Rise of the God-King Ch. 04

Summary: Still reeling from the attack (in Chapter 3) and all the changes happening to his body and mind, Caleb tries to follow Monica's advice and approaches Camila for a hookup. It doesn't go well, and Caleb struggles to deal with the backlash. Monica helps. 8.9k words.

Features: hetero sex; female and male muscle growth; penis growth; slow(ish) growth; masculinization; seduction; first time; anger issues; male dominance; rough sex; worship.

Rise of the God-King Chapter 04

He stood in a tent. No building was large enough, not for what was needed-- it had to be a tent, and even this one was was actually several ancient military surplus things in green vinyl, stitched together height-wise to make room for for its occupants towering stature, and length-wise to make room for the necessary beds.

Beds full of wounded soldiers.

His stomach flipped. They were all wounded because of him. Hell, they were all warriors because of him. And they were all, every single one of them, women.

He must have made some kind of noise. The woman next to him put one light hand on his elbow. "It is war, my king."

He looked down and whatever part of him remembered his waking life was shocked. She was a beautiful woman-- sprinter-lithe, with sharp but kind hazel eyes and honey-brown hair that was just long enough to pull back and just curly enough to resent it. She wore scrubs that fit her tightly, showing off strong shoulders and a generous, powerful ass, and she was looking up at him with obvious devotion in her eyes.

What was most shocking, however, was that she barely came up to his triceps.

"I know," he heard himself say. His voice rumbled like a landslide. "A war we never asked for, that forty thousand years of struggle didn't prepare us for, and that we still don't know why we're fighting."

The love in her gaze became mixed with frustration, and she thrust one latex-gloved finger toward the recovering women. "They know why we're fighting. We've seen what happens when we don't, when we can't." The flash of anger passed and she gripped his elbow again. "Our subjects need you to fight, my king. And you need your warriors to protect them." She paused, and her grip on his arm tightened. Her free hand gestured out at the wounded women again. "And they need you."

He drew a deep breath and steeled himself. She was right, he knew. He stepped forward...

He stepped forward and the torchlit hall broke into an uneasy applause. Half his honor guard stood at the front of the room: three tall, broad women with scarred arms bared and peace-bound weapons at their sides. The binding thongs were nothing to them, a sop to tradition (though how could it be tradition, when this new world was still so young?). The weakest among his battlewives could snap them with a quick tug, and from the anxious murmuring among the crowd, it was clear their hosts knew it.

He took another step forward and the music began, guitars and fiddles and a flute. It was happy, even if some of the musicians weren't. The remainder of his guard walked with him, and he stared at his new bride.

She was small. Any woman who wasn't already one of his was small to him, but his wife-to-be was small even by the old world's standards, bird-boned and bird-nervous. Whoever had tailored her dress had done an unflattering job and it puddled around her in ways that had probably been described as "fairy-tale" in some decaying catalog but instead just made her look like a child playing dress-up instead of the talented, spirited woman of twenty-five he knew she was. She stared at him with eyes that weren't nervous or happy. They were, perhaps, curious. He could work with curious.

He reached the front of the room. His guards joined their fellow wives (and the woman soon to join their number), their thick arms crossed under chests that bulged with pecs and breasts both, and he turned his back to them and his new bride. He raised his hands, and the music quieted.

Quieted, but didn't stop. And it was joined by a buzzing, quiet and rhythmic, almost more felt than heard. Its tremors struck his back like little electric shocks, shaking him just enough...

To bring him to wakefulness. His eyes pulled open like they'd been taped shut and he was staring at a paneled ceiling and the music and buzzing was coming from somewhere off to his left. Moni shifted sleepily atop him.

The music got a little louder, finally cutting through his fog enough for him to recognize his phone's alarm tone. He cursed under his breath and squirmed out from under Moni. Her smooth skin slid against his electrically, and the firm new muscle popping out of her in all directions was a delicious distraction. The buzzing insisted, however, and he began rooting around in his backpack. He had set an alarm. What was it for? Why couldn't he remember? Would he wake Monica?

Book. Book. Charging cable. Finally he snatched up his phone and swiped the alarm silent. Then he cursed again. He had a meeting with Camila.

For the second time in a week, he scrambled about for clothes and snuck out of the OKG house. This time, there was no avoiding the house shirt-- pink, this time. His old one was shredded and bloody and chances were, wouldn't fit anyway. His pants were bad enough: if he held them up to his waist, they rode an inch above his shoes (which were also starting to get tight); if he let them fall, the waistband slid right down the steep V of a torso he was developing and just barely hung atop his newly rounded ass. He bemoaned the fact that he never wore a belt as he clutched at the pants with one hand and hustled out the rear door of the basement.

Even with his new stamina and speed he was late, and Camila was working diligently when he walked up behind her at one of the long banks of computers in the library. "Hey, Cam," he said, and winced when she jumped.

"Oh," she said. "You came." Her voice was flat and quiet, but he was pretty sure he heard disappointment somewhere under it.

"Yeah, sorry," he muttered as he pulled a rolling plastic chair up next to her. "Something... came up."

She looked over at him, bright brown eyes flashing from the depths of the panda hood. Her eyes lingered on the pink sorority shirt for a painful moment. "Sure."

