Overcast, ch. 1: Just A Normal Day (Patreon)

*** Here we go! Apologies for the delayed start! ***

Owen shivered, gritting his teeth against the overwhelming desire coursing through him.  He refused to give in.  His mammoth, ten-inch cock was rigid and exposed, his hefty bull-balls churning and ready, but he wouldn’t touch them.  He wouldn’t touch the hard little nipples poking off the crests of his prominent pecs either, or run his fingers through the light dusting of raven hair that peppered his sculpted torso.  He wouldn’t knead the meaty thighs that were left uncovered by the chinos and briefs at his ankles, nor would he throw himself onto his desk and part his plump, muscled bubble in an erotic display.  He may have let out the occasional gasp, his square, stubble covered jaw falling open along with a pursing of his soft, full lips, but some things were outside of Owen’s control.  The wide-eyed expressions and exaggerated looks of ecstasy on his chiseled, striking features had become like blinking, an autonomic byproduct of a system that had been drastically altered.

At one point, like everyone else, Owen had been able to control them.  He’d been able to get through his days without announcing his bliss for the world at large.  But that was before he’d been a dark-haired hunk.  That was before his broad shoulders and tapering back and supernaturally precise proportions, before he’d become an archetype of arousal, the very mold of masculinity itself.  That was before phantom hands constantly disrobed him, putting his acquired perfection on display while they groped and kneaded his athletic physique.  Owen may have refused to give in to the lust smoldering at his core, but ultimately it didn’t matter.

“There has to be something you can do,” the exposed Adonis said, clutching the edge of his desk as a pair of invisible fingers began tweaking his nipples in earnest.  “It’s been weeks now…I can’t just stay like this!”  Despite his outward appearance, the modest man at Owen’s core was mortified.  The flush in his razor cheeks was as much from embarrassment as arousal, the jarring sensation of his unintentional exposure still making his head spin despite its prevalence over the preceding weeks.

Agent Morse sighed and shook his head.  “We’ve been over this, Mr. Turner.  You willingly and intentionally purchased unauthorized magical services from an unlicensed caster.  I don’t think you fully appreciate just how many laws you broke in that process, or just how lucky you actually are.  The fact that another man has to want to participate in your specific enchantment is the only reason you’re not being hauled off to a BMR colony right now.  Do you understand that?”

Owen’s stunning face paled from maroon to a light pink.  He’d been well aware that purchasing an unauthorized casting was against the law, but a mid-level accounts manager like himself could never afford the real thing, and it seemed like everyone bent that rule a little.  He’d told himself he wasn’t hurting anyone, he was still just buying a spell for himself after all, and he’d certainly never thought he’d get caught.  But he’d also never imagined things making such an unexpected turn.  “I understand,” he said, taking the opportunity to eye the scowling man as he nodded.  Agent Morse appeared to be around his own age, or at least the age he’d been before, with a sprinkling of salt peppering his short, dark hair.  Unlike Owen’s original state, though, the imposing enforcer was built like a more rugged version of the man he’d become.  Agent Morse’s powerful arms and slab of a chest strained against his button-down, his wide neck forcing the collar to remain open, while his plastered on slacks left none of his trunk-like thighs or naturally impressive bulge to the imagination.  Though less refined, even the agent’s more blunted features were striking, and Owen caught himself wondering what the other man’s lips would feel like against his own.  Such attention to detail, along with the corresponding lust that followed, was still new to the altered stud, as was the fact that he technically already knew what the agent felt like.  The strong, phantom hands invisibly toying with Owen’s nipples would be a perfect match for Agent Morse’s calloused mitts, and the exposed beefcake was intimately familiar with the sensation of the brawny man’s surprisingly soft, ghostly lips gliding up and down his thick shaft.  “This isn’t what I…I didn’t think it was such a big deal,” Owen stammered, his shoulders slumping.

“No one ever does,” Agent Morse said, his stern expression softening.  “And I’m not just being callous.  I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you really are lucky.  I’ve worked for the BMR for a long time now…when these things go wrong, they go really, really wrong.  That’s why there’s a Bureau of Magic Regulation in the first place.  We can’t just have everyone slinging reality-altering spells around unchecked.  You were this close,” he said, holding up thumb and forefinger barely apart from each other, “from becoming a walking infection.  Luckily everyone sees your behavior as normal, but just because you enjoy it doesn’t give you a right to rope in every man around you.”

“But I didn’t!” Owen cried.  “I didn’t seek this out on purpose!  I never wanted to rope anyone else into anything!  And I don’t…I don’t…” he stopped before saying the words.

