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Old September 17th, 2013, 10:01 PM
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In Corpore Sano - Part 19

There will be an epilogue as well, in just a moment. (I decided that there was a break which deserved a separate thread.)

-----

In Corpore Sano
Part 19

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

-----

Paul finally seemed to notice just how much semen my body had produced.

"Geez, Scotty, you're a randy little fucktoy, aren't you? Huh." He reached out and grabbed my waist, and pulled me around until I was sitting in his lap. My body wasted no time in wrapping my legs around his mammoth penis, and then beginning a round of double-masturbation on the two huge columns.

"Whoa, hey, Scotty, no. Not right now. I just finished. Stop it!" Paul gave me another smack on the head, which probably would have knocked me straight off his lap if my legs hadn't been wrapped around his penis. As expected, it made no difference to my body's behavior; if anything, my arms were now moving faster.

"Damn it, Gwinnett, what's wrong with you? I need to work on the eggplants now!" Finally, he reached around and grabbed my head, between his huge thumb and forefinger, and pulled my body away by force.

"What the hell are you thinking, Gwinnett?" This got no response. Apparently my body wasn't talking. It just grabbed my penis and started jacking off.

Paul dropped me on the floor and pointed. "Huh. Scott, look at the microwave." This got no response from my body, not even a flicker of the eyes. Paul thought for a moment.

"Mmmm. Damn. I guess I broke you for good. Well, that's business faces for you." Paul leaned back and thought for a moment. Then he grinned. "Always wanted a sex slave. And you won't be embarrassing me again. So I guess it's not all bad." He gave me a pat on the head, like you would a dog, and giggled again.

"Got to get ready to party. Got the third floor, and the eggs need faces. Business!"

Watching Paul leave the kitchen was fascinating. I would have thought, from his size, that it was simply impossible for him to negotiate a door any more, even a double one, but he did it. His body almost flowed between the rooms; there's no better way to put it. If you've ever seen footage of an octopus squeezing through a hole, it was somehow similar. I couldn't quite make up my mind whether he was doing something to his body, the way he had made those arms appear and disappear earlier, or whether he was simply doing some very agile work very quickly. (He did bend forward and then tilt his torso, but I couldn't judge whether it changed size at the same time.) If the latter, he was amazingly skilled at it.

My body followed Paul around until finally he gave me a smack and left me in the bedroom, masturbating in front of the mirror. Once again my growth had sped up; presumably it was that last dose of Paul's semen which triggered it, or maybe just being around when he orgasmed. In a way, it was a moot point. I was already too large for ordinary life, and probably would soon be too large for even this house. Heck, in another day or so, Paul himself would probably be so big he wouldn't even be able to sit up while indoors. And I would probably follow him a day later. I wondered what plan he had to deal with that, or whether he had even thought about it.

I was already on my way; over the next several hours, my body fired off round after round of semen. I coated myself thoroughly, and sat in the middle of a spreading puddle. It was pathetic; my face had been getting more handsome and masculine, although not to the nearly-ridiculous lengths Paul's had been, and here I was with a staring, empty smile, covered in my own secretions. Paul looked in occasionally and laughed at the mess I was making. Apparently, he had also seen what my body had done to his pool, because he told me I was a bad boy and that he had to hose off the deck.

I remembered what had happened before -- Paul's semen had made me bigger, and then my semen had made the masked guy bigger, too, for a while. So: I had just had some of Paul's semen, and now I was coated in my own semen. If I wasn't already far too large, that would probably put the lid on it. My body pushed outward farther, and farther, and farther...

Finally, when it was getting dark, I heard voices, which presumably meant the party was starting. If it was anything like last time, it wouldn't be long before someone disturbed me. Oh, well. At least fucking other people would be more interesting than masturbation. On the other hand, I hated to think of what my cock would do to a normal man at its new size.

To my surprise, Paul himself came to get me. His right eye had calmed down. It wasn't exactly focussing on the same place his left eye was, but it was close enough that you had to look carefully to see that there was anything wrong.

"Come on, Scott. Scotty. Come on. Follow me. Business faces, Scotty. I want you to be in the room with me. Business faces and eggplant."

