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|The day-to-day activities at the Institute for Genetic Research, better known by its members more simply by its initials, IGE, did not vary greatly. In the weeks and months since the release of the serum called Transform by those lucky enough to have realized its many powerful and increasingly numerous benefits, the number of new men arriving remained somewhat steady.
There was an initial surge just after the event that some called The Joining, others The Becoming, and for some of the more jovial simply The Big Ass Orgy. Transformed men had left the island to pursue whatever goals or dreams they had in their new bodies and, as they traveled and coupled and experimented, they sent those they had shared the gift with back to IGE to receive the answers they sought, or to meet the others like themselves.
But that phase was short-lived. As their numbers slowly increased, each man eventually found their way back to IGE as if it had become their home, which was not far from the truth of it.
A Transformed man in the wild did not become some sort of Superman, performing heroic acts or swelling to enormity in public or showing off their gifts for fame and money. They managed to “blend in” to society at large, for the most part. Perhaps they were abnormally large, or unusually handsome, or remarkably muscular, but for the most part they could, as they preferred to, simply appear in some city, come on to a couple of men that interested them, Transform them utterly and return with them to IGE. One might encounted a Transformed man anywhere and at any time, and never know how close one came to realizing masculine muscular perfection.
They didn’t wish to go back to their lives. They no longer found pleasure in some of the things they had before.
The need for acquisition to prove one’s standing, for example. Buying more expensive cars or houses or clothing was meaningless when you needed none of those things. They also found that the friendships they had before grew cold for them without the intensity of the mind link, or the shared sexual appetite for each other and the desire to draw others into that need.
They had been changed more dramatically than they realized. Physical needs simplified. Sex, basically, was the driver of almost everything. They didn’t need food, they didn’t need basic comforts, they needed only another man, or men, and it was only satisfying to be with other men who had been Transformed, or to Transform those who weren't.
Certainly they could Transform other men and certainly they did. With an almost childlike glee, they would disguise their true appearance and saunter into the places where other men congregated - gyms, bars, sport events, locker rooms, men's bathrooms - and they would entice those who showed more than a passing interest in having more than a conversation with them like a spider and their prey. And inevitably, they managed to pick out only those men whose transformations would be welcomed and unquestioned.
It was so simple, and so easy. A kiss could be filled with a flood of Transform. A brush of a hand against a bare arm could send that man’s muscles bulging and swelling and ripping through their clothes. You could easily be invited back to a room and strip naked, displaying your ample and amazing assets and start drilling away at any number of willing and hungry asses and start pumping their bodies full of your seed and your beauty and your power until you were both physically perfected by the serum’s awesome strength, grwoing and fucking in some wild, insane orgy of muscle and lust.
But at last, what every man wanted was to be back on that island, surrounded by dozens of others who understood, and who wanted to be with them, and who could manage to take all that they had to give and ask for more. As a Transformed man, your sexual drive overwhelmed you, and the hunt became less attractive than the prize.
It was as if Transform did not want to be released. It wanted containment, or control. It wanted to choose who was Transformed, based on rules it alone knew. The men who came to the island did not feel that they had been changed in these more subtle fashions, that they had become lovers more than anything else, that their physical transformations were a sort of reward, and that the sex they were having, if they stopped to consider it, wasn’t merely anonymous fucking but served some kind of higher purpose. It brought them closer together, and allowed them to experience other men more deeply and honestly than any two people had ever done before.
Most, if asked, would deny this. “No fucking way,” they might say, “I just love me some ass!” Those words were true, undeniably so. But there was another truth deeper below the surface, and that truth had no better personification than the one man made entirely of Transform; Adam.
Adam loved every man he was with. He made no judgments that any man was better or worse than any other man. Every man he was with was perfect. And he loved them all, and could love them all, unconditionally.
If anyone on the island recognized this fact, it was Michael. He could not, probably, put this truth into words, but he knew it for a fact. A Transformed man was Transformed in ways much deeper than the surface appearance of their perfect physical forms. A Transformed man needed other Transformed men not because they craved sexual satisfaction, but because they craved each other wholly and without measure.
Michael and Carlos stood before Stan and the group of physical anomalies headed by the man called Wolf. He and his seven companions, his soldiers, stood in silence, To the eye, they were identical. Each stood as precisely tall as the other. Each had the same face, the same chest lacking nipples, the same crotch with nothing dangling from it. They had been altered in a similar fashion by another government, but they had been changed into invulnerable similarities of men.
In a way, these eight were the polar opposites of all the men who had been Transformed. While a man exposed to the American serum realized a libido so pumped up that it was never satisfied, along with the equipment and capacity to do something about that, the Escaped, as they called themselves, had all of that stripped away leaving them with the power, strength and force that the Transformed had…
“…but none of the distractions.” Stan summed up all he knew about the small group and looked at Wolfgang. “Wolf, here, is their leader.”