They spent half an hour comparing news stories on the same topic from different sites, taking notes on the framing language. Camila spoke little, so Caleb did as well. He felt awkward, like he could feel every square inch of skin on his body and none of it was in the right place. Monica's words the last time she'd seen Camila kept playing in his head. You should fuck her, she'd said, and it was like an earworm, circling around his brain until he couldn't help but imagine what that would be like. What was she wearing under that ratty hoody? What was her body like? Would she feel like Moni, or would it be completely different? It wasn't like he had a lot to compare. His fixation was distracting, uncomfortable, and he found himself fidgeting, trying to refocus.

Camila seemed to be getting more and more tense, too, sitting rigidly straight in her chair, avoiding his eyes. She reached into the hood and did something to her hair over and over, like she was self-soothing.

Eventually it was all too much. He pointed at something on her screen and she flinched back like he'd hit her and he knew something had to change. He scooted his chair back and sighed heavily. "Hey," he said, leaning forward with his arms on his legs. Where his forearms and thighs met felt different, and he shifted a bit, trying to find a comfortable position. "Uh. You okay?"

She glanced at him for barely a hot second, then pointedly returned her eyes to the screen. "I'm fine," she replied, but so softly he could barely hear her over the gentle whine of the computer's fan.

"Really? Because I feel like I'm stepping on your toes. Or I'm scaring you. Or something."

She shook her head, the grubby hoodie's little half-moon ears flopping back and forth. "It's fine."

"Are you sure? Because if you like we can split up and--"

"No!" She pivoted the chair toward him, a panicky look on her face. It was almost instantly replaced by a deep blush, and she stammered as she turned back to the screen. "I mean... I'm just not used to..."

You should fuck her. He wasn't an expert at this kind of thing, but... she was crushing, right? This was a chance to make a move? Something deep in the back of his brain loved that idea, and he felt a hungry smile spread on his face.

"You know," he said, stretching his arms exaggeratedly. "I could stand to get moving a little bit. Want to take a walk?"

"Uhh..."

"We could go over to the quick shop, grab a soda or something." He stood up and shook his arms out. The new muscle on them felt weird but good as it tensed and loosened and rolled around his bones with more mass than he was used to. He held out a hand to her. Was he looming? It felt like he was looming. "Let's go."

She just stared up at him, the blush going even deeper. Eventually she pulled her ID out of the computer's card reader, snatched up her backpack, and stood, leaving his hand hanging the whole time. He pulled it back, shrugged, and led the way.

She stayed hunched in her hoodie the whole short walk to the convenience store and glared at him when he held the door open for her. Maybe he'd misread the whole thing? They bought bottles of soda and he got a little sleeve of cashews too, and they lingered outside on the sidewalk for a moment while he opened it. He leaned against the wall and held the packet out to her. She just glared at him again until he shook it, rattling the nuts inside. "Come on," he said. "I'm trying to be nice. Call it an apology for running late?"

Her glare softened a little and she held out her hand. "Sorry," she said, still quiet. "I'm being a bitch."

"Your words," he agreed. Her glare fired up again and then she chuckled in spite of herself when she saw his grin. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," she said, taking the cashews and burrowing back into her hoodie. She thought for a moment as she joined him in leaning against the wall-- several feet away. "You just feel... different."

"Different from what?"

She shrugged. "From the vibe I got the first couple weeks? From other guys? I dunno."

"And that scares you?"

She shook her head violently, then stopped, cocked it, and shrugged. "Maybe? You make me nervous."

Caleb scooted closer along the brick wall. "Nervous?" He held out the packet of nuts again. "Or excited?"

She blushed again. It was cute. Her cheeks were a little chubby and they lit up like stop lights from the depths of her hood, though just then Caleb got the feeling they should have been shining green for go. He brought the cashews back and shoved the sleeve in the pocket of his jeans.

"Camila," he said, and he barely recognized his own voice. It was smooth, and rich, but also solidly imposing, like deeply polished wood. It was commanding. "Look at me." She dragged her eyes up from the pavement and forced them to lock on his. The blush was growing, a spotty flush crawling down her neck. "If you say the word," he said, "I'll shut up, back off, and never mention it again." She gulped, audibly, and he fought back a chuckle. Wouldn't do to embarrass her right now. "But I'm going to kiss you now."

She licked her lips, an adorable little slip of the tongue between the teeth, and her eyes got even wider and she gave this microscopic nod. Caleb raised his right hand, gently, smoothly, and threaded it between her cheek and the hood. He wrapped it firmly around the top of her neck and leaned in.

Even with all the warning he'd given her, she seemed to not know what to do when his lips reached hers. She was stiff, almost frozen, but as he pressed gently against her she relaxed a little, softened in his grip. He brought his other hand around to the small of her back and pulled her to him. She let out a little moan when he pulled her bottom lip into his mouth and immediately stiffened up again. She pushed back against his chest, pulling away. He felt a flash of... something. Jealousy? Protectiveness? She belonged in his arms-- but he tamped it down and let her step back. He took a step back himself and put on what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Should we stop?"

Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated, her mouth hanging open just a bit. "I don't want to, want to stop, I mean," she stammered, but she looked around the street nervously. No one had passed in a little while, but they were right at the door to the shop. "But not here?"

