Overcast, ch. 29: Good Times

Oliver wasn’t having a good time. He’d been looking forward to the tropical getaway all year as his one chance to finally unwind and let go. Yet, now into his second day, expectations and reality remained out of sync. If anyone could remedy the situation he was the one to do it, but that would be counter to the point of his vacation in the first place. Due to that very skill and the surgical precision with which Oliver could weave his spells, his caseload at Casters Inc. routinely bordered on grueling. The meticulous sorcerer was the go-to whenever someone had a unique, tricky, or otherwise difficult client, and while that came with a certain level of prestige, it also came with a corresponding amount of pressure. His days were high-cost and high-intensity, which made it difficult to enjoy the rewards of his constant labor. Just because a caster could alter reality didn’t mean they never got bored or tired, and even arcane performance enhancers could only work for so long.

Which is why, like any other overworked employee, Oliver had planned a vacation. For a blissful week he wouldn’t wrangle reality or master mystical forces, he’d sip cocktails in a cabana on the beach, hopefully enjoying some muscular eye candy and a good book. Contrary to the assumptions about what people with power such as his were like, Oliver was a relatively simple man. Sun, sand and surf were all he wanted, but, while the island had provided the latter two, the first had barely made an appearance. Tanned male flesh was also proving scant, as the off-season crowds were meager at best. It was a double-edged sword. Having grown out of his youthful partying days by a pair of decades, the middle-aged magician hadn’t been interested in vacationing somewhere with a bustling nightlife. He was happily single and enjoyed the occasional hookup, but that wasn’t the point of his trip or even high on his list of priorities. Nor did he want to navigate shoulder-to-shoulder crowds on a cramped beach. Keeping the mental noise at bay was a challenge whenever he was around too many people, and maintaining those walls would only eat into his ability to relax. But he was hoping for at least a bit more activity than the barren bars and restaurants currently provided. The lack of lines was great, and Oliver didn’t have to wait for anything. Other than a sliver of excitement.

As things currently stood, the burnt-out caster felt like he’d be waiting a while yet. He had the gloomy stretch of sand almost entirely to himself, with the exception of a small group of young men further down the beach. From a distance, the cluster of boisterous bros appeared to be exactly what he was looking for, a varied menagerie of fit bodies frolicking on the beach in their board-shorts and swim-trunks. Oliver could see a hairy slab of muscle covered in raven fur, a broad-shouldered blonde with a tapering torso, a dark-skinned statue whose lean definition was visible even from far away, and a shaggy-haired hunk of a brunette, already rough-housing and horsing around as they set up blankets and chairs.

Unfortunately for Oliver, he was too far away to fully enjoy the view, and the lack of a crowd would have made it awkward if he moved closer. Unfortunately for the young men, they were the last straw for the frustrated caster. It was his only week off all year, and Oliver was determined to make the most of it. He wanted to soak up some sun and ogle bronzed beach babes, even if it meant he had to go back on the clock for a minute. He was confident enough in his ability to get away with a few minor tweaks, and he was even more confident in his high profile protecting him if he didn’t. Oliver wasn’t about to spend the next five days under a concrete sky on a desolate beach when he could have the vacation of his dreams instead.

**********

Turner gasped, wincing against the bright sun as his eyes shot open. He blinked up at the clear blue sky in a daze, momentarily confused as to where he was and what he was doing. He thought he’d been on a dreary beach, thought he’d been in the process of setting up the umbrella whose shady cover he now ignored, not stretching out on a towel to sun himself. There hadn’t even been any sun, he kept thinking, which didn’t make sense given the head-to-toe warmth he felt beating into every inch of his exposed flesh. And Turner’s flesh was exposed. “What the hell?! Where’d my shorts…go…” he muttered, his heart racing and his arms inflating as he propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at his furry muscle. Instead of the navy swim-trunks he expected to find looming below his firm midsection, the dark-haired hunk was clad in what looked like a pair of aqua bikini bottoms that tied at the sides. The skimpy swimwear was at least cut for a man, though it still struggled to contain Turner’s hefty package, as well as most of his meaty rear from what he could feel. More surprising, though, were the lack of tan lines on his hairy thighs, as if he’d already been wearing the revealing bottoms on a regular basis.