Agent Morse closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose before pulling a tablet out of his briefcase.  “See?  This right here.  This is what no one ever stops to think about.  You say you didn’t want to affect anyone else?  Then how did our scrying network pick this up?”  Agent Morse slid the tablet over to Owen, whose stomach dropped when he looked at the screen.  On it was the application he’d submitted to the discount website for the casting, where he’d specified the kind of body he wanted, along with a request to be desired and to make other men jealous.  Owen hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but now, in the context of the current conversation, the mistake was glaring.  “When things like ‘envy’ and ‘desire’ are involved in a casting it requires surgical precision,” Agent Morse continued.  “Anything under the umbrella of ‘Wanting’ takes a skilled hand.  The slightest miscalculation and we have a disaster on our hands.”

“But…but it was still about me,” Owen sputtered.  “I didn’t say I wanted anyone to have to do anything!”

“How can you be envied without another person feeling something?  How can you be desired if no one else wants it?  That’s the problem.  A legit caster would have stopped at the body and left the rest up to you.  You want to be envied and desired?  Then do something worth envying and act like the kind of person people want to be around.  You can’t magic your way into self esteem by forcing other people to want you.”  Agent Morse took a deep breath when he heard his raised voice.  He sat back in the chair and collected himself, the pained look on Owen’s face convincing him of the other man’s sincerity.  He had his wards in place to act as a shield against outside influence, and his gut told him this really was just a case of desperation coupled with poor planning, not intentional malice.  “That low vibration energy is probably what caused things to go off the rails in the first place,” he continued in a conversational tone.

Owen hadn’t thought it possible to feel more embarrassed, but Agent Morse had left his insecurities as exposed as the rest of his altered frame.  “That’s easy for you to say,” he spat, not bothering to hide the way he eyed the other man this time.  “You’re, what?  In your mid-forties?  And you probably looked something like this in your younger days, didn’t you,” Owen asked, gesturing to himself.  “But I didn’t.  I never did.  I’m the same age as you, but I started off lanky and ended up doughy.  I was going bald, had a dick a fraction of this size, and couldn’t gain or lose weight no matter how much work I put in.  You don’t think I tried more traditional methods?  I’ve done diets and the gym and therapy and it got me exactly nowhere.  I’ve spent decades trying to get anyone, girl, guy, or otherwise, to give me so much as a second glance and couldn’t even do that.  And there’s no way in hell I’m ever going to be able to afford a real offer from Caster’s Inc, or even one of those Casting Agencies.  So sit there and judge all you want, but…”

“Apologies,” Agent Morse interrupted.  “I didn’t mean to make it sound like I didn’t understand where you were coming from.  I do.  And, again, it’s cold comfort now, but you’re in good company.  We hear the same story over and over at the BMR.  Unfortunately, it doesn’t negate the consequences.”

“No…it sure doesn’t,” Owen sighed, explaining how, at first, he’d been thrilled.  When his pudgy, middle-aged frame morphed into that of a strapping, late-twenties heartthrob, he’d thought all of his dreams had finally come true.  Alone in his home, he’d taken his beautiful body for a spin before calling his friend Kyle to come over so he could rub his success in the other man’s handsome face.  They worked and drank together, routinely hitting happy hours and getting together to watch whatever seasonally appropriate sport was happening at the moment, but where Owen was older and soft, Kyle was still a fit, former frat boy.  The smug blonde was a decade younger, maintaining a well-muscled build into his thirties and being all too happy to regale the older man with his bountiful bedroom exploits.  Owen hadn’t mentioned the casting ahead of time, and he hadn’t said anything on the phone, wanting to see his friend’s surprised reaction at finally being the inferior one for a change.

Instead, he’d been the one surprised. Opening the door in nothing but a thin t-shirt and tight mesh shorts, Owen had expected Kyle’s jaw to drop.  He hadn’t anticipated a smug smirk, nor had he anticipated the way his own stomach fluttered in response.  As the blonde jock eyed him, Owen noticed the way they both blushed slightly, but it was his eyes that lingered on Kyle’s body and not the other way around.  His friend ultimately ended up acting as if he’d simply gotten a haircut or had his teeth whitened, not like he’d completely rebuilt his body into that of a chiseled demi-god.  And to make matters more confounding, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything about it even when he’d tried.  He’d wanted to confess, but the words wouldn’t come, not even when things took their impossible turn a short time later.

