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Squinting to keep the sea's afternoon shine from his eyes while he looked through the chain link fence, Steve's first impression of the professor's lighthouse was that it looked like a big, white erect cock. The building itself was certainly shaft-like, but what really sold him on the idea was the bulging, unkempt grass-covered rock it had been built on. How could anyone not see them as the lighthouse's hairy nutsack?

Seeing it caused a threatening twitch in his own cock, the bulge safely tucked away in the jockstrap that had felt extra tight this trip. Steve's eyes shifted from the lighthouse to his passenger: Chuck was busy stretching, his tight, white shorts riding up over that firm, muscular butt of his as he rose up out of the seat. Steve let out a hot, horny breath. He lived for asses like that. One problem though: he didn't know if Chuck was into dudes or not.

Steve seemed to think there was a good chance he was; either that or Chuck was the most naturally slutty heterosexual man on the planet. Who took off their shirt that sensually? He let those slender, tight abdominals of his roll inwards as he took off a snug-fitting black t-shirt that was hanging over the car seat. Seeing that had sent Steve's libido crashing into the rational part of his head like a horny bull in a rodeo. Chuck was exactly his type: young and fit, and not doing too badly in the package department if that roundness at the front of his pants was anything to go by.

Crossing his massive, muscle-bulging bare arms over each other, Steve leaned on the steering wheel, waiting for the rush to go down a bit so the bulge in his own tracksuit pants wasn't too noticeable. His balls were pulsing and groaning, which wasn't a great sign if Chuck wasn't into that kind of experimenting.

Steve had desperately wanted to ask which way Chuck swung when the two first met, but Professor Warren's office wasn't the best place for that. Neither was the ride up. It could have gone bad, and meant not just an awkward car trip but several weeks of sharing a room with judgemental eyes staring at him, wondering if he was going to try something or not. That was the one thing about being a big muscle dude that Steve hated: every expected him to be some big-dicked top, aggressively fucking other guys in their holes. Yeah, sometimes that was fun, but it was sometimes more fun to just let some fiesty fit twink go to town on his asshole.

"I shouldn't be thinking about this," he mumbled under his breath. Chuck should have been off-limits. There was just so many ways it was a bad idea. He looked over as Chuck's body shadowed the passenger's side, the shadowy outline of whatever was going on down there blurredly calling towards him. He felt something ooze in his jockstrap.

Steve followed Chuck out of the car, stretching his thick body to get rid of the twinges and kinks accumulated from the drive. One twinge seemed intent on staying around, no matter how he tried to will it down: the one that caused the front of his pants to tent up, the way it had done for several years ever since puberty had started sniffing around. They were a lot bigger now, and supposedly wiser, but university and all of its temptations refreshed those feelings. Being stuck with Chuck-with-the-cute-ass-and-hot-body for hours was enough to get any red-blooded gay guy excited. Letting a sleazy grin flash across his face as he looked down at himself, he reached into his pants to return his overeager cock to his jockstrap.

Breathing in the salty air and exhaling loudly, Steve felt himself relax a little. Even if Chuck wasn't into guys, he was still going to have a fucking blast this summer. The work Professor Warren had them doing had to be simple - it had to be if he was getting first-year undergraduates to do it - and from what Steve guessed there was going to be a fair bit of muscle-work involved. The opportunity would look great later on, when he was looking for a real job. It was also at a fucking gorgeous location. There wasn't much opportunity for him to go to the beach, especially when he'd given up surfing for morning weight training, and Professor Warren had told them when they went in to sign the contracts that they could go down there whenever they wanted as long as they didn't have any work to do.

Steve was kind of jealous that Chuck got Professor Warren as a lecturer. Electrical engineering could have done with a lot more dynamic personalities on its faculty. The professor seemed like a cool guy to hang out with: a mad scientist who took a road trip to perform with his band at Woodstock, and had come out on the other end of some time warp. Chuck said all the Professor's biochemistry courses actually had random people turning up to them sometimes. He was infectiously enthusiastic about everything, like an overgrown kid might be. Nobody minded having to make up in reading what they missed because his lecture-hall tangents were so great.

Of course, he just had to be very eccentric on top: who else lived in decommissioned lighthouses and drove around in shabby red Toyota pickups from the nineties? Steve glanced at the truck at the truck. Hints of steam or hot air rose up off the pickup's frame: Professor Warren must have only just arrived a little while ago. Chuck stood in the car-width gap between Steve's car and the Professor's truck, the vehicles flanking the gate in the tall fence. The gate, and the path beyond that went straight to the front of the lighthouse, looked wide enough to drive down. The bright orange cones and flapping hazard tape on spikes suggested otherwise. The professor had warned them to not try to drive down until the council got around to seeing to it.

