Overcast, ch. 32: New U

Once again, Clay kicked himself for not reading the fine print.  As it had on the first of every month for the last three months, the intricate wooden box was there on his dresser, waiting for him to wake up.  From the outside, it was always the same polished mahogany, the same golden braces on each corner, the same “NU” in gold filigree on the lid.  It wasn’t the box that changed, but its contents.  And himself.  

Currently, Clay was long and lean.  He still had his middle-aged features, but they’d been refined and polished like the rest of him.  Though his chocolate hair had thickened into a stylish, wavy crew cut, he was still recognizable as himself.  His skin was smoother, his cheeks and nose were sharper, his lips more plump; he had the symmetrical face of a model, but it was still more or less his face.  The body below, however, was an entirely different story.  The broad shoulders, toned arms, chiseled pecs, and tight, shredded washboard were nothing like the paunchy frame he’d started with, to say nothing of the extra inches added to both his height and the lengthy hose filling his canary thong to capacity.  

Before, Clay had been doughy and out of shape, his years of easy living softening a body that he’d more or less given up on maintaining.  He’d been fit in college and for a few years after, but once he’d fallen into the grind of work and then the trap of wealth, exercise had fallen by the wayside.  During the former he’d been too busy, and since being ensnared by the latter he just didn’t care.  He didn’t need a body to impress the other boys when his money could do it for him.  It had certainly worked on Harry, though Clay liked to at least pretend that he and the younger man would have still hit it off even without his massive house and equally massive bank account.  Having the strapping young blonde around was like having a golden retriever.  All Clay needed to do was keep him entertained, something that had become exponentially easier since signing up for “New U”.  

Had he realized the extent of what he was getting himself into, as well as the binding nature of the contract, the middle-aged man might have made a different choice.  Clay knew that the results of magic and the workings of casters were often dramatic, but hearing about such things and experiencing them firsthand were very different.  And he’d been flattered.  The program was invitation only, and those invitations were few and far between.  A person had to be wealthy enough to afford what were essentially a dozen different castings, and they had to be willing to embrace those changes.  Since Clay had already been feeling like he was stuck in a rut, he’d jumped at the chance without fully thinking it through.  He’d actually already considered paying for a magical makeover on several occasions, and the New U program seemed like a good way to take things for a test drive.  On paper, it was simple: for the next year he’d receive a different style of underwear each month, and for that month he’d change into the kind of person who wore it.  

What Clay hadn’t anticipated was just how thorough those changes would be.  Far from a simple cosmetic transformation, his entire life - behavior, speech, attitude, desires - underwent a radical makeover, literally turning him into a completely different person.  The program promised that each “phase” would be harmless, that reality would shift slightly to accommodate the updated version, but, while Clay didn’t have to worry about mundane concerns such as going to work every day, each month was still a jarring transition.  It was all the more awkward since, regardless of who he became and how he acted, people, himself included, didn’t forget who he’d started as.  They were still well aware that his new behaviors were out of place, though most regarded them as amusing embarrassments and nothing more.  Given the uninhibited nature of those behaviors, as well as the new bodies that came along with them, his friends were usually all too happy to indulge Clay in his temporary personas.  

It had already been a wild ride.  The box itself and the act of donning whatever it contained were mere courtesies, as Clay had discovered when he’d hesitated on his first day.  He’d been surprised enough to see an object appear out of nowhere in his bedroom, and he was even more surprised by the hot-pink bikini briefs inside, along with a thick, embellished card that simply read “Get Up and Go-Go.”  Thinking he was going to change his mind, Clay had closed the box and started to go about his morning routine, only to find himself suddenly clad in nothing but the bright underwear.  Before he’d even been able to process the shift in clothing, though, his body underwent a shift of its own.  His sagging chest solidified and inflated, his soft midsection sucking into a firm taper while his arms and legs sprouted muscle.  In the blink of an eye he’d gone from average and out of shape to gym-sculpted perfection, his head spinning as he gawked at the blonde tips capping his suddenly-spiky hair.  

The rest of the month had passed in a neon whirlwind of dancing, music and muscle.  As the card suggested, Clay found himself embodying the role of giddy go-go boy, stripping his nights away as a shimmying stud.  He was fun and flamboyant, a beaming beefcake who never hesitated to peel out of the bright nylon shorts and cropped tanks that were the only non-underwear articles he seemed to possess.  That version of Clay relished the attention, and no matter how mortified the man inside wanted to be, the feelings never actually materialized.  Whether he was putting on a private show for Harry and their friends or bouncing his hard cock around for a bustling club, the buff semi-blonde had never felt better.  He loved the way people stared as he pranced around in public in his revealing, garish getup, not feeling even remotely desperate at being a forty year old man strutting his muscled frame around in clothes normally worn by someone half his age.  

