Gay Erotic Stories

An Erotic Epic Young Jamie’s father and Uncle Frankie are suddenly transformed into superhuman beings of immense muscularity, unspeakable beauty, and irresistible sexual appetite. They are also enthusiastically gay. Jamie is aghast as he sees the Change overtake his schoolmates and the members of his father’s gym, until he himself is transformed and discovers the erotic bliss of godhood. But even as the Change spreads throughout their city, turning every man into a paragon of sex and strength, Jamie and his ravishing lover, Milo, wonder who is responsible for this gift and more important, what he will demand as payment. ………….. Jamie was power incarnate. He stood before the mirrors in the Domicile, worshipping the godlike thing he had become. At that moment he was marveling at his skin. So smooth, so silky, so deeply bronzed. He ran his hand lovingly over his rock-like abdominals, feeling the deep grooves between each muscle and the soft flesh that covered it. His hand ran up his torso to his chest, pressing against the wide pectorals, watching with rapt attention as his thick fingers barely dimpled the firm flesh. Then his hand brushed against one of his nipples and dense waves pleasure moved through his body. "Oh, oh, yeah," he whispered. "Oh, do it, man, do it." His cock leaped to attention, a massive erection in an uncountable series of erections, and sought to free itself from his skimpy posing trunks. He longed to pull it out, to marvel at its length and thickness, to stroke it until he exploded with ecstasy, but didn't. He was learning. Jamie was learning how to delay his pleasure, to let it build up inside him until his cock pulsed dully and his testicles felt as if they would burst from the pressure of the jism inside them, surging, boiling, longing to be free. This self-control produced orgasms of an intensity vastly beyond the immediate release of sudden passion. These orgasms were cultured, nurtured into a frenzy of ecstasy. Jamie felt like his body would split in two from the sheer rapture of it. He had been standing where he was for four hours. Slaves scurried around him, cleaning up the pools of cum that he projected onto the floor, onto the mirrors. They simpered and looked at him adoringly, but he paid them no mind. They were mortals, not worthy of his attention. And they would always be mortals. His father had made it clear that the Change was not for the already-beautiful but for the discarded, the homely, the sexually damaged. These adonises, culled from the cities gay bars, had ruled arrogantly over their domains for years. Now, they would feel the yoke of superior beauty, superior sexual prowess. They would serve. For their reward, they were experiencing every orgasm Jamie experienced and with equal intensity. They gave up their lives, their very identities to be near this unending source of superhuman sexual pleasure. One of them came over and tried to pull Jamie's dick out of his trunks, obviously intending to suck it. Jamie slapped him away. He was involved in a rapturous encounter with his own reflection, and didn't need their puny assistance. The slave whimpered and backed off. Jamie raised one arm so that his deltoid would stand up in stark relief, the arc of it rising high, the trapezii bunching behind it. Oh, god, there wasn't one square inch of his body he didn't adore. He flexed one arm, the straightened it, then flexed again, marveling at the movement of his sinews, the muscle bulking up into a gigantic peak and then subsiding into smooth thickness. He turned to one side and stared at his ass, his high, round, muscular ass that protruded from the back of his body like a proud announcement of his godhood. Surely no human had ever had such a beautiful ass. "You," he said to a nearby slave, an athletic blond who Jamie, at one time in his life, would have considered beautiful. "Yes, master." "Touch my ass." The slave moaned softly and approached Jamie's butt as if it were a religious object, which in fact it was. He gingerly touched the Olympian flesh. He moaned again. "Just press easily," Jamie instructed him. "Fondle them." The slave did as he was commanded. Jamie stared into the mirror, watching the thick glutes puckering slightly from the slave's touch. Oh, god, how Jamie loved his ass! Men's asses excited him beyond any other body part, and his own callipygian ass beyond all others. He slipped his meaty hands into his posers and cupped his balls, feeling their heaviness and their impossible