Paul led me back upstairs -- I practically had to crawl on all fours, I was so huge. Scott was even bigger, but he somehow managed to move gracefully, even beautifully. I hadn't really explored the second floor very thoroughly, so it was somewhat surprising to find a room as large as the one we eventually reached. It had a higher ceiling, which was a little bit of a relief, although it still wasn't tall enough to permit Paul to stand upright. One wall was glass, like a skyscraper, with blinds. I was just barely able to stand up, although I could feel my hair brush the ceiling, meaning it probably wouldn't be high enough for me for long. There were a few other men in the room, around the walls. When I entered, the conversation suddenly went quiet.

Paul sat with his back against the wall between two wall lamps, his cock limp but the size, all by itself, of a teenage bodybuilder. He looked like a god in some sort of ancient mural -- perfect masculinity, perfect strength, perfect sex... although I noticed more than one person trying to work out what he was looking at. Next to him was a large stack of small bottles of blue liquid and a cashbox. I wondered what the going rate was for Paul's semen. It had to be pretty expensive -- an instant growth-booster and aphrodisiac with no known tests or side effects? Most guys would pay anything for that. The cash box could hardly be big enough.

Another man, one of the really big ones from the previous party, led in the men in gimp masks. They were chained together, and each of them had their arms bound behind their backs. A couple of them let out mooing sounds as they tried to speak through the masks. You could tell which was the one I had raped because he was at least a foot and a half taller than the rest. He was chained with twice as much hardware as the rest.

Paul grinned. "Okay, Scotty. I heard you like the gimps. So we're gonna let you have them for a while."

The man who had led them up smirked, and pushed one of the smaller ones forward. I was horrified; my body actually stepped towards him and started reaching out.

The man said to Paul, "So you told him what's going on?"

Paul sounded puzzled. (My head didn't turn, so I can't say what his expression was.) "Who?"

"Your boy toy there. Whatsisname. Gwinnett."

It sounded like Paul was shaking his head. "Nah. I... gave him an overdose and it seems to have broken him. He's been standing around masturbating ever since. Faces."

I could see the man's face as he stood behind my intended victim. He registered shock and -- at that last word -- puzzlement. Meanwhile my body had continued to shuffle forward. It grabbed the man in the mask and picked him up, then it carried him over to Paul.

"Yes, that's it, Scotty. Fuck the gimp. Fuck the gimp. Go over there and fuck the gimp." Paul gave me a gentle -- under the circumstances -- shove towards an empty spot by the windows. Everyone was watching expectantly as I raised the bound man.

The big masked man, the one I had fucked the night before, suddenly flew across the room, mooing out a yell. He almost missed me completely, but caught me just enough to knock me off-balance. My body dropped the man I had been holding and flailed as it staggered sideways. It grabbed a curtain for stability.

It was a near thing; if my body had been just a little smaller, or the curtain had been just a little stronger, my body would have been able to regain balance. But instead, after an agonizing fraction of a second where I looked around the room -- Paul was frowning in my direction, and muttered "for fuck's sake" -- the outer curtain tore and my body fell out the window, rolling past the curtain liner.

I landed heavily but safely. After surviving the earlier impacts, it wasn't surprising that a one-story drop was no big deal. Overhead, I head Paul call out, "it's okay, that's just the back yard out there. I'm sure he's fine. Adam, you and Cory go out and find him. Bring him back in. George, take the big gimp out into the hall and find a punishment for him."

My body got to its feet. I was in a darkened yard surrounded by fences, facing away from the house. I could see light shining from behind me. I hoped my body would try to climb a fence, so the police might find out about me, but feared that it would head for the voices.

Instead, it peered into the darkness. Even though I shared the same view, it took me a moment to realize what it was looking at; there was a heavyset figure at the other end of the lawn. My body apparently decided that one man was as good as another to fuck, and started walking towards it.

Before my body had walked three steps I knew what we were approaching. The figure had on a trenchcoat and a hat. It was possible that someone had come to Paul's party dressed like that, but nobody at the party would keep wearing it after walking in the door, let alone go and stand in the darkness at the back of the yard. This had to be the thing which I had found in my backyard, or another one like it.

My body once again didn't seem to have access to my memories. It walked right up to the figure and reached down, knocking the hat off. There was, again, a fist. It opened, and the fanged mouth opened at my face. As the thing hissed, my body stopped. Apparently, this thing didn't quite register as either a foe to be stopped or a sex object to be fucked. After a few moments, the thing made a horrible sound, and from the pit of its mouth, a gigantic eyeball pushed upward until it bulged out from the lips, lined with fangs on every side, and fidgeted in different directions before finally focussing on my face.