He nodded, still smiling. "Let's go back to my room. We can talk about it there. Or not." He turned back toward the road and, out of that still-unfamiliar instinct, crooked his right arm at the elbow. She lunged at it like a life preserver, and they walked the few blocks to Wilcox with her clutching his arm to her chest. It was a little awkward, but he didn't mind. It was pressed right between her not-insubstantial breasts, and by the end of the walk she was sort of stroking it. He liked the way her hands felt over the new muscle. Maybe she can do that with her tongue later, he thought, then immediately flushed with shame at even having the idea. His cock did give a little jump in his pants, though, so maybe the flush wasn't all shame.

When they got to his room he poked his head in first, but Bobby was gone, so he ushered her inside and grabbed a sock from his drawer for the universal "do not disturb." When he turned he found Camila standing sort of shell-shocked in the middle of the little room. His confidence had evaporated again. These swings were starting to get annoying. So much going on that he didn't understand yet: new drives, new skills, new experience. Practically a whole new body. Bodies. Shit. When should I warn Camila? She deserved to know about what would happen if they had sex, but assuming they were going to fuck might spook her. Also, the details would sound weird as hell. "Sorry about the mess," he said, just for something to say.

He took a deep breath, steeled his gut, and stepped forward to wrap his arms around her from behind. She jumped a little, but leaned back into him after a heartbeat or two. "It's fine," she said. The silence grew for a moment. It had just barely reached the awkward stage when she twisted her head around, the floppy ear of her sweatshirt's hood brushing Caleb's chin. "So," she said. "What now?"

He craned his neck and kissed her. She was still tentative, unsure, so he took his time, gently spinning her around to face him. One hand went to the base of her neck, fingers and thumb spanning the tops of her shoulders, and the other went to the small of her back. He held her with soft, insistent pressure, not rushing her into pressing into him, just letting her know he was there.

She started just as stiff and awkward as she had been on the street, but after a few heartbeats she started kissing back. Her kisses were spaced out but delivered quickly, darting against him like a panicked snake, like she was looking for holes in his defenses. He smiled, moved his hand to her cheek, and locked her into a long and smoldering kiss, lip to lip, tongue just barely flicking out to graze of the tips of her teeth at the end. When he let her go, she exhaled in one big rush.

"I haven't," she stammered. "I haven't done this before. I didn't. I don't."

"It's okay," he whispered. He gave her a gentle little push toward his bed. "Just sit down and let me make you feel good. We can stop any time."

She thumped ungracefully down to the bed and he knelt between her legs, one hand on her waist, the other stroking her thigh over her jeans. "I'm going to take your pants off," he said, gazing up at her anxious face. She looked like someone halfway up the first hill of a roller coaster, doubting if this was a good idea, but after just a moment of hesitation she squeezed her eyes shut and gave a tight little nod.

He slipped off her boots first, big clunky brown things with thick laces of the front but heavy duty zippers on the inner sides, and as they thumped to the floor beside him he came up between her knees and reached for her waistband. She lifted herself up off the bed and leaned back, and he tugged the baggy jeans down, awkwardly shuffling on his knees until they too were on the ground and he was looking at her smooth, pale olive legs. They were soft and plump, pressing together at the thighs and leading up to her plain black panties and the gentle swell of her stomach. Her eyes were still closed, her face twisted in something like nerves, her hands clutching at his blanket. "Beautiful," he whispered, and she relaxed just a hair. It was true. She was thicker than Moni had started, and softer than Moni was becoming, but it was an inviting softness, legs he could sink his fingers into-- or his teeth. And he could smell her, taste her arousal on the air. She wanted him, despite her nervousness, and he felt that rapidly growing, possessive part of him fill with a feral sort of glee. She would be his, and he couldn't wait.

He kissed his way past her knee up her thigh, spreading her legs apart gently and she moaned as he moved. She bit it off, swallowed the end of her groan with a little gulping sound, and he shook his head between her two plush thighs. "No, no," he murmured into her. "Let me hear it. I want to know how I'm making you feel." And he ran his tongue against the inside of her other leg until his face was buried in the cotton of her panties and his tongue was teasing the place the fabric pressed into her softness. She gasped and gave a shuddering sigh. "Shall I?" he asked, and he could sense her nod, feel it in the jiggle of her flesh. A dominant spark alit somewhere in his soul, and he shook his head. "Ask me," he commanded.

"Please," she whispered, so softly he almost couldn't hear her. "Oh, please, please please."

He burrowed his head under her hoodie and pushed her back, kissing her stomach as she fell to the mattress, yanking the panties down past his chin and diving into her pussy, a man on a mission. She moaned again, no cutting it off this time, a quiet, throaty sound full of pleasure and the expectation of more.

She had more hair than Moni, brushing against his cheeks, but it was short, well groomed, and he could see his targets easily. He ran his tongue up her lips, savoring the taste of her, and gave a gentle flick to the arch of skin that hid her clit. He followed some powerful instinct, letting his mouth and tongue move without thought, but if the sounds she made were any indication, the instinct was a good one. She reached in front of his face, two fingers tugging of the skin of that arch, giving him better access under her hood. "Please," she said again. "Oh, please, Caleb."

