"Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!" growled Frank, angrily dumping his wet laundry onto his bed. All three of the dryers in the dorm laundry room weren't working, through it had taken Frank six quarters dropped in the one that wasn't marked "OUT OF ORDER" to find that out.

Now he had nothing to wear to the swim team victory party that night. There were the denim cutoffs he was wearing, of course, but this was one time the team was expected to wear shirts and pants—and nice ones too, since reporters from the city papers and the campus rag would be covering the event, the capper on the first half of a shutout season.

Frank glanced in the mirror behind the door and briefly considered going in just the shorts anyway. He grinned at the ridiculous idea. Still ... There was no question he had a well-proportioned body, lanky and well-built since before puberty, and he'd worked hard on conditioning for years now. His muscles were firm and tight and blew out unexpectedly large when flexed, his body fat was miniscule, his arms and legs long and lean and firmly packed, his hands and feet large, nimble, and well-formed. He could play a lot of sports, but he had to admit to himself he stuck with swimming because he liked his body and knew other people liked it too.

He knew for a fact he turned on his secretive roommate Steve, though the hunky sophomore tried to hide it. Sometimes he would seem to get distracted in the midst of a chat with Frank; Frank would feel Steve's young, hot, hungry eyes drifting over his bod—and then suddenly Steve would get up and leave the room. More than once Frank had spotted Steve's rock-hard boner, wider than two of Frank's cocks, twitching under Steve's jeans before a sudden exit.

Lately Frank had taken to provoking him, walking around naked as much as possible, just to see what would happen. At first Steve had become flustered and agitated—and evidently was working off his frustration at the gym, since whenever he saw Steve lately he looked huge. But for much of the past couple weeks his plan had evidently backfired—Steve was staying away from the dorm except occasionally stopping by to get clothes or books.

Suddenly a coin dropped in Frank's mind. His eyes slid off his body in the mirror to the dresser behind him—Steve's dresser. Frank smiled. He couldn't go half-naked, of course, but he could innocently borrow some of his roommate's clothes. Steve would never even know—he was certainly sleeping at his new boyfriend's, and the clothes would be returned in the morning.

Frank hurried over to the dresser and pulled open the top drawer. Empty. Frank frowned. His clothes must be all at his boyfriend's, since he was always sleeping there. In fact all the drawers were empty except the bottom one.

In the bottom drawer there was a variety of clothes—long-sleeve shirts, tank tops, underwear, shorts, pants, and socks. The drawer was only partly full—Frank guessed some of these were also with Steve at his boyfriend's. Oddly none of the clothes had manufacturer's labels. Instead they were marked with codes in magic marker. Frank frowned again. Steve had a drawer full of irregulars? Still he had no choice. He pulled on what looked like Calvin Klein boxer-briefs. He wouldn't normally wear briefs marked XL-2—he had a very trim 30" waist—but they were the only ones there, and fit surprisingly snugly. In fact they felt instantly comfortable and not a little erotic. Frank felt his cock swell a little into the cozy pouch.

Quickly he pulled on an undershirt marked L-3P followed by a pair of khaki slacks marked L-4 and a brick-red button-down shirt, also marked L-4. He was surprised to see even the socks he grabbed were also marked (L-7T). All the clothes fit perfectly despite Steve's bigger frame, and in fact felt as snug and cozy as the Calvins, pressing softly against his skin and muscle, as if they were adapting to his bod. Frank grinned, shaking his head. Too lucky. Must be these were all of Steve's high school clothes, from before he bulked up. No wonder he'd left them behind.

Under the slacks was a Polaroid snapshot.

The Polaroid featured a very sexy young athlete, maybe a little older than Frank. He looked a little like Steve, but better looking, and cockier, though not quite as built. He was sitting tall and straight on a plush sofa, dressed in a gray tank top and white shorts, his lean lanky body laden with thick muscle, a broad grin on his beautiful face.

Somehow the photo had been doctored, since to Frank's amazement it showed the hunk with four long, well-muscled arms, folded in two pairs across his chest, and four beautiful legs, likewise crossed in pairs. Still more amazing—underneath the tank top, rising most of the way up long, long abdominals, was the unmistakable outline of two very long, very thick, very hard cocks. Two dots of wetness showed in the tank top just under the double set of folded arms.

Frank stared a long time at this photograph, not even realizing he was getting very aroused.