size. Like softballs they were, perhaps cantaloupes, gigantic vessels of pleasure. They sizzled with erotic intensity at his touch. "Oh, oh, yeah," he moaned, his climax building in his colossal genitals, the erotic pressure pulsing in the flesh, a volcano on the verge of eruption. "Oh, oh, oh YEAH, OH YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, YEAH!" And he came; his cock leaping out of its confinement and splattering blasts of jism against the mirror, pouring out of him, pints of it coming from some illimitable reservoir of sex within him. It splashed warmly on his feet. Like all his orgasms, it lasted a couple of minutes, giving him ample time to revel in the spectacle of his own ecstasy, staring lovingly at himself as his cock sent roaring waves of pleasure through his body. He watched adoringly as his powerful stomach muscles contracted with each pulse, he pecs flexing rhythmically, the muscles of his arms writhing as he worked the massive tool. When at last it was over, he stood with his eyes closed, head back, drinking in the serene feeling of repletion, of complete sexual release. Had there really been a time when he was all adolescent insecurity, when he actually criticized himself and found fault with his every word and gesture? Those days were a hazy memory. The new Jamie lived in a perpetual state of complete self-acceptance, a self-love so enormous it sometimes blotted out all other worldly experience. He lowered his head and stared into his own eyes, his bright, clear, luminous eyes. His hands went to his pecs, those thick squares of muscles that sat so proudly on his rib cage, and pressed against them. The flesh yielded slightly. "I love you," he whispered to himself, already feeling the stirring of a new round of rapturous self-adoration rising up from his scrotum. The slaves quickly scoured the floor and the mirror, and licked the tip of his dick clean. Jamie was only barely aware they were there. "You look like you could use a break," said a deep voice behind him. Jamie realized that someone was standing over him, an adult and a god. He turned and looked up into the impossibly beautiful face, the deep green eyes, the shock of brown hair. "You," he said softly. "Milo," said Milo. "Milo." The name resounded in Jamie's head like a chorus of angels. "I saw you at the gym. On that night." "And I saw you. I think we have business with each other," Milo said. "Yes. Yes, I need to be with you. I think about you all the time." "I have quarters here. Let's go." Milo was the only thing in creation that could have weaned Jamie away from his own reflection. The elder god put his arm around the boy's tiny waist and led him across the expanse of the Room. The Room was the main hall of the Domicile, a complex carved out of old loft space on the city's west side, a warren of lushly appointed rooms designed solely for the gods' pleasures. All around them, mountainous male bodies engaged in sexual acts of unimaginable perversity and single gods and demi-gods stood before mirrors as Jamie had been doing, lost in self-adoration. Some of Jamie's schoolmates were there. Many of them never went to school any more, but rather stayed in this place, never venturing out, never with a moment devoid of sexual stimulation of one kind or another. Several of them never left the mirrors unless snatched away by a fellow Pantheon member who desired them. Then, they would perform with unspeakable abandon. Jamie only went by the school for a day or two each week. He was getting A's in all his classes. The Domicile had been brought into existence by the vast fortunes of Cary's father and the other wealthy demi-gods. No expense had been spared. The furniture was all designed for use in sexual congress, broad and lushly upholstered and the walls of every room were lined with mirrors interrupted only by manacles and other devices of restraint. Such devices were made of heavy iron so as to actually contain the immense strength of the demi-gods. Jamie reached up and put his arms around Milo's small waist, feeling the shivery warmth of the god's skin and the hard abdominals beneath. He rested his head against Milo's chest and the firm muscles cushioned it with a gentleness that belied their destructive power. Jamie sighed deeply. The two walked like this, arms wrapped ardently around each other, until they reached a suit of chambers at the rear of the building, Milo's chambers. They entered through the vast double door, which closed behind them by means of some