Owen had been sitting on the couch alternating between lustily, and confusingly, eyeing Kyle in the nearby chair when the first phantom hands found their way to his altered body.  He’d gasped and started at the sensation, thinking at first that it actually was Kyle, but the other man was still seated in his chair.  He’d looked over and raised an eyebrow at Owen’s abrupt exclamation, otherwise acting as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.  Even when the dark-haired hunk’s shirt began lifting itself up his body, first exposing his chiseled abs before eventually being pulled off altogether when the invisible forces raised his arms, the blonde stud kept chatting like it was all commonplace.  Even the sight of Owen’s tented shorts, and the way the moaning man’s club of a cock sprang free when they were pulled down of their own accord, seemed to make no difference.  As far as Kyle was concerned, there was nothing remarkable about a naked, writhing Owen.

For his part, the buff beauty somehow knew exactly what was happening.  Though his friend hadn’t left the chair, if he squinted his eyes Owen could almost see a spectral image of the other man going to town on his exposed flesh.  They were Kyle’s hands exploring every inch of his body, it was Kyle’s tongue gliding along the underside of his heaping cock, and it was the other man’s virile, phantasmal rod that eventually slipped between his ample new cheeks.  Owen didn’t think he’d ever forget the sensation of bucking and howling, his most intimate expressions laid bare before the nonplussed pretty-boy.  He came like a geyser, and even then Kyle barely reacted beyond a smug smirk, as if Owen had done something embarrassing like let out a fart and not launched a massive load almost to the ceiling.

It happened three more times before Kyle finally left, but the true horror of it all didn’t hit until the following morning at work.  Despite the bizarre events of the previous evening, including a futile attempt at contacting the people he’d bought the spell from, Owen had still been brimming with confidence at strutting into the office with his new proportions straining against his now-fitted business attire.  The sensation only lasted until he made it to the breakroom, when what should have been a mundane conversation with another manager, Alex, turned into another, much more public, exhibition.  Owen had wanted to flee when their quick good morning and friendly small-talk turned into his tie loosening by itself, followed by the buttons of his shirt popping open one-by-one.  The whole time, the same sensation of phantom hands drifted all along his frame, hands that he knew belonged to the unremarkable man before him.  Alex was built like he had been just the day before, but the dumpy man had suddenly become as attractive to Owen as Kyle had.  His cock had been just as hard when his pants were undone and sent to his ankles in front of several coworkers, and it was pure, distilled bliss when Alex actually reached out and began jerking him off.  Like Agent Morse had said earlier, if a man was interested in taking advantage of what the stunning stud had to offer, they were free to do so without social repercussions.  They were completely oblivious to their spectral doppelganger’s activities, but if they wanted to join in, they could have their way for as long as they liked, regardless of where they were.  This was driven home that first morning at the office, when, as with Kyle the night before, none of the other people reacted at all, save for a few who clearly enjoyed the show.  And when Alex had finished milking out another massive load they’d all gone about their mornings as if it was just a normal part of the day.

Much to Owen’s amazement, such events actually had become a normal part of his day.  The smoldering stud now spent most of his time at work in some state of undress, and what used to be simple errands now inevitably ended up with him naked, hard and erupting.  Owen knew that the simple answer would have been to just stay home.  Everything was fine when he was alone, but the same forces that kept him from openly acknowledging any of it also compelled him to be out and about.  He needed to be around others, to be seen, and to let himself be enjoyed.  So instead of staying isolated he still hit happy hours with Kyle, only now, while the smug blonde talked about his own hookups, Owen would be living one out in front of his friend.  His shirt would lift, his pants and briefs would drop, and he’d stand there squirming and moaning while the phantom, and often actual, cock from the man he’d made eye contact with at the bar hammered into him.  Sometimes it felt like his own displayed organ was the one doing the hammering, leaving him standing there thrusting against open air while everyone chatted and drank around him, but usually it was the other way around.

Agent Morse nodded when Owen finished his story.  “Best guess?  The spell causes a shift into neighboring realities where the other man actually DOES want to do all the things you’re feeling.  Sometimes those realities line up with our own, but it doesn’t really make a difference to you, does it,” he shrugged.  “And the part about you being unable to tell anyone makes sense when you think about it.  An unlicensed caster doesn’t want people going around running their mouths about them, so of course they’d slip that part in.  That’s why it’s so important to stick with legitimate means for these things.  If something goes wrong you have protections.  Recourses.  It’s like magical malpractice insurance.  What?  Did you think they’d have a customer service number for you to call?  They take your money, send out a chaotic, half-assed casting, and then make it so that you can’t find them again.  Fortunately, we have plenty of other options available to us.”

Owen’s stomach dropped at his own foolishness, but then his eyes went wide.  He’d been so relieved at finally telling his story that it hadn’t occurred to him that he actually WAS telling his story.  “Wait…so does this mean I can finally tell people what…”

Agent Morse shook his head.  “Unfortunately, no.  My protective wards are able to run interference while I’m here, but as soon as I leave it’s back to the new status quo.”