“Why do you need a leader?” asked Michael.
“For at war.”
“Ah. And are we at war, you and us?” His eyes twinkled with mirth and a slim smile lit his lips.
Wolf’s already erect stance became even more stiff, if that was possible. “We are not, sir. We are seeking help, for us and for others.”
“Yes, well, let’s concentrate on you for now and worry about the others after we’ve solved your rather unfortunate problem. Carlos? Thoughts?”
The striking Latino at Michael’s side, his body sheathed in creamy coffee skin, his dark eyes flecked with gold, smiled slightly. “Of course, but none that are particularly helpful.” He approached Wolf and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, showing camaraderie with the band of men. “How was this accomplished? Were you given something to take internally? Were you placed in a chamber of some kind?”
Wolf stared forward. “We were…”
“Wolf, it will help if you look at me while we talk” Carlos said gently.
Wolf turned to face Carlos and bowed his head slightly. “Apologies. We were given a series of injections.”
“No operations? Nothing was done to you physically to remove the portions of your anatomy now missing?” Wolf shook his head. “And after each injection, what changes did you note?”
“I was… we were made… unawake.”
“So you did not observe what was happening to you?”
Carlos smiled. “How do you know, if you were unconscious, that you were not operated on?”
Wolf blinked. “I suppose I do not know. There is no pain. There is nothing.” He placed his hand on his groin and moved it across the smooth plane.
Carlos kneeled and put his hand on Wolf’s crotch. He passed a strong dose of the Touch and Transform into his fingers and moved them across the surface. “Nothing at all?”
Michael observed in silence. The other men of The Escaped remained motionless and quiet through the process and Carlos’s examination. Stan had his own questions – several dozen of them, actually – but chose to wait. It wasn’t his time to speak, yet. He couldn’t help but keep looking at the countenance of Michael, though. He had never met anyone so… attractive, in every sense of the word. Charismatic, beautiful, powerful and magnetic, it was as if the man was glowing.
“Thank you.” Carlos stood up and turned to Michael. “We need to do some other tests, obviously. I need to determine what properties are preventing Wolf and our new friends from absorbing Transform into their altered systems. It will also be helpful to know whether there’s anything of their sexual organs that can be reclaimed, or if they have been removed.”
Stan gulped hard at the final words, imagining what his life would be like without his dick dangling between his legs. He reached down and grabbed hold as if assuring himself that it was still there. A strong, quick, deep tingle of erotic bliss rocketing through his muscled body in reaction to his touch gave him his answer. He wanted to further explore the strength of that thrill with one or two of the men he’d met outside, and rather soon, but he returned his attention to the task at hand.
Michael was watching Stan with a smile on his lips, but he spoke to Carlos. “I don’t suppose all our guests need to accompany you to the lab. Wolf, would you be good enough to follow Carlos?”
“We will stay together,” he answered.
Michael looked at Wolf for a silent moment and then nodded. “Of course.” He waited for them to leave the room and then turned to Stan. “So, I hear nothing but good things about you, Stan.”
The voice and the attention made Stan feel dizzy, suddenly. “Good things?”
Michael tapped his forehead. “Mind speech. Justin and Reggie are very curious about you. And it appears that Todd went out of his way to meet you.”
“Oh, yeah. I mean, I guess so.”
Michael’s grin lit into a smile. “Please tell me you’re shy, Stan. I would so love to meet at least one of us who could maintain that demeanor.” He sighed. “It seems like every man here knows exactly who he is and what he wants and is so self confident that they practically sweat ego.” He laughed slightly. “Myself included, of course.” Michael approached Stan and took his hand, pulling their bodies closer together. Michael’s scent entered Stan’s head like a spicy aphrodisiac. He smelled sexy and funky and sweet and smoky. The flesh of his palm felt warm and smooth and soft. The muscles of his arm wrestled under his skin. “May I kiss you?”
It was Stan’s turn to laugh. Michael cocked a perfect eyebrow and Stan said, “You’re the first man to ask permission since… well… ever.”
“Mmm, excellent. I do so love to be the first.” He started to lean in, their mouths drawing closer together. “But you haven’t answered my question.”
Stan could feel Michael’s breath on his skin, against his lips, warm and moist. “Yes, of course,” he said quietly.
Michael’s kiss was slow and soft and gentle. Their lips pressed together and Stan could feel the other man’s strength and utter command in their kiss. No other parts of their bodies touched saved their hands, but a wave of heat caressed Stan’s body and he could feel the overwhelming strength of the other man as if it embraced him. When Michael broke the kiss and leaned away from him, Stan felt like he would cry from its absence. “My God,” he said.
“Oh, no,” answered Michael. “Just a man.” He laughed again. “So, my shy friend, what shall we do while we wait?”
Stan’s dick was already inflating.
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