New Normal (vignette) (Patreon)

“Do you want me to help with those,” Brad purred, one hand groping his sculpted, furry pec while the other absently tugged on his rigid log of a cock.  The olive-hued hunk pursed his plump lips and batted his blue eyes, the morning stubble accentuating rather than obscuring the sharp lines of his handsome face.  He tweaked a tiny nipple and then let his fingers drift down the trail of hair that bisected his perfect abs, the hand slipping around at his tapered waist to begin groping one of his meaty cheeks instead.  It made for an alluring sight.  With his striking features, precision-crafted build, and enviable equipment between his muscled thighs, the sultry stud had always been stunning.  Men and women lined up in equal measure for a chance to experience his beauty for themselves, and while Brad had never been shy about his body or hesitant to take advantage of the attention, his previous habits seemed celibate compared to his current circumstances.  Before, the sight of their handsome friend moaning and jerking himself off in the middle of the living room would have been shocking, but after the last few months it no longer registered for Dylan and Chet as odd in the slightest.  To be fair, though, the dark-haired pretty-boy’s lustful exhibitionism was objectively tame when contrasted against their own unique predicaments.   “You know yoooouuuu doooooo,” Brad sang, ending in a slight gasp when his groping hands sent a shiver through him.

“I mean, I appreciate the offer, but I still don’t know why you bother asking when you’re just gonna do it anyway,” Chet sighed, hating the way his whole body throbbed as he stared down at the bulbous, familiar heads where his hands should have been.  From the elbows up, the groggy, boxer-clad blonde was still the same beefy boy-next-door he’d always been.  Shaggy golden mop, cute, full features, a powerful, broad-shouldered frame with a sturdy lower half; Chet was the All American jock.  His rugged build came from raw physical exertion, not the kind of meticulous crafting in a gym that Brad engaged in, and while Chet threw plenty of weight around, the goal was to get big, not pretty.  As his burly physique aptly demonstrated it was a goal he’d largely met, and like his friend he was used to getting plenty of attention wherever and whenever he sought it, which made the fact that each forearm now terminated in a massive cock all the more jarring.

“Dude’s always been a gentleman,” Dylan chuckled, reaching out to give Chet’s shoulders a supportive rub from behind.  “Unlike me,” he added, his second pair of hands reaching out to tug the blonde’s boxers down.

“Hey!  Come on, man, that’s not fair!  Not when I’m like this,” Chet whined, instinctively reaching for the underwear as his limp, pudgy log and heavy balls flopped free.  He shivered when the aching organs attached to his arms brushed against his smooth, muscled gut, the following pulse shooting through his arms instead of the lifeless cock between his meaty thighs.  “I don’t have any hands, and you’ve got too many.”

“Least yours come back after.  I’m stuck with these babies,” Dylan said, a pair of hands reaching down to squeeze Chet’s exposed globes while the other ruffled the blonde’s bed-head hair.  Like his shorter friend, the dark-skinned stud looked mostly the same.  Aside from his accentuated height, his athletic frame rode the line between Chet and Brad.  His swimmer’s build was covered in tight, defined muscle, though he wasn’t as chiseled as the brooding beauty, nor was he as bulky as the beefy blonde.  Dylan was long and lean, though his tapering proportions had been thrown off somewhat by the extra set of sculpted, ebony arms that jutted out from his sides just above his navel.  Where they’d all previously been the same, six-foot height, the four-armed hunk’s midsection had been lengthened to accommodate the additional limbs, leaving his sharp, handsome features hovering almost six-inches above the others.

“Gold medal hugs, though,” Chet laughed, still surprised that they could find any humor at all in their bizarre situation.

“Dude’s a champ with all those fingers, too,” Brad grinned before dropping to his knees and slurping Chet’s limp cock into his mouth.