The back of Professor Warren's truck was still half-filled with electronic gear in thick plastic boxes. A wheelbarrow holding a couple more boxes was waiting for them, propping open the gate. He'd called them on the drive, asking to help bring his stuff down the path: the timer had gone off for one of his experiments, and he needed to monitor it carefully.

"Think the professor would mind if we put our own stuff in the wheelbarrow?" Chuck asked as Steve walked around the car.

"I doubt it," Steve answered, his wide round shoulders raising in a shrug. That seemed to settle things, and they got to work unloading all the belongings they brought with them when they started university.

Steve grunted: the weight of the gym bag was a bit more than he was expecting. The red plastic name-tag flapped down, the window into the card inside showing the uneven, hasty scrawl of "CHARLES HUSTON" along with Chuck's home address. He could shoulder the weight easily enough - his thick muscles barely needed to flex - but his curiosity had been perked up about the bag's contents. They shifted around; there was a lot of pretty hefty things in there. "Fuck, Chuck," Steve asked as he dropped the bag into the wheelbarrow, "what's in here?"

Chuck shrugged the square, chiselled shoulders, seeming surprised by the question. "I can't remember... textbooks, maybe? Maybe some toiletries?"

Steve chuckled. "Guess I didn't need to bring my weights after all!"

The sweat they earned from labouring under the hot afternoon sun gave their bodies a healthy gleam that nearly sparkled under the gleaming sun's hot rays once the wheelbarrow was packed as high as they dared: neither of them wanted to lose a box of clothes or expensive books to the sea.

"Want to take the wheelbarrow?" Chuck asked. He stuck out his arms like the prongs of a forklift. "You could load me up."

Steve thought of a whole lot of colourful responses to that, but didn't trust that his cock would behave if they came out of his mouth. Instead, he silently built a tower of cardboard boxes and bags on Chuck's arms, and let him take the lead on the path. Steve grasped the wheelbarrow's handles. His cock twitched again, his erection restrained this time by his jockstrap, as he thought of how badly he wanted two cocks in his hands. The wheelbarrow's weight shifted to its wheel, and he started to guide its rolling descent down to the lighthouse.

While walking, the corner of Steve's eye caught signs that the warning about the old driveway being unsafe were accurate. The gravel obscured a lot of the problems. Chunks of the safety buffer had crumbled away, with one falling off as he watched it. His hands tightened, sweat threatening to lubricate the wheelbarrow's escape.

A slender figure emerged from the lighthouse's bright red door. The slightly-aged face amongst the mass of messy, windswept hair broke out into a wide grin. "Hey Steve!" the professor waved as he saw them coming up the path, "Hey Chuck!" Sunglasses were plastered over his face; Steve cursed, realising he forgot to pick up a pair of his own before he left.

"Hey Professor!" they both called back.

"Please! We're at my home now, you might as well call me James!" Professor James Warren's limber legs quickly ate up the distance between them, grabbing some of the most at-risk containers piled into the wheelbarrow.

Steve thanked him, returning the smile. "I didn't think the path was going to be this bumpy."

James chuckled. "No worries. We'll bring everything down first, then I'll give you the proper tour of the place. After that I've got a bunch of things to see to, so the rest of the afternoon's yours to get settled in, and maybe hit the beach."

"Sounds great!" Chuck said. "The sea looks fantastic today."

"I've got some beers waiting for you in the fridge, or sparkling water if you don't drink alcohol." James flashed them a grin: clearly he'd been around students long enough that he was sure that, yes, they very much did drink alcohol. He moved with the skill of a mountain goat bounding down a familiar hill, reaching the door first. Raising his foot, he swung it open, disappearing inside to reappear a moment later. "It's only until tomorrow when I go on a grocery run. You guys can come along if you want."

Steve was relieved to park the wheelbarrow. His hands were starting to ache from the uncomfortable grips on the wheelbarrow. They fell into a rhythm where Steve unloaded the wheelbarrow as far as the door, leaving Chuck and James to find spots on or under the circular dining room table, the chairs or on the floor of the dining room-slash-kitchen that formed the ground floor of the lighthouse. As they worked, the professor caught up with how they felt about their exams. He seemed to know a fair bit about electrical engineering as well as biochemistry, even about some of the courses they were obligated to take to round out their education.

"Whoo! It's really hot out there today." The professor stepped around the boxes to the massive refrigerator. Out came two beers, one for Steve and one for Chuck, that he gently lobbed at them. It was followed by a small bottle of sparkling water, which he cracked open and gulped with relish. Chuck found a bottle opener, and he and Steve shared a toast and a grin. It wasn't the best beer - Steve thought it tasted a bit off - but the professor didn't seem to drink so probably just picked whatever he had around.