“Of course,” Owen groaned, both from his deflated hopes and the increasing pressure at the base of his spine.  “Is there any way you can at least…it’s just that…I’m…I’m starting to…” he hesitated, his face going red again when it became clear that the other man wasn’t going to say the words for him.  “I’m starting to like it,” he finally said, a desperate expression draping across his handsome features.  “Fuck…I’m starting to love it.  It feels so…there’s nothing like it.  But I shouldn’t, right?  This is humiliating!  I mean, just look at what’s been happening while we sat here,” he said with a short laugh, nodding down at his oozing cock before gesturing to the window behind the agent.  Owen’s aroused exposure was visible to several of his nearby coworkers, but other than the occasional glance nobody was reacting the way they should have.  “I’m about to cum like a geyser while everyone watches…I…I shouldn’t like that, should IiiiIIIIIEEEE…!”  Owen broke off in a sharp yelp, his massive cock erupting as promised.  He couldn’t stop his eyes from going wide or his jaw from dropping as his ecstasy was laid bare, all he could do was writhe and squirm and spray beneath the agent’s, and anyone else’s, lingering gaze.

“Again, consider yourself lucky,” Agent Morse said when the panting hunk’s impressive orgasm came to a close.  “Beyond that…only you can decide how to feel about all this.”  .

Owen caught his breath for several moments, his fat log softening over a muscled thigh.  “So if you’re not here to arrest me or help me, why are we even talking,” he asked, his head still dazed from the potent release.

“Two reasons.  First, a sample.”  Agent Morse pulled a small porous stone, like a piece of lava rock, from his pocket.  He held it above one of the small, milky puddles now peppering Owen’s desk, eliciting a gasp from the spent stud when the sticky spattering lifted into the air and was absorbed into the stone as if sucked up by a straw.  “We can use this to follow the trail back to the person who sold you the spell,” Agent Morse said, returning the stone to his pocket.  “The second reason is to give you a warning.  You’re officially on the BMR’s radar, Mr. Turner.  In my experience, even a seasoned, licensed caster wouldn’t be able to undo the damage in this case, but that’s the ONLY route you should go if you even want to make the attempt.  Understood?  Don’t get desperate and repeat your mistake by paying for another unauthorized working to try and undo the damage.  You’ll only end up making it worse, and we WILL know about it.  You won’t get another warning.  Are we clear?”  Agent Morse waited for Owen’s nod before continuing.  “You want my advice?  If you really are fortunate enough to find some joy in this, you might as well lean into it.  Doesn’t look like things are going to change any time soon.  We’ll be in touch if I have any more questions.”

Owen watched the agent leave, his head still spinning.  He knew he’d dodged a bullet, several, in fact, if what the other man had said was true, but it was still difficult to accept that he was sitting naked and covered in cum in front of several coworkers.  And, more importantly, that he’d continue to do so well into the foreseeable future.  He’d known that he was likely stuck this way, but having it confirmed was another matter entirely.

“Bro,” a handsome blonde head popped into his doorway, pulling Owen back from the chasm of self pity he was about to fall into.  “That dude looked intense.  What the fuck was that about,” Kyle asked, making no mention of the dark-haired hunk’s disheveled exposure.

Owen opened his mouth to fill his friend in, but, as Agent Morse had indicated, he was back to being mute on the subject of his transformation.  “Just an insurance thing,” he lied, his cock twitching.  Kyle’s ghostly hands were already gliding along his thighs, and Owen knew it would still be a minute before he could even attempt to get back to work.  He laughed to himself at the thought, realizing how far he’d fallen if the idea of ‘getting back to work’ even registered at all in his current circumstances, like it was just another normal day at the office.  “Nothing too exciting,” he shrugged, Kyle’s large, ghostly hands tugging his fat log back to life.

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Voting Options

Option 1: An overly hung, skinny man buys a black market casting and ends up trading one kind of size for another.  (cock shrink, muscle growth)

Option 2: A group of frustrated friends pay a back alley caster to divvy up a smug hunk’s ample muscle between them, only to end up hopelessly devoted to the pint-sized product.  (shrinking, muscle growth)

Option 3: After failing in his attempt to apprehend a rogue caster, a handsome BMR agent ends up with his many hands, and legs, full.  (multi-limb, cock growth)

Option 4: While attempting to hone his skills on his own, an inexperienced caster inadvertently creates a contagious, clothes-shedding, arousal-inducing virus. (stripped, himbo)