Interactive: Make It A Double, ch. 15 (Patreon)

Ben didn’t hear the music.  He didn’t see Adam or Zack behind the bar.  His eyes were open, but he wasn’t looking out on the crowded dance floor of Trunks Too, filled with fit, smiling young men who’d been significantly older and differently built prior to walking through the door.  If the men were alarmed by their sudden transformation into chipper young hunks it certainly didn’t show as they stripped down and fawned over each other’s recently acquired beauty.  Even the women who entered with them didn’t seem to mind, either taking on the role of friend or turning around and walking out the door, confused as to why they’d entered in the first place.  

Ben was oblivious to all of it, his vision filled with the sweeping, cosmic vistas that had crept from his dreams to intrude on his waking life.  It was always the same; a sensation of floating amongst the swirling nebulas, a passenger in his own body.  He could see the colossal figures looming at the edge of the galaxy and could hear the strange language leaving his mouth that was calling them closer.  He could feel the chill of the void and the way the words scraped his throat as they left, but he wasn’t in control of any of it.  

And with each episode he was starting to question who he really was in the first place.  Was he a bartender in his mid-twenties, or was he something far, far older?  Was he just the same raw material that the rest of the world had become, or was he above that?  He was shaping and molding it to his will, but what did that make him?  Was it really only a few weeks ago that he’d been just like everyone else, or several lifetimes?  

He’d been able to shake himself out of it after the first few visions but lately the fog, and the questions, lingered.  He wasn’t questioning his use of the book at all anymore, despite knowing that he should.  He searched for that inner voice telling him he was out of control but it was nowhere to be found.  All he heard was the insistent whisper telling him to pick up a pen and start writing again.  

What he’d done at Sullivan’s was a turning point.  He’d changed men on a mass scale before with his tweaks to the gym, but this was different.  Those guys just had their bodies changed.  Their arms or chests or assess would balloon, but the rest of their lives were more or less untouched.  With Sullivan’s he’d warped reality on a grander scale.  The men who walked in as middle aged but left as ditzy twenty year olds had lives and families.  They had bosses and friends, children and spouses, all of whom had their worlds affected.  The ripples spread beyond than anything he’d ever done before.  He should have been horrified, but all he felt was a numb hunger for more.  

“Impressive work.”  

The voice reached Ben’s distant ears as if the speaker was floating next to him in the void.  Whenever he’d been disturbed before it was a struggle, a premature plummeting back to the physical plane.  Zack and the others quickly learned not to bother him when he “spaced out” after the first few times of Ben biting their heads off.  This was different.  The voice reached the edges of space without losing any of its booming resonance, and instead of a lightspeed fall from the heavens Ben watched the star peppered sea slowly fade, the bustling bar coming back into view.  

The blinking young man found himself staring at a grinning stranger.  Or at least he thought the other man was grinning.  As Ben’s vision cleared he discovered that he couldn’t quite wrap his brain around the person before him.  One moment he seemed middle aged, then half that the next, then old again.  Ben first thought he was well dressed, or was he just wearing shorts and a t-shirt?  Or was it a bright green suit?  Or was he wearing anything at all?  It was as if his eyes suddenly couldn’t connect properly with his brain.  

“Can I help you,” Ben asked, rubbing his face and feeling nauseous from the man’s dizzying appearance.  

“All this,” the man said, motioning to the crowd.  “This is good work.  Usually it doesn’t stick around this long with one person, but it chose well with you.”

“I’m sorry...what are we talking about, exactly?”  Ben was trying to look past the stranger and not at them.  

“There’s no need to be coy,” the man laughed as he leaned against the bar.  “I know all about what you’ve done and how you’ve done it.  You’ve attracted quite a bit of attention.”  

Ben’s stomach dropped.  He’d been so caught up in the rush that it never occurred to him other people might be aware.  His eyes darted instinctively to where the book was tucked away under the bar as he did the math in his head to figure out how quickly he could grab it.  