He obliged her. After a few moments of gentle focus on her clit, feeling it swell under his tongue and lips, he reached a hand between his chest and the edge of his bed and slipped a finger through her lovely slick lips. As he grazed the upper roof of her canal, she clenched and bucked and gave a short barking laugh that turned into a long, low moan. She spasmed a few times as she melted into the bed. "Oh," she said. "Oh, wow."

He worked his head up between her legs, propping them up with his shoulders. She had scooted back to slump against the wall, and her eyes were closed, her face utterly relaxed. "You good?"

She nodded vigorously. "So good," she murmured. "Thank you."

Caleb grinned. "My pleasure," he said, and backed away to rise to his feet. She opened her eyes as he stretched up and peeled off the pink sorority shirt, biting her lower lip at the sight of his new and improved torso.

"Are you going to," she started, then gulped hard as he smiled down at her and undid the button of his jeans. "Are you going to fuck me now?" She was whispering, conspiratorial, and he couldn't help but smile. His confidence had returned with a vengeance. He was in full control. She was his, no doubt.

"Would you like me to?"

She only paused for half a moment before she nodded and licked her lips, eyes locked on the hand he had positioned over his crotch. In just a moment, he'd unleash the animal that was straining against his pants and she'd take him deep, and he'd unload in her and...

Shit. And they'd both collapse into some kind of mini-coma and come out different, and he hadn't warned her yet. He grimaced at the discomfort of his iron-hard cock straining against his jeans, and tried to press the brakes. How do I do this smoothly?

"Before I do," he said, fixing what he hoped was a calm, reassuring smile on his face. "There's something we should talk about."

Despite his valiant efforts, she immediately tensed up. "Oh god," she said.

"It's no big deal! It's just..." I'm going to fuck you unconscious and rewrite your DNA or some shit. "When I've had sex with Moni--"

"Who?" She sat back up with a scowl and crossed her arms under her breasts. Dammit. This was deteriorating. Quickly.

"Uh, she's that redhead you met--"

"You're fucking her?"

"I mean..."

"Oh god. I knew this wasn't right. You're cheating on her? With me?!" She jumped to her feet and bent over to snatch up her jeans. Tense as everything was, Caleb couldn't help admiring her prodigious ass, normally hidden by the baggy hem of her hoodie.

"No! She knows! She told me I should--"

Camila stopped with her jeans halfway up her thighs and slowly raised her head to look at him. Her face was pale and her mouth hung open. "She..." Tears started to sprout from the corners of her eyes. "Is this some kind of fucking prank?"

"No!" He reached out to put a hand on her shoulder but she jerked away, stumbling back to his bed.

"Fuck off," she said, her voice thick and choked. She grabbed her boots and ran for the door, the unzipped uppers flapping awkwardly as she hustled.

"Camila," he said as she flung the door open. He followed her into the hall, just barely registering that his roommate Bobby was squatting against the wall across the hallway when she spun back on him.

"Go fuck yourself, Caleb," she shouted. "Or that redhead, if you like her so much, because you won't be fucking me!"

She stormed off down the hall and he knew chasing her would only make it worse. "Shit," he muttered under his breath.

"That's rough, buddy," Bobby said, clapping him on the shoulder as he pushed past and plucked Caleb's sock off the doorknob. Caleb just stared down the hall, shaking his head.

Caleb's body and his mind spent the next several hours at odds. His mind insisted he had fucked up somehow, that he owed Camila an apology, that he owed the world itself some kind of penance. He felt guilty, and embarrassed, and above and beyond the embarrassment a sort of shame that he had flubbed something that had seemed so sure.

His body, on the other hand, was raring to go. Fired up and then left hanging, his belly was twisting with unsatisfied lust, lust and the desire to claim, to build and grow and change. To prepare. Most of his dreams from his brief nap on the floor of the OKG bathroom had faded from memory, but whenever he tried to pull them back he was left with a sense of impending doom and an urge toward action.

Moni was trying to help, but she was just making the struggle between brain and balls more intense. He'd texted that he'd tried to follow her advice and failed, and she'd responded first with a frowny face and a heart. The emoji were quickly followed by a selfie that made him glance around in a panic to make sure Bobby wasn't looking over his shoulder.

She was holding the hem of her tee shirt between smirking lips, lifting it up and over the swell of her breasts so their perfect, taut shape and erect nipples were on proud display-- and beneath them, a truly impressive set of washboard abs. He had two visions in quick succession: running his tongue over the gentle ridges of those rapidly hardening muscles; followed by standing over her, watching the grooves between them overflow with his cum. He blinked, coughed, and shifted uncomfortably, then hid the phone under his desk. What even is my life? He tucked the phone under his desk and sent back a heart-eyes emoji, then paused as the screen showed Moni was typing.

She'll come around, his girlfriend typed. Id bet a bj.

Worthless wager, he typed back. You'd give me a blowjob if I asked nice.

True... honestly u don't even have to ask nice. There was a brief pause and then: butt stuff?

Jesus, Moni!

thought he didn't care about butts, isnt that the deal?

Caleb reacted with an eye roll, then muted his phone and put it facedown on his desk to try to focus. Now his body and brain were both inflamed with a horny frustration that was rapidly approaching anger. Some beast inside him was upset at being denied, and his tightening of the leash only irked it further.

