Fir Hollow, ch. 22: Bullseye (Patreon)

Parker stared down at his massive new arms, jaw slack and eyes wide.  The ebony pistons were considerably larger than the rest of his comparatively wiry frame, bulging with chiseled muscle that stood on display as they hung out of his now-sleeveless shirt.  The loose top had sleeves when they’d arrived at the bar that night, but now, just like on all of Parker’s other shirts, the constricting fabric was gone for good.  The granite piledrivers weren’t freakishly misproportioned, though it would take years of effort, if it was possible at all, for Parker to grow the rest of his lean body to match.  “Holy shit!  It’s real,” the young man cried, his stunned expression giving way to an elated grin.  He flexed for his equally shocked friends, his gaze landing on Vince’s burly frame.  “Bad boys are on your level now,” he laughed, nodding at the hairy, dark-haired bruiser.

“Cheaters never win,” the bulky man said, halfheartedly flexing a meaty arm.  His head was spinning as he tried to process how it was possible for scrawny Parker to suddenly have arms the size of his own, and why he felt like the other man always had.  He knew that his friend had just acquired them, but with each passing moment he started to question that reality.  He didn’t want to admit it, but his friend’s guns were suddenly too close for comfort, if they hadn’t always been.

“Big risk, big reward,” Jack said, pulling the darts from the board.  His body tingled as the energy flowed into him, the general din of Tucker’s Pub drowning out his contented sigh.  As with most games of chance there was a cost to even make the attempt, but the trio hadn’t asked and he was under no obligation to disclose.  They’d find out soon enough, and once they did he didn’t think they’d mind.  Not once they got used to it.  With a cute face and arms like the ones he’d just acquired, his new friend wouldn’t have any trouble landing interested men.  “So...Vince, I believe you’re up?”

Jack loved their hesitant expressions.  He could practically taste the conflict oozing out of them, the desire for a quick fix at war with what remained of their common sense.  Being young, drunk and full of testosterone meant there wasn’t much of the latter to begin with, which is precisely what made them Jack’s favorite type.  Or, technically, the darts’ favorite type.  He wasn’t the one that worked the magic; the trio of metal and plastic did that all on their own.  All he’d done was pick the darts up in the wrong bar all those years ago, and that was that.  The dreams came first, then the voices, and then the hunger.  He didn’t enjoy messing with peoples’ lives, but he didn’t have a choice, either.  The energy that flowed into him after Parker’s throw had become as vital to his continued existence as food and water, and if he didn’t feed at least a couple times each week things got bad.

He didn’t know why they’d chosen him, if there’d been a choice at all.  Jack wasn’t even all that good at darts, though he’d gotten better through his ample practice over the years.  Back when he used to worry about things like that it had helped ease his guilty conscience that at least it wasn’t a rigged game.  He wasn’t some shark luring people into a hopeless challenge.  He was a slightly dumpy, middle-aged salesman who’d been sucked into something well above his pay grade.  He’d never been able to find out what the darts really were, and who, or what, made them, and he’d stopped trying.  Sometimes life just happened whether you wanted it to or not, and as far as burdens went he knew he could have it worse.  He already traveled constantly for work, and now he made sure to stay in constant motion, hopping from town to town for a quick snack and then disappearing as quickly as he’d arrived.  None of the affected men had ever tracked him down, but then again the only description they had to work from was that of a slightly balding brunette of average height with an average build and an average face who called himself “Jack.”  Jack had always lamented his unremarkable nature, but now it was one of his greatest assets.  Though they saw him and talked to him in the moment, as soon as he walked out the door he’d be an empty space in their memories, invisible in retrospect.

“Hold on a sec,” Vince said, folding his arms under his chest and sitting upright on his stool.  “How does this even work?  How could Parker here wager big arms if he didn’t have anything to lose in the first place?  What would’ve happened if he’d lost?  Would his arms have just disappeared altogether?”

“Not that I’ve ever seen,” he said, watching Parker’s proud grin go flat at the thought of what could have happened.  “Are you familiar with the Monkey’s Paw?  It’s like this...you hit the numbers I hit, and you get what you wanted in a fairly straightforward manner.  Miss, and you still get what you wanted, but maybe not in the WAY you wanted it.”  Jack grinned.  He hadn’t expected the rugged brute to be the thinker of the group, but it had still taken them an entire round to even bring up the “what if” question.  Not that it mattered.  All three of them had agreed to play, so all three would follow through.  The darts saw to that.  It helped that, when things went south, only the affected person seemed to know they hadn’t gotten what they wanted.  To everyone else it looked like a victory, more so than when someone actually won a round.  So if Parker’s arms had gotten larger because the rest of him had become smaller, his friends would have been just as thrilled by the possibility of their own success.  It made for an insidious shroud, but it was the same mechanism that kept the entire bar from noticing reality being rewritten around them, and that made people eagerly accept the impossible, so Jack wasn’t going to complain.  The now-burly-armed Parker had been first, the hairy beefcake was second, and the handsome blonde, Terry, would bring up the rear regardless of what happened to his two friends before him.