“Now now, no need for that,” the man said, his tone friendly.  “It wouldn’t work on me anyway.  I’m not made of the same stuff as the rest of the common rabble.”  Ben gasped and looked away as the ambiguous man’s shape seemed to change.  He was suddenly grateful for his eyes’ inability to communicate with his brain as the impressions he got of towering size and too many limbs were horrifying enough.  “See?  I don’t blame you...everyone always thinks of that first.”  

“What...what do you want,” Ben asked, his voice shaking.  “Are you here to take the book?”  

“The book?  You still think of it as…” the man trailed off with a chuckle.  “Usually when someone gets to this point they’ve seen it for what it is.  You think that’s paper you’ve been writing on?  Take a look.”  

Ben could see the hulking shape out of the corner of his eye before he even turned his head.  Instead of a book tucked away under a bar he was looking at a quivering horror.  The thing was amorphous, like a fleshy mound as it reached almost to the ceiling.  It’s wide base was at least eight feet in diameter as it raised like a pulpy, shifting obelisk towards the sky.  The thing’s outer skin was covered in strings of writing that shifted and writhed around it in perpetual motion.  Ben saw flashes of alphabets he recognized mixed with all manner of shapes and languages he’d never seen before.  There were strings of color, sound, and even scent swirling in with the mass of letters and it occurred to the startled young man that not only had this horror existed on earth for millenia, but on other worlds and in other dimensions as well.  

The sight made Ben want to retch as he thought about what he’d been carrying around with him.  “Wh..what it is that…” he managed, his voice a hoarse whisper.  

“A little seed of chaos,” the other man shrugged, sounding like he was talking about an unruly pet and not a reality warping terror.  “It usually bounces from author to author, but every now and then it forms an attachment...and we can’t have that.  You’ve done excellent work with it, don’t get me wrong, we just can’t have it absorbing you fully.  Those dreams you’ve been having, even when you’re awake?  That voice you hear calling out?  We’re not quite ready for the arrival of the ones it’s calling to.  Right now it’s limited, there are rules, but if it manages to take an author over things could get...messy.”  

“Take me over?  I don’t understand...it’s not taking...oh god…” Ben gasped when he looked down at himself and saw faint tendrils of writing swirling around his own wiry frame, extending back to the monstrosity towering over them.  He recognized it as his own handwriting, making them shackles of his own creation.  

“Aaaaand there’s the problem,” the other man sighed.  “Don’t worry, I’m here to sever the connection and put the “book” back into circulation, as it were.  Everything you’ve done will stay as is but I have to warn you, this won’t be a pleasant process.”  

The man started making passes over the bar with his hands and muttering a chant before Ben could ask what he meant.  The language of the chant sounded similar to what Ben heard in his visions, but that was the last detail he had time to register before the pain hit him.  Ben jerked his head back and opened his mouth in a wordless scream as his body went tense, unable to give voice to the agony coursing through him.  The tendrils of writing vanished into his body, and it felt like someone was trying to pull his bones out through his skin as they withdrew.  

He could feel parts of himself going with them.  As each string of writing pulled away, a different Ben was left in their wake.  His pants and briefs vanished, letting his stolen size dangle on display between his toned thighs as the already sizeable equipment grew.  The swaying hose lengthened and thickened, surpassing even Adam in its size as it hung down to his knees, thicker than his forearms.  His balls had inflated to match and were thrust forward with the impossible trunk when those toned thighs took on extra weight as his perky little bubble exploded into a set of mountainous, pillowy globes.  The solid cheeks expanded outward in every direction, forming a bouncing, oversized shelf that clapped and shaked with each lumbering step.  

Even through the pain, Ben knew what was happening.  He’d just watched himself step into a new reality where his running days, and most likely pants-wearing days, were over.  And things weren’t done.  As more strands pulled away he watched his shirt vanish, his toned arms growing thick and wide with muscle.  The rest of his lean, defined torso stayed wiry and trim, making the beefy pistons seem even larger when compared to the rest of his increasingly disproportionate body.  Ben finally managed a quiet moan when the tingling hit his face, but before he could get a glimpse in the mirror his vision went white.  It was excruciating, like someone had stuck a live wire against the back of his skull.  