automatic process. Inside, the room was full of brown leather with forest green walls. Pictures of Milo and his friend Jason hung everywhere. They turned to each other, not releasing their hold on each other's waists. Milo, too, was naked. The dense forests of public hair that surround their crotches pressed against each other, and they both sighed with the rapture of it. Their cocks became engorged and rubbed against each other. "It's our time now, Jamie," Milo said gently. "Oh, god, yes. I've wanted you so much. Ever since that night when our eyes met." "Oh, I think I more than want you, Jamie. More than that." Milo leaned down and kissed the boy, deeply, slowly, languorously. Jamie felt his whole body open up the older man, becoming an unresisting receptacle for his desire. He drank in Milo's presence, letting it engulf him so completely that his own personality seemed to be a very tiny thing in an ocean of ecstasy. Jamie then did what had become his favorite sexual act: he climbed up the man's body as if it were a mighty oak and wrapped his legs around Milo's waist, intending to impale himself on Milo's massive sex pylon. But Milo put one hand on Jamie's stomach and pushed him back. "Not so fast, Speedy Gonzales," he murmured. "Aw, come on." "This is a magic moment, Jamie. Something important is happening between us and you know it. I want it to last. Hell, I want it to go on forever." "Yes. I feel it, Milo. What's happening to us?" "I think we're soulmates, Jamie. People like that find each other sometimes. When it's two gods, the effect is all that much more powerful. I knew the second I looked at you that I was meant for you." "Oh, god, Milo," Jamie said, sliding down the god's body and planting his feet back on the floor. He pressed himself against Milo's immense musculature. "It's all so beautiful. So beautiful." "You're beautiful, Jamie." He swept the boy up into his arms and carried him into the bedchamber. He dropped the boy down on his knees on the black silk sheets. "Show me that ass, Jamie." "Oh, oh, yeah…" Jamie went down on all fours, moving his torso and hips so that the full curve of his buttocks was displayed. "You like that ass, don't you, Jamie? Asses are your thing. Your own in particular." "Yes. Oh, god, yes, Milo. Fuck me. Please fuck my beautiful ass." Milo gently stroked the proud arc of Jamie's glute. "Oh, I'm going to, gorgeous boy. Never doubt it." He pulled the boy up into a rapturous kiss and the world fell away from them. Milo flashed briefly back to his former life, as he did often, remembering the weak and sexless creature he had been, transformed now into this inhuman dynamo of sex and beauty and strength with this glorious youth writhing to his touch. Could life possibly be any better? The boy was everything he had fantasized he would be, and more. Milo had expected a somewhat more reserved performance, but the youth was gross in his pleasure, ready to degrade himself in the most appalling ways to achieve release. Milo tried to steer the encounter into a gentler mode, but Jamie was having none of it and Milo finally capitulated to the lad's perverse desires. But the boy was also greedy. He wanted it all at once and would have orgasmed in moments had Milo not used his own sexual powers to restrain him, to make him wait. Jamie became frantic with lust, his need to explode building in him like steam pressure, forcing itself against the barrier of his physical form. The boy began to tremble with anticipation as Milo worked on his body from every conceivable angle. At last, Milo's cock entered him and he knew that completion was at hand. "Do you feel my cock inside you, Jamie?" "Oh. Oh, yeah, Milo." "Does it feel good?" "Yeah! Oh, Milo, so good! So good!" "How long to do want this feeling to last?" "Oh, god! Forever! Forever!" Milo smiled wickedly. "All right, then." And he began Jamie's enslavement, refusing the boy's desperate pleas to ejaculate while stoking his erotic drives to a pitch of pleasure that Jamie had never experienced even in his life as a demi-god. Their ecstasy thundered inside them like canon fire, shaking them to their cores and tearing their minds to pieces. When at last the moment of orgasm came, when Milo decided that he was more torturing Jamie than making love to him, they both exploded simultaneously, Jamie's cum showering Milo with its sweet stickiness. He opened his mouth and tried to drink it in, as if catching rain, while his own cock quaked with rapture. It was the longest orgasm either