Half an hour later, Bobby turned away from his own laptop and tapped Caleb on the shoulder. "Dude. You okay?"

Caleb whipped around, startled. He must have looked crazed, because Bobby immediately scooted his rolling chair back and threw up his hands in surrender. "We're cool! You're just grinding your teeth, like, crazy loud, man."

Caleb took a deep breath and forced his fists to unclench. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't realize." He stood up, grabbed his phone, and headed for the door. "Whole thing with that girl just set me off. I think I'm gonna take a walk."

"Sure, man," Bobby said, already putting his headphones back on. "Have fun at the gym or whatever."

"Huh?"

Caleb turned around, anger replaced with confusion. Bobby was frozen, cans still hovering over his ears. "Just, uh, figured you might go to the gym to blow off steam? Since... you clearly have been?" Was that... a blush?

"Oh." Things had progressed enough other people were noticing. Wild. "Yeah. Maybe."

"Cool." Bobby let the headphones snap over his ears and steadfastly refused eye contact. Caleb gave a mental shrug, and headed out the door.

The fresh air helped a little bit, but he was still significantly imbalanced. The anger kept building. The hot mass in his gut felt entitled, incensed at being refused. It wasn't targeted at Camila, exactly-- though that may have just been his conscious mind wrenching at the reins, reminding whatever was building in his lower belly that it had always been her decision. It wanted, it needed to fuck, though, and not just out of lust (though his shaft was so hard he had to swivel his hips every few steps, trying to find a comfortable position).

The need scared him. His life made zero sense. He'd been run over. Just today he'd been fucking stabbed. Worse (worse?), he got better after being stabbed. His body was changing, so much and so rapidly that it would be impossible to hide soon-- his aloof-as-hell roommate was already noticing. And now, he felt like he was going to have a heart attack, like his world, no, the world would fucking end if he didn't stick his dick in something.

For lack of a better idea, he started heading toward Moritz Hall to grab some dinner. He unlocked his phone, too. Moni was kind of nuts, but she was also the only one he could really talk to about this.

She'd send him almost a dozen messages since he'd hidden away his phone. The first was her ass thrust out at the camera, a thong riding high between muscular round cheeks, with the caption srsly, im down if you are. The second was her looking down her body while she was in bed, her free hand shoved through the waistband of her black yoga pants and clearly caressing her own vulva. very down, she'd written.

A few minutes after that, though, she'd shifted moods. can't stop thinking bout spear bitch, a long chain of messages started. She wanted to strategize. He tried to read through what she was saying, what she was planning, but he kept almost compulsively scrolling back up, his eyes lingering on the three thirst traps she'd sent. God, she was fucking hot. And, he was willing to admit to himself at this point, getting even hotter. He loved that she loved it, too. At least someone will use my gifts, he thought, then immediately wondered what the hell that meant. He was too horny to worry about it at this point, though.

He scrolled to the bottom of the thread, her thoughts on tactics unread. Need to see you, he wrote. It was more true with every heartbeat, every rush of blood to his dick. Moritz. Now.

naw, she wrote, and anger flooded his vision with red for a moment. She sent a photo almost immediately, though, and he was able to find his breath. It was her hand, holding a set of car keys.

meet u there, she typed, but we're blowing this pop stand.

He sent back a thumbs up and took a deep breath. It was like he was roid raging or something. He felt un-fucking-hinged. All because a girl told him no? But he knew it both was and wasn't that. There was an edge of anxiety to it, too, and the overwhelming bewilderment at his whole situation.

Moni's idea was a good one, though. A change in scene would be good. Real good.

He leaned against a lightpost outside the dining hall and scrolled through short videos while he waited for her. He tried to calm his body, relax every muscle he could feel, but he could feel a lot more of them, and they were all tight with nervous energy, or anger, or both.

"Hey, freshbuddy!"

Tabitha. Great. Just what he fucking needed. He shoved his phone into his jeans pocket, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked up.

She'd always been shorter than him, but now he felt like he loomed over her. She looked nervous, too, those heavily made-up eyes flicking up and down and sideways over him, never resting in one spot for too long. Jump your boooooones, the Moni in his head crooned.

"Hey, Tabby," he said. "Are you working tonight?"

"No," she said. Her voice quavered a bit. "Uh... just needed to grab something I left behind?" Why was that a question? This wasn't her normal joking self. He squinted at her, trying to figure out what was wrong, but she didn't really meet his gaze, throwing her heavily-shadowed eyes anywhere but at him.

"Cool," he said. It wasn't his problem. Even if she wasn't at her quippiest, with his current mood, he found his patience for whatever she had going on was at an all time low. He pointedly checked his phone, but Moni hadn't sent anything new.

"But it's funny I ran into you," she said. Her voice was thick, choked. "Because I really have to tell you something."

"Yeah?" He pulled his phone back out and stared down at it. "What's the message from the spirits this time?"

He saw her flinch in his peripheral vision. God, he was being a dick, wasn't he? She wants to jump your bones, Moni had said. Was she going to confess or something?

But when he looked up, she was smiling sardonically, like nothing had ever been wrong. "Oooooo," she moaned. "Beware, Caleb, you have angered the spirits sorely, and must pay! The! Price!" Her voice dripped with camp, and he rolled his eyes.