After a short drink break, the got back to their mule-work. Steve left his bottle in the shade on one of his boxes so he'd remember it later. They chatted about random stuff as they walked up, and started to load up the wheelbarrow with the rest of the stuff. Steve wasn't sure everything was going to fit in the room, but the slowly-building maze of containers proved him wrong. By the end, he was sitting on a bag of his clothes, finishing off his beer, ignoring the strange taste and enjoying the buzz that came from drinking it: it wasn't great beer, but it was surprisingly strong.

Steve needed help getting to his feet: his legs had gone numb from squatting for so long as they relaxed and listened as James finished telling them one obviously PG-rated story from his old college days that just seemed to fire Steve's libido even though women's tits did nothing for him personally. "Great!" James clapped his hands. "Let's start with the tour."

The ground floor didn't need any explanation, so they headed for the stairs. Stepping over their belongings, Chuck got to the stairs first, with Steve close behind. Not that Steve minded particularly: he had a nice view as they walked up the spiralling staircase running around the outside of the lighthouse. "First floor's my lab," James said once the two students had joined him on the landing. "I needed the room for all my stuff." Steve got a look inside, and the image of Professor Warren as a mad scientist floated back into his head. It looked like a medical lab and a computer science lab had fucked and birthed some freaky research-obsessed abomination. "Which reminds me, don't open up the windows on the north side of the house. Not that you'd want to, since you get a better view from where our vehicles are parked anyway."

"Next stop's my room," James continued. "I've put you guys up on the next floor. I tried to furnish it with some of the basic stuff, but if you want anything else we can pick it up tomorrow." They continued up the stairs, not staying long on the professor's floor, passing on up to their own bedroom. Steve suddenly felt quite hot: he hadn't considered that he'd have to share a room with Chuck. Inside, the room looked like the bare room in a student hostel, although the stuffed looked a little janky.

"Guess he had to put it together himself," Steve thought, as he scratched the back of his neck. His fingers touched on some prickly remnants of when he last shaved himself. He liked the shaved look on him: his hair always looked messy, although it came at the cost of making him seem more aggressive. He added a fresh shave to his mental checklist for later, although it quickly slipped from his mind the moment they hit the stairs again.

"The bathroom's downstairs in the basement. There's also an old outhouse out back; just go around near the sea and it's the small shed out there. There's not all that much to see upstairs. The next floor's storage, and then it's the top of the lighthouse. There's a nice view out up there, but you can check it out once you've gotten settled in and have had the chance to look around and have a rest for a bit."

They got to the bottom of the stairs. One look at the boxes, and then at each other, and they seemed to share the idea that unpacking could wait until they'd relaxed for a bit. "I've got some work to get back to," James explained. "Why don't you guys head down to the beach for a while, and sun while it's still nice outside.

"Sounds great!" Chuck said, stretching his body. Steve licked his lips. Fortunately James didn't seem to care much that they were both shirtless, for which Steve was grateful. He'd gotten to see Chuck's body in action and it hadn't disappointed. He was also glad for the break: after the beer, his body suddenly remembered he'd been driving for a while and hadn't had a pit stop.

"You'd have passed a rest stop on your way here; it's walking distance, but just keep an ear out for traffic. Go there, and there's a walkway down to the beach." James warned, "But if you go swimming, always go together as the water can get rough, and don't go out too far. Oh, and whatever you do, say away from the motel!"

"Motel?" Chuck got to the question first.

"The woman who runs it," James explained, "she and I haven't gotten on for a long time, and I'd rather you two not get roped into things. She will if she knows that you're working for me."

Steve and Chuck shared a glance, then the two decided to hit the beach. Steve's bladder was starting to jab at him painfully, but for some reason he didn't want to go to the outhouse or the bathroom. A sudden impulse had him wanting to piss out in nature like a wild man, and the way to the beach would give ample opportunities. "Too nice a day to piss inside," he thought.

They thanked the professor, and left him alone. Their shoes crunched along the gravel. "What do you think that's about?" Chuck asked, once he thought they were out of earshot of the lighthouse.

"Probably an ex," Steve guessed. "One of those wild women from those stories he was talking about, maybe." He laughed.

"You think?" Chuck wondered, his hands sliding down into his short pockets.

The sudden interest irritated Steve, but even if it was that Chuck would prefer the bone the bitch at the motel over him, being outside made him feel really good, and there was plenty of eye candy for him to fuel the next few months of jerking off in the shower. "I don't know, man, but what else could it be?" He kicked a stone, scratching at the thick bristles that felt like they had grown on his neck. "I guess they could be related, and it's a family fight or something?"