of them had experienced to date, lasting at least five minutes, five minutes in which they were both paralyzed by pleasure, locked into the position of coitus like some pornographic Pompeiian statue. The aftermath was like the silence after and earthquake. They lay on their backs on the shimmery sheets, staring stuperously at the ceiling. The afternoon sun poured in through the french doors, bathing their magnificence in golden light. Milo had never felt such a sense of completion. Normally, his inhuman lust would rumble up out of his scrotum again after only moments of rest. But this time, he felt as if he were floating on the surface of an ocean whose unknowable depths he had only just barely dipped into. The future seemed to unfold itself before him, glowing and not quite visible, a future of which he only knew that this boy, this glorious, bulging, supernaturally beautiful boy would be the central focus. The silence of the moment filled his ears like white noise, blotting out all sensation with a sweet, soft cushion of bliss. When his senses began to clear, he heard a strange sound, a sound he had not heard in many a day. He rolled over on one immense shoulder and looked at Jamie, who still lay staring upwards. For an instant, he mistook the glistening on his face for sweat, the detritus of their love-making. But then he saw that the moisture came from his eyes. "I assume those are happy tears," Milo said tentatively. Jamie gave him a reproachful look and rolled over on his side, displaying his awe-inspiring ass. Milo's desire was immediately inflamed again, but he restrained himself. Could it be he was feeling…concern? It had been a long time since that emotion had flickered in his power-addled brain. "Jamie, are you crying?" "No," Jamie sobbed. "Jamie?" He touched the boy's massive arm and turned him. The electrical tingle of erotic power at the point of contact made his cock harden. "What are you doing?" "Fuck you," Jamie said, stifling his tears. "You can't possibly be crying. You can't possibly be unhappy." "I can be whatever I want." Milo pulled the boy to him. "Come here, baby. I'll make you feel better." "Don't touch me!" Jamie snapped. He pulled himself loose and moved to the edge of the bed. "I don't want to!" "Don't want to. That's got to be a first." "Yeah, fuck you." Milo blinked and looked about the room. He looked back at Jamie. "So, what do you want?" Jamie sniffed. He said nothing. Milo shrugged and lowered himself back down onto the bed. "Fishing," the boy said. "Fishing?" There was another silence. "It was my birthday last month." "Yes, I know. Quite a birthday. Quite a present, yes?" "My dad usually took me fishing on my birthday." "I see. And this time, instead of fishing, he took you to unending ecstasy and power. And this is…a problem?" "No, I guess not." "Well, what then?" Jamie rolled over and regarded the older man with wet, lucent eyes. "Don't you ever want to do anything else? Besides fuck?" Milo thought for a second. "No, not really. Why would I? What could possibly bring me as much satisfaction?" "My dad and I used to go fishing. We'd sit up at night and talk about life and girls and stuff. We'd go shopping on Saturdays. We shot hoops." "I see. How fifties." "Now, all we do is fuck. I fuck my own father, Milo. It's not right." Milo smiled smugly. "We're not human any more, Jamie. These tired notions of right and wrong don't apply to us. We're gods. We take what we want." "I'm tired of taking what I want. Wouldn't it be nice if someone just gave you something once in a while? Of their own free will?" "I don't think anyone has much free will around us, Jamie." "No. No they don't. It sucks, Milo. I don't like it." "You didn't like defeating those two bullies in the men's room? Yes, I know about that. You didn't like swaggering through the halls of your school like an emperor. You don't like having more pleasure than any human has ever had since the beginning of time?" "No. I mean, yes. Of course I liked it. I loved it. I couldn't not love it. It felt too good not to give in. It all feels too good, Milo." "If there's something my recent experiences have taught me, child, it's that there's no such thing as too good." Jamie sat up in bed, glorious in his nakedness. Milo let his eyes wander down the sweep of the boy's torso to the tiny waist packed with abdominals like paving stones. Jamie's cock glistened with bodily fluids. "Maybe that's no true, Milo? Do you wonder what all this is for? Do you wonder where this power