The brawny blonde gave a slight shiver.  The sensation of his friend’s warm tongue on his lifeless organ wasn’t at all unpleasant, but it felt like Brad was simply sucking on his finger.  Or at least one of his old fingers.  Now, sucking on one of Chet’s fingers would undoubtedly result in the digits rapidly receding until the bloated fist became an oozing, demanding monster of a cock.  The condition made the blonde’s life interesting, to say the least.  Though their placement was odd, the throbbing organs behaved in a manner similar to that of their original, slumbering counterpart.  Only instead of getting semi-hard in his pants, now Chet would watch his fingers shorten and his palms begin to widen and thicken.  Sometimes it would stop there, the original didn’t always blossom into a full-fledged boner either, but most of the time things would inevitably progress.  At a virile twenty-four years of age, it didn’t take much to get Chet going, and unlike the cock in his pants, the ones attached to his arms would instantly feel exposed.  Even wearing long sleeves and mittens ended up feeling as if he was tenting a pair of exposed underwear, creating a feedback loop of humiliated arousal.

“Bro, you’re suckin’ on the wrong one,” Dylan laughed, eliciting a whimper from Chet when he grabbed the blonde’s bulbous fists and began stroking them through the pretty-boy’s raven hair.  His other arms were wrapped around his friend’s broad midsection, holding him close as he ground his own twitching briefs against the blonde’s bare backside.

“So?  I like having a dick in my mouth,” Brad said after a moment, sounding almost offended.  “They taste great…’specially first thing in the morning,” he sighed, nuzzling into Chet’s crotch and giving the low, heavy balls a thorough tongue bath.  “All musky’n shit…fuck…the riper the better, boys.”

There was a moment of silence as Chet and Dylan watched their friend’s furious lapping, both well aware that the smug stud never would have engaged in such behavior before.  Even if he’d hooked up with a guy it wouldn’t have been with such eager abandon or unfiltered honesty, but Brad couldn’t hide much of anything anymore.  Where their changes had been mostly external, the handsome hunk’s had been strictly internal.  From the outside his gorgeous body was as perfect as ever; it was what he did with it that changed.  Brad had become a creature of pure, impulsive pleasure, existing in a perpetually uninhibited state.  He literally couldn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed by anything, leaving him behind the wheel of a brake-less, runaway big-rig helplessly hurtling towards whatever felt good.  That typically manifested as constant nudity at the very least, but usually involved open displays of self gratification along with frequent requests for a partner.  Brad had always been the kind of charming, friendly hunk who wanted to make sure everyone was having a good time, and that hadn’t dulled in the slightest.  So now when the mood struck and he was gyrating around the apartment like a naked go-go boy, he wanted his friends to be doing the same.  When he was jerking himself off or writhing on a vibrator, he didn’t understand why they weren’t doing the same.  And when he wanted to fool around with someone else, it never crossed his mind that there were appropriate times, places and ways to engage in such behavior.  The old Brad, the one they’d all lived with in college, was still in there, only he’d become buried by the weight of his new freedoms.  He truly couldn’t help himself, which was why the guys typically just let him do whatever he wanted with them.  It was easier than staring at his handsome, uncomprehending face as they tried to explain concepts his brain could no longer process.

“You guys are fuckin’ around out here and no one came to get me?”  Mark’s unnaturally deep voice bounced off the walls, but his approach had already been announced by the shaking of the floor beneath his heavy footfalls.

“Big guy like you needs your beauty sleep,” Dylan smirked.  He was making a joke, but Mark’s impossibly huge frame actually did require more rest than theirs.  Ever since his alteration, everything the buzzed-haired brunette did had been shifted up in magnitude.  He wasn’t just bigger, he was louder.  Hornier.  Hungrier.  He ate more, slept more, and fucked more.  His once-wiry frame had been inflated with an obscene amount of muscle, as if a pair of heavyweight bodybuilders had been smashed into one person.  He was a lumbering, neck-less mountain of a man, so thick with muscle that he was forced into a lumbering waddle, his piston arms hanging at a pronounced angle.  He was so wide that he had to turn sideways when passing through a door, so girthy that he couldn’t see over the jutting, juicy shelf that was his pecs.  He could at least feel the cresting, lumpy muscle-gut they rested on, but with his limited range of motion that was as far as he could go without cumbersome bending.  He largely relied on Brad when it came to taking care of his rigid eight inches, the thick organ now looking almost small where it once loomed almost too large on his previous build.  But between his pylon thighs it was an afterthought, the mammoth, muscled globes at his rear looking far more impressive.  Unlike the others, his formerly unremarkable features had been as warped as the rest of him, the sharp lines and pointed chin becoming a blunted, square-jawed mask complete with sloping forehead.  He looked like a primal, primitive brute, a mammoth meathead instead of the agile runner he’d once been.