"Sure," he said, still peeved but at least a little glad she was back to her old self. "Whatever."

"Message delivered," she replied, tapping him on the chest to punctuate each word. Then she winked one bright blue eye at him and spun on a heel toward the dining hall. He watched her as she went (was she wiggling her ass at him, or was she limping?) and rolled his eyes. What a weirdo.

A honking car horn startled him back to a broader awareness. "Hey, hot stuff!" Moni was yelling at him through the passenger window of a boxy, tough-looking American SUV. "Hop in!"

He threw open the door and climbed up into the cab. "Nice," he said as he strapped in. "Wouldn't have guessed this was your speed."

"What, not girly enough for a sorority sister?"

He opened his mouth to defend himself, his frustration rising again, but when he turned to snap back, he caught the sparkle in her eye and the smirk on her red lips. His snarl died in his throat and he took a deep breath.

"Whoa," she said as she put the car in gear. "You alright, babe?"

He took another breath. His mind was a roiling mess. His muscles felt like they were buzzing and his stomach felt like the belly of a charcoal grill. He wanted to shake Camila by the shoulders. He wanted to pull over and fuck Moni right there. He wanted to punch that masked warrior so hard her head tore off. He wanted to deadlift a tree trunk, benchpress this SUV, heave boulders at the stars. He wanted to scream his war cry so loud he made ears bleed.

He wanted to know what the fuck was wrong with him.

"Peachy," he said.

She looked over at him, disbelief all over her face, but she kept quiet for a mile or two. Caleb stared out the window and clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his palms.

"Hoodie girl?"

Caleb grunted. Moni didn't say anything. Eventually he felt compelled to fill the silence. "Scared her off," he elaborated. "When I tried to explain the whole deal."

Moni snorted. "Yeah," she said. "You had to tell her, but... I wouldn't have believed it if you'd told me. Wouldn't have fucked you, either."

"Didn't even get to the weird shit," he said. "Just mentioned you."

"So it's my fault?" But her tone was clearly joking and she reached over to squeeze his knee when she said it. "You gonna punish me for it?"

Some part of him liked that idea very much, but he wasn't sure he wanted that part driving right now. "I've been off ever since," he told her. "I've never had a temper before, but now..."

"Yeah," Moni agreed. "You look like you're about ready to pop."

They were getting off the highway. Caleb leaned his head against window. "What the fuck is wrong with me, Moni?"

"Dunno," she said brightly. "But I've got an idea how to fix it." She was pulling the SUV into a hotel parking lot. "You're going to blow off some steam by fucking me straight through the mattress, we're going to take a nice long nap and get more jacked, and then we're going to order room service and booze and figure out what the hell we're gonna do about this bitch that wants to kill you. If we have time, we'll talk about hoodie girl too."

As plans went, it wasn't terrible.

Monica's phone was the room key, so they went straight up. The room was nice: a king bed; a big TV; a trendy, glass-enclosed shower. After their brief inspection, Moni dropped the duffel bag she'd carried up and turned to Caleb with a smirk on her face. "So, big guy," she said. "About breaking that bed..."

Caleb stepped close enough that he could hear her breathing. 'Big guy' was kind of funny-- she'd actually been growing faster than he had, and was pretty much of a height with him now. He couldn't deny that he was getting bigger, though. He grabbed her by the ass and pulled her tight to him, letting her feel just how much bigger in one specific way. She hummed with satisfaction.

Hearing that little moan pushed everything Caleb was feeling into overdrive and he was filled with a combination of rage and lust strong enough to make his breath catch. His fingers tightened in Moni's delicious ass cheeks, digging into the denim hard enough to make her squirm. He squeezed his eyes shut and took another ragged breath. His body was telling him to do things he'd never considered before, things that would absolutely cross some line, change the way Moni thought about--

"Do it," she whispered.

His eyes flew open. Her smirk was even more wicked now, and she danced her fingers along his sides. He was still wearing the sorority tee shirt, and it was tight against his widened lats. "Take the leash off," she whispered again. "You need it, and I can take it."

He grimaced and furrowed his brows. This wasn't him, this was whatever was happening to him, ramping up his testosterone, driving him fucking crazy. Moni pulled out of his arms and plopped down onto the king bed's high mattress, crossing her ankles and looking up at him devilishly. "Or do I have to be a teasing little slut like hoodie girl?"

Caleb's rage flared up again and he stabbed a finger at her. "Don't," he growled. She just cooed.

"Oooh, she is going to join our little group, isn't she? You already feel protective of her." She scooted back on the bed and put a finger to her lips. "Well then, sir," she said, ladling every ounce of sultriness she could into the honorific. "Maybe you should punish me for bad-mouthing one of your crew, hmm?"

She was trying to get a rise out of him. It was working.

With a growl, he grabbed her ankles and yanked her back to the edge of the bed. She laughed like a child and kicked her feet, her own powerful muscles straining against his iron grip. He plunged down over her, hands planting alongside her head, knees pinned around her hips. "You think you know what I need?" he rasped.

"Yes," she whispered back, and arched her back, thrusting her breasts up at his chest. "Permission."