Brad, walking along at Steve's side, looked up at him, grinning broadly. He was in love and perpetual lust with this tall, gorgeous, built dude whose amazing body was set up in such a way that whenever he got a hard-on, his whole body grew, as if this luscious body was a luscious cock turned into a hunky human. Steve called it a body hardon. He was still shy about it, knowing how strange he was, but Brad totally got off on it, and that was giving Steve confidence.

Brad loved to watch Steve get aroused, loved to make it happen. It started in the eyes—his amber eyes caught fire, lit by orange-yellow flame. Then as Brad watched Steve's body would swell along with his cock. His shoulders would broaden, his upper arms would swell, his pecs would start growing, his whole torso would start to lengthen, the arms and legs following suit, stretching, growing, expanding. Finally his double-wide cock would be rock-hard and quivering, and Steve's engorged body would reach its full throbbing size as well, flushed and panting, his eyes a blazing fire. Brad had come more than once just watching Steve get hard.

And that wasn't even all. If Steve was wearing clothes from the secret box his mysterious brother had sent him, the effect was intoxicatingly multiplied. The first time they met Steve was wearing clothes that made him sport six long thick-muscled arms, velvety smooth and stone hard, and four huge hard throbbing versions of that delicious double-wide cock.

This was a dream come true for Brad, a gymnast who had always gotten off on arms and legs. Since puberty he'd beat off his two-foot cock wishing he had more arms, more hands to stroke his tremendous organ. He'd dreamed of hands, hands, and more hands, all over his super-long cock, and then as he started to build up a gymnast's bod, over his muscles and limbs as well. He'd started to have dreams at night of competing naked, hugely hard, with four or six or eight long legs and as many long arms, spinning his many legs like mad in the flairs, cartwheeling forever on the mat, splitting in all directions...

Once he learned of these dreams, Steve had put aside his concerns about his freakishness and pulled on the six-arm tank-top whenever they got together in Brad's dorm room, which Brad thanked God every night he had to himself with no roommate. Brad would immerse himself in Steve's hot body, feeling it grow around him, muscles swelling, bones growing, then Brad would feel six huge hands roaming his tight body, stroking his tremendous boner with hand after hand after hand, and often this would bring Brad to sudden orgasm before they even got to the stone-hard cocks thrusting up out of Steve's deep crotch.

Tonight, the rest of his dream would come true. Though Steve had held off, worried because he didn't know what would happen, lust at the thought of an augmented Brad had finally won out. Tonight, Brad would get to wear clothes from the box.

Brad looked back at Steve as they walked across campus, his eyes sliding up and down his body, feeling his tightly packed python squirm inside his straining Calvins and loose jeans. There was no question about it. In the month they'd known each other, Steve had grown. They'd started out about the same height, Steve maybe a couple inches taller. Now, Steve was a good foot taller than Brad even when he wasn't aroused. He'd taken to wearing gym shorts, sneakers, and nothing else, since too-short shirts and pants looked odder than nothing at all—and that was more than fine with Brad, who found himself constantly staring at the elongated abs capped with ponderous, rounded pecs, and the stretched—but still heavily muscled—arms and legs ending in large hands and feet. He wasn't sure whether it meant Steve was constantly half-hard, or that continued exposure to the magic clothes had left a residual effect, or what, and he didn't fucking care. He grinned as they passed an impromptu basketball game in progress—all eyes were suddenly fixed on Steve, and the guy about to shoot the ball went so wide it shot over the fence.

Brad felt good—he and Steve shared a magical secret and had fulfilled each other's fantasies—or they would, tonight, anyway.

Frank felt something strange coming over him. He felt flushed and light-headed. He tried sitting down on Steve's bed, next to the dresser, but he stumbled and fell on it instead. His body seemed awash in hot liquid fire, he felt as though he were cumming for the first time. He was hugely aroused, the room was swimming, the walls were moving, his body seemed indistinct. His groin urgently needed attention and he felt for the zipper and frantically opened it, unloosing the button at the waist. He could barely make out the huge mass of the straining undershorts. He pulled down the waistband and released the throbbing flesh inside, falling back on the bed as he reached up with a hand to start stroking. He started stroking his chest through the shirt, then, panting, started unbuttoning the shirt. Strange, his hand didn't seem to be going all the way around. He reached up with another hand to help ...