came from?" "It came from your father. For which I will always be grateful." "It doesn't come from him! It comes from Mr. Bel!" Milo frowned. "Mr. Who?" And Jamie told him the story of the erotic ritual in the hidden shrine that drew the mysterious gentlemen to them. "And your father says that this Bel is the source of the Change?" "Yes. And he's not a nice man, Milo. He's not a man at all, and whatever he is, he's not nice." "What makes you say that?" "What's going on here, Milo? What's the point of turning us all into sex gods? What does Mr. Bel get for it?" Milo shrugged. "The satisfaction of making people happy?" Jamie shook his head. "I don't think he's the kind of person who makes people happy." Milo's perfect brow furrowed. He was astonished that anyone would question the goodness of the Change, a transformation that had given him a life out of his wildest fantasies, a life of unending pleasure, dominance and arrogant self-adoration. He took the boy's hand and pulled him off the bed. "Come here, Jamie." He led the youth over to the wall, which, like all the walls in the Domicile, was lined with mirrors. "Now, look." He faced the boy in front of his own reflection. "Look at yourself." Jamie looked. Like everyone who looks into a mirror, he looked into his own eyes. He was instantly riveted by their dark depths, their glittering color. His gaze traveled down, from the thick tousle of blondish hair, the voluptuous lips, the square, manly jaw, the bulk of his trapezii, his deltoids like two halves of a watermelon, his vast expanse of pectoral muscle. His hands came up almost of their own accord and caressed the thick meat of his chest. He stroked his nipples and felt the shudder of pleasure this evoked. Jamie smiled. "That's right," Milo said. "Look at what you've become. Do you want that man in the mirror, Jamie?" Jamie seemed to struggle with himself for a moment. "Yes," he then said. "Do you want to fuck him?" Jamie's smile grew broader. "Yes." He brought up his arms into a mammoth double biceps. The peaks rose up majestically on either side of his head, a startling testament to his power, to his prowess. "Yes, I want him!" "That man is you, Jamie. Love him." Jamie sighed with bliss as wave after wave of erotic energy moved through the solid density of his body, filling every cell with ecstatic pleasure. His cock rose up, tall and long and proud, to thump against his chest, demanding his attention. Oh, god, who cared about fishing? Who cared about school, about eating, about friends, about other people, who cared ABOUT ANYTHING! He was exploding with power! He was superhuman! He was omnipotent! "Oh, god, Milo, I feel SO FUCKING STRONG!" "Show me, Jamie," Milo said, his own desire surging up in him with unbearable intensity at the sight of the stupendous muscleboy worshipping himself. "Show me how strong you are." Jamie roared and swaggered across the room to the colossal weight rack in the corner, it's barbell freighted with unspeakable poundage. He sat down and quickly pressed the immense weight over his head. "Fucking weights don't feel like nothing!" He bellowed. "Oh, man, Milo, I am a fucking god!" Milo could no longer restrain himself and set to work on Jamie's erect tower of a cock, stroking it and licking the bulbous tip. Jamie threw the weights to the floor where they landed with a tremendous clamor and embraced Milo. They never made it back to the bed, but fucked where they were on the bench. But this encounter was different from their last. Just as the power of sex had blasted Jamie's mind free of any hesitation or regret, Milo had felt a deep sense of unease after the boy's remarks. Why had they all been transformed? What was the point of creating beings like them? And when would the price tag say when it was presented? Of course, gods could do things for no reason at all, simply for amusement. But what god was behind this wave of transformation that was sweeping through the male population of the city? This time, Milo did not lose consciousness in the tide of sexual joy that enveloped him. He retained a tiny portion of who he was and where he was and made love to Jamie with an attentiveness never before attempted, or needed, in the sexual congress of these new Olympians. And he used his sexual powers to contain Jamie's ardor, to channel it and to prevent him from orgasming whenever he chose, forcing the pressure of ecstasy to build up in the boy to an excruciating degree. "Oh, god, god, Milo, let me come! I'm exploding, man!" "Not