Chuck was still fidgeting with his shorts. It seemed like a bad idea - or, to Steve, a distracting one - since the dark, tantalisingly not-quite-visible bulge in Chuck's crotch was starting to swell. Steve's own bulge responded, his cock confused over whether peeing or fucking should take priority.

The pressure on Steve's bladder was building up. His legs were starting to itch too: when he looked at Chuck's crotch again, it was for something other than being a horny pervert. "I should have worn shorts, too," he grumbled. "My legs are sweating in these pants. I can't wait to take them off when we get to the beach."

"Yeah, me too." Chuck grinned sheepishly. "You know what I mean, when I pop in for a swim."

"Going to go in your undies?" Steve asked. He suddenly realised being jockstrap-only in the undergarments department was going to make taking his pants off plenty revealing. Thinking about it seemed to tickle his chest, and he moved his hands about to scratch at the two mountainous pectorals jutting out in front of him. "Or naked?"

Chuck scratched at his neck. He licked his lips; Steve watched as his ears twitched about, and he wondered why he hadn't noticed how much they stuck out. He wondered if anyone had called him Elf-Ears at school. Chuck laughed when he seemed to have an answer. "I guess we'll have to count how many other people are naked there first, and go with what's popular."

Steve joined in with the laughter. His hands moved into his pocket: his restless cock had slipped out of his jockstrap again, but no matter how many times he discreetly tried to adjust it back in it didn't seem to stay put. He decided to give up, scratching at the proud, misshapen bulge only partially obscured by the dark fabric in his pants.

Nothing passed them as they walked to the beach: it didn't seem a busy road. The salty air seemed to call to Steve's lungs; occasionally he'd feel the compulsion to let his nostrils really flare out and hoover it up. A sharp, imminent pang jabbed him in the guts as his bladder warned him he was close to peeing his pants. He fell behind Chuck, his eyes drawing down the tiny streak of light hairs down his spine that pointed at his ass. Should he get Chuck to stick around, give him an excuse to see any tell-tale signs of "admiration" in Chuck's eyes? No, Steve decided: if Chuck watched, he'd get hard - hell, he was already hard - and his body really needed the release.

"I'll catch up with you," Steve announced. "I really need to piss."

"Out here?" Chuck asked, looking down the road.

"Yeah, why not?" Steve answered.

"What if someone comes driving along the road, and sees you with your dick out?"

Steve blinked. His brain stalled, struggling to try to process what Chuck's problem was exactly. "I really need to piss."

Chuck shrugged, scratching at his back. "Okay, see you later."

Steve gave Chuck a while to get out of earshot. He occupied the time by scratching at his shaved head - glad he'd done so with the weather so hot - and felt the sticky prickling of sweaty short hair against his hands. It felt a little long in the middle, and he wondered if he missed a spot.

Steve slipped down the front of his own pants, unleashing his buttocks into the air. An invisible, but thick, cloud of musk wafted up. It hit him like a punch to the nose. He wriggled his jockstrap down, the scent growing thicker. The weight of his cock in his hands felt wrong, and as Steve's bladder finally gave way, he wondered if penises got thicker by staying horny and aroused for hours. A heavy, pungent stream cascaded out of his shaft.

"Oh yeah," Steve sighed, relief flowing through him as his urine disappeared into the grass along the edge of the road. The sun and fresh air felt good on his prickly buttocks, and his thick balls throbbed a little less painfully now that they dangled over his jockstrap rather than being confined in them. His scrotum looked smoother, as though his balls had stretched out. "Makes sense," he decided: if your dick could grow, it stood to reason that your nuts could as well. He laughed, the sound catching a rough spot in his throat, and coming out a little hoarse.

The wind blew through the dark bristles of fuzzy, coarse hair that had sprouted and grown much faster than normal. Steve's free hand rubbed along his abdomen and the topside of his cock, where it tingled along a line of flesh that ran up to the point his head peeked out of his foreskin. It had all grown, in height and weight, but the most distinctive part was how much head there was. Fatter and thicker, it looked more like the wide end of a thick club than a narrow, pointed shaft. The changes registered in his mind, but Steve's surprise seemed to erode quickly as his bladder finished emptying.

Steve looked around: Chuck's worry about anyone driving past hadn't happened. His hands instinctively went to the edges of his jockstrap. The tight, wide band dug into his fingers, which felt strangely clumsy trying to do that. An image of the next sequence of actions flicked through his head: tuck yourself back into the jockstrap, pull up your pants, then walk down to the rest stop and from there the beach. Only it was like someone in his head was scribbling over that image with bright red pen. His jockstrap was uncomfortable, and so were his pants. Did he really need to be wearing them?

