As football players and seniors, Jeff (the fullback, thanks to his Chronivac) and Tyler (quarterback thanks to the charged jacket Jeff created for him) were allowed to skip morning classes after game days -- which was fine, they only had study hall and phys ed classes then anyway and they were supposed to take the day after a game easy so they could recover. So the two young men were asleep, spooned together, when Pete got to Jeff's place.
Jeff's folks, thanks to a side-effect of the Chronivac, were completely accepting of Jeff's many jock friends coming by in the morning. A young man with his libido needed to let off tension, and it was much better that he do it with boys than get some cheerleader girl pregnant. Not that he seemed likely to do that, thank goodness. His Mom had been a cheerleader, his Dad a football player, and Jeff was the result of one such morning, and while they were still both successful, they could have done more with their lives, if they hadn't been forced to grow up sooner than they wanted. So, it was a bit of a relief when Jeff turned out to be gay.
Pete slipped into the room, and slipped his clothes off. He was already horny, and it looked like Tyler and Jeff were as well, shifting in their sleep. They had stayed locked together, most of the night after Jeff came back to bed. Tyler was usually the hungry bottom to Jeff, except on game nights when they won, and his testosterone overload made him into the dominant top Jeff wanted, sometimes. They had apparently fucked in their near-sleep at least once, so Pete pulled a couple wet-wipe cloths out of the package that they kept by the bed for clean-ups, and whispered, "good morning, sexy man" into Jeff's ear. It didn't wake him, but the cool moist cleansing cloths woke him right up, as the mess of sex was removed. Pete was a horndog but not enough to want to get in with hours-old dried cum and fluids. He wiped off the bed when Jeff moved aside. Jeff woke up enough to bring his erection to full, and he murmured, "Hey, stud, you look awesome," to Pete.
"Thanks, you do too," Pete said, cleaning Tyler front and back, waking him (and wanking him) as well. The QB grinned a feral grin, "Oh, you want some football action?"
"Hell yes," Pete said, putting a bit of lube on Ty's still-not-quite-tightened sphincter. "You know I love that full press thing you guys do."
Pete slid his eleven-inch monster slowly into the quarterback, who moaned happily, "oh fuck, you found my happy place," and as Pete stopped, fully inside -- Ty was one of three who could take him all the way -- the sensation of cold and slick touched Pete's own back door, and he pumped out slightly so he could push against Jeff's monster ten. It slid into place in a single slow, pain-and-pleasure, mostly pleasure, moment, and then they started moving together, slightly out of sync, and Pete ran his hands over Tyler's massive chest, tweaking his nipples before reaching down to grasp his quarterback fuck-stick and slowly, slowly rub his still-slick finger over the fat head, teasing it into releasing more of its own lube.
He gasped as Jeff bit down gently on his trapezius - how unfair that these two guys were bigger than he was, given that he was the bodybuilding physique star, but that was what the modeling gigs demanded. Muscle, but not enough to frighten the horses or teenage girls or the mothers of teenage boys. Jeff's monster hit his prostate repeatedly, and it was all he could do to hold off until he felt Tyler's cock start to tighten in that distinctive way, and he gasped, "now," and all three of them seized into a hard-thrusting wave of orgasm that felt like it moved backward, then forward, at least four times before it slowed.
They had to strip the sheets from the bed - usual for an after-game morning - and there was a bit of making out while each of them took turns in the shower. Pete found himself alone in the room for a minute, and he tapped the keyboard absently and the computer woke up, showing the Chronivac.
"Huh," he said, reading the screen with the uncanny description of himself. He grinned as he realized what Jeff had done, and felt a moment of deep gratitude for the way he'd been saved... that was mighty kind.
How to say thank you to Jeff? He found the 'review changes' page, and saw that Jeff had been doing clothing-based changes before his tweak to Pete's life. That looked really interesting. He went into the 'accessories' catalog and found a set of rubber bracelets with the word "DONOR" on them. The description said that they were good once a week, that the wearer could gift the person they were intimate with - even kissing counted, though screwing was better - to be improved to match them in one specific thing of their choice. It seemed like a nice thank-you, so he ordered them and all three appeared on the desk.
He heard Jeff coming, and quickly tried to flip back to where the menu had been, but didn't _quite_ get it right... the clothing-linked transform data hadn't unloaded when it landed on Pete's transformation page, and it linked to his ArmorGear shirts, the ones that had only existed after he became the New Pete, and CONFIRM? [Y/n] Y was selected by mistake as Pete hit the minimize button. The message was hidden: "CLONE MODE APPLIED."
Back in his own house, Pete's clothes drawer - the one with the seven other ArmorGear shirts - flashed a bright yellow for a moment. In the connecting bathroom, Erica, Pete's little sister, finished her shower. She was a bit of a tomboy, to be honest about it. Only fourteen, she admired her amazingly hot older brother, and sometimes wished she could be him, but that was mostly because he was allowed to do so many things that she was forbidden, just because she was a girl.