And that did it. Something snapped like a rubber band inside his head, so concretely he practically felt the stinging backlash. One hand came up, wrapped around her neck, shoved her back down into the mattress. He got his knees under him, brought the other hand up, grabbed the collar of her shirt. Her eyes were on fire with her lust. He could feel the breath she struggled to squeeze through her throat. He twisted the collar around his hand and yanked hard to the side.

The seam along her shoulder tore and the tee shirt came to pieces. He could feel her pressing back into the bed, giving him the leverage, the resistance, the anvil to his hammer. She wanted this. He released her throat and brought his other hand to the collar, pulled the opposite direction. The collar popped and the shirt opened like a book, revealing her bra and the tight expanse of her long, ripped belly.

The bra was a simple, silky thing in bright purple, the two cups connected by an inch-wide trapezoid of fabric. Her breasts, even supine like this, bulged over the full cups. He disentangled his hands from the wreckage of her shirt and plunged his fingers into that deliciously plump border. She groaned as they passed her nipples, but he didn't stop to pinch or tease. Instead, he clutched at the side of the cup, pinched that purple trapezoid between one thumb and forefinger, and pulled again.

The connective seam split with a hissing growl and her breasts expanded up and out like a relieved sigh. Caleb pressed the ripped halves of the bra down to the side and plunged his face into her chest.

"Oh, yes," she moaned, and then he sucked the flesh of one breast up into his mouth, pressing firmly with his teeth, and her moan stretched out and became wordless. She arched her back again, pressed the titflesh into his mouth, demanded more. He obliged.

One hand reached down to pop the snap of her jeans. She lifted her hips, shimmied her ass out. He let go of her breast with a wet popping sound, leaving a bright red mark behind, and relocated to her waist. She gasped.

"Gonna rip those too, you brute?" But her tone was filled with awe and lust, and she pressed her already-soaked panties against the bulge in his jeans.

He raked his fingers down the long, rippling stretch of her abdomen. "If you beg," he heard himself growl. The thing in his belly was firmly in charge now. It almost felt like he was watching a porno, except that he was firmly aware of every cell in his thick, straining dick and the electric arousal they were pumping into his spine with full force.

"Please," she said. "Please strip me naked so you can take what's yours." He grabbed the waistband and pressed his fingers into the fabric from within. "Please, sir," she gasped again, grinding her pubic bone against his knuckles. He pressed further, straining the fabric, and pulled his hands apart. "Please!" she shouted alongside the tearing sound, and he ripped down the center until he could see the full length of her dripping slit.

Everything felt tight. His briefs, his pants, his shirt. His skin. He climbed back to his feet, yanked her jeans down to her knees, but left them on. He unbuttoned his own pants and cracked his neck. "On your belly," he said. She rolled over with haste, presenting her peachy ass up to him with a little wiggle.

His pants went down. His dick had climbed past the waistband of his briefs, the head bare and glistening. It felt almost too good, pressed against his belly by the elastic, every twitch and throb grinding his glans against the lowest set of his abs. He pushed the elastic down, felt his shaft and balls surge their way forward, sway like a skyscraper in a stiff wind as they were finally released. He groaned with pleasure.

Moni wiggled her ass again. "Please, sir," she whimpered. "Give it to me. I need it."

He plunged back on top of her, kneeled around her legs, and thrust his dick through the hole he'd ripped in her panties. The threads tickled his shaft as he sank it home. Moni yowled.

Her legs were held half-closed by the jeans around her knees, and she was tight as a fist around his dick. He put his forearm across her shoulder blades, pressed her down, lowered his head right next to her ear. "Mine," he growled.

"Yours," she cried as he thrust over and over. "Yoursyoursyours, oh god, yes." Her pussy clenched at his dick like it was a rope thrown to a drowning woman, but he thrust and pulled, over and over and over, hammering her into the bed, the mattress muffling her cries, his breathing ragged to his own ears.

"Your pussy, ungh," she grunted. "Your ass." Each declaration punctuated with the slap of his hips against that round, muscular piece of art. "Your tits, ungh, your mouth." He was feeling light-headed, still in the passenger seat as whatever part of him worked out its frustration and denial. "Your heart. Your bitch." Her voice was higher and higher pitched. She was coming to the edge of something, something big, something important.

It exploded from her with a wail. "Your arm. Your shield. Your motherfuckingoddamsword!"

He thrust home again, deeper than he'd ever been, and she took every extended inch of him and she screamed and screamed, as tense as if she'd been electrocuted, feet thrashing, back squirming under his arm, head thrown back. Her sopping pussy clutched at him again and again, hard enough to hurt, a beautiful squeezing caressing pain. "Caleb," she shouted. "My king."

He throbbed so hard inside her he almost lifted her off the bed, but she was collapsing into the mattress. He hadn't cum yet, but the beast within him felt somewhat satisfied, like it had scarfed down a tasty appetizer, and his conscious self wrenched control back. He slid out of her with a squelch and staggered back. Her hole gaped and drooled with his precum and her own juices. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She moaned and rolled over onto her back, pulling her legs up, eyes closed, relaxed bliss written all over her face. "Yessss," she hissed. Then her eyes popped open and she lifted her head, locked eyes with him through the V of her knees. "Oh," she moaned. "But you're not, not yet." She shimmied out of her jeans, ballet flats and ruined undies, then rolled to a sitting position and shrugged off her ripped bra and shirt.