It didn’t make sense. Turner didn’t own anything close to the slinky attire, and had never even thought about owning anything close. He liked his women in bikini bottoms, not himself. And though the brawny jock wasn’t normally shy about his beefy body, he felt a rush of embarrassment at the thought of being so exposed in public. With his soft pelt, square jaw, and plump pecs, Turner was used to feeling masculine and imposing, ruggedly handsome. It was a far cry from where his current outfit left him, regardless of the fat bulge filling out the front.

And he wasn’t alone. Turner let out a short, shocked laugh when he looked to his right and discovered Pete face-down on a towel, sunning his backside. The blonde’s sturdy arms were folded to act as a pillow, the pose accentuating how his wide upper back tapered dramatically at his pinched waist and perky bubble, the latter of which currently hung entirely exposed. Turner actually thought his friend was naked at first, the thin string of Pete’s apricot thong camouflaged by a deep, whole-body tan. As with himself, Turner couldn’t help but notice how good the athletic blonde looked in the out-of-place attire, even as he struggled to understand where it had come from, and what was happening, in the first place.

That struggle only grew worse as the hairy hunk’s eyes continued down the tidy row he and the others had arranged themselves in. Next to Pete was Terrence, whose lean, ripped frame reclined to face the sun, his deep brown skin popping against the bright purple of a small, low-rise speedo. Turner couldn’t tell if the sharp-featured stud was awake or dozing, and he was surprised by how much he enjoyed the investigation. As his eyes ran along Terrence’s trim frame, steel-solid but not overly built or bulky like himself, the stocky furball felt his barely-concealed cock twitch. He lingered on the lengthy hose snaking off to the side in his friend’s confining swimwear, the slow rise-and-fall of the other man’s chiseled chest filling Turner with a sudden desire to feel that body pressed against him.

Finishing the row was Eddie, face-down like Pete with a muscled bubble just as bare. The brunette bodybuilder’s broad frame spilled well beyond the bounds of the towel, and Turner saw that the shaggy-haired hunk appeared to have a similar bikini as himself. The key difference in Eddie’s case was how the pointless bottoms had been untied to leave the other man’s muscled globes exposed, explaining the uninterrupted coating that only served to further accentuate his Adonis-like physique. Even laying on his stomach as he was, Eddie looked like a surfer on steroids, his damp mop of hair making him seem like some god of the sea who’d been washed ashore.

Turner still didn’t understand how any of it was possible. They should have been drinking beer and throwing a frisbee or a football, not posing scantily clad and sunning themselves. They were a group of former college jocks trying desperately to continue their Spring Break heydays as adults in their late twenties, not a group of hunky, sun-kissed himbos.

Turner blinked and gave his bulldog face a rough rub when that last thought caught him off guard. He used the motion as an excuse to finally look away from his friends, though their images lingered in his head. “Wait…what the fuck does that even mean,” he spat, exasperated.

“What the fuck does what mean,” Pete asked, the blonde’s groggy voice sounding annoyed at having his rest interrupted. He turned his head towards his hairy friend but kept his eyes closed, making him oblivious to the way the other man now gawked at his pretty-boy profile.

“Something weird is going on,” Turner insisted. “The weather just, like, changed! It wasn’t sunny a minute ago…right? And look at what you’re wearing! What we’re all wearing! Where’d your trunks go? You don’t feel that?” Turner reached over and ran a hand along Pete’s perky bubble, slipping a stubby finger between the cheeks to pluck the string of the thong. He’d been expecting a surprised reaction, but was disappointed.

“Ohhh…” Pete purred, his plump lips curling into a sleepy grin. He flexed his cheeks and wiggled his hips, his eyes staying closed. “I’ll feel THAT whenever you want.”

“You…will?” Turner asked, his hand lingering on the blonde’s squirming rear. “But that’s not…you’re not…” he trailed off, his eyes going wide when the circuit between his twitching cock and addled brain finally connected. “Oh fuck! I’M not…”

“Letting anyone relax,” Eddie grumbled, interrupting. His hair obscured his statuesque features when he lifted his head, until he looked in Turner’s direction and showed off the symmetrical sharpness of his face.

“Are we surprised,” Terrence asked, his body unmoving and his face unchanging.

“Not. At. All,” Eddie chuckled. The brunette’s shoulders and arms flexed as he slowly pushed himself upright and flipped over, eliciting a gasp from the furry hunk when a rigid, ten-inch club sprung from between his muscled thighs.

