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Overcast, ch. 27: Caught In The Act
🕑 Added 2024-09-28 23:43:10 +0000 UTC“You sure you want to get out here? Probably don’t need me to tell you this ain’t the best neighborhood.”
Bill looked up and down the dark, deserted street, lined on both sides by dilapidated buildings and peppered with the skeletal remains of abandoned vehicles. A few streetlights stood as silent sentries, losing their war with the shadows that grew deeper and stretched longer whenever one of their brethren was smashed or otherwise winked out of operation. The illumination from the all-night diner the car had pulled up to was pleasant enough, its glow warm and diffuse through windows that had been caked thick with decades of grease and cigarette smoke, but it was the neon oasis a few blocks down that Bill truly sought. “Yep, this is it,” he said, relishing the driver’s confused expression. Bill had selected the diner as his destination because he didn’t want the man knowing he was really headed to the porn shop down the street.
“Suit yourself,” the older man shrugged. He appeared to have been around long enough to guess at his well-dressed passenger’s true destination, but whether he knew to mind his own business, or just didn’t care, was unclear.
Bill thanked the man as he hopped out, a shiver running through him at the encompassing silence. The slamming car door echoed up and down the quiet street like a gunshot, the lack of noise so profound that the eager man could actually hear his heart beating. Pikesburg wasn’t a massive city to begin with. The tech conference he attended likely chose it specifically for its low-cost event spaces, but it still should have buzzed with metropolitan white noise. Car horns. Sirens. Conversations. Music. Traffic. Bill heard none of it. Standing on the darkened street was like standing at the bottom of the ocean, smothered by the weight of the emptiness that surrounded him. A few shadowy shapes shifting through the diner’s grease-gauzed windows were the only signs of life so far, with even the looming apartment windows dark and empty. Bill had been in enough “bad neighborhoods” while feeding his habit over the years to know that at least some of those windows should have been lit, and that, even as they approached midnight, at least one or two people should have lingered on the street or stoops.
Bill tried not to think about it, or the sound of his steps as he hurried down the street. The lean, middle-aged man was a lifelong runner, he was used to the staccato rhythm of his footfalls, but he had to fight against an impulse to creep, a primitive reflex that urged him to be quiet in the presence of predators. Bill told himself he was just being ridiculous. The street actually was empty, there was literally nothing to hide from, and it was a pleasantly warm late-summer night. He had nothing to be afraid of.
He also told himself it wasn’t fear that made his heart race, but excitement. Bill’s impressive cock already twitched in his form-fitting pants at the thought of what was to come, the impending peep-show his reward for sitting through the excruciating conference. He’d joined his peers for obligatory dinner and drinks afterwards, and while the handsome, dark-haired hunk could have easily found a partner for the night, Bill had another kind of encounter in mind.
His favorite part about attending out-of-town conferences was the opportunity they provided to explore the seedier side of things. Strip clubs, porn theaters, sex shops; Bill loved them all. The grimier, the better. It was a far cry from the primped man’s exterior presentation, his trim frame expertly clad in a fitted button down and tight chinos that accentuated his athletic build. Bill’s raven fade was cut so short as to almost be buzzed, the style equally accentuating the distinct contrast between his sharp cheeks, distinguished nose, and soft, plump lips. Having just crossed into his early forties, the stubble peppering those prominent cheekbones was marked by just enough salt to lend an increasing air of masculinity to Bill’s fit frame. He was on the shorter side of things at a somewhat subpar 5’7”, but his handsome features and toned, tight body still commanded attention. His perky rear bubbled in his pants, his shoulders were broad enough and his arms built enough to fill out his shirts, cutting an impressive figure regardless of how tall he stood. Having always been fit and handsome, Bill certainly didn’t need to rely on seedy settings to get his kicks, but that very discrepancy was what drew him in the first place. As a conventionally attractive jock, he’d grown bored with his easy access to conventionally attractive partners. He liked the dirt and danger that accompanied a rundown porn palace, the cum-stained squalor that was walking a knife’s edge between embarrassment and eager exhibitionism. Sitting in a booth with his fat seven inches in hand, Bill got off just as much on the thought of a stranger walking in as he did the performance of the person on the other side of the glass.
And the performances at this specific shop were supposedly legendary. Stepping into a familiar selection of cheap lingerie, dildos, fleshlights, and other accessories, Bill didn’t see anything overtly “arcane”, but neither had he expected to. A sex shop specializing in black market magic to boost their peepshows couldn’t exactly advertise as such if they wanted to stay off the BMR’s radar, and Bill knew he could get in trouble for even taking advantage of such services if a raid happened while he was there. But he was willing to risk it. He’d read online that the shop used casters to create custom, one-of-a-kind shows based on whatever a person wanted, providing the kinds of impossible bodies and exaggerated proportions that didn’t exist outside of altered photos on the internet. Bill was willing to roll the dice for that, and, if anything, the threat of being busted by the BMR was only an additional turn-on.