"No," Steve heard himself saying as he lowered himself down into a squat, his tracksuit pants and jockstrap sliding down his bared legs as his ass pushed out into the air. The breeze tickled his balls, and he started to laugh. It felt good. Why hadn't he had this idea before? He frowned: his shoes kept him from removing his pants entirely.

The solution seemed obvious, as he plonked his butt down right onto a urine-damp patch of grass and wrestled his clumsy fingers around long enough to slide his feet out of his shoes. "Socks got to go too," he stated as though it was self-evident: they'd get dirty otherwise. After removing each one, he wriggled his toes. Blackness seemed to have been injected into his nails from the root. He shuddered, remembering the time he'd lost the nail on his big toe by dropping a weight on his bare foot. It was a bit like that now, only his toe wasn't screaming at him to stop being such a clumsy motherfucker.

Sitting there for a few seconds, Steve broke off a blade of grass and stuck it between his lips. He did it automatically, like a smoker needing another cigarette. The warmth felt good on his naked body, but he didn't enjoy it completely. He was curiously examining his fingers. Their nails were completely dark, especially the extra-thick one jutting out of his middle fingers; the fingers themselves were extra-thick, too. A cloud of wrongness dampened his thoughts, but his scent was reassuring, and the day seemed to call to him. His cock was calling him, too. Steve's nostril's snorted as a wide grin stretched over his prominent jaw. The hardness came back into his cock, as he caught Chuck's scent. Forgetting completely about his clothing, Steve followed the scent as his cock continued to stretch and grow while it bobbed through the air.

Each step down the turn-off to the rest stop seemed to wash away another worry. First was about being seen walking around naked down the road, followed by the same on the beach where there could be all sorts of families playing in the water or old couples enjoying strolls along the beach. The lack of condoms didn't seem to matter either, neither did any other health concerns. His cock didn't seem to let him worry about that, or that it was growing in size at a rate that should have been alarming. Even the changing shape didn't matter so much: not of it, nor of the protruding face that was distorting his wide-nostrilled nose and broad jaw even more than what they had looked like after they first got to the lighthouse. His hands itched at the spreading patches of thick chocolate-brown hair over his body: the middle fingers did the most of the scratching. Even the subtle aching in his shoulders didn't seem worth it to him to worry about right now.

The path down to the beach cut through a thick crop of squat bushes with broad leaves that seemed just as keen as Steve to soak in as much summer sun as they could. They reached all the way up to his nipples, making him laugh at the idea of being this bobbing head from other angles. The laugh came right out of his belly, causing his swinging cock to bob even more frantically. Haws burst out of him, and didn't seem to want to stop as the steps gave way to sand, and the surrounding bushes shrank into tall, thin grasses that clung into the sandy dunes.

Steve burst out onto the beach, his cock protruding straight up as he saw Chuck standing on the sand. His legs were standing askew, and a natural idea came into Steve's mind that he felt compelled to do it without thinking it through. The sand felt good sliding through his fingers as he dropped down on to his knees and sunk the long, yet still growing, middle fingers into the sand and started to crawl quietly. He moved quietly: he needed to avoid the attention of those long, fuzzy ears of Chuck's, sticking out of the side of his head. The grey hairs were easy enough to see now, even from the decreasing distance between them, as half of his lower back bristled with them in the shadow of his body. They still led him to focus on those deliciously teasing shorts of his, the ones that seemed to be straining: Steve briefly remembered Chuck's slender athletic legs before they were overridden with how they looked now, thicker and hairier, and ones that shouldn't be confined in shorts no matter how good their bulges made them look.

Steve's excitement from his idea was almost palpable now: he would slide in between Chuck's legs, feel the weight of him on his back. Just doing that seemed to make his cock pulse. The flesh stayed close to his chest, despite the crawling. The tingling he had felt down there had been a membrane of flesh attaching his thick foreskin to his round, hairy abdomen, letting even more cock push out as head. Blotches of colour appeared as it stretched and throb, bright pinks and dark browns or black that began to nibble away at the beige as the sea had eaten away at the professor's driveway.

That was how Steve ruined his own surprise. He couldn't contain himself any longer, and his throat exploded with a loud horny bray. "Hee-haw! Hee-haw!" It repeated over and over. Chuck couldn't help to hear him, and as he turned Steve - his self-hatred for ruining what he'd seen in his head - immediately felt a fresh rush of horniness burst through them.

Chuck seemed to feel it too; that or something just as powerful. "Steve...?" The question he had died, being rebirthed as a pleasurable moan as the tight shorts finally gave way, tearing open at once to reveal broad, thickly grey-furred thighs, a long, ropey tail that sprang comically to attention, and genitals that had changed even more than Steve's had. The cock swung right up, the flared, flat, circular head nearly smacking into Chuck's chin as two hefty orbs bounced down, straining the taut black scrotal skin. The mottling along the shaft was far more intense as well, the flesh having completely transformed.