As with Pete, Turner kept thinking that his friend should have been more surprised. He’d seen Eddie naked enough to be well acquainted with the average endowment the other man should have sported, the lackluster package looking even smaller against his strapping frame. But the brunette seemed entirely at ease regarding the size, firmness, and exposure of his inflated equipment instead of viewing the trio as three strikes against the world as it should have been. “Fuck! Eddie…bro…you’re…you’re huge!”

The brawny brunette flashed a grin as he looked down and wagged the hefty organ. “Yeah, I know, dude,” he chuckled, casually flexing when he reached up to pull his hair back. He wasn’t trying to tie it in place; he just knew how good the pose made him look. “Why is this surprising?”

Turner’s mouth watered as he stared at the thick club, his own surging cock making it clear he was losing the battle for control. “I don’t know!” he whimpered. “I’m just, like, so confused! We were on the beach! And then…and then we’re just, like, on the…beach…” he said, trailing off and shaking his head.

“Uh-huh,” Eddie nodded, his tone dripping with condescension. “And then what happened?”

“Dude, don’t be a dick,” Terrence chided. He reached over and gave Eddie’s cock a tug before resuming his original position. “Just let him have it so he’ll finally chill out.”

“Let me have…what…” Turner asked, his own throbbing cock answering the question when Eddie lurched to his feet and sauntered over.

“You know I’m just fuckin’ around, right bud?” The sculpted brunette wagged his bobbing log as he stood over his prone friend, his smile hovering between smug and sympathetic.

“Ye…yeah…of course,” the brawny bear stammered. He was already sitting up and shifting to his knees, telling himself the whole time he wasn’t really about to swallow Eddie’s cock. Even when the other man’s aching organ slipped between his lips he kept thinking it was all just a confusingly pleasant dream, that he wasn’t really sitting nearly-naked and hard, blowing another man in public. But as the blissful minutes passed, as he clutched and kneaded Turner’s granite globes, as his own cock slipped from the pointless pouch, the hairy hunk had no choice but to accept the strange reality. He was painfully exposed in public. He was eagerly sucking on his friend’s cock. And the last thing he wanted to do was stop.

“Big guy’s feelin’ it today,” Eddie chuckled, his hands stroking the stocky man’s short, raven hair.

“He’s always feelin’ it,” Pete countered, casually reaching over to give his furry friend a few tugs. “But…to be fair…who isn’t?”

Turner gasped around Eddie’s cock, both from the sensation of Pete’s stroking, and the sight of the suddenly-strapping stud in his periphery. At first he thought it was just a result of the odd angle from having his face buried between Eddie’s thighs, but the blonde looked noticeably bigger as he rolled over. That growth was confirmed when Turner finally glanced over in full, his eyes going wide at the impossible muscle his friend had acquired. Instead of trim and tapering, Pete was built like the buff brunette in front of him, his now-pointless thong tented by a cock every bit as large. Even more confusing, Terrence seemed to have undergone a similar inflation, his deep brown bulk now spilling well beyond the bounds of his towel while the tip of a long, thick cock now poked up and out of his slinky speedo.

“Guys…guys! What’s…something’s, like…happening…” Turner sputtered again, struggling to find the words. Any words. As he tried to piece his frantic thoughts together, the stocky jock found them strangely repellent, wanting to push away from each other instead of joining into a cohesive whole. He could practically feel them slipping from his grasp as he tried to grab them, with only the bright, pleasure-centered priorities sticking the landing.

“Something’s about to,” Eddie purred, pulling his cock away. The grinning Adonis wasted no time in pushing Turner onto his back and dropping to his knees, plucking the bikini bottoms free and tossing them aside. He had his friend’s furry thighs on his shoulders an instant later, his spit-slick rod slowly working its way inside.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” Turner howled, his fingers digging into the sand as he arched his back. He was so overwhelmed by what was happening that he didn’t notice his altered view at first, how his furry pecs loomed larger, and how his meaty thighs looked huge as they framed Eddie’s head. As he started writhing and clutching at the sand, Turner could feel himself shaking and rubbing in unfamiliar ways, his beefy body having apparently inflated in time with his friends’. His already-hefty package hadn’t been spared either, with the now-pudgy organ slapping like a wide, stout club against his muscle gut as Eddie picked up the pace of his thrusting. “Oh god…dude…you’re…you’re fucking me…so…good…” he whimpered, feeling only a fraction of the embarrassment he felt he should when he finally looked the other direction and saw the rest of the beach. Only a handful of yards away sat a middle-aged man intently watching his penetration, while beyond that he could see more men splashing in the waves and lounging on the sand. The slight stab of anxiety brought another fleeting moment of clarity for Turner, a certainty that the beach should have been mostly empty, that it hadn’t been covered in a bevy of bare, beautiful men. The grunting hunk was sure that he would have remembered so many equally-exposed hunks, many of whom were engaged in activities similar to his own. But then Turner remembered that he had a hard time with memory in general. And focus. And doing much of anything beyond lifting weights, looking pretty and getting his brains fucked out on the sand. It still didn’t feel entirely right, only now he wasn’t sure what “right” even meant. “Bro…brooooo…gonna…cuuuuUNNNHH…” The inflated furball tensed and grunted before launching a sticky load all over himself, his dazed eyes lingering on Pete and Terrence as the two kissed and pawed at each other. Pete had his hand in Terrence’s speedo, tugging on the other man’s cock, while they waited for the rutting pair to finish.