That last point became moot the following month.  The second box contained a pair of basic, heather gray briefs and a note that read “Frat Boy Fun”, sending Clay nearly twenty years in reverse as soon as he slid them on.  Both his skin and face had smoothed, the latter losing the wrinkles and ridges it had adopted over time while the former took on a bright, soft glow.  Clay shed some of the abundant muscle he’d acquired during his go-go phase, though only a bit, taking him from gym-bunny to jock, the abundant bulk melting into an all-purpose athletic frame.  The clothes that came with that body were tailor-made to match, consisting of basic briefs, joggers, mesh shorts, and tight t-shirts.  Clay’s hair had lost its blonde highlights as it had lengthened into a shaggy mop that hung down to his ears, but it spent most of its time covered beneath the ever-present backwards baseball caps the fresh-faced jock wore.  Usually, those caps were all he wore.  As with before, the now-youthful hunk’s attitude underwent a shift, taking the purposefully uninhibited outlook he’d acquired the month prior and making it the default setting.  This younger version of himself didn’t strut around in nothing but a pair of tented briefs to make a statement; he literally just didn’t know any better.

Clay had been horrified at first to feel his thoughts slowing, his mind moving through molasses while his body responded faster than ever.  Impulse became action, and, as a young jock in his early twenties, most of those impulses involved the impressive, eager cock stuffed into his briefs.  His clothes came off on a whim.  He jerked himself and Harry off constantly.  He liked to wrestle and run around the estate with Harry in nothing but his tight briefs.  When company came over, Clay would encourage them to “get comfy” like himself instead of putting anything else on.  He was happy, handsome, hung and horny.  

It had been Harry’s favorite month so far, as the blonde beauty suddenly had a peer.  Not only had his age of twenty five suddenly made him a few years older than Clay, he was smarter and more level headed than the hunky new himbo.  It was a scary thought, or would have been if the altered man had been able to feel such emotions.  As it was, he spent the month in a laidback haze, his simple sentences punctuated by far too many “bros.”  All this version of Clay wanted to do was workout and hangout with his boys, something that Harry was happy to facilitate.  The month became a perpetual party, with Clay’s spacious house serving as the landing pad for dozens of strapping young studs every night.  With his fat cock flopping against his mesh shorts and his well-built torso straining against his t-shirts whenever he left the house, the friendly young hunk had no difficulty making new friends to invite.  The old Clay would have been mortified at how each night ended, how he’d inevitably wind up drunk on cheap beer with nothing but a backwards cap on his head and his hard cock on display, but the new Clay loved “horsing around” with his bros.  

Harry had been a bit disappointed when the month came to an end and he had to say goodbye to his new “bud”, but the buff blonde wasted no time resuming his role of live-in boy toy once Clay regained his former age and faculties.  The third month had been “Pretty In Paradise”, the box containing a slinky, tropical-print thong.  This time, the athletic young man actually did shed some muscle as he aged back to his previous state, but only because there was suddenly more of him to cover.  Clay stretched past his normal 5’10” stature as his body traded brawny bulk for lean, shredded muscle, eventually settling at a tapering 6’3”.  Though he’d grown thinner, the now-towering man was more defined than ever, his shoulders broader and his waist tighter.  Even his already-impressive cock joined in on the stretching, extending from a thick seven inches to an imposing nine.  And, as promised by the title, Clay’s features became sharp and polished, leaving his new swimmer’s build capped by a stunning face.  He looked like a refined surfer, his lean muscle and tight definition accentuated by a whole-body tan.  

This time, Clay’s wardrobe had gone into full vacation mode.  Tiny speedos, skimpy thongs, and sheer sarongs made up most of his bottoms, with only a few pairs of small trunks to act as shorts when he needed to go out in public.  The square-cut swimwear was still shorter than most pairs of boxer shorts, leaving none of his lengthy hose or perky bubble to the imagination.  And his loose new tops were no better, as the few short-sleeve linen shirts he’d acquired were never closed.  Despite once again being more aware of his exposed state, Clay was actually grateful for the mellow vacation theme after the raucous, frat-boy bacchanal of the previous month.  He needed the break, and he was all too happy to lean into the limitations placed on his emotional range, and the perpetual calm that had enveloped him.  There were still plenty of guests who came around, especially considering how his social circle had grown over the last two months, and Clay still engaged in more than his fair share of carnal delights, it was a vacation after all, but things had moved at a much slower pace compared to his first two iterations.  