"Hey! You finally caught up!" Chuck grinned, laughing in the same horny, animalistic way Steve had done. Each step Chuck took towards Steve seemed to wobble as they converged; his legs looking extra long from stepping on the ends of his elongated equine legs.

Steve's mouth didn't seem to work right for talking. After testing the range of what he could pronounce, he finally settled on something he could as with a bit of work. "Ya hawnee?"

"Horny?" Chuck laughed, looking down at his taut cock as his face, still human aside from the long donkey ears, the thick, wild black hair pushing out the centre of his head and down his neck, and the rapidly-spreading grey fuzz covering the former and surrounding the latter. "Yeah, it all just came over me all of a sudden. Did the same thing happen to you?"

Steve thought about how to answer. "Naw," he said, turning to sit on the warm sand. It went in between his slowly-furring buttocks. He snorted, "Hoo? Hee hawnee." With his long left middle finger, he pointed at Chuck, slowly moving it up and down his body, then at his eyes. His right transforming hand ran up and down his erection. "He must be able to figure out what that means," Steve thought.

Chuck's eyes squinted in thought, mimicking Steve's movements and trying to figure out what he was trying to say. "Wait, are you telling me you're... you're gay?"

Steve nodded, which involved him smacking his growing donkey muzzle as far as he could before his brown-furred pectorals got in the way. He could smell the old sweat that had collected while they worked and walked to the beach, the strange scent that was his, but still smelled a bit off. He pointed at Chuck's crotch, and then at his mouth, which he opened wide. It gave him a good look at the huge horse hoof that was spreading out of what had been the nail of his middle finger.

"You're gay," Chuck said, "you think I'm hot, and you... want to suck my dick? Is that it?" Steve nod again, braying loudly. He waited for Chuck to come up with an answer. "Well, uh," Chuck looked around on the beach. "I'm not - that is - I've never - uh - done that kind of thing with another guy before. I mean, I've watched porn with friends a couple of times, but that's about it." Chuck's hands seemed to find his shaft, slowly stroking up and down on it. His fingers stretched out, barely able to reach the whole way round. Chuck teetered over, falling with his hooves sliding forward, and braying as his weight thudded on his tail.

Steve blinked, feeling anguished. Chuck looked so damned attractive with his grey fur, and those nice ears of his. Not to mention that tail! He'd lick his ass clean of sand if he asked. And what a cock! His own cock lifted, the flared tip pounding on the end of his shaft as he struggled to keep back his disappointment.

Chuck moved his arms to his sides. Steve even found their extra muscle attractive. "I guess, well, maybe we could do that. Jerk off togeth-oh!" Chuck hawed in embarrassment as Steve lifted up his arms. The other fingers and thumbs had become small nubs that still seemed to be disappearing from the lower part of his forelegs. His black hooves glistened.

"Hawww!" groaned Steve, lowering his head. His cock bopped him on the nose as he shifted around on his furry, though humanoid, buttocks. He blinked, staring at it. An idea slowly dawned on him. He'd never been able to suck himself off before: his physique had been a barrier to that. Now, though, his cock head reached up to his neck, and his muzzle was protruding fairly far from his face. He wriggled his eyebrows at Chuck: wedging his cock between his hooves, he moved the head of his cock over to his waiting, drooling mouth. Ignoring the slow ache, he wrapped his lips around it, and started to suck.

Tingles of excitement shot down his massive shaft. Steve's eyes rolled back in his head. Suddenly the pain of Chuck's rejection didn't matter. This felt amazing. Keeping his wide, flat teeth on the edge of the tip, he let his saliva trickle down his shaft. The warm liquid felt amazingly good, and after a couple of tries he managed to feel comfortable. Steve felt overwhelmed: he enjoyed sucking cocks, and like the challenge of a big monster. That it was new didn't matter; it suddenly became how he had always done this, and his technique improved radically as he "remembered" how he liked doing it.

Chuck laughed, the donkey-like brays bellowing out of his mouth. "That's one way to do it, I guess!" Steve watched as Chuck eyed his own shaft, opened his mouth and then closed it again. "Not sure if I could do that myself, or if I'd like to... it does look fun, though..."

Steve's eyes twinkled, and he looked at Chuck's before closing them, enjoying the feeling of the top part of his shaft entering his muzzle, his tongue lapping up the pre-cum as soon as it spat out of his cock. He knew very well how horny Chuck was, if his own wants were any indication. He could smell the temptation. Jacking off could be immensely satisfying, but there was always something extra special when you involved yourself with someone who knew what you liked well. Steve was an eager student, and he liked to think of himself as a fast learner. He scooted closer, wondering how Chuck would react.