"I'm," he started, but she was right. The hunger, the frustration, the rage and lust and horrible demanding desire were still there. She smiled wickedly and rolled forward, sliding fluidly off the bed and to her knees on the floor before him.

"My king still requires my service," she said with a glowing smile, and he was alert enough that he felt both intensely aroused and ridiculously awkward when she called him that. All doubts were forgotten, however, when she took up his heavy balls in one hand, wrapped the other around the base of his shaft, and began to tend to his pleasure in a way that could only be described as worship. She held his balls like they were precious rubies, ran her circled fingers reverently from the base of his shaft to his frenulum. Then she pressed her nose right to the spot where his sack and his rod met and inhaled like she was sniffing a bouquet. He groaned, his dick throbbing in her gentle grip, and she moaned too. She looked up at him, his dick pressed against her face from lips to forehead. Holy shit, it's getting big. It was probably six and a half inches long now, not gargantuan, but certainly the far side of average, and it was girthy enough it practically covered one of her eyes.

"This is good, Caleb," she said. Her voice was intense, fervent, obssessive. "This is right." The spark of humor he was used to seeing in her eyes was gone, replaced by a blazing bonfire of fanatacism. She slid onto his dick and gulped it down like it was water and he felt it expand in her mouth. It wasn't just blood rushing in to fill the shaft. It was strength. Power. Her focus, her devotion, her love and her strength all pulsed into him as he groaned and slammed into her throat. His eyes rolled back in his head as the waves of pleasure crashed over him.

After an eternal moment, she slid back off. "Show me, sir," she said. Her voice was husky, her throat abused by her own aggressive technique, but her watery eyes were still laser focused on his face. She took his dick in both hands and began to jack it almost as fiercely as she'd sucked it. "Show me how strong you are."

He struggled to focus on her. Every heartbeat brought the sensations to a new peak. He felt like his body was an overheating battery, about to burst into flame from the charge being forced into him. "Huh?"

"Flex for me, my lord, my king. Show me how you are becoming you." Her eyes were wide and glassy, almost like she was in a trance-- but if she was, it was a horny one. One hand dropped to her crotch to rub at her clit almost as frantically as she was stroking him. He obliged her. He gripped the hem of his shirt with crossed arms and inched it slowly up his body. He pulled his ribs in and down as his stomach was revealed, its muscle erupting into a sheet of hammered metal. Each separation of his abs was clearly defined, a swimmer's six pack where even yesterday there had still been several inches of pudge. Almost all that fat had melted away, and he could feel the stretch of his skin and the swell of his muscle against it, pulling it tighter. This was just the beginning. The tension made his dick bob in her hand, strong enough to throw off her rhythm. They both moaned and she licked her lips.

His pecs were uncovered next, the charge, the lightning from his abs flowing up. He lifted his arms to his face and pressed his shoulders down and two meaty plates formed over his chest. They were wide and thick and solid and Jesus Christ, it was like he could feel them growing, blood and protein cramming in heartbeat after heartbeat. He wrenched the collar over his head and tossed the pink shirt off to the side. Moni stopped fingering herself and reached that free hand up to his chest. It was dripping with her juices and she smeared them all over his sternum like a benediction, like warpaint. She gasped in intense pleasure and he could see the orgasm ripple through her as she dragged her fingers down from his chest to his stomach and back to the base of his cock. She smiled dopily, moaned, and rammed his cock back into her mouth as she stared up at him.

He shut his eyes and let the feelings flood over and through him. He wasn't done, though. He lifted his arms, elbows out, fists at his ears. Monica's gluckgluck sounds were interrupted with a moan of appreciation that sent a shiver down his shaft.

His brain sent the order and his arms exploded into tight cannonballs of muscle. He could feel the shape of them, the pinch at his elbow where his forearm and biceps pressed against each other, the tightness of his skin, the insistent pounding of his blood through his arteries. Moni was right. This was good. This was what he needed. He had to blow off some of this steam, get his head straight. More than that, he needed to get his mind, his soul caught up with his body. Something was happening to him, something scary and magic but also so, so fucking good and right. He was powerful now, because he needed to be. She was powerful now, because he needed her to be. The images from his dreams emerged from the fog they had been lost in, the images of him and his band, his army, his horde of beautiful, powerful, deadly women. He would gather them. He would mold them. They would mold him, and together, they would make everything right.

The images rolled faster and faster until they melted into one blinding white behind his eyelids, the electricity of his body's pleasure and Moni's devotion and his pending greatness all overlapping and amplifying each other. Eyes still closed, a deep growl bubbling up from his depths, he clutched at Moni's head. She found another inch to take him deeper. The white shattered. He exploded. He was flooding her mouth. She gave a muffled, joyous groan that quickly gave way to desperate, choking gulps. He felt his eruption burst the seal of her mouth, pump out like a popped balloon, cover her face and his crotch with a rapidly cooling warmth.

And as the muscles of his pelvis, not forgotten by the new strength and power coursing through him, flexed one last time and shot him dry, he felt his consciousness falter. He felt himself falling like a chopped tree toward the bed, his strength and Moni's devotion to his cock bringing her with him. The mattress groaned under him, wood creaked, and he knew no more.