“Oh, good, I didn’t miss it.” 

Clay looked away from the dresser to see a sleepy Harry standing in the doorway.  The young hunk’s hair was still messy from sleep, his crimson briefs slightly tented by a semi-hard cock.  After spending a month in the other man’s shoes, Clay felt like he had a much better understanding of his companion, as well as an increased appreciation for the blonde’s bountiful beauty.  He now fully understood that there was no malice or manipulation in Harry’s actions, he wasn’t simply using the older man for his money; he just wanted someone to take care of him and to have a good time.  It wasn’t anything close to a commitment or a soulmate connection, but there was, and always had been, a genuine affection there.  And for Clay, that was good enough.  “Barely past eight…this is early for you,” the older man said, his cock twitching as he watched Harry peel out of his briefs and hurry over to the bed.  

“Wanted to take the big guy for one more ride,” the blonde purred, throwing himself on top of Clay.  

The older man returned the brief kiss and then folded his lengthened arms behind his head while Harry’s mouth slid down his toned chest and across his trim stomach.  He sighed when the thong was pulled free and the younger man’s warm, wet mouth swallowed his inflating member.  Clay had never been so endowed in his life, and, had he still been able to experience the emotion, he would have been embarrassed by how unwieldy and obvious such a large organ was.  At the moment, though, he was content to let himself enjoy the experience.  

“Fuuuuuuck this thing feels good,” Harry sighed when he pulled himself up, straddled Clay’s tight waist, and then impaled himself on the slick rod.  

The older man watched the blonde’s abundant muscle flex as he started rocking and writhing, reaching out a hand to start tugging on his partner’s fat seven inches.   “I hope you’ll still be interested once we open that,” he said, nodding at the box on the dresser.  

“Dude, are you kidding,” Harry asked, his plump lips hanging open in a dull grin.  “This is the best decision you ever made.  Other than letting me move in,” he purred, flexing an arm and giving his bicep a kiss.  

It was part joke and part authentic arrogance, both of which drove Clay wild.  He clamped onto Harry’s waist and started thrusting upwards in earnest, causing the blonde’s plump pecs to bounce and pulling increasingly loud moans out of the young hunk until the wailing pretty-boy blasted without warning.  Clay lasted only a few moments longer, pushed over the edge by the sensation of the warm, sticky liquid splattering against him.  

“So…so good,” Harry panted as he slid off the older man’s lap and collapsed against him.  “Thanks, bro,” he grinned, giving Clay a peck on the cheek.  

The panting pretty-boy watched his lengthy hose soften and flop against the blonde’s thigh, loving the weight of the other man’s body against him.  He savored the moment, focusing on how Harry’s hot breath came slower and slower against his face before he patted the blonde’s prominent pecs.  “Wakey wakey, stud.  Don’t want to miss this,” he said, slipping out from the other man’s arms and rolling off the bed.  He stood and stretched, giving his long, lean frame one last look in the mirror.  Fortunately, the pictures they took each month remained, so they’d have something to remember the earlier versions by. 

Harry yawned and scooted back to sit up against the headboard.  “Any guesses,” he asked, cocking his head to the side.  “What’s wrong?  You don’t look too excited.” 

“Just nerves,” Clay said, his hands shaking as he gripped the box.  “This month hasn’t been too bad.  I don’t want to fuck it up.”  

“Dude, NONE of them have been bad,” Harry chuckled.  “And isn’t ‘fucking it up’ the whole point?”

Clay smirked and shook his head as he looked at the naked hunk on the bed.  “When did you get so smart?”  

“Last month, when you got so dumb,” the blonde shrugged.  “But that worked out, right?  Come on…open that shit up.”  

“Here we go,” Clay sighed, bracing himself as he opened the lid.  Inside was a cobalt jockstrap and a card that read “Raw Meat(head)”, a combination that made the older man’s heart race and his stomach drop.  He read the card to Harry and took a deep breath, his hands trembling as he pulled the jockstrap free.  “Why do I get the feeling it’s going to be an interesting month?”  

“Only one way to find out,” Harry nodded, biting his lower lip in anticipation when Clay pulled the jock up his toned legs.  