“What do you want,” the bald mountain behind the counter grunted. He dwarfed the dark-haired man, standing nearly a foot taller while his broad, weathered body spilled out of a loose muscle shirt, big enough to have easily housed Bill’s frame comfortably inside himself.
The smaller man swallowed hard and tried to act casual. “I, uh, heard you guys have…special…booths here?”
The mammoth man’s eyes narrowed as he looked the nervous pretty-boy up and down, his blunted, rugged features showing the slightest suggestion of a smug grin. When he spoke, Bill didn’t hear the man’s unnaturally deep voice with his ears as much as he felt it emanating directly from his rattling bones. “I know why you’re here,” the man spat, though it wasn’t clear if his lips ever moved. “What. Do. You. Want?”
“Oh! Uh, I mean…I’ll never turn down some big tits and a big ass,” Bill stammered, blushing. He didn’t remember pulling out his wallet, but he somehow already held a wad of cash.
The man gave a snorting laugh, his hand fully engulfing Bill’s as he took the money. “Door number three,” he said, nodding at the purple coin he’d slipped into the smaller man’s palm. “Put that in the slot when you’re ready.”
Bill was giddy as he turned and hurried through the nearby door, wanting to make it into the booth before his twitching cock was fully hard and outlined against his slim chinos. He normally waited until the show was underway to fish himself free, but he was so excited that he whipped himself out even before taking a seat in the old wooden chair. The sensation of his fat, firm cock being exposed in a foreign setting brought with it the customary thrill, and Bill looked forward to seeing the performer’s reaction. He knew they got all kinds, and he liked to think that they enjoyed having a hung, handsome hunk in the room for a change, especially since his aching rod looked larger than ever against his tight, compact frame.
“Okay…here we go,” Bill said, taking a deep breath and slipping the coin into the nearby slot. The small metal box looked like the kind normally attached to little rides outside of grocery stores or at the mall, and, as with those minor amusements, a mechanical hum filled the room as soon as it swallowed the metal disc. “Whoa! Didn’t expect that…” Bill chuckled to himself, clutching the seat of the chair when the booth seemed to pitch slightly. He’d anticipated magic, not a vertigo-inducing carnival ride, and he was relieved when the unexpected feeling of movement ceased after a few seconds. He told himself it was likely just a cheap trick to build atmosphere, the way seats rumbled in a movie theater, but he had to admit that it worked. More excited than ever, Bill gazed at his reflection in the dark pane, taking a moment to appreciate just how good he looked in the dim, sourceless glow of the booth as he gave himself a few tugs.
When the other side of the glass began to light up, Bill’s first thought was that he actually was looking at a mirror. Instead of a scantily clad woman, he found himself facing a fully clothed man. The discrepancy between his expectations and the reality was so jarring that it took a few moments for him to process that the older, balding, heavyset man wasn’t actually a reflection of himself, but a complete stranger. That realization was followed by an immediate rush of embarrassment when it occurred to Bill that, unlike himself, the other man kneaded himself through his pants while he still sat with dick in hand.
“Oh! Uh, fuck…hey…I think there’s maybe been a mistake,” he stammered, quickly hopping up from the chair and turning his back. The plan was to stuff himself away and go demand an explanation, but that plan fizzled when Bill discovered the door he’d entered through was now missing. His exposure forgotten, he fumbled his hands along the wall in search of a handle or latch, finding neither. More alarming was how solid the wall felt, as if he pressed against brick and not the flimsy fiberboard door and drywall that should have been there. “Okay, what the fuck is going on,” he spat, his panic overriding his modesty when he turned back to face the man. He blushed a deeper shade when he saw that the stranger had finally pulled himself free, his meaty fist slowly gliding along a cock that was just as beefy as the rest of him. “Hate to disappoint you, man, but I’m not the show here,” Bill said, his heart racing. He wasn’t sure if the stranger could even hear him through the glass, but he suspected that the man could since he himself could hear when a pulsing dance beat started to play on the other side. “Seriously, there’s been some kind of fuck up. I didn’t come here to jerk off with another guy. No judgment, but can you just go get someone so they can get me out…out of…”
Bill trailed off, instinctively clutching his chest when a throbbing ache radiated from between his pecs. For a moment he feared he was having a heart attack, and then he was disappointed that he wasn’t when he felt the toned mounds begin to press back against his hand. The growth happened slowly at first, a slight, steady expansion that caused the inflating pecs to outline themselves in tantalizing fashion against the straining shirt. For a moment, Bill looked like a gym-bro who hit one too many chest days, but then that image exploded along with his shirt.