“So you’re saying it’s a win-win.  Our lucky night,” Vince sneered.  He drained his beer before slamming the glass back down on the table, wiping his mouth with a meaty forearm as he slid off the stool.  In his standard uniform of a sleeveless, checkered flannel and weathered denim, the broad bull of a man made an imposing sight next to Jack’s unremarkable frame.  The older man was slightly taller, but he looked small against the stocky expanse of furry, unrefined bulk that was Vince’s powerful build.

“Dig the enthusiasm,” Jack said, looking the young hulk up and down.  “What’ll it be?”

Vince rubbed his full, stubble-covered cheeks with a calloused mitt before letting go and jerking a thumb back towards Terry.  “I’m tired of blondie back there being the pretty one.  If Parker’s got arms like mine all of a sudden, I’m gonna need to do something about this to stay in the game,” he said, motioning to his puggish features.  Vince’s flat, broad nose, prominent forehead and short, black hair didn’t make for an unappealing visage, especially when coupled with his thick muscle, but it was certainly rough around the edges.  “I think I’d like to be the looker for a change.”

“Done,” Jack nodded, rolling the darts over in his hand.  He took a deep breath and stepped up to the line, not aiming for anything in particular or even trying all that hard.  He simply swung his arm a few times and let the darts land where they may, making no more of a decision than the hammer choosing where to put the nail.  “Bit of a spread.  That four might be tricky,” Jack said as he went to retrieve the darts.  He’d landed on 4, 3 and 11, with the last two being relatively easy to match as all Vince would need to do is aim his throws at the broad outer ring for each number.  The 4, however, landed in the thin treble section dividing the inner and outer rings, leaving the burly young man with a narrow path to victory.

“We’ll see.”  Vince rolled his head on his broad shoulders and swung his arms to limber up, giving the darts a light heft in his hand to test their weight.  Once satisfied, he narrowed his eyes and let the darts fly in rapid succession, his powerful bicep flexing with each toss.  A dull thuck echoed above the noise of the bar on impact, the first two successful, the third just off.  As predicted, Vince had no trouble with the 3 or the 11, but his 4 landed just outside the thin wire of the treble.  “Goddamnit,” he growled, shaking his head.  “So fucking...close…”

He broke off in a gasp when the bar began to swim around him.  The room went wavy, as if distorted by a sudden heat, his body tingling while his clothes began to change.  Vince could only watch as his sleeveless flannel changed shape, losing its bottom two thirds and all of the buttons except for the one that held it pointlessly closed just above the center of his meaty pecs.  It spread open underneath and below, simultaneously exposing his nubby nipples as well as the thick coating of hair that spread up towards his cannonball shoulders.  That same dark fur was now entirely visible as it dusted across his bare, bulging muscle gut, and his meaty thighs were quickly following suit.  Like his shirt, most of his jeans had vanished, settling as a pair of small cutoffs that would have been shorter than his boxers had he still worn them.  That last alteration became immediately apparent as the fly and button on his pants were gone, leaving the daisy dukes hanging open to expose the stuffed turquoise thong underneath.  Behind, it whale-tailed noticeably as the top third of his plump, hairy cheeks were left hanging on display.  Vince sputtered, his unaltered face going crimson as he looked around the room and saw all the men turning in his direction one-by-one.  Given the obvious look of hunger in each of their expressions it became clear that, while Vince’s body hadn’t changed, the way he presented it, and the way others perceived it, clearly had.

“Daaaaaaamn!  Look at you, big guy,” Terry whistled.

“Win-win indeed,” Parker nodded, an inflated arm flexing as he absently adjusted himself in his pants.  He’d been silently questioning the way he’d been unable to stop staring at Terry ever since his turn with the darts, but now the issue didn’t seem as important with Vince around.

“I...I…” Vince stammered, his stomach dropping at the seductive new saunter in his step.  Instead of walking back to his stool he swished over to Parker, shivering when the other man spun him around and wrapped his steely new arms around him from behind.  He felt his fat cock starting to twitch in the exposed pouch, but he did nothing to cover himself as Parker’s hands absently drifted just above on his furry gut.  He wanted to scream a warning when Terry got up to take his turn, but all he could do was give a light giggle when Parker nibbled on his ear.  Vince’s barely-covered shelf heaved as a fresh set of memories draped over his thoughts, obscuring, though not entirely erasing, his previous existence.  Instead of an intimidating bulldog, the exposed bruiser now saw himself flirting and flaunting and hanging off man after man in a desperate quest for attention, willing to do whatever it took to keep the eyes focused in his direction.  As if to prove that point, Vince let out an exaggerated, gasping “OH!” when Parker popped the sole button on his shirt, acting like a girl at the beach whose top had just been ripped off.

“I feel like that’s an unfair distraction,” Terry laughed as he walked over to Jack.  The handsome blonde bit his lower lip, a pained expression on his All-American features while he watched Vince squirm in Parker’s oversized embrace.

Jack raised an eyebrow.  “Jealous?”