Suddenly he froze. He was unbuttoning his shirt with two hands. He lifted his head, his mind still swimming with hormones. The first thing he saw was two enormous boners. They were impossibly thick, as thick as his wrist and almost as long as his forearm, throbbing and quivering like sex totems, dwarfing the two big hands wrapped around them, fingers unable to touch, as they mindlessly slid up and down, each trip sending a wave of pleasure through his body. They were like iron bars, so hard he couldn't move them. He could only stroke their long, long length, up out of the groin at a 45-degree angle but gently curving toward his torso.

His body ... Now he noticed two new hands, like the others attached to long muscular arms that filled the wide sleeves of the shirt, which had developed four arms itself. They were done unbuttoning the shirt and now he watched amazed as he guided the hands along the tight abs and up to his enlarged pecs, which ballooned out as he flexed them, as sensitive as if they were made of cock-muscle. Still stroking his enormous cocks, he continued exploring with his new long-fingered hands, drawing them across the great pecs. He caressed his broad shoulders. Where the great arms joined the body was a kind of erogenous zone—he felt a flush of pleasure as he stroked the firm muscle through the soft fabric of the shirt. He then caressed down the other, generously muscled arms, finally reaching the other broad, long- fingered hands, still slowly stroking his incredible organs.

His body shuddered with pleasure. More aware of what he was feeling, he sensed rather than saw four swimmer's legs instead of two, and four big feet. That kicked him close to the edge. He loved feet, loved the slap of big beautiful male feet on the locker room floor, and the idea of four feet made his blood rush. He stroked faster now, his huge sensitive cocks sending shock-waves through his body as he rubbed his feet against the carpet through the socks, his anus pulsing, his augmented hunk bod writhing on the bed.

He was almost ready to shoot when someone knocked at the door.

Frank froze. "Go away!"

Frank heard a masculine voice through the door. "Hey, Steve, is that you?" Frank was about yell back when he noticed the doorknob turning. Panicking, he jumped up and ran across the room, coordinating his four legs effortlessly (though he scarcely noticed), positioning himself behind the door just as it started to open. He grabbed the edge of the door and peered around it cautiously, acutely aware that though he was fully clothed—magic clothes or no—he was obscenely exposed, his two huge boners totally unhideable, his new arms and legs somehow just as erotic.

On the other side of the door a very tall, lanky, well-muscled young man regarded him with interest, blue eyes glinting. His limbs were very long, ending in large hands and large bare feet; long straight blond hair fell past broad shoulders most of the way down his back. He was wearing just a tee-shirt, stretched across heavy pecs and worn through near the nipples, and very worn jeans. He smiled, revealing dimples. "You're not Steve," he said, still smiling.

Precum oozed steadily from Frank's monster cocks, behind the door. "No, I'm not," he said. "I'm his roommate, Frank."

"I'm Peter, Steve's brother," the tall man in the hall said. "Can I come in and wait?" Suddenly Frank realized why Peter looked familiar—he was the gorgeous augmented athlete in the apparently-not-doctored-after-all Polaroid. His mouth dropped open. At the same time Peter's grin broadened and he said, softly, "I recognize that shirt." Peter slowly pushed the door open enough for him to step through, his head not quite grazing the doorjamb. Frank didn't resist.

In a moment they were standing in front of each other, very still, engrossed. Peter pushed the door shut and locked it.

Frank felt passion burst in every cell of his body. In spite of his squarely positioned four legs and four big feet he felt he might swoon. This man radiated sexuality, and just standing in front of him, drinking him in, he was pushing Frank to a new level, his blood surging, his heart pounding, his cock-poles shuddering. A drop of sweat trickled down his broadened back. He stood, four muscle arms akimbo, panting, waiting.

Peter was becoming aroused.

Still smiling, eyes still glinting, his whole body seemed to throb imperceptibly. Frank felt a half-second's blackness come over him and when he focused again, his knees weak, Peter was nude.

Frank gasped. His body was perfectly crafted, firm and solid and muscular and stretched, from his long neck to long but thick-muscled arms and legs to a long, ten-pack abdomen to long fingers and toes. And hanging from his crotch was a thick heavy penis that was growing, and growing, and growing.

Even as he watched it seemed to swell like a balloon being blown up, and—accompanied by a moan from their owner—they slowly divided as they grew and stiffened into two huge cocks, as big as Frank's but longer, pointing straight up. As Frank looked over that powerful body and sucked in his breath—it was all pulsing, throbbing, growing. He winked at Frank. "I don't need the clothes," he whispered.

