feeling so small. “Don’t get used to any of it,” he insisted, even as he guided John’s hands down to his plump little bubble. “But I supposed you DID rescue me, so…”

The grinning brunette knew exactly where things were headed, and once he was flat on his back with Chris’s lithe body writhing impaled on his lap, the fantasy was playing out the way John expected it to. What he didn’t expect, though, was his desire to keep going. Not only were their experiences becoming more intense, they were going deeper. John had never told anyone about his jungle fantasies, just like he was sure that Chris had never told anyone about whatever was inevitably going to happen to himself next.

But instead of dreading it, John found himself looking forward to it. He began to wonder if their consumption wasn’t also their reward for releasing whatever it was they’d unleashed. The thing was clearly stretching its legs as it fed, and neither of them knew whether this was all in their heads or if their bodies actually were changing, but neither outcome would have been a surprise. They’d seen enough reality warping firsthand to know how malleable existence actually was, and they’d seen people undergo an entire personality rewiring while remaining physically untouched. Anything was possible, and all that mattered at the moment was how it felt. He didn’t know if it had all been a trap and if any of their itineraries had ever actually been filed. He didn’t know if anyone would come looking, and he was even less sure that he wanted them to. As he watched Chris beam and flex his shapeless arms while bouncing on his lap, he guessed that his partner felt the same.

Neither of them knew when, or if, things would ever end; they just hoped it wasn’t any time soon.