My body took a step backwards; the thing was pretty seriously intimidating. But it was too late -- the trenchcoat opened, and an explosion of stuff shot out; tentacles and darkness and other, less-describable things. My eyes rolled up into my head, and I gratefully lost consciousness.

There are two versions of what happened next.

The official version, which was printed in newspapers and on the Internet and went into the police records, was that there was a massive fire. According to this story, Paul was a drug dealer who had been keeping a number of men prisoner in his basement, where they had undergone various forms of torture. (This was all true enough, in a roundabout way.) A heroic recent prisoner had somehow managed to rescue them from the fire almost at the cost of his own life, but the various addicts who had gathered at the house had all died. The exact drug being sold was unknown, but it was speculated to be some sort of combination of growth hormone and narcotic. The fire was so strong that the bodies were essentially unrecoverable, and funerals had to be held without them. Photographs taken in recent months showed that the dead men had all grown enormously. Various sports organizations issued their standard boilerplate condemnation of performance-enhancing drugs, and the whole story faded out of people's minds.

I sometimes wonder if maybe that version is true, and I hallucinated the whole thing, but I have many excellent reasons (not least of which is a certain fedora) to trust my memories. Here's what I remember:

I was prodded into consciousness.

"Oh, shit. I thought he was supposed to be okay."

"Probably landed on his head."

"This far from the house? Besides, look at the footprints. Fucker walked over here, and then fell over."

I lay waiting for my body to sit up. I was so used to being a mere passenger in my body by this time that it took at least fifteen seconds before it even occurred to me to try moving under my own power. To my surprise (and gratification) there was no difficulty whatsoever. I opened my eyes and sat up.

"Oh, good, he's awake."

"Great. He can walk back. Beats trying to carry him back ourselves."

"Huh. He's not hard any more."

"Yeah, right. You're saying he's that big, soft?"

"Oh, yeah, and then some. Like a fencepost, almost as big as Armstrong. Didn't you see?"

"Nah, bro, I came in right after he fell out the window. Must have been quite a show. Just my luck to be ordered back out."

While this enlightening exchange was going on, I looked around. The figure was gone, and it had remembered to take its hat this time. I got to my feet and started walking towards the house.

"Wait, stop! What was the name, Scott? Scott? Are you listening?"

"Dude, he can't understand you. He's like a dog. Get ahead of him. Shut the gate. It doesn't matter, as long as he goes indoors instead of out in front."

I was thinking hard. Paul and I were heading for a point of no return, one way or another. Something was going to happen soon. And the gimps almost certainly weren't there of their own free will. I felt oddly detached from the whole situation, but I had an opportunity, here. Nobody knew I was back in control of myself yet. I could...

...I could what? I was probably around 13 or 14 feet tall now, built like a bull on steroids, and naked. I couldn't escape without confronting Paul, and I couldn't confront Paul -- he actually killed a guy for disagreeing just a couple of days earlier. Was there anything at all I could do?

Yes. I could rescue the gimps. And then they could go get the authorities, and the authorities might be able to do something.

Once I decided that, a plan formed quickly.

I made my way back up to the room where Paul was. The party was in full swing. Paul was in the act of exchanging a pair of jars for a wad of bills which looked to be about half a centimeter thick. Empty jars were all over the floor, and men throughout the house were fucking each other, almost certainly bigger than they had been before. (It occurred to me that the orgy had a perfectly common-sense explanation; given that Paul's semen temporarily gave me the ability to grow people -- vide the big gimp-masked man -- the men probably paired off after taking their doses, in order to get the most benefit out of it while working off the aphrodisiac part at the same time. No wonder the two frat rats hadn't been surprised when the masked guy got bigger.)

When I walked in, there was a general uproar. Fortunately, people were already too buzzed to notice that my cock was soft; I was oddly unable to get it up, even looking at all the giant men fucking, or my own godlike reflection.

There were catcalls. "He's back!" "Hey, Scotty, don't trip!" "He wants him some gimp ass!" "Hey, Scott, if I get a mask will you fuck me, too?" I looked around -- the big gimp was nowhere to be seen, and I felt a bit guilty. Still, I had to do what I could. I grabbed one of them, made a face which I hoped expressed idiot lust and satisfaction, and walked over, took a deep breath, and jumped out the window.

There was a round of laughter, and I could see silhouettes from the light shining out the window as people looked out after me. I walked a ways from the house, where the light wasn't so strong, and then held the man up in front of me, and started jerking him up and down. In a low voice, I spoke as quickly as I could.