She looked in her clothes drawer and found that her Mom had once again gone through her things, removing all her boy-cut tee shirts and replacing them with cute fucking pink bow-tied girly-wirly shit. She didn't even bother throwing them away this time. Mom wanted a dolly, not a real daughter.
She went back in the bathroom and checked to see if Pete had unlocked his door; he had. So she went into his closet and opened the drawer holding his tee-shirts. Most of them were WAY too big, she'd end up looking sloppy. But there, in the drawer, three sleeveless cut ArmorGear shirts among the medium and long sleeve versions. She could wear one of those. She picked the yellow one with the black under-arm band, and pulled it over her head. The elastic fabric clung, not as tight as it did on Pete, but it did outline her own faint four-pack of abs, the well-developed muscles she had -- for a girl.
Her Mom had also replaced her underwear with fucking lace-lined pink things. She looked for the compression-shorts that Pete wore for gymnastics training, and found a clean pair, black, mid-thigh on her, but the waist still fit. Damn, her brother had a hell of a taper, his waist was nearly as small as hers. Much better muscle...
A cramp hit her. Oh, not again. Not the fucking girl curse, not now... but no, it didn't feel like that. It spread out, from the pit of her stomach it spread not just up into her abs, but around, up, down. Every muscle was flexed hard. It felt, not painful, just intense, like the one time she'd been able to get off by rubbing against the washing machine as it spun, heavy vibrations reaching her... oh fuck. Her whole body felt like it was swelling, getting hard. She gasped, caught her reflection in the mirror on the closet door. Her hair was changing color, shortening, the black locks bleaching out in stripes that washed together and slid through red to rusty blonde, and her face was getting harder, squarer. Her shoulders were broadening, she could see herself growing taller.
An intense sensation of pure sexual arousal hit her groin like she'd been kicked by a horse, a horse made out of fuck me now. Something twisted inside, went inside-out, and she felt something pulling down, pushing painfully. She tried to move, but she couldn't really stop with her muscles twitching and flexing hard. The smooth flat curve of spandex compression short that hid her sex from view was suddenly distorted - there was a Pop-Pop sensation, and a feeling of something pushing and moving around in newly loose skin, then a third *pop* as something went from inside to out, and she felt her clit throbbing and tingling as it connected to something entirely new. The stretching sensation got hotter and hotter and more and more like a sense of rut, and she barely noticed it when her small tits went flat, square, wider, thicker with muscle... her whole body was inflating with muscle now that Pete was her... his... Eric's twin brother. Older by four minutes. Eric felt like he was being fucked by that hot fullback while fucking that hot quarterback ... he'd always had a bit of that Corsican Brother thing going with Pete, his identical twin. He could still, slightly, remember being Erica, but Erica was yelling in his head, "NO you do NOT get to go back to being a girl, I LIKE THIS!" and he came. And came again. Four times.
Damn, Pete must've been having fun. He pulled off the compression shorts, and wiped himself clean on them, and grabbed a pair of his twin brother's modeling freebies. Eric wasn't a model, he was a gymnast, and sometimes a cheerleader. (Chronivac balanced things out a little bit to minimize the expense of reality changing too hard.) He was just as muscled, just as ripped, just as prone-to-get-huge as Pete, but like his identical twin, he stopped JUST at the point where he was happy. He'd done one or two modeling things with his bro, but it felt too fake. Webcam twins doing sexy time modeling? That would be awesome, but no, Pete wasn't going to kill his career for that, and Eric could see that, especially since it was that career that was going to pay for the two of them to go on to college. Anyway, Eric realized he was going to be late, so he went back into his own room, laughing at the tighty-whities his Mom had gotten him on sale. Right next to the selection of macho redneck tee-shirts she'd gotten at a discount. Yeah, he knew that he and Pete were hard on clothes, but this was some kind of sick message she was sending. He tossed them into a trash bag, tightened it up, and pulled on a pair of his own well-worn jeans, and yanked on his trainers. His smoothie was waiting in the kitchen in its own shaker bottle, a bit less cold than it should have been.
"LATER DAD!" he yelled, shaking the bottle to re-mix his breakfast, and took the trash bag out to his smart-car -- he and Eric had won twin smart-cars from a Hot Twins spring-break contest -- tossing it in the very small amount of cargo space to drop off at the donation center on the way to school. His backpack with his stuff in it went onto the seat and he whipped the tiny car out, heading for school. Gymnasts did NOT get to skip training, unlike hot-shot football jocks.
The guy at the NeedWell Donation Center accepted the bag of clean, new clothes, and gave Eric the receipt.
They were inspected, and went out onto the sales floor. Clean, new, tighty-whities appropriate for a high-school jock, with special cut for 'more room in front' and 'outlines your best assets' -- the most popular non-brief-cut underwear for horny teen boys who didn't know better, by Marvin Abercrombie. And the tee-shirts were athletic-cut, XL and XXL, the sort of thing you'd see on a television show version of a pro football player, hockey player, any redneck athlete. And they had that special Chronivac sparkle.
(Go on to someone buying the clothes?)