“I don’t really need to be, do I,” Terry scoffed, motioning down to the thin, straining t-shirt that accentuated his athletic taper.  The burgundy fabric was plastered like a second skin across his prominent pecs, clinging to his trim waist and coming to a stop just above his firm, perky bubble.  The fitted denim took over from there, highlighting the blonde’s sturdy-but-lean thighs and showing off just enough of his impressive endowment without giving everything away.

“Gotta love a man who knows what he’s working with,” Jack laughed.

Terry pursed his lips and nodded.  “I think that’s it exactly.  The body’s pointless if you don’t know what to do with it once you rope ‘em in.  I’m already pretty good, but if I have to compete with that,” he said, nodding over at the scantily clad man actively grinding against Parker’s lap, “then I could stand to up my technique.”

“Let’s see if the darts agree,” Jack said, steadying himself.  It was one of the rare instances where he actually wanted to try.  Smug stud’s like Terry had always driven him crazy, and he’d love nothing more than to see the handsome hunk’s wish go awry.  The darts seemed to agree.  Jack landed the inner ring on an 8, the double space on a 13, and a dead-center bullseye, his arm a blur of motion that sent the winged needles flying like bullets.

“Well, so much for that,” Terry said with a defeated laugh.  He rolled his shoulders and shook his head as he accepted the darts from Jack, determined to at least make the attempt.  He managed to land the 8, but missed wildly on the other two, his broad shoulders slumping as he stared at his failure.  “At least you get a participation tropheeeeeuuunnnhhh...!”

Terry spasmed, the changes washing over him at once.  The stunned blonde didn’t know what was happening when he felt his cock go rigid and spring free, launching strand after ropey strand as he came.  His whole body lit up with a buzzing desire, and he gave a terrified grunt when he finally looked down.  Instead of his usual six-and-a-half inches he saw a fat, nine-inch log jutting out above a pair of proud, churning balls the size of small oranges.  The sight was made all the more jarring because of what he now lacked, specifically his boxer briefs and the front and back panels of his jeans.  The denim had become like chaps, leaving his rigid, spewing equipment fully exposed in front while a pair of supple, inflated cheeks hung out the back.  Terry’s stomach dropped when he reached behind and felt the yielding mounds that had replaced his firm cheeks, and the way they eagerly shook and jiggled at the slightest touch.  They weren’t freakishly large, but like Parker’s arms they were obviously disproportionate to the rest of his tight frame, though his horror grew when he realized the softness wasn’t entirely their fault.  The changes hadn’t been limited to his lower half, and Terry’s eyes went wide when he raised a pair of hands that had been stripped of every callous and blemish, leaving them impossibly soft and smooth, while his t-shirt now sported a pair of holes that exposed his enlarged, solid nipples.  Capping it all off were the large, pillowy lips that looked out of place nestled between his razor cheekbones and lantern jaw, a pair of plump DSLs that left the pretty-boy with an almost perpetual duck-face.

“What...what just...oh fuuuuuuuck,” Terry moaned, his voice a low, seductive purr.  As with Vince, he tried to cling to the memories of his old life, trying desperately to reject the new reality.  He realized with a fresh stab of dread that he’d gotten more than what he’d asked for, as now EVERY technique was his speciality.  Cock, ass, hands, tits, mouth; whatever a guy wanted, he could provide it and then some.  The vain Adonis tried to tell himself he didn’t really walk around so exposed all the time, but even as he had the thought he knew it was a lie.  Fucking wasn’t just his hobby but his career, and he knew he had to give potential customers a taste if he was going to reel them in.  Especially when people like Vince gave it away for free so easily.

“Awww, too bad, man,” the hairy hulk cooed, trotting away from Parker to wrap his arms around Terry.  He clutched his friend’s plumped cheeks and squirmed his muscle gut to work the other man’s inflated, permanently rigid cock between them.  “But hey, at least we’re all winners, right?”

Terry instinctively began rolling his hips to grind the fat cock through the soft, curly hair on Vince’s stomach, loving how his friend’s strong fingers felt biting into his supple bubble.  He wanted to say no, that this was nothing close to winning, but every overloaded pleasure center told him the exact opposite.  He pressed his lips against the other man’s as they writhed, only stopping when a gruff voice interrupted them.

“Hey!  What’ve I told you two?  We ain’t like that whorehouse up on the hill.  This is a respectable establishment.  Have fun if you wanna fuck, just have it somewhere else,” the old man barked from behind the bar.

“Sorry Tucker,” Vince sighed, rolling his eyes for Terry before trying to look admonished when he faced the bar.  “Guess we got carried away.”

“Hey, where’d that guy with the darts go,” the blonde asked when they broke off their embrace and Jack was nowhere to be seen.  “And where’d Parker get off...oh, there he is,” he laughed.  The mostly-wiry, dark-skinned man was standing at the far corner of the bar, letting a pair of thirsty older men feel his newly-won biceps as he flexed for them.  Terry met his friend’s gaze for a moment and laughed when Parker’s eyes traveled back and forth between the pair and he gave a quick nod.  “Well, I guess we know what he’s doing for the rest of the night.”

Vince shook his brawny shoulders and refastened the button on his shirt, his blunted features taking on a coy expression as he batted his eyes at Terry.  “Can’t let him have all the fun, can we?”