In Corpore Sano - Part Seventeen

[tekuno]

I actually wrote this right after posting the previous part, but I don't want to flood the forum, so I held off a bit. Here you are. (And now I'm going to go rub my side with Bengay -- yeah, yeah, dur hur hur, my rib says to go fuck yourself if you think that's funny -- and try to sleep.)

(Summary of the previous part for those who did not want to read descriptions of rape: Paul raped Scott. At first Scott was in terrible pain from the size of Paul's penis, but eventually the pain subsided. At about that time, Scott discovered that he was no longer in control of his body, but could still tell what it was feeling; to his disgust the rape began to feel good. Paul began to mutter increasingly incomprehensible phrases, and collapsed when he finally ejaculated. Scott's body then got up and went looking for sex. Again to his disgust, he raped the first man he found, who was bound hand and foot and in a gimp mask. The masked man started to enjoy it, too, and insisted on Scott having sex with him 5 more times. During all of this, the masked man grew -- although less each time -- and two initially-larger men came and tried to interrupt. First Scott and then the masked man knocked them out of the way. When the masked man finally passed out, Scott had sex with the two others, who passed out, and then went off down the stairs in search of other men.)

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In Corpore Sano
Part 17

This story has been completed. Content warnings and general description are included with the prologue, general commentary is in the comments following the epilogue.

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Epilogue

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When my body -- I refuse to say "I" in this context -- reached the ground floor, it was rewarded by the discovery of a lot more men. The party was clearly running down -- earlier, there had been enough people to completely fill almost all of the house, but now the second floor was nearly empty. Still, the first floor was still packed, and (somewhat to my relief) the occupants were awake and aware of what was happening. Chances were good there would be no more rapes.

I would have preferred for them to go away -- even if it meant they ran screaming. But instead they flocked to my body. It must have been nearly Paul's size, or at least the size Paul had been when he showed up, to get reactions like that.

My body fucked, and fucked, and fucked. My body's partners were willing, but the incredible size of my cock hurt them, at least at first, and the screams of each new violation reminded me of my own trauma.

In the middle of this debauchery, I -- the real me, sitting helpless inside while my body was on some kind of libidinous autopilot -- was bored. I had all of the sensations with none of the enjoyment. I could feel all the hormones and endorphins thrashing through my system in a detached, unemotional way. I could sense the pleasure of having my cock stimulated and subjected to pressure as it pushed in and out of the tight asses of man after man. My body was worshipped in just about every way I could imagine, and yet I took no pleasure in it. Sex is not actually a very interesting activity without access to the emotional drives involved.

To pass the time, I wondered about these men. Who was the prematurely-bald fireplug with the huge (for a normal guy, anyway) cock and the nipple piercings? Was the musclebound blond surfer dude with the soul patch, wearing a stained Hawaiian shirt, really a surfer? We weren't that far from the ocean, but it seemed unlikely. Was the big hairy guy with the leather Halley-Davisson biker cap and the enormous arms really a biker, or maybe a bank clerk with a rich fantasy life who had discovered Paul's services? How about the pair of overinflated twinks who kept trying to climb my arms -- college students? Rent boys? They could easily be porn stars, the way they looked, but -- knowing what I now knew -- I was willing to bet that they hadn't looked anything like that a few months ago. The guy in the fake cop uniform, with the mustache and sunglasses straight out of the 1970s -- his body was straining against the fabric everywhere, was this his fantasy he was enacting, or somebody else's?

The sex went on and on and on. The sun came up -- not really a surprise, since I hadn't even arrived at the house until well past 2 AM and the events upstairs had taken at least a couple of hours. What was a surprise was my body's energy. I couldn't remember a time when I had been awake all night without feeling like death warmed over, but if anything my body seemed to be getting a second wind. If nothing else, my cock should finally have finally been unable to stay hard, but the sex grew rowdier and more enthusiastic by the hour.