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” Bill groaned, his eyes going wide and his jaw falling open when he saw the impossibly heavy muscle tits. The granite mounds were thick and round, jutting off his trim torso like a bloated shelf. The comically large pecs were so unwieldy that Bill could barely see past them when looking down, their exaggerated size even limiting the range of motion in his arms. “What…what the fuck…” he sputtered. “This…this can’t be real…this can’t be my cheeiiiIIIEEEEE…!” Bill broke off in a shrill, cracking wail when he reached up to inspect the altered mounds, the large, nubby nipples making his vision go white when he touched them. “Oh god…oh god…they’re so…so big…what the fuck…” he groaned, his head spinning from both the shock and the intense lust coursing through him. A part of him was still well aware that he was playing with his inflated nipples while a stranger watched, but he couldn’t stop. The sensation was electric, unlike anything he’d ever felt before, with any pleasure he’d ever received from his oozing cock immediately paling in comparison. “Feels so…so fucking…good…these tits are…huge…oh…oh no…” he whimpered, the implication landing a split second before the aching throb at his backside. This time, Bill was at least spared the sight of his transformation, if not the sound. There was a brief moment of pain as his pants and briefs became pitifully snug before, like his shirt, the bottoms tore away against the impossible growth. Bill’s stomach dropped as he staggered, his balance thrown by the heavy new mounds that shifted and rippled and bounced at the slightest movement. “No! No no no no no…” he groaned, his brain refusing to accept the horrifying circumference of the fleshy globes, or the way his once-toned thighs now brushed together as they grew accordingly to act as support. From what he could see of his faint reflection in the glass, his formerly whipcord body had become impossibly curvy, his juicy muscle tits acting as a counterbalance to the pillowy pumpkins. He looked digitally altered, as if someone had taken the chest of a heavyweight bodybuilder and the ass of a massive rugby player and superimposed them onto his compact frame. The altered additions would have looked huge on anyone, but Bill’s short stature further exaggerated the curvy caricature his body had become.
Standing in the tattered remains of his shirt and trousers, Bill gradually began to notice the way he still kneaded and clung to the expansive cheeks. Like his chest, he wasn’t probing them in a panic, he was clapping and bouncing them in search of the bright little bursts of pleasure that followed. As he instinctively twerked and clapped the heavy bubble, the motion causing correspondingly delightful ripples to radiate through his sensitive chest, Bill knew what he needed. He wasn’t so naive as to be oblivious to what he’d become, and while a part of him was mortified, a far larger part was simply desperate. He began to curse the glass that separated him from the rigid organ on the other side, his need to have the internal itch scratched outweighing any embarrassment that came with the thought.
Then he saw it. Bill was certain that the fat silicone cock and bottle of lube hadn’t been in the room when he’d first arrived, but all that mattered was their current attendance. Moving with instincts he’d never previously possessed, the bottom-heavy hunk slammed the suction cup onto the ground, lubed the deliciously firm rod, and then parted his mammoth cheeks, his body vibrating with anticipation. Eyes fixed on the stroking stranger, Bill howled as he impaled himself, his world turning inside out at the foreign, forbidden ecstasy that ripped through him.
When the overwhelming sensations dulled enough for him to come back to his senses, Bill found himself bouncing up and down on his knees, both hands locked on his enlarged nipples as his untouched cock oozed like a leaky faucet. His penetrated performance was frenzied and wild, his handsome, unaltered face twisting into pained masks as he howled himself hoarse. It was nothing he’d even contemplated before, yet everything he’d ever wanted. There was no more “possibility” of being caught in the act since he now was the act, his warped body now an object for other men to ogle and use as they saw fit.
Bill knew that wasn’t right, but, as he bounced and moaned and played with his plump new pecs while the stranger stroked away, he couldn’t quite convince himself that it was entirely wrong, either.
**********
“Yes…yes…oh god…oh god…yyyeeeeeessss…” Bill moaned, his cracking whimpers punctuated by the dull thump of his fattened rear slamming against the wall as it swallowed the mounted dildo. “This is gonna…gonna be a big one, boys…I can already…tell…” he gasped, tweaking his tortured nipples as he groped and kneaded his pecs in front of the camera. There was still a part of himself that, even now, occasionally felt a stab of embarrassment whenever he caught sight of his exaggerated expressions on the monitor. After all, he still had the same handsome features - the short haircut, the sharp cheeks, the distinguished nose - it was only what he did with them that changed. From the neck up, he could still pass as the Old Bill, as long as he wasn’t pursing his lips or howling like a banshee.
It was from the neck down that the illusion fell apart. The bloated pecs hanging impossibly large and heavy above his trim waist, at least until that waist curved outward at his equally plump bottom, should have been impossible. The penetrated pumpkins were likewise anatatomical oddities, looming far larger and thicker than Bill’s compact body would ever have been able to grow on his own. No longer tight and nimble, the dark-haired hunk now lumbered and waddled, bouncing and rippling both above and below the waist.