“Fuck you,” Mark grunted, his bull dog face twisting into a grin.  He lumbered over and tore Dylan’s briefs free as if they’d been made of wet tissue paper, tossing the remains aside.  “Oops.”

“Maaaaan,” Dylan groaned, even as his forced exposure made his cock throb.  “I’m gonna run out of those if you keep doing that.”

“Maybe you’ll learn to stop wearing ‘em, then,” the brutish brunette grumbled.

“You’re…as bad as…Brad,” Chet whimpered, the kneeling hunk now stroking his sensitive forearms from his position on the floor.

Mark shrugged his mammoth shoulders.  “If we gotta walk around naked it’s only fair that you do too.”  Given his size, even XXXL items were small.  Everything had to be tailor made, and even then it was an uphill, constricting battle.  The end result was that, like his pretty-boy friend, Mark usually just didn’t wear anything around the house

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Brad sighed, reluctantly climbing to his feet.  He stroked along each of Chet’s altered arms, kneading the now-oozing heads and grinning as the blonde spasmed.  Dylan joined in from behind, adding a pair of his hands to the dark-haired hunk’s while using the other to pull Chet’s squirming hips back into place.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck,” the blonde groaned as his taller friend slipped inside.  The sensation of Dylan’s long, thick cock lighting up his insides while having his gargantuan members worked was almost potent enough to make the horrifying alterations worthwhile.

It was a sign of how far they’d come that “almost” was even being considered at all.  A few months before, they’d been a group of college friends turned roommates like any other.  With none of them moving away for work after graduation and with rents only getting more expensive, they’d decided to stay together.  They already knew how to live as a unit, and now that they all had real jobs and real money coming in, they’d been able to afford an actual house as opposed to a ratty college apartment.  Overall, things had been going well for the group.  Their lives after college were following the same pattern of working, workouts, and nights out.  They partied and hooked up and generally lived unremarkable lives until one fateful evening changed everything.

All of them clearly recalled leaving the house and getting to the bar, but from there things dissolved into a hazy, disjointed nightmare.  They all remembered some version of a horrifying lab, and of the twisted, pale mummy that called himself the Mengineer.  Fortunately, the details of the procedures that took them from four average young men to the unique creatures they’d become had been blocked from their brains, and none of them were eager to try and uncover the memories.  It had been terrifying enough to wake up in a random hospital two states away, surrounded by equally baffled and horrified medical professionals.  When it became clear they were all perfectly healthy they’d undergone extensive testing from a government agency that hadn’t fully identified itself, but the addled group had more pressing concerns.  Mark had to learn how to move his gargantuan new bulk, Dylan was like a toddler learning how to use all of his arms again, it took weeks for Chet’s fingers to finally reemerge, and Brad couldn’t stop propositioning someone every time he opened his mouth or keep his clothes on.

Gradually, though, they adapted.  Mark and Dylan found their coordination again, Chet learned to impose some semblance of control on his lustful transformations, and the group as a whole learned how to keep Brad at least mostly out of trouble.  It helped that the as-of-yet-unknown agency paid for their silence, providing the quartet with a large house on an isolated plot of land, as well as a healthy stipend, in exchange for allowing themselves to be monitored, and for not telling anyone about what happened.  That meant being relocated in a warped version of a witness protection program, but none of the guys were eager to explain their circumstances to any of their friends anyway.  Better to let them think they’d disappeared.  Immediate family members were allowed to be in the know, though given the dramatic nature of the alterations, even most of them kept their distance.