Frank couldn't stand it any more. He had to have it. He closed the distance between them and as they touched lips he too was naked. He didn't notice his missing clothes at the time—but he remembered many hands stroking his broad bare back as they kissed, their hot mouths merging as they groped each other.

Time stopped. Arms and legs intertwined, muscle pressed against muscle. Peter bent slightly and began giving his left cock sensational head, using two hands to grab Frank's ass and two more to stroke the broad shafts near the bottom. Frank closed his eyes, perpetually seconds away from coming as Peter ministered. Gradually he became aware that his right cock was also getting expertly sucked. He opened his eyes a crack and saw the Peter had broadened his shoulders and was using two beautiful, sexy, long-haired heads to suck his two huge cocks. Frank found this incredibly arousing and soon clear precum was dribbling from both of Peter's mouths and down firm, angular chins. Two blowjobs at once felt ten times as good as one.

Frank began stroking the two heads with two of his hands, wrapping his other two around the tops of Peter's gorgeous cocks, getting off on his arm muscles brushing together. They felt hot and firm and smooth, and as Frank massaged them they throbbed and seemed to expand slightly in his hands. Peter moaned again around Frank's cocks. He was taking more and more of his cocks, hot mouths swallowing his meat in stages, until suddenly he lunged forward and took the whole length, entirely engulfing Frank's throbbing monsters.

Time shifted and somehow they were on the bed. Frank was on his back, Peter kneeling over him still taking both his cocks, four glinting eyes looking up at him, his long thick meat shoved deep in Peter's hot tight throat as Peter's many broad hands slowly caressed Frank's enhanced musclebod, but now Frank's four legs were over Peter's broad shoulders. He realized he could feel he had two asses now—his extra legs had grown behind his old ones, merged into his body with a new ass, and he raised his head to see Peter using a couple extra long-fingered hands to guide those lances toward his two virgin assholes. Frank shivered, and for a moment felt a twinge of fear, but somehow he knew he would be able to take those beauties—just. To take his mind off it he stared at his four big, sculpted, powerful feet. He felt an odd sense of pride to own such superlative feet. They felt strong, just as how whole body did. He looked closer and realized that each of those feet was possessed of seven finger-like toes. He waggled them and his cocks surged. He longed to suck them.

Then Peter's cocks made contact with his twitching twin holes and he forgot all about his feet. They pushed in, incredibly hard and firm, and Frank felt a brief flash of pain followed by a storm of pleasure, flooding his mind and body, as the cock-poles pushed into his body. Peter sucked harder on Frank's instensely throbbing cocks, tonguing them with long hot tongues, squeezing them in his throats so they seemed to grow with every stab of violent pleasure, every thrust of Peter's steel-hard cocks. Peter seemed to push them in further, harder, impossibly far, each push thrilling Frank's body, until at last Peter, bent nearly double, shoved the last few inches through his virgin-tight, furnace-hot holes and he felt those two huge organs entirely inside him, hot and throbbing and alive, and he wanted them there more than anything, he wanted them to stay there pulsing deep inside his bod.

Peter started to fuck him, slowly at first, then quickly faster and faster, pounding his asses and his cocks in sympathetic rhythm. Frank was in ecstasy but couldn't hold out. Within moments he was on the edge and then his whole body seemed to swell up, muscles and limbs and cocks expanding, and them suddenly he exploded, his groin bursting with fiery cum that shot down his endless cocks and burst into Peter's twin throats, and even as he fell back tingling it happened again, only now it was happening to Peter too, his whole body throbbing, those cocks inside him expanding and shuddering, and then they both let loose, filling each other with cum, and then again, and once more.

Peter disengaged and, smiling up at him with beautiful twin faces, moved up and lay on top of Frank, kissing him with both mouths. Frank had never had a three-way kiss before and loved it, and they kissed passionately. He wrapped his four muscle arms around Peter's long, thick torso and felt its pulsing, thinking that it felt like a man-sized hard-on, still half-erect after incredible sex, much as both their cocks were, laying pulsing against their sweaty abs, the thick tubes half hard and pleasantly intermingled, bigger now than they had been hard. He was dimly aware that he didn't fit on the bed any more, that his whole body had grown, and this sent a last light wave of pleasure through his sated body. They fell asleep that way, Peter's heads resting on Frank's expanded pecs, and were awakened only by the jangling of keys at Frank's door.

Continued in The Box 4