It didn’t take long for Eddie to follow suit. He came with a low, purring grunt that was every bit as polished as the rest of him, unleashing a torrent that spilled from between his furry friend’s cheeks in rivers. “Thaaaaat’s better,” he sighed, leaning in for a long, rough kiss before letting Turner’s legs drop.

The dazed, dark-haired hunk blinked up at the sky as he caught his breath, riding the waves of his rolling thoughts instead of trying to fight them. A part of him was still will aware that he’d just been fucked by another man for what should have been the first time, but which felt like all too common of an occurrence. The cum-matted hair drying on his chest didn’t feel out of place in the least, nor did the plentiful fluid leaking out of his battered hole. And while he knew he was still on full, sticky display, he didn’t care. After all, Terrence had just erupted like a geyser, and while his friend had managed to avoid soaking himself, he was already shifting over to impale his perfectly muscled globes on the blonde’s waiting rod.

It all just felt so natural. Of course they were big, buff and beautiful. Of course they lounged on the beach all day. Of course they fucked each other senseless. They did other things, too, like play volleyball and throw a frisbee and go swimming, and they were always open to fun with new friends like the cute older man who hadn’t stopped staring. It was perfect. They were perfect. Turner didn’t know why he thought they’d ever been anything else, but, like his friends always told him, thinking wasn’t what he did best.

**********

Oliver sighed, kicking himself for not having plucked the magical strings as soon as he’d arrived. He’d woven the threads tight, making sure that not a single strand of eldritch energy hung loose to snag on anyone’s radar. He wasn’t worried about the BMR, they were largely a placebo for the public, but he didn’t want to see his work undone by a cleanup crew from Casters Inc. Not because he was afraid of getting in trouble; because he was proud of what he’d built.

Now, as opposed to languishing on a gloomy, lonely beach, he was having a great time basking in the sun with his book, splitting his attention between the murder mystery and the nearby group of gorgeous, rutting hunks going to town on each other. They’d occasionally stop to frolic on the sand with a football or frisbee, undoubtedly as they would have prior to the arcane intervention, so as far as Oliver was concerned it was a win for all involved. He’d debated making the change a temporary one, allowing the setting and the now-horny hunks to revert to their formerly straight selves when his vacation was over, but he’d since second-guessed that strategy. It wasn’t as if the four young friends had spouses or children waiting for them, and there were far worse ways to end up than permanent residents at a permanently posh resort. He’d given everything a makeover, from the beach to the buildings to their inhabitants, dialing up the luxury to a debaucherous degree. Oliver was willing to admit that his extra tweaking on the hairy one may have been unnecessary, but the stocky man had looked so comically masculine that he couldn’t help lacing an extra-strength string of “bimbo” in with “bear.” He’d given all of them a shift in mental priorities, an inverse relationship between brain and body, just not quite to the same degree. It would be a fun new dynamic for the group as a whole, he told himself, especially with the other “guests” who’d arrived. He trusted that the magical forces he’d marshaled only plucked people who should have been there, pulling them from an inevitably boring day-to-day and leaving them with a beautiful body in a beautiful setting full of other beautiful men. Whoever they’d been, whatever they’d done, now they were free to fuck and flex and pass their days in easy ecstasy. It was a gift, not a curse.

And it was a gift Oliver would continue to give. It occurred to him as he enjoyed the altered scenery that he deserved far more than a single vacation each year, and there were so many interesting places he could visit.