Chuck stayed where he was, fingers slick from the pre-cum oozing down his head. "It's fucking hard to manage this on your own, isn't it."

Steve wriggled forward a little more in agreement. The top of his shaft seemed like it hadn't felt this good in a very long time, but there was something lacking. He enjoyed it when his base was getting squeezed, when he had hands wrapped around it. If he'd had hands like Chuck's, he'd have done the same thing... Steve moved forward again: now his legs and Chuck's were touching. Reaching out a hoof, he rubbed at Chuck's arm to get his attention. Then, although his balls were protesting, he leaned forward, the cock slipping from his mouth.

Chuck hadn't reacted either way: he clearly wanted some help, and Steve was the only one around, and was only too keen to insist. His breath came out in a shudder. "Well, I guess we're supposed to try these things out at university," he argued - mostly with himself - as he and Steve looked at each other. "And it's not like you can tell anyone what we've done, heh." He winced his eyes closed, his ears twitching and the top of his mane catching in the wind as the tide crashed against the sand and raced up the beach. "Hmm, okay, let's just see how this goes."

Steve felt his face burn with excitement under his fur. He shifted onto his knees again, his cock slapping up against his muscular chest as he planted his hooves into the sand on either side of Chuck's wide hips. Chuck guided his donkey shaft towards his mouth, and Steve slipped down it with satisfaction.

"Oh wooow," Chuck moaned after the first shock went away. "You're, uh, you're pretty good at this..." Steve felt the strokes Chuck was giving himself speed up; he also saw Chuck closing his eyes. Steve was fine with that: Chuck could fantasise about whatever he liked as they did it; just as long as they got to do it.

Chuck tasted differently from himself; he didn't know why that should be so surprising, but the concern melted away easily as they continued. Steve powered through it when his jaw got sore, taking turns when Chuck shook off his hands, resting them in the hot sands to recover. Steve's relaxed his jaws, using his tongue to keep the top slick and ready, just in case Chuck decided to skip from beginners to advanced homosexual sex in a moment of passion.

Both of them were incredibly horny, so when Chuck tapped his hand against Steve's head, and gasped out, "Uh, I think I'm getting close," Steve didn't question Chuck's stamina. He relaxed his jaw, expecting Chuck wanted to finish off by himself. Feeling this, Chuck's eyes snapped open and blurted out, his body shaking out his words in short phrases, "Please don't - could you - still help - wanted to warn you..."

Steve knew an invitation when he heard one, and he pushed his head further down, taking in as much of Chuck as possible as they entered the final stretch. He felt the fast trembles from Chuck's hands sliding rapidly on his base, and the force of his large half-equine hips twitching to thrust upwards. Chuck moaned and shook, his legs trembling as the hit against Steve's side. The fluids trickling out of his cock slowly went down, and the veins seemed to bulge, as Chuck's donkey cock prepared itself.

Even though Steve's mind was being affected by the same thing that had caused his physical transformation, he still wasn't prepared for the volume of cum that emptied out of Chuck during the first squirt of ejaculation. Chuck's moan echoed along the beach, and Steve's mouth filled almost instantly with hot, creamy fluids. Most of it burned down his throat, with nowhere else to go with such a long, thick cock filling up most of the space in his mouth, while some managed to spray out onto the sand around them, trailing down the shaft like hot, yellowing new veins. He could feel all of Chuck's energy drain out of him. He moaned again, weaker and spent as his whole body seemed to quake as the second shot of ejaculate fired out of him, racing along the huge length of his penis.

Steve did his best to finish off by swallowing as much as possible, but the volume clogged his throat, and he had to throw his head back, gasping for air. Chuck's cock continued to squirt out in long, potent strides, leaving a whitish blob dripping down the middle of his coarse, brown fur. The smell drove him wild, and he bucked the air.

Trembling, grainy hands touched Steve's shaft. "Guess I've got to repay you," Chuck answered, seeming slightly giddy. The first few strokes seemed fast, but weak, as Chuck pushed himself to recover as quickly as possible. Steve slowly worked himself into a more comfortable position, rolling onto his back while Chuck sprawled beside him. Even Chuck's elbow digging into his body wasn't painful enough to ignore.

Things moved quickly. Like for Chuck, Steve's body was aching for release. Although his brain had been doing its best to normalise all of the things that were happening to him, there was still a very big power difference between a human body producing human ejaculate from human sexual equipment, and what the two of them had been doing to Chuck, and now to Steve, on the beach. Steve could feel his heart racing as fast as he could go, feel his body tremble as he gasped for air down his semen-burned throat, and jerked his legs around in a vain attempt to hold it all back, wanting to enjoy the pleasure as long as possible.

