Wesley Bracken
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Bear Virus: Chapter 4 - Daddy, I'm Home!
🕑 Added 2024-02-13 17:28:17 +0000 UTCAs Tony walked home from Greg’s house, thinking about his much improved coach sitting in there, Tony’s load planted deep in his hole, smoking one of his pipes, and found himself staggered by the power that had been granted to him. When he’d changed Bruce back in his room, he hadn’t really known what he was doing, he’d just let the magic flow through him, and followed along. With the coach, he’d found himself able to direct it somewhat, pushing him in the direction he’d wanted to go, though the change he’d received in exchange was unexpected. He wasn’t complaining. He’d always admired the coach’s pipe smoking habit, and was very pleased with his new knowledge and obsession. He found himself wondering, fantasizing really, about how much control he might have over the magic still coursing through him. He’d turned the coach into a raging bottom pipe pig, without even really thinking or focusing on it too much. What could he do if he really put his mind to it?
After playing with the coach for a couple of hours, afternoon was well on its way to evening. Tony’s father was likely home by now, and probably wondering where Tony was, since he knew he’d called out sick from school earlier that day. His dad, Randall, was not especially happy with his lot in life, Tony knew that. When he was younger, he’d been an all star athlete himself, gone off to college, met Tony’s mother, and become a bit of an ex-jock, giving up on his athletic dreams to work as an accountant instead, working in administration at the local college. He made good money, and Tony had had a good childhood, but when his mom had passed away, leaving the two of them alone together a few years ago, his father had, well, given up. He’d gained a lot more weight, and was pushing three hundred pounds. He didn’t feel great most days, drank a bit too much, didn’t have much in the way of friends, and seemed resolved that he wouldn’t be doing anything with what remained of his life. Tony wanted something better for him, and selfishly, Tony had always kind of had a thing for his own father. He had a feeling that when he was finished with him, his dad would have a little thing for him too.
He got to his house, and saw his dad’s car sitting in the driveway. He took a few deep breaths, resolving to not let the magic get too far away from him this time. He had an idea of what he wanted for his dad after all, but it seemed like every time he got into these situations, his mind would run a little wild. Best to try and move a little slower instead. Tony climbed the steps and went inside, still smoking his big pipe, and found his dad in the living room watching TV. His dad looked back at him when he came in, and then did a double take. “Tony? What...are you...smoking?”
Tony hadn’t expected that one. Reality had seemed to follow in along behind him, but maybe his dad just needed a little push. “Yeah dad, you know I smoke pipes.”
“I mean, yeah, I...but you said you were sick earlier, that’s probably not the best for you right now.”
Tony sighed, and gave a little chuckle. “You know I can’t go that long without a smoke. Besides, I feel a lot better than this morning.”
From the look in his Randall’s eyes, it was clear he was still trying to process what was happening, that something was not right, and yet he couldn’t articulate it. “Where were you, anyway.”
“Booty call. Coach Meyer needed a good fuck,” Tony said, growing a bit more brazen.
He watched his dad try to process that one for ten, fifteen seconds, first confusion, then horror, then a dull acceptance. “He...oh, alright, I...are you hungry?”
“Heh, probably not as hungry as you are,” Tony said. He came around the couch where his father was sitting, looking a bit blob-like. Tony straddled his father, one knee on either side, looking down at him through the clouds of smoke, grinning. Again, he could see his Randall’s mind processing everything, trying to think his way through it. That was part of his dad’s problem really, he’d always thought about everything just a little too much. It made him a good accountant, but as soon as things didn’t quite happen according to plan, he would shut down. Tony took the pipe from his mouth, leaned in and kissed his father, feeling a moment of resistance, and then he began kissing him back. Gently at first, then a little more eager, but always with a bit of hesitance. Tony pulled away after a moment, looked down, and saw the lust rising in his father’s eyes. “Looks like you had a good workout today,” Tony said, “Shoulders are really starting to pop.” Tony put his hands on his dad’s shoulders, kneading them, and felt the muscles under his skin heating up and beginning to swell. “Chest too--looks like you had a push day today.” His hands slid lower, groping his dad’s chest now through his dress shirt from work, though as he did, he felt the muscles there swell too, the shirt shifting into a gym t-shirt instead.