"Listen to me -- I just regained control of my body. I don't know how. I'm going to try to get all of us out of here. Pretend I'm raping you right now, and when I leave you, just stay lying on the lawn for now. Pretend you've passed out, in case anyone comes to see. Grunt three times if you understand."

The gimp grunted three times. Then I had an afterthought. "Oh, sorry, but if I really were fucking you, it would probably hurt pretty badly. Could you yell a bit?"

The gimp began to moo through his mask. After a few minutes I told him to pretend he had passed out, and he obligingly stopped.

There were even more laughs when I came back for the second gimp. I noticed that despite how briefly I had been gone, Paul had sold a lot of bottles -- almost a fifth of his whole stock.

I kept repeating my performance. By the eighth one, people were used to it. Paul hardly looked up any more as I kept coming through. Someone asked him about me, and he said something about "likes to fuck the gimps in the backyard, just ignore him, he has no problem with the drop".

Eventually, I had all fourteen of the smaller men outside. When I "finished" the last one, I told them to stay just a little longer, and ran back into the house.

It took me nearly ten minutes to find the big masked man. He was bleeding from punctures all over the ass; I never found out just what they had done to him, but he seemed conscious enough. I carried him through the room with Paul in it and jumped out again, just to make sure I had witnesses to him being with me -- it would hardly do for anyone to decide he needed further punishment and find him playing possum on the lawn.

Once I had debriefed him and faked my orgasm, I left him on the lawn and went back inside. It didn't take long to find an unattended room full of clothing. I scooped up as much as I could carry and went back through the mounds of heaving men to the lawn; there were some comments, but nobody wanted to draw the attention of someone who would jump out a window and then rape you into painful unconsciousness. People simply resigned themselves to the need to recover their clothing later.

I put the clothing down by the gate, and then got the men up and unzipped the eyes of all the masks so they could see what they were doing.

"Okay, guys, I'll try to break your chains over by the gate. If I can't do it, I'll help you get some pants on and you'll just have to run while still bound. Please go and get the police, tell them they need to be ready to shoot Paul, he can kill people. I'll stay here to keep up appearances--"

The big gimp interrupted with a moo. I opened his mouth-zipper. "Why not just leave now? It's dangerous!"

The voice was familiar, but I couldn't place it. "No, I'm two stories tall and naked. They'll probably panic and shoot me, or at least won't listen until it's too late. It'll go faster if it's just you guys. They know you've been missing -- they'll listen."

There was a yell from inside the house, and for a moment I was worried someone had realized what I was doing. I looked up at the windows in fear. But nobody was looking out the windows at us; something else was going on. There was more yelling, and then a scream.

"Look, just hurry. I'm going to go find out what's going on." I broke their chains as quickly as possible and ran inside.

The sounds were coming from the second floor, and I suspected the source was Paul, or at least someone who was on the receiving end of something Paul was doing.

I was right. The room had gone quiet. To be safe, I listened outside first.

"How the hell did you do that, Armstrong?"

I heard Paul's giggle. "That's my secret. I'm the master. And it feels good. Don't worry about it. It's all taken care of. Why don't you calm down and have another dose, on the house?"

"Jesus fuck, you think I want more of that stuff right now? You just fucking melted a guy!"

"Don't listen to that idiot, I'll take it if he won't!" There was a sudden clamor, and I could hear Paul giggling.

It seemed like things had gotten back to normal, taking "normal" to mean "as they had been ten minutes ago". I put on my fake facial expression and wandered into the room.

Paul was giggling. His eye was twitching again, and there was, yes, another "melted" corpse on the floor. I wondered who it had been. There was still a lot of tension in the air, but things seemed to be unwinding some. Was it nervousness that kept me from being aroused by Paul, or the oddness of his eyes?

Suddenly the man who had brought in the gimp-masked men ran in. For an instant I wondered if he had discovered that I had released Paul's prisoners, but he didn't even look at me. Instead, he jogged over to Paul and said "Matt and Apu just pulled up outside."

Paul giggled. "They want to beg for more, huh? Business egg! Show them in!"

The man left, and then came back with two more men. I guessed that the darker-skinned one was Apu and the tattooed one with the beard was Matt, but it was yet another thing I never found out for sure.

"Welcome back, gentlemen! Come to say you're sorry, huh?"