Steve whinnied long and hard.

He could almost feel it: fluid was being sucked out of his balls, filled with his sperm. Other fluids were adding to it, making that big ball of pressure that he'd felt for a while and had only become mega-sized while Chuck's hands had worked the thick base of his mottled shaft where it poked out of his sheath. After that it seemed to fill up the couple of feet of pipe between his internal organs and the flared tip of his cock, both almost instantaneously and also agonisingly long. Steve closed his eyes, feeling the heat shoot past his muzzle and clear his head. The next few shots struck him underneath his muzzle, and over his face. It didn't seem to stop as Chuck continued to crank away, his cock aching by this point as he seemed intent on squeezing everything out that Steve had to offer. Steve's nuts started to ache from being too empty.

"Fuck," Chuck declared. "That really was something, huh?"

Steve was too tired to even respond. He just lay there, his eyes closed as the massive puddle of cum that had ejaculated out of his body tried to cool down under the warm sun. He struggled for air.

Chuck started to bray in laughter. "I know you've got gunk all over your face, but I'm also pretty messy. I'm gonna go wash off in the water. Want to come?"

Steve tilted his head, his muzzle swinging from side to side. He didn't have the energy to stand, and didn't think he'd have that for about a week. Chuck gave his side a nice - although irritatingly sticky - pat, and Steve heard him grunt, trying to figure out the best way to walk around on one-half the number of hooves the usual ungulate got to use.

He hadn't gone far when the other voice intruded. They'd been so caught up with getting each other off, they only noticed the hoarse cries when James had burst onto the beach.

Steve wondered if they were about to get fired.

"I knew she'd try something," James grumbled, then laughed as he saw the state they were in. "But at least you two got some fun out of it."

* * *

"I hoped she might have learned her lesson from what happened last year," James began the ending of his strange tale of the pissed-off witch that owned the seaside motel, and the long-lasting grudge she had with the eccentric scientist in the lighthouse. He elaborated, "I had a postgraduate working for me that year. I didn't really think anything of his absence at first, but I called the police once it started to get dark. Things got complicated after that: I was certainly under investigation, but witnesses put him around her motel. He's still officially missing, but I know where they probably could go looking for him, if only they'd believe in the impossible of course..."

Steve shivered under the big blanket he had wrapped around himself. He looked up at Chuck, and their eyes met. "Haw d-did yee...?" he started to ask: although he wasn't sporting quite as prominent a donkey muzzle as he had been before, his face and throat were still a little messed up, and his mind was still struggling with being able to speak again.

"... start to turn you back?" James guessed. He smiled, "Well, I invited two of you this year; I thought that you'd keep an eye on each other, so if anything weird happened to one of you, I'd at least have the other to act as a witness. It didn't quite work out that way, but I was able to untangle some of your DNA from that of the donkeys. Fortunately, she split the curse across both beers, expecting from you what would be expected of any good university students: drink a couple of beers and be completely turned into a donkey. There was enough of the original you left to start working on reverting the changes."

Part of Steve wished he hadn't. Sure, he missed being able to speak, and although he didn't have hands yet, he knew he wanted them back. But having to give up that massive cock was going to be pretty disappointing. According to what James had already told them, though, they'd probably always suffer from some remnants, since trying to cure magic with science didn't exactly work out. He hoped he'd get to keep at least a foot of his cock, even if it looked funky. Plus, it had gotten him what he wanted - to have sex with Chuck - so the whole thing wasn't really that bad.

"What do we do about her?" Chuck asked. "Won't she try something else?"

"Maybe?" James yawned. "I'm on my guard now, though, and now you are too." Then he laughed. It was a lifeless laugh: the afternoon's events and his attempt at reversal had been quite exhausting, and Steve guessed guilt about his own failure had put the usually jovial man into a sour mood. "She's also going to be particularly busy tonight with her own problems."

"Haw?" Steve asked.

"Two can play at this game. Surely if I can try to cure you, I need to be able to do the reverse in order to test it out. While I started your treatments, I drove over to her house and asked her for a cure. She wasn't in, but there was a young guy at the front desk. We shared a drink. His had a little bit more kick to it than mine, so she's going to come back a little short-staffed for a while. I left a note: we'll trade cures once she decides to be reasonable."

"Do you think that's wise?" Chuck asked. "Pissing her off, I mean?"

"You don't know her. She doesn't take these things personally. She just enjoys showing off her power, and trying to irritate me as often as she can."

Steve shivered a bit more. Summer just got more complicated.