“Fuck, Tony, stop, this isn’t right. I don’t care what you do with Bruce and your coach, but I’m your father, get off me.”
“Shut up dad, you think too much,” Tony said, mostly as a joke, but he watched as his dad’s eyes went a little dull, his mouth a bit slack, and he realized too late what he’d done. “Wait, no, I--” he added, only for his dad to lunge up and give him an eager, forceful kiss.
“Fuck son, coming home smelling like hot fuckin’ man sex, you sure know how to get your daddy all riled up,” Randall said, “Didn’t shower after the gym, I know you love it when I smell like manfunk.”
Randall lifted his arms up, both of them visibly swelling with new muscle, sweat beading in his pits. Tony couldn’t help himself, dove in and started licking and sucking at his father’s musk, cleaning out one pit and then the other, before pulling away and lifting his own arms up for his father to clean out. “Yeah dad, get all those electrolytes, then we’ll get that protein shake of yours, eh?”
“Fuck son, I need to get fed real fuckin’ bad,” Randall moaned.
“You’re a right fuckin’ cumpig--how many loads did you suck down at the gym this afternoon? I know it was at least five,” Tony said, the fantasy already getting away from him despite his best efforts to keep it in check.
Randall felt his memory of the afternoon--of the whole day, really--twist up into something rather different. His job faded away. He was too dumb to be an accountant now, math had always been a little beyond his grasp. No--he’d spent most of his day at the gym, like usual, working out and taking plenty of breaks to cruise the locker room and sauna, sucking down any load of cum he could get.
Tony got off his dad’s lap, and saw a rather different man on the couch now. His dad was still around three hundred pounds, but a good amount of fat had been traded in for solid muscle, leaving him with a build that would make most any powerlifter envious. Randall got off the couch, tugged down Tony’s sweats, and his son’s huge cock leapt out. “Fuck boy, start leaking for Daddy, I’m fuckin’ starving...”
Tony moaned as his nuts churned, and a thick stream of precum leaked into Randall’s mouth, the older man slurping it down hungrily before taking Tony’s entire head in and sucked on it like a straw. Tony’s nuts kept pumping, and they kept growing, expanding to the size of an orange, and then a grapefruit, and then a small melon. The sensation was incredible, like miniature orgasms with each suck until at last, with a roar, Tony came. The explosion of cum was too much for his father, who did his best to keep up with the firehose that sprayed him down, thick cum drooling down his bearded chin onto his hairy chest, looking up at his son lustfully as he stroked his own cock there on his knees.
Tony stumbled back, shaking from the intensity of the experience, looked down at himself, and then down at Randall. He was visibly larger now than he had been, thicker across the chest, and when he stood up, he didn’t quite match Tony’s height of six and a half feet, but it was close. Tony felt something like a flush growing in his body, centering in his muscles, and realized a little too late that, of course, growing his father like that would have a few genetic knock-on effects.
The heat grew stronger, Tony packing on another four inches of height, muscles expanding all over, along with a healthy layer of fat, just like his dad still had. Randall sat back on the couch, stroking faster, using his son’s cum as lube, and with his free hand, scooping up everything he could to lick it off his fingers until he came, his own nuts throbbing and growing, his orgasm lasting almost a minute, leaving him with nuts just as large as Tony’s was, his whole body coated with cum.
Tony looked around at the living room around them, and saw that reality had changed again while he wasn’t paying good attention. The whole house, which had been generally clean and tidy, was now a sty. Gym clothes were tossed everywhere, almost all of them soaked with cum from one or both of them, dried crisp. The whole house smelled like a locker room, and as grossed out as Tony wanted to be, the scent of them both on the air was turning him on all over again, and it was all he could do to go over and help lick his dad clean. Instead, he muttered some excuse that his dad barely heard, rushed upstairs to his room, and got back on his computer, checking to see if FormCaster had messaged him again.