Fortunately the sensation was as brief as it was intense, leaving a panting, blissfully pain-free Ben leaning against the bar.  The altered man shook his head and blinked down at himself, a quick stab of fear hitting him at the sight.  His clothes were still gone and his body still looked different than he felt like it should.  Ben was sure that he shouldn’t have what looked like a sparkly purple pillowcase with “Trunks” written on it encasing his mammoth package, nor should he be wearing a tiny, cut off tank top that left his abs and oversized guns on display.  As he staggered and turned on his feet and felt his bare mountains shake and jiggle, Ben felt like they should be covered.  The face staring back at him in the mirror seemed just as wrong.  The overly plump lips seemed like they were made for one thing and one thing only, so thick they were forced into perpetual duck face beneath his new button nose and sparkling eyes.  

The altered young man looked around, feeling both relieved and terrified when he saw nothing but the usual bar crowd.  Ben didn’t know what he was looking for, just that it felt important.  

“What’s goin’ on, buddy?  Need to drop your tips off?”  

Ben smiled and felt himself calming down at Zack’s friendly, condescending tone.  He didn’t know what the smaller man was talking about until he looked down at the wads of green paper in his hand.  He knew it was money, but Ben’s heart started racing again as he realized he didn’t know what any of the pictures on it meant.  As he looked around, the same went for the symbols he saw covering the bottles and on the board above the bar.  It hit him that he only knew what was written on his pouch because people had told him.  He nodded at Zack, more because he felt like he should than because he understood what was happening.  

“Here...I’ll take those,” Zack said, pulling the bills from Ben’s meaty fists and handing him a pair of drinks.  He nodded towards a pair of shirtless young jocks dancing across the room.  “And you can take these over to those guys.  Go around when you’re done and gather up the empties, okay?  Think you can handle that?”  

Ben nodded in a daze, lumbering over to the pair as instructed.  “Here you go!” he chirped proudly as he handed the drinks over.  He turned to leave, but one of the men stopped him with a hand on a bowling ball shoulder.  

“Hold on big guy, I need some luck,” one of them said, tucking a bill into the top of Ben’s pouch before giving the stuffed sack a vigorous rub.  

“Hell, why not,” his friend laughed, following suit.  

Ben grinned and shivered at the pleasant sensations.  His plump, impossible hose didn’t harden in the slightest, at its current size it never could, but that didn’t mean getting stroked was any less pleasurable.  “Good luck!” he said, giving his huge globes a shake as he turned to walk away.  

He only made it a few more tables before someone else stopped him to give his swaying trunk a rub for good luck.  That was part of his job now, and he loved it.  For a tip, guys could give his plentiful bulge a stroke for good luck.  It started as a joke but it quickly turned into an urban legend, with guys coming from far and wide to give Ben a rub, hoping it would improve their own chances of getting laid.  They usually also grabbed a handful of his jiggling globes in the process, but he didn’t mind.  Ben didn’t wear pants, and he’d long ago grown accustomed to the sensation of people touching his clapping cheeks.  Intentional or not, it was nearly impossible to maneuver the heavy cakes through a crowd without bumping them into people.

He dropped off a stack of empty glasses and thrust his money-filled hands at Zack.  He didn’t know how much he held, but he thought it must be a lot based on the other man’s expression.  “I have more!”  

“I can see that,” Zack laughed, taking the balled up bills.  “You’re making a killing toni...oh, girl, we gotta get you cleaned up.”  Ben followed Zack’s eyes down to the growing damp spot at the base of his pouch.  His limp beast had been oozing steadily from the constant rubbing and it showed, the sopping material clinging to his inflated, fist-sized head.  The lithe, dark skinned young man looked around behind the bar and called over to a shirtless, muscled brunette in tiny shorts at the other end.  “Hank!  I’ll cover back here...Ben needs milked and a new pouch.”  

“Ooohhh, my favorite,” the sculpted young man purred, quickly finishing the drinks he was making.  He wiped his hands on the front of his shorts, emphasizing his own tented bulge, and walked Ben through the room.  The altered man waddled behind, his stomach fluttering and his cock oozing even harder at the thought of what was to come.  

