Cyrus and Jack Quarantine Together (2) (Patreon)

Over at Gay Spiral Stories there was a Pandemic challenge all about new stories with Pandemic as theme (not neccessarily this pandemic). I had a story idea that I begun working on, but then read one of the first published stories, Cyrus and Jack Quarantine Together, and found it to be very close to my idea. I had lots of more questions where the story ended, so I wrote a little epilogue.

I was instantly wide awake. I wasn’t really the kind of guy that slept in, but I would usually need a morning shower to blow away the cobwebs. Now I felt like I was bursting with energy, and couldn’t wait to get up and get moving. While great in itself, I was immediately reminded of yet another part of me that had been altered. At least the ceiling I stared at was the same as I remembered, but even my room had plenty of changes. The bed was replaced with something firmer, wider, and possibly sturdier. I had been exhausted after more orgasms in an afternoon than I could remember ever having before, so I hadn’t paid much attention going to bed. Of course there had to be a new bed. I was a freak now. Twice the size of anyone I’ve ever met that wasn’t obese. I would blow away most people’s BMI.

I moved my hand along my abs. Even now, relaxed and lying down I could feel how well defined they were, like a 12-pack bag of burger buns. A ripple of muscles below smooth, soft skin. I must have an insane skincare routine or collagen supplements or whatever for such sensitive skin. Just moving my arm without touching anything felt weird. I could feel my massive arm muscles against the sheets in completely new ways. I’m sure the sensitive skin played a role as well. I could feel the muscles colliding with each other when I tried to reach over my body. I probably wouldn’t be able to keep my arms straight down because of flesh colliding with flesh. Even lying down I could feel my thighs rubbing together. And God damn this all just made me horny again, despite the marathon fuckfest Cyrus and I had yesterday.

He’d shown me his supercut of the past years. I bulked up pretty quickly, but I guess he didn’t know how long he had before a vaccine. Then it became more about shaping, making all the muscles pop as much as possible, to make me look like a balloon animal version of a body builder. Big pillows of muscles. Neither he nor I needed to touch me. I came just watching my body get turned into whatever I am. But then there was the sex. He showed some of the things we had done together, paused, and then we played them out again as he had shown me. Each and every one made me come harder than the one before, an ungodly amount of cum in total. It didn’t make sense. I asked about it when we had a snack break, steamed chicken and brown rice, and Cyrus reluctantly mentioned something about some drug from east Europe, but that we didn’t need to discuss it. What was done was done, he said. Then he twisted my nipple and I was swimming in sexual ecstasy again.

I realized that from then on I just went with it, as he guided me to ever more intense anal orgasms. Fuck him. He set me up, not just when he turned me into his over-sexualized boy toy, but now that he is trying to convince me that what he did was OK. That I should be grateful for what he did to me. I don’t know if he broke any law. Probably. But how could I prove it? He had years worth of me begging him to make me bigger, make me a cum dump, make me horny, make me smooth, and on and on. The parts where he tells me what to think are probably deleted, if they were ever recorded to begin with.

How long does it take to lose muscles? Twice as long as to get them, I think I’ve heard. Does that mean it would take four years to be back to where I was? I wonder if any of the hair will grow out, or if they did something about that too. The dick and balls would be forever lost, forever prepubescent in size. Also I need them locked up as well, I was told. They thought my dick would look smaller without the foreskin that had started to be a bit much after the chastity and the medication. Apparently religious medical procedures weren’t a problem to arrange, so snip snip, no more foreskin. The same number of nerve endings, but now in a much smaller area and totally exposed. Cyrus told me it would be a constant orgasm to try to have it rub against underwear. Fuck him. I can’t let him do more than he has already done.

I throw the sheet off me, clumsily roll out of bed, stand up, and freeze. It takes way too long to realize that there isn’t another person in the room. It’s another full-length mirror mounted on the wall next to the door. Did they put one up in every room? I stare again at the mirror image, still unable to fully process it is me in the reflection. I don’t look like me. I look like one of those models reblogged over and over on gay forums. Oh God, I am one, ain’t I? Cyrus does all his business online, so he must be savvy enough. I must already have years worth of photos on instagram, tumblr, twitter, patreon, thot-or-not, onlyfans, and whatever else has emerged. There must be thousands of guys that know my name, that have jerked off to my photos. It must be common knowledge I’m a butt slut and almost nothing is left of my dick. I can only imagine what a turn-on it would be for Cyrus to date a hot muscle model celebrity. Did I just call myself hot? Fuck him. I can’t even silently just try to make this go away. Fuck. Everyone I date from now on will already have a caricature fantasy of me that they’ve jerked off to.

I turn to the wardrobes at the side of the room, ignoring the big collection of ass toys and vibrators lined up on the table. I open both doors and stare at my clothes. Everything is as I remember it.

Fuck.

I grab one of the jeans. My calves now are the size of my thighs then. There is no body part I can fit into the jeans anymore. I start pulling out item after item. None of them would even fit as a joke, aside from the hats. I open the underwear drawer, which is like the opposite to the rest of the clothes. Everything here is new to me. As I start digging I realize that besides a few thongs and jock straps they are all speedos. Massively-sized speedos in every color from black to hot pink, with various patterns on them. I pick one and slide them up my legs. They almost fit. They only go like 2/3 up my ass. I pick another one. Same fit. Another one. Only covers half my big ass. I’m realizing what is going on. Fuck him. Everything here is chosen to make my ass look as big as possible.

At the bottom I find one of my old Calvin Kleins, black cotton and a white waist band. I step into them and slide them up my thick legs. They strain but manage to cover my ass, though looking at my reflection in the mirror they clearly aren’t made for me.

I look in the socks drawer and there too everything is new to me. All of them appear to be from crew socks to knee socks in length, and all of them athletic in thicker materials. I pick some random white, shin high socks and walk back to the bed. As I sit down I hear the fabric of my CKs rip apart behind me. It’s the sound of defeat. I’m not in control here. My body is.