Sure enough, he had. He’d messaged him a lot--every few minutes for the last several hours, the tenor of them becoming more and more frustrated and angry. Reading through them, he picked up a bit of narrative. When Tony hadn’t replied to him earlier, FormCaster had set up a scrying spell so that he could check in and look at what was going on. He’d gotten the spell going in time to see what Tony had done to his coach, much to FormCaster’s fury, which was mostly what he was ranting about now.
Tony wasn’t sure he even wanted to reply and deal with this, but he did finally decide to check in with a hey. FormCaster was furious, telling him he was being irresponsible, that neither of them knew the extent of what the virus might do. Tony told him not to worry about it--everything had turned out just fine, right? FormCaster couldn’t believe what he was saying, and reminded Tony he’d turned two adult men into sex addicted pigs just by kissing them, and again, Tony couldn’t seem to find anything wrong with that at all. FormCaster told him that the virus might be affecting his cognition, that it didn’t want him to find any of this unethical, that it was trying to encourage him to spread it farther than he would if he was of sound mind, but Tony just dismissed that. After all, when he’d changed Bruce, he’d seemed just fine, when he’d taken off for work.
This was new information for FormCaster, who was horrified to learn that there was another vector to all of this he hadn’t been monitoring. He adjusted his scrying spell, checked in on Bruce, and all Tony got was a new message from him, a rather panicked one. “Fuck, Tony, you have to go get Bruce and bring him home. He’s...fuck, this is getting so fucking far out of control! I...I think I have to get help, this is too fucking big now. Go get Bruce, go get the coach, keep your dad inside, and anyone else you fucked without telling me!”
“It’s fine, man, calm down.”
“You don’t fucking understand. This spell wasn’t designed for this kind of scale. It was just supposed to change you for a little while, let you have a little fun, and then it was going to dissipate. No harm, no foul. But think about a virus--it doesn’t want to dissipate. It wants to spread. I should have fucking anticipated this when I made it communicable, but at this rate, I don’t think it’ll even be possible to contain.”
“Why the hell would you even want to contain this?” Tony said. He was happy for the first time in his life. He liked himself and his body, he loved Bruce, he loved everything he’d done to his dad, and to his coach. Why would he want to stop this?
“That’s not you, Tony, that’s the virus! It’s warping your mind. It wants you to spread it, more than anything, and I’m worried that the more it spreads, the stronger it’s going to get. It’s just going to keep mutating each time. I need you to believe me. I’ll do what I can, once I figure this out. I can make a new spell, but this--this isn’t good, Tony. You have to understand, please tell me you understand!”
Part of Tony knew that FormCaster was right, that he needed to stop this, but there was something else, a hunger, a deep overwhelming desire to ignore that good sense and just enjoy this. He was finally the man that he’d always wanted to be, after all, and even better, so was Bruce, his father, and coach, and...and more. There could always be more, couldn’t there?
Tony’s big cock throbbed, as he thought about the possibilities, his momentary caution and worry already slipping away as the virus worked its magic on him. He looked at his computer, where FormCaster had left one more message, “Tony, did you get my message? Please, let me figure out some way to stop this. You have to try to slow the spread, do you understand?”
“Yeah, I understand,” Tony said.
“Good. Just stay put, and I’ll see what I can figure out tonight, and I’ll message you in the morning.”
Tony closed the window, and then threw on some of his dirty gym clothes, stretched tight across his broad frame, and went downstairs. “I’m heading to the gym dad, since you couldn’t wait for me today.”
“Not my fault I got hungry,” his dad said, smirking around his pipe.
Tony made himself a massive preworkout drink, got his gear together, and then hopped in his dad’s big pickup truck. Of course, he’d go and workout--but he had a feeling he might get up to a little extra along the way, FormCaster’s warning already forgotten in the excitement of his new powers.