just yet, little boy. Think of fishing." "Wha…what?" "Think of those times with your father. Think of how happy they made you." "Wha…yeah, yeah, I remember. They did make me happy! I'm happy now, Milo!" "Think of your last track meet. Think of the sense of satisfaction it gave you to come in second." "No, Milo. Oh, god, it's so good." By now, Milo had climbed onto the bench and mounted Jamie fully, plunging his monstrous equipment into the warm mystery of the boy's ass, pumping the succulent buttflesh with a slow savoring rhythm. It took all his powers of concentration not to let loose, to let himself and the boy free to rut like mythical monsters at the dawn of the world. But Milo wanted to test something. "Now, think of your mother, Jamie." Jamie started and made to pull himself away from Milo. "No! No, don't talk about her!" Milo held fast, reinserting himself forcefully. "Remember her, Jamie. Remember how much you loved her." Jamie's eyes teared up. "No, not now. Don't do this." "Do you feel her love for you, Jamie? Do you remember how she made you feel?" "Yes! Oh, god, Milo, don't make me think about this!" But Milo was merciless. Continuing in this manner, he connected the boy's emotions to his sexual sensations, intertwining them to produce a sexual union of excruciating intensity, each tremor of desire accompanied by a tremor of love that added an profound sweetness to their congress. As their orgasm neared, the pressure in their balls seeking to force the final explosion, Milo raised the youth up into regions of love of an intensity unknown to human beings. And as Milo saw the love fill the boy's heart even as ravenous lust filled his body, Milo, too, was carried off by it. He felt his heart, that long-unused organ, stir in his chest with a compassion and kindness that he thought himself no longer capable of. His eyes teared up as he looked down at this perfect creature writhing underneath him, this cynosure of beauty and desire that was giving himself to Milo body and heart and soul without reservation. And when they finally came, it was as if their emotions exploded along with their bodies, a detonation of caring and love and joy that made them feel as if their souls were pouring into each other, joining to become a single blazing star of perfect love. They lay in the wake of it, panting, their bodies slick with sweat and semen. Milo did not remove himself, but left his still-tumescent cock inside Jamie. Jamie made no move to disengage himself, his superhuman strength easily maintaining the position. They lay encased in bliss, their mighty hearts beating in unison, their magnificent bodies motionless. At last their was the slightest stirring, a slight inclination of the head, a twitch of a toe. Mobility was returning. Milo extracted himself from the boy's entrails and lowered his ponderous bulk gently onto him. They embraced and squeezed each other with all the power in their massive arms. "What the hell was that?" Milo said with a weak laugh. "That was love," Jamie said. "We're soulmates, Milo. I knew it the second I set eyes on you that night. We're destined." "I know." "I love you, Milo. I've been saying that to every god and demi-god I've fucked for weeks, but I never knew what it meant until now. I love you. I'm yours. And you're mine. We're together now. Forever." Milo smiled and closed his eyes. Beneath the boy's smooth, brown skin he could hear the powerful heartbeat. "Forever," he whispered. "Well, finally!" said a new voice. Jamie and Milo sat up and found themselves looking at a creature that could not possibly exist. &emdash;&emdash; The school was theirs. Or most of it. Cary and Jude strode through the halls, serene in their arrogance, surveying the kingdom of which they were the uncontested rulers. Jude deferred slightly to Cary in all things because Cary had Changed him. But they shared their power over the mortals amiably, commanding obedience and crushing dissent with their overwhelming sexuality and illimitable strength. Some of the newly-minted demi-gods had become so overcome with the erotic aspect of their transformation that they had ceased to come to school at all, preferring to remain in the Domicile or at Andrew's gym, fucking opulently. But no matter, because there were always more where they came from. The restriction of Changing only boys with single fathers was being lifted, and Cary and Jude were beginning to transform everyone in the school, including the teachers. As they processed through the corridors, they