But that suited the group just fine.  They’d already built themselves into a family unit over the years, so this side of things wasn’t much of a leap. Whatever else the Mengineer had done, they’d all awoken to orientations directed firmly towards other men, meaning they were all still exploring their new desires and impulses in addition to their new bodies.  Things were dramatically different, but as they’d all learned, and were still learning, “different” didn’t necessarily mean bad.

“Oh fuck…oh fuuuuuuuuuuuck…guys…this…this is…” Chet sputtered, his eyes wide.  Dylan was buried to the hilt behind while Mark and Brad each worked one of his altered arms, making him feel as if he was fucking three people at the same time.  He’d never felt even a fraction of the overwhelming pleasure before, and now he wasn’t sure he’d go back even if he could.  He was learning to hone his focus more and more every day, finally reaching the point where he could more or less go out in public for extended periods without an incident.  It was technically easiest for Dylan to go out and about when needed as he could just wrap his extra arms around his torso beneath a baggy sweatshirt, but the long limbs quickly grew stiff.  So Chet would throw on his long sleeves and mittens regardless of the season, running the everyday errands that had become so difficult for the others.  Though, based on how he was feeling so far, it might be one of those days where Dylan had to deal with the stiffness.

“Someone’s about to pop,” the mammoth muscleman laughed, one giant hand holding Chet’s altered fist just below the wrist while the other gave the pulsing forearm long, deep strokes.

“Who’re you…tellin’...” Dylan panted, a pained look on his slack-jawed face as he thrust into the blonde’s meaty bubble again and again.  All four arms were wrapped around Chet’s brawny torso like a vice, clutching him tight as they both fell over the edge.

Dylan’s low grunt was drowned out by the blonde’s howling wail, his warped arms spraying like fire hoses. Brad eagerly aimed his spurting monster at himself, and Mark followed suit, leaving the hairy hunk sticky and glistening as both of the impossible cocks unloaded onto his chiseled frame.

“Fuck yes!  Goddamn I love that,” Brad cheered as if he’d just scored a touchdown.  He smeared the copious liquid all over himself, licking it from around his lips before sucking his fingers clean.

“I love…that you…love it…” Chet panted, only upright because Dylan still clutched him like a teddy bear.  His original cock was as bone dry and lifeless as ever, but his new ones still pulsed and throbbed, making it clear his fingers wouldn’t be reemerging for a while.  “Looks like it’s going to be one of those days,” he sighed, blushing slightly.

“It’s cool, bro.  I got you,” Dylan whispered, his tone gentle.  “Like you said, I got more than enough hands to go around.”

“Yeah man, we’re not gonna leave you hanging,” Brad added, sounding eager.  “Just say the word when you need something.”  Given the intimate nature of the assistance that Chet sometimes required, and that Mark often required, the dark-haired beauty’s unflappable nature was invaluable.

“Speaking of,” Mark grunted, pointing to his own rigid organ.  “Wanna help me with this?”

“You know it, bud!”  Brad darted over and threw himself into the air, landing in Mark’s meaty arms like a bride about to be carried across the threshold.  He giggled excitedly when the mountainous man easily shifted him over a shoulder instead, his hands latching on to the shifting globes as Mark waddled back to the bedroom.  Brad loved nothing more than to climb all over the brunette’s massive frame as if it was an actual boulder, which was helpful for the bigger man’s limited range of motion since all he had to do was lay there and let his handsome friend writhe and squirm on his lap.

Chet watched the other two disappear into the nearby bedroom, giving a quick laugh as he shook his head.  “And to think we could’ve been doing this with each other the whole time.”

“Well, not exactly this,” Dylan corrected, his four hands gliding up and down Chet’s torso as he leaned in to kiss along his friend’s neck.

“So, uh, what now,” the blonde asked, looking down at the still-throbbing cocks attached to his arms.

Dylan laughed and gave each one a stroke.  “I’ve only got one of these, but just give me a minute and it’ll be ready to go again.”