And it wasn’t just Bill's appearance that now made him a stranger to those who’d previously known him. The demands of the now-stocky stud’s altered proportions matched their size, meaning that, even if he’d still been able to mentally meet the demands of his former job, his body likely wouldn’t have let him. After fucking himself senseless in the booth, Bill had come to in a BMR facility on the other side of the country. He had no memory of how he’d gotten there or what he’d been doing for the several days leading up to his awakening, which made his altered body all the more terrifying a discovery. The last thing he remembered was going into the office on an average Wednesday, and then the next thing he knew he was waking up with a jutting slab, thicc thighs, and a cock that wouldn’t quit. Bill was hornier than he’d felt in decades, with it being easier to count the times he wasn’t hard and aching throughout the day. It was a jarring transition for the previously modest man, especially as he discovered that shirts were largely out of the question due to the sensitivity of his chest, and that, even when covered, there was no obscuring the way his heaping new backside bounced and shook in constant motion.
From what the BMR had been able to piece together, something had happened to Bill in Pikesburg. His coworkers verified that they’d seen him on the first day of the conference, but then he’d vanished. They’d actually reported it to the authorities in Pikesburg, though no one had any records of where Bill had gone after that first day. The data on his phone had been wiped clean, there were no credit card transactions, and the BMR verified that the warped man’s memory had been magically altered. Unfortunately for Bill, whoever was responsible hadn’t removed the events with a scalpel as much as a melon baller, taking unrelated chunks with it. Likely because he was at a work event when it happened, much of Bill’s “work” knowledge had vanished. He had spotty memories of his employer and coworkers, but it went much deeper, wiping out technical knowledge and much of what he’d learned while earning his degree. There were also issues with forgetfulness and focus in general, as well as a sea of new impulses and desires that Bill was still wrapping his head around.
After their examination confirmed that Bill wasn’t a risk of arcane contagion, the BMR sent him on his way. They said there was nothing they could do that didn’t risk causing greater harm, and while they could link him to a caseworker to help his “adjustment”, the agency more or less treated the altered man like he’d simply been the victim of a magical mugging, not someone who’d had their entire life turned upside down.
Bill couldn’t wear any of his old clothes anymore, he could barely bring himself to wear any at all. He couldn’t do his old job, and with his demanding body the way it was he couldn’t easily apply for a new one, especially with his limited focus, and a good chunk of his former peers and friends were now too uncomfortable to be around him. Bill couldn’t blame them. He didn’t know how he would have reacted to one of them randomly reappearing with a set of impossible, constantly exposed pecs, a massive ass, and a cock that was always hard. Bill could get away with wearing a muscle shirt if it was open enough to leave plenty of room for his nipples to be exposed, but it wasn’t like he could go out with friends the way he used to, and he wasn’t exactly ready to be seen in public yet even if he could. He still felt like a freak, a stranger in his own body.
Bill only set up the website because he needed the money. He told himself it wasn’t because a part of him was desperate to put on the shows that now made him much more than his former job ever could. It wasn’t because he now had a burning need to show off, an insatiable desire to be seen in all his warped, curvy glory. He told himself he was the same handsome, middle-aged man he’d always been, not a big-titted power-bottom hungry for cock. The guys that came around weren’t just using him for his eager hole; they were still his friends.
And, even if they weren’t, Bill was starting to make new ones. Word had gotten out about his unique predicament and unique proportions. With casters and magic being prevalent, it wasn’t entirely uncommon to come across someone with unnatural attributes, but a hung, handsome hunk of his age, with his hesitant charm still intact, was a diamond in the rough. There were plenty of young, hung himbos looking to put on a show; a mature meathead-in-part like Bill was a rarity. He still hadn’t worked up the nerve to put on a show in-person yet, but the offers were pouring in. Until then, he’d continue to hone his new craft and practice with the new friends that came over. Many of them were those young, hung himbos who’d soon be the closest thing he had to coworkers, currently acting as his mentors as they guided him through the art of sucking a dick and multitasking with more than one man at a time. It wasn’t anything like the life he’d led before, but Bill didn’t hate how things had turned out. Aside from some embarrassment at spending most of his time naked in front of other people, he felt good, and, though he didn’t see it that way yet himself, plenty of people thought he looked good. He told himself it wasn’t a bad life, just a different one.
“Ooohhhhh fuuuuuck…guys…it’s coming…” Bill grunted, his pecs slamming up and down as he picked up the pace of his writhing. He hadn’t touched his cock, he rarely did anymore when getting off, but the impending explosion felt massive. Most of them were ever since his transformation, a fact that delighted his audience but only made Bill feel like more of an outlier. Fortunately, most of his in-person partners didn’t mind the cum bath he provided. “Here…we…here we…goooOoOoooOOOHhhHH…!” he howled, launching strand after strand across the room.