The older man only had time for a single gasp before everything changed.  The transformations were always sudden, but since the previous alterations hadn’t been too dramatically different from one another the process had been relatively mild.  That wasn’t at all the case now.  Clay’s head spun as his perspective on the room suddenly shifted, his body shedding over a foot in height as it ballooned with rough, uncut muscle.  His neck vanished, his shoulders swelled, and his pecs inflated while his shortened arms looked stubbier than ever as they thickened and hung at an angle.  Between the mighty new pistons, the waist that had just been so tight and trim bulged outward into a lumpy muscle gut, its cresting curves matching the roundness of the granite melons that had replaced Clay’s perky little bubble.  Attached to the ample globes were a pair of short, meaty pillars that pressed together nearly to the knees, leaving little room for the package that was becoming just as girthy as the rest of him.  Clay’s nine inches had rocketed to attention and slipped from the jock’s pouch with the transformation, only for the lengthy organ to then squish like taffy, trading nearly half of its length for width, with a similar expansion taking place at his churning balls.  As the older man gawked at the pudgy five inches he now couldn’t even close a hand around, he was hit with a fresh wave of humiliation when hair started to sprout from everywhere.  Pecs, muscle-gut, shoulders, arms, thighs; within seconds he’d gone from mostly smooth to fully furry, his rugged body now matching his equally roughened face.  When he finally managed to look away from himself, Clay was stunned to see a buzzed-haired brute staring back at him from the mirror, the features that had just been so sharp and delicate now flat and blunted.  

“What the fuck is this?!” he roared, spreading his stubby arms when movement returned to him.  

“Oh. My. God,” Harry laughed, hopping up from the bed and hurrying over.  “Look at you!”  Clay gasped when the blonde grabbed his shoulders and he looked Harry in the top of his chest instead of down at him.  Doing the mental math, the shrunken man guessed himself to be around the five foot mark.  “Dude!  You’re so little,” Harry said, giving Clay’s buzzed scalp a rough rub.  

“The fuck I am,” the older man grunted, instinctively flexing his hulking, log-like arms.  “This meat’s all real, not that pretty-boy gym shit,” he barked, looking surprised as he said the words.  As with all the changes, Clay was trying to wrap his head around the new feelings surging through him.  In this case, he felt strong and powerful in a way he never had, the sheer heft of his stocky body more than making up for any embarrassment he would have felt over his missing foot of height.  He was confident and unburdened by roles or expectations, as evidenced by his gruff speech.  

“Oh, so butch,” Harry purred, stroking Clay’s fuzzy, broadened back.  “Damn, dude…this is like petting a dog.”  

“Are you makin’ fun of me?  Gonna have to learn to respect your elders, kid,” Clay grunted.  He moved with surprising speed given his size, taking Harry to the floor as the pair started to wrestle.  The older man knew how much his younger companion had enjoyed such activities when they’d been peers, and while his primped vacation self hadn’t been overly interested in continuing them, the hairy little hulk he’d become was all too eager.  Harry seemed equally enthused, his cock going solid as they writhed together on the ground, their dramatically different bodies slamming into each other.  Eventually, and surprisingly, Clay came out on top, pinning the younger man beneath him as he straddled the blonde’s pecs and pressed his furry cheeks into Harry’s face.  “You like the hair?  How’s it look up close?”  

Understanding the assignment, Harry responded by spreading Clay’s cheeks and letting his tongue answer for him.  The brawny brute groaned and leaned forward to give the young hunk better access, swallowing the blonde’s thick cock in the process.  Clay’s squat new frame was on fire as he felt it rubbing against itself, the soft pelt magnifying the physical sensations as he squirmed and bobbed his head.  The now-stocky stud had always been naturally smooth, so to feel an extra layer attach itself to his skin would have been a terrifying experience if the burly brute wasn’t so sure of himself.  

“You just gonna lay there all morning or are we fuckin’ doin’ this,” Clay barked a few minutes later, pulling his mouth free.  “That’s the problem with kids today.  Too fuckin’ laz…” he was cut off when Harry shoved him roughly forward, the blonde draping against his back before he could right himself.  “MMMNNNmmm…nevermind…you’re on it…” he groaned, arching his hairy back when the younger man plunged inside.  

“Holy shit…this is like…fucking a…teddy bear…” Harry grunted, running his hands along Clay’s furry pecs and muscle-gut.  He kissed the older man’s stump of a neck as he rolled his hips, marveling at the current contrast between their bodies.  “You are so fucking hot like this,” he purred.  

“Gonna need you to…prove it…” Clay spat, clamping his hands on top of Harry’s.  “Harder…HARDER!”  