My body's various partners seemed unable to get enough, either. They would pass out mid-fuck, only to wake up again and rejoin the crowd around me. As the morning wore on, though, one by one they began -- reluctantly -- to pull away, leave the room, and presumably dress before leaving the house. Finally, sometime in the early afternoon, only three men remained -- the two giant twinks and an ultra-heavyweight bodybuilder who was probably really an enhanced retail outlet manager or something, and my body eventually fucked all three into oblivion.

When it became clear that the party was finally over, my body went wandering the house. (I was, at least, pleasantly surprised that it didn't simply start raping the unconscious men.)

This was at least more interesting. As it happened, I hadn't seen even half of the first floor yet. As we passed through room after room -- most of them noticeably the worse for wear after a prolonged sex party of seriously huge musclemen -- I wondered to myself whether Paul had bought this with the family wealth, or if this was all paid for by making the other men grow.

I was surprised that my body didn't steer itself into a bathroom. Surprised and disappointed -- even though I seemed to be divorced from sensation, I would have liked to have seen how much my body had grown, just to know. If nothing else, I would have appreciated having some idea of whether or not it was even possible for me to go to work ever again. But my body only gave me a good view in a mirror when it discovered an indoor pool. (I had known this was a wealthy part of town, but Paul's wealth really seemed to be unlimited -- the only places I knew with indoor pools took a hit to the interior floorspace to fit it in.)

Judging from the doorframes, which I remembered as being somewhere around 8 feet tall, I must now have been around 9 and a half feet tall. The muscles on my body were absolutely massive, to a degree which was actually a bit difficult to describe. Just for a start, my pecs pushed outward like balloons, and they looked like they were, all by themselves, at least 3 feet wide, with my lats sticking out even further. My arms, hanging at an angle, looked like sacks of basketballs with welder's gloves at the ends; I wondered what they would look like flexed. (And I wondered how I was still mobile... of course, the bigger frame would help, but still!) My shoulders were even larger than basketballs. And, like Paul, my head was embedded in a mound of muscle.

But in front of all this was my cock. It looked like it was as big as Paul's had been when he raped me -- three feet long, perhaps more, and enormously thick and veiny. It hadn't gone soft at all since Paul had had his orgasm, and was dripping precum.

Whatever it was which was controlling my body seemed to like the reflection, because it stopped and did a few flexes -- my arms were absolutely beyond belief when flexed, as were my pecs -- and then started masturbating.

It's an axiom that human beings are never satisfied with what they have. When Paul had raped me, I had been desperate for it to stop. When it finally did, I wanted my body to stop raping the masked man. And then when that, too, ended, I had wished for an end to all the consensual sex which followed. I had gotten my wish in every case, but now I wished my body would stop masturbating.

At least nobody was being violated, or hurt, but I began to realize, with horror, that my body had no intention of stopping. It jacked itself off over, and over, and over again, spilling semen all over the tiled floors, spraying it up the walls and all over the ceiling, and turning the water in the pool into a cloudy mess. The mirrors on the other side of the room stayed clear only because my penis was never aimed at them -- the evidence showed that I could have covered them completely.

Whatever Paul had done to me, it was obvious that my body was now some kind of sex beast. It had unbelievable reserves of energy, and no restraint whatsoever. I hoped that when night finally fell, it would be forced back into the house, which would at least have been a change of scenery, but the lights must either have been on a timer or had sensors, because the room stayed bright as the windows went dark, and the masturbation went on and on.

It was beyond dull; there was nothing to do but watch my reflection as my body spewed gallons of semen. I wasn't even able to go to sleep; I tried doing arithmetic to pass the time, thought about old books I had read, considered my work schedule. (At least this had been a scheduled day off -- although I couldn't imagine ever being able to tend bar again, even if I recovered control of my body somehow.) It seemed like eternity before the sun rose again. To make matters worse, I was still growing -- by dawn, I was at least 10 feet tall, maybe more, and had proportions even larger than before. My cock was slowly getting longer, too, pushing further up and up my torso. I didn't like to think what that might eventually mean.

Part 18

[cutlerfan]

Thanks for this next part! While my uneasiness grows I still look forward to the next chapter. Please continue!

[convolution]

Thanks for that.
"Way too much" can be such a turn on. You'd want it to stop, but at the same time ...