“Damn, honey, you ARE worked up tonight,” Hank whistled when they reached the breakroom.  Ben folded his steely arms behind his head, flexing the massive biceps while the flamboyant muscle man stripped him down.  He could have pulled the wet pouch free himself, but he liked it better when his friends did it.    

Though he giggled when Hank hefted the massive organ, the unease Ben had been feeling crept back in at the sight.  Something still felt off, but as he turned and let Hank spread the continental shelves of his ass he couldn’t figure out what.  “OOHHHHHhhhhaaaooooHHHHH!”  He howled when the young, solid stud plunged in, loving how Hank’s firm body felt as his bouncing cheeks slammed against it, nearly swallowing the other man’s midsection in the process.  The sensation of his churning bull balls and dangling, lifeless monster were less pleasant, but that didn’t stop Ben’s ecstatic moans.  

“Ohhh...fuck...never...thought I’d...look forward...to being...a top…” the young man grunted, rolling his rhythmic hips.  There was a marked contrast between Hank’s giddy, flaming behavior and the way he could expertly use his masculine body.  “Makes me...feel...all...buuuUUUuutch…” he moaned, his fingers biting into the other man’s yielding rear.  

Ben heard his friend speaking, but from a distance.  As soon as Hank’s thick, eight inch rod slid inside his mind had been jettisoned.  The addled, bottom heavy man wasn’t in a breakroom anymore, he was looking out at a sea of stars filled with images of another life.  He saw himself as he should have been, and for a brief instant remembered everything.  He was horrified at what he’d done with the book and felt like he was waking up from a long weekend of drugs and drinking.  He was responsible for his actions, he hadn’t been entirely out of control, and all the guilt he’d been rationalizing him him in full force.  Ben’s groans turned from ecstasy to dread as he thought about all the lives he’d forcibly changed, and about his own exposed, empty-headed future, walking around with his freakishly warped body on display and being too dumb to do anything about it.  He thought about the true nature of the forces he’d meddled with, his fear growing at the thought of what else could still be out there.  Someone new would get their hands on the thing that looked like a book and the cycle would continue.  Ben knew his fate was an appropriate one, no worse than anything he’d done to the others, but he selfishly prayed that like the others his awareness would fade.  If he had to be stuck like this, he didn’t want to remember ever being anything else.  

“GGGNNNUUUUuuuoohhhhh….” Ben’s attention was pulled back to the break room when he suddenly spasmed and came, his dangling member running like someone had turned on a hose.  

“I still...say we...should...bottle and sell...that...stuuuunnhhh…” Hank gave one last thrust and joined in, his plentiful eruption seeming meager compared to the torrent still spilling out of the other man.  

Ben nearly fell to his knees from the wracking spasms, most of his recent awareness flooding out with the sticky fluid.  He nearly got his wish but scraps of memory remained, just enough to let him know how things should have been while leaving him helpless to do anything about it.  “Th..thanks…” he panted, smiling externally while recoiling inside.  

“Let’s get you cleaned up, stud,” Hank said, waiting for Ben’s obscene organ to stop leaking before wiping it clean and pulling out another pouch.  Ben just stood there with his massive arms behind his head again as the other man slipped it on him and fastened it in place, blushing while the chiseled hunk talked down to him and acted like he was changing a diaper.  As much as Ben wanted to be embarrassed, it was hard for his limited faculties to focus on anything other than the now-younger man’s ample, shifting muscle and the softening club between Hank’s thick quads.  He wanted to drop to his knees and seal his puffy lips around it, but there wasn’t time.  “I should be, like, suuuuper lucky after that, right?”  Hank gave the fresh pouch a quick rub and slipped his shorts back on, flexing the firm, barely covered globes in Ben’s direction.  “Not that a bitch needs the help,” he winked, taking the addled man by the hand.  “Come on...you got work to do.”    

***** And that's all!  I hope everyone enjoyed coming along for the ride.  I'm going to be out of town, so there'll be a little break before the next one gets started.  I'll post the full text of Make It A Double next week, and then a poll to get the next interactive started the following.  Thanks for reading! *****