The blonde went into overdrive, his muscled cheeks dimpling as he hammered into Clay like never before.  The sound of their slapping flesh echoed around the room until it was drowned out by the penetrated hulk’s howling.  Far from the refined beauty he’d been, this version of the older man was like a wild beast, all gutural grunts except for the occasional order to be fucked harder.  He huffed and howled and bucked like a rodeo bull, his short, fat cock filling even Harry’s large hand beyond capacity.  Pulled upright against the blonde’s smooth torso as he was, Clay’s load burst forth like a shotgun blast when he finally came, rocketing halfway across the room in a series of heavy spurts.  Harry’s release a few moments later seemed meager by comparison, though the older man’s pursed lip moaning didn’t show it.  

“Not bad, kid,” Clay finally panted when they’d finished.  “You’ve got some real potential.”  

“Potential?!  Oh, this is going to be a fun month,” Harry chuckled.  “We’ll see how you feel in thirty days, old-timer.”  

Clay just grinned and grabbed the back of the blonde’s head, pulling him in for a long, rough kiss.  “Might as well see what we’re workin’ with,” he sighed afterwards, lumbering up from the floor and pulling open the dresser drawers.  The only underwear he found were jockstraps similar to the one he’d pulled out of the box, and the only actual bottoms weren’t much better.  Clay plucked the cobalt jock from the floor and slipped it back on before sliding the denim cut-offs up his meaty legs, letting out a shocked laugh.  The former jeans were so short that the pockets, as well as the straps of the jock and a good chunk of his hairy ass, hung exposed from the bottom.  At the same time, his overly-muscled midsection proved too much for the waist, forcing him to leave the button and fly undone, exposing the bright pouch of the jockstrap underneath and leaving his stout bulge tenuously covered.  For tops, all he found were former t-shirts that had been roughly cut into cropped muscle shirts, the frayed edges blending in with the carpet of hair that tufted through the openings.  A quick glance over at his nearby closet revealed a few pairs of boots instead of the sandals and flip-flops he’d worn the previous month, completing his rough and rugged new look.  Instead of a tall, primped pretty-boy on vacation, he’d become a bulky little bruiser, a hairy, mighty meathead, just as the card promised.  

“Hooooooly shit,” Harry said, letting out a long, slow breath as he came up behind and looked at Clay’s reflected frame in the mirror.  He bent down and kissed the older man’s buzzed scalp, slipping his hands up beneath the cropped muscle shirt.  “This might be my favorite one so far.”  

With Harry towering over him, Clay was surprised by how much he enjoyed their new size difference.  He loved how the blonde loomed while his own bulk bulged, how handsome and pretty the younger man looked compared to his own roughened features.  “Only been a few minutes.  You ain’t seen shit yet,” Clay grunted with a smug grin.  He stepped away and looked Harry up and down before abruptly grabbing the blonde’s cock and pulling him out the door.  

“And just where are we going,” the younger man asked as he scampered behind, his longer legs easily keeping up with Clay’s plodding new steps.  

“Where ya think?  Those weights in the basement ain’t liftin’ themselves,” the shorter man spat.  “Gonna see how much meat we can put on those bones in the next thirty days.  Do a good job and maybe…MAYBE…I’ll let you put some underwear on at some point.  Don’t count on it,” he said, his voice a gravelly purr as he stroked Harry’s cock on their way downstairs.  

The blonde grinned and reached out to squeeze one of Clay’s plump, furry cheeks.  “Oh yeah…definitely my favorite so far,” he chuckled. 

**********

Voting Options

Since we’re approaching the end of the year, this feels like a good time to take a break from this universe.  I’ve been feeling the sci-fi side of things lately, and I think it would be fun to jump into a world that focuses on those themes (think Immersion, Colonized, etc).  We’ll do one more Overcast chapter to round things out, then we'll get the next one going after the first of the year.   

Option 1: A short jock who’s frustrated by his lack of height and inability to grow more muscle than his friends pays a bootleg caster to make him bigger than them, only to end up with a curse that causes any man he befriends to shrink.  (shrinking)

Option 2: A man buys a spell online to give him a sixth sense that’s the magical equivalent of Grindr and letting him know whenever an interested party is near, only things go wrong when those encounters take place regardless of where they are or who’s around.  (stripped)

Option 3: An inexperienced caster gets tricked by a lustful genie into taking their place, now stuck in limbo and summoned in whatever form his friend, the lamp’s current owner, desires.  (muscle growth, cock shrink, muscle theft, cock growth)

Option 4: An arrogant young hunk who wanted x-ray vision ends up with a shoddy spell that actually makes peoples’ clothes vanish instead, turning his favorite habit of looking at himself in the mirror into a dangerous game.  (stripped)