For response, the bearded guy lunged at a full bottle which someone had just purchased, wrenched it out of their hand, and threw it straight at Paul's head. It shattered, spraying his face with its contents.

"Fucker! What happened to Andy, you shithead? He hasn't been home in two days!"

Paul was already beginning to bulge outward; I suppose he was so full of whatever the stuff was that it didn't take much more to trigger noticeable growth. Unexpectedly, Paul took the dousing with perfect equanimity. He giggled. "Andy was rrude, and I gavehim a lesson. Thirrrd floorfor eggs!"

"What? Shut the fuck up, Armstrong! Are you making fun of me?"

Paul giggled again. "Andy wantedaaa sseccond opinion, so I ssshowedhimthe business. Wwwould you twolikebusiness?"

The two men pulled out guns, and the room went silent.

Paul frowned. "Youtwo arre beeingrude. Thatdoes notworrkon thirdfloor. Theeeeeggplant!"

The bearded man just grunted. I'm not sure which of them opened fire first, but it happened. Paul's massive chest suddenly started spurting blood from a series of tiny wounds. I was rooted to the floor by the shock of sound, but a lot of people gasped.

Paul conspicuously failed to die. He just giggled again. "Lllookslike youtwowant eggggggs. Cometo thethirdfloor! Business faces!"

The bearded man was nonplussed by this lack of reaction. "Shut up, motherfucker!" He opened fire again. Paul's chest was soon speckled with bleeding pock marks.

Paul laughed out loud, and then giggled some more. "Okaythennnnnnnnitstome fir business faces! Tometaseethirdfloorrrrrr!"

Paul reached out his hand with snake-like speed, and covered the bearded man's face, then pulled his hand away. The bearded man's head was now perfectly smooth in front, like... an egg. There were screams, and vomiting, as the body fell forward.

Paul laughed again. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, a good foot or more down onto his chest, mingling saliva with the blood which oozed out of his wounds. He faced the door and, with a gesture, he melted everyone trying to flee. "Tome fir evvvvvvvvvryonetogetta business face!" Laughing, he crawled towards the remaining men. Arms and legs unfolded to support him, reaching out to grab at heads, or arms, or legs, or groins. Where he touched the melted corpses, the contents flowed up and into the mass of his body like spilled water into a dry sponge. As he laughed, he sprouted more and sharper teeth. I can hardly blame the other men for being petrified.

He didn't seem to notice me at all. I've wondered ever since whether he just didn't look in my direction, or whether it was a conscious decision to leave me alone, or whether whatever remained of his mind thought I had been sufficiently destroyed already. Whatever the case was, I managed to walk briskly behind Paul, pick up the cash box and several jars of the goop, and head for the window, where I looked back.

The room was full of corpses and blood -- at least, assuming that people whose faces were gone were dead, which I sincerely hope -- and Andy was shuffling and lurching towards the door on a variety of limbs, some of which were definitely not human. Screams from the rest of the house suggested that his reputation was preceding him.

Just before I jumped, I noticed -- pushing out of the sides of Paul's head were fingers.

When I landed, I looked back at the house, trying to decide whether to jump a fence or head out the gate for the street.

At every window and every door was a figure in a trenchcoat. Their hats were missing. The screams from inside might have been from something other than Paul, after all. As I looked, as though on a signal, the figures moved in, breaking glass and wood and even brick with ease. The screams redoubled.

I headed past the house for the front lawn, hoping the police might be here soon. There were cars parked up and down the street, and distant sirens, but no flashing lights visible. I started running towards downtown, but before I reached the end of the block I started to feel hot -- like a fever, but worse. I fell to my knees on someone's lawn, dropping the bottles, and tried to crawl away, but the heat got more and more intense. I felt a wave of intolerable heat pass over me and finally collapsed just as there was a huge explosion behind me. For the second time that evening I passed out.


Last edited by tekuno; September 22nd, 2013 at 08:22 PM.
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Old September 17th, 2013, 10:30 PM
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Please continue! So many questions remain unanswered! What did he mean by Business Faces and what is really causing all these changes? I truly hope 'Paul' or whatever he is now is destroyed.
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Old September 17th, 2013, 11:35 PM
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Thanks so much for this story...
Sexy, funny, scary, and really well written

(and I'm glad you're finally on the mend)
Cheers,
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(from Jaypat's story "I Wanna Get Huge")
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Old September 26th, 2013, 01:15 AM
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Lovely it reminds me a lovecraft tale :d i wish read another one
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