were greeted at every turn by bulging, pulsating masses of superhuman muscle. Soon, the only ordinary boys would be the jocks, the ones who had lorded it over the rest for years, the ones who had used their superior prowess to bully and intimidate. Soon, they would feel the hard boot of humiliation every day. And finally, they too would be subsumed into godhood, but not until their lesson in utter humility was completed. Cary and Jude smiled and nodded as their massive subjects passed by, arm in arm, shoulder to massive shoulder, smiling obscenely and secretively. "Dude, life is so fucking good," Cary said to Jude. "Aw, fucking candy-ass buttboys, man. Their asses are OURS!" He laughed satanically, a matinee-villain laugh of booming malevolence that he had adopted since his Change. Jude was now able to indulge his Goth belief system to its fullest expression. The world was a place of dark pleasures presided over by his black imagination. He had meted out erotic punishments left and right, delighting his victims even as he ground them into the mud. Ethan Fremont approached them. He crept forward, cringing in the most deliciously servile way, his hands together in front of him. Of course, it was no real accomplishment to dominate Ethan: he was a fag of the first order, one of the first kids in the school to come out publicly; this proved to be a big mistake, as he got his butt kicked on a regular basis. Ethan pretty much came in his pants every time he saw them, or saw one of their confreres. Going to school had become a pretty orgasmic experience for little Ethan. "H-hey, Jude," Ethan said, casting a wary glance at Cary. "Ethan." "Have you…have you thought about it, Jude? Will you?" Jude smiled wickedly. He had already decided to transform poor Ethan, but he wanted to make him grovel for a while first. But the amusement was growing pale. "Yeah, Ethan, I've thought about it. What will you give me if I do this for you?" "Anything! My god, anything! My life, my soul!" "Good answer." Jude turned and addressed the hallway in his now-resonant voice. "Hey, men! Shop class!" This caused a stirring all up and down the length of the school. Mr. Bryant's shop class had become one of the orgy centers for the place ever since his transformation. His hard-nosed, tough-guy persona had been Changed into that of a pliant youth, bursting with health and muscle and palpitating with lust. Mr. Bryant was one of Cary's favorites. The unChanged students found ample reasons for avoiding shop class. Ignoring the bell that summoned the other students to class, the two young gods and their herd of demi-gods coalesced into a group and moved as one downstairs to the shop. When they got there, they found the day's activities in full swing, the naked musclemen coiting on every conceivable surface, the worktables, the machinery, the floors, the windowsills. "Ain't it beautiful, dude?" Cary said. "Beautiful, man. Ethan's mine, is that okay with you?' "Oh, yeah. I got my own coming." And at that moment, two hulking teenagers brought in Georgie Kalin, one of the most arrogant and most violent jock boys in the school. His arms were pinned and they were struggling. "Ah, good, he's here," Cary said. He swaggered over to Georgie, who remained under restraint. "Hey, Georgie, it's your lucky day." "Just get it over with, you asshole!" Georgie shouted defiantly. Clearly, he thought he was in for a beating. Jude turned to little Ethan. He put his hand over Ethan's heart and Ethan sighed, a deep, grateful sigh. "Ethan, do you give yourself to me? You mind? You heart? Your soul?" "Yes, Jude." "And do you promise to submit to me in all things, to obey without question, to do my evil will to any extreme?" "I do. Oh, yeah, Jude." "Then I bid you welcome into my realm." Jude stepped back. And it happened. Ethan's body began to expand, the chest erupting with muscle, the arms straining against the fabric of his shirt. The material stretched until it couldn't stretch any more and then it began to tear, the seams popping and splitting and the colossal biceps emerging from their confinement. His clothing grew tight all over until it could no longer contain the expanding magnificence of his new form and ripped itself apart, falling about his in shards like the chrysalis of a caterpillar to reveal the unearthly beauty within. Ethan's body elongated as it thickened, growing taller as it grew wider. Cary watched from the side. He loved the side views best of all, the massy thickness of the shoulders, arcing down the lats to the hard-packed tiny waist and then flaring out again into the voluptuous contours of the ass, counterbalanced by the weight of the enlarged genitals in front. Oh, god, those asses! Ethan's was shaping itself into a true masterpiece, high and hard and shapely. Cary longed to fuck it, though he had given Ethan to Jude. And as Ethan's body was transformed, so was his face. And his hair. As he featured transmogrified into those of an erotic drawing utterly disconnected from real human life, his hair became black and shaggy, flopping in sinister folds over his forehead. His eyes, beautiful as they were, sank back into his head, a crest of bone forming around them, shadowing the orbs and giving his features an unmistakably evil cast. He was Jude's, all right. This darkly villainous appearance was known around the school as the Jude Look. In moment, Ethan had gone from a scrawny loser to a towering mass of superhuman muscle and beauty who looked like he would cheerfully kill a man as soon as fuck him. Jude led Ethan over to the array of mirrors Mr. Bryant had supplied to survey his new being. Cary turned to Georgie. "You like that, Georgie?" Georgie was dumbfounded by what he had just witnessed. "Fucking hell, man! Fucking witchcraft, man!" Cary chuckled. "Witchcraft. You are such a loser." Georgie gave him a desperate look. "Will he do me, man? I want it, Cary! God, somebody give it to me." "Your choice," Cary said, placing his hand over the jock's heart. Georgie's Change would bring in all the other athletes in the school. Cary would make them into simpering buttboys, jack their sex drives up so high that they'd be able to think of nothing but fucking and degradation. They would be his new toys. And the Pantheon's domain grew &emdash;&emdash; The Single Father's Club met that night at Andrew's house. When he had called everyone to arrange it, they had all expressed delight at hearing from him at last and curiosity about where he had been. He promised to explain all that at the meeting. There were two single father's groups, one for single fathers with sons and one for single fathers with daughters. The "sons" group was Andrew's, of course. As they entered his home, they were perplexed by the plethora of mirrors on every wall, though one look at the new Andrew told them their purpose. They could see that Andrew had changed dramatically, but the obfuscating power of the gods prevented them from remarking on how quickly it happened. They all slapped him on the back and made remarks like, "Been pumpin' it, huh?" Andrew would smile wickedly. The men were a little confused by the lack of refreshments not to mention the lack of furniture, but Andrew assured them that all would be explained. When everyone had arrived, Andrew went to the back of the house and returned with Cary and his father. Cary's father had been ordered to be on his best behavior, containing his rampant sexual needs no matter how much it pained him to do so. They divine pair stood before the assembled fathers. "Okay, guys," Andrew said. "I'd like you to remember me the way I was." And with this simple declaration, the veil of forgetfulness was raised and the father's realized the impossible suddenness of Andrew's transformation. They exclaimed and gasped and asked him how it was possible. "How it's possible doesn't matter," Andrew said. "Look at Cary and his father." Cary and his father then began to strike a series of poses, their stupendous muscles leaping and bunching erotically. The fathers stared in awed silence. "Can you imagine a father and son sharing this? Feeling this kind of power? Can you imagine how it's bonded the two of them?" Andrew knew just what to say to these men, having shared so many evenings with them, hearing their concerns, their fears that they and their sons were drifting apart. The fathers were momentarily nonplused and then they all began to talk in unison, asking how it was possible, begging to be let in on it. "How it's possible doesn't matter," Andrew said. "What matters is that I can give it to you. And so can young Cary here." There was no argument. The men willingly lined up to be Changed. Andrew put his hand over the heart of the first of them, a man with a delicious eleven-year-old who Andrew couldn't wait to see transformed. "When I'm done with all of you," he said, "you can go and get your sons." And the Pantheon's domain grew. This sample is an excerpt from the complete novel available at http://www.brob.com/ebookelgar.htm