Date: Sun, 2 Sep 2007 11:05:16 -0700 (PDT)
From: Josh Dugan
Subject: David Changes

"You know I can change for you," David had told me. "You just say the
secret word."

"What's the word?" I asked.

"It can be whatever you want," he said. "I'll just memorize it. When I
hear it, it's automatic. It even works if I don't hear it."

How cool, I thought. I was boned that he would do this for me. I could
tell he was boned as well.

"Bubala," I said.

"It sounds like boobs," he laughed.

"Only if you want them," I said, joining in his laughter.

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We were doing laundry; David was folding while I watched. He was good at
it; he could make something look like it just came from the store.

He was taking T-shirts from the pile of fresh laundry, holding them to
himself with his chin while using his arms to hold the T-shirt in place,
fold it lengthwise and then fold the results into a perfectly formed
T-shirt, just as if it were out of the box.

He was doing just fine, but I found myself boning at the thought of what
he would be like doing it shirtless, with four of his sleek, slender arms
and hands; I couldn't resist saying "bubala."

He blushed and smiled, proud that I wanted him shirtless, and he was
shirtless and immediately four-armed, his four arms skillfully
cooperating.

"I can do it faster," he smiled. His arms pleasantly kissed and slid over
each other as the four hands gracefully picked up the shirts and worked
among themselves.

A nice, very square pile of perfectly folded, new-looking shirts was
growing, as David's four beautiful arms gently folded them into neatness.

He was doing towels now, his four beautiful hands smoothing themselves
along the soft contours.

I said, absolutely quietly, to myself, "bubala."

And then, "bubala."

"You keep doing that to my arms!" David laughed, as he folded towels, new
pairs of arms getting in the way more and more as he kept working all of
them. "It's turning me on!"

They were all so long and slender, just like his originals, with smooth,
fine hands, handsome wrists.

They were sweating lightly, and a drop of sweat ran down David's long
neck as his broadened and multiplied shoulder muscles made beautiful
music among themselves, working his silken multiple pairs of arms, arms
whose muscles intimately kissed and nuzzled each other as they joyously
carried on their skillful labors, a panoply of David's beautiful hands
laboring lightly, sharing the work, not doing much individually, resting
relaxed from their fine wrists as other hands did their little bit of
holding, passing, folding, before resting and letting still other hands
do their little bit of work.

The squared piles of folded laundry made a soft, colorful little
Manhattan on the laundry table, but I didn't even see it; all I could see
were the relaxed, warm foursomes of arms on each of David's sides, so
supple and warmly clustered, long muscle against long muscle, relaxed
forearms and wrists and hands dangling together.

It was then that I noticed his lips, parted; he was breathing a little
heavily, probably from so many arms to run. But probably also from being
turned on. I was, too.

My face burned, feeling so alive from watching David, so beautiful, and
so more beautiful with so many of his arms.

I suggested more legs, explaining that it would also mean more genitals.

"That will make me more muscular, because of the testosterone" he said.
"And horny. Would you like me that way?"

"Yes, and naked," I said. "Bubala,"

"Whoa," David said, suddenly with legs naked as well as his upper body.
Four legs naked.

"I've never had two penises before," he laughed. "I guess its two legs
per penis."

He was like a centaur, but instead of a miniature horse body beneath his
torso, his form resolved into four full-size human legs, gracefully
connected by a gently curving extension of his spine between his front
and hind legs.

He was right; having two sets of genitals made his body more ripped and
buff, from the extra balls and all their testosterone.

David being David, he was a calming kind of person to be with, but I
could tell how horny he'd become; both his penises, front and back, were
huge.

"I think I need to come," he said, his four legs squirming, newly
muscular. His arms bumped each other a bit more as his finished the
folding, his arms and body defined with more rippling muscle; his arms
were a lot of muscle on muscle now, and looked really hot. So many pairs
of hands, all so nice.

"We can get carry some of this laundry on your centaur back," I
suggested.

"Why don't you just ride me and put the laundry between you and me, and I
can carry the extra stuff with all of my arms."

That was just like David; so sensible, even when he was crazy-horny with
two erections.

So I held onto his shoulders (so many of them!), loving the feel of his
waist between my legs and the feel of his second ass beneath mine,
tightening left, tightening right, left, right, under me as his hind legs
worked beneath me, his four legs muscularly carrying me along as I rode
him and held his shoulders, loving the smoothness of his naked back, the
nape of his neck, his long, satiny black hair almost blocking my forward
view.

"Let's take a break," I said, when we were done.

I rode him downstairs again, loving leaning my chest against his smooth
back muscles as we headed down the steep stairs, and I dismounted. He
climbed his four legs onto one of the stools by the kitchen counter, and
I handed one of his hands a beer, and took a beer for myself.

"It feels funny to sit down," he laughed, "like i'm sitting on someone's
legs and they're sitting on my legs at the same time." His pairs of hands
smoothed themselves along his four legs.

He looked at his four feet, handsome in their four flipflops. "So many
feet!" he laughed, taking a drink of his beer with the one hand, passing
it to other hands to hold.

I put on some country music, enjoying the slight pulsing of his four legs
as he moved them to the rhythm of the music.

A few beers and he was ready to do the Texas Four-Step. I told him as
much.

"You're ready to do the Texas Four-Step," I said, admiring his four feet
as one of the four flipflops started sliding off one of them.

"What's that?" he asked, his tongue shiny and slow.

"It's the Texas Two-Step, but with four feet," I explained.

"Oh," he smiled. "That's funny."

I collected him from the stool, as he slid his four legs off of it, and
gave him a moment to figure out how to get the slipped flipflop back onto
one of his hind feet.

We didn't do the "four-step," but it was nice holding him as he leaned
against me, his front legs against mine, his back legs against his front
legs, his four feet beautiful in their four flipflops as they tried to
follow him around while we danced together.

He brought all his hands up and started putting them all over me,
beautiful David hands all over me.

"I have too many hands," he laughed, his beautiful pairs of hands
dangling helplessly, or resting on me, as he giggled, as we danced
slowly, holding each other.

"No you don't," I said, meaning it, taking them and kissing as many of
them as I could.

The song ended, but David didn't seem to notice right away. When he did,
he stopped dancing but still held me with all of his arms. One of his
right hands found mine, and held onto it while he removed his other arms
from around me.

"See, you can shake hands with me several times, and never shake the same
hand twice," he smiled, his breath sweet as he offered me another of his
right hands; I let go of the first one.

The new hand felt equally sweet in mine, and I shook it. He had another
right hand ready, and I shook it. It felt cool and fresh, and quickly
warmed in mine, but he had one more right hand there, so I let go of the
hand and shook the last one, just as fresh and cool as the first three.

He giggled softly, bringing all his hands gently around both of mine.

"I want to make love to you this way," he said softly, holding my hands
in all of his, stepping closer to me on his four legs.

I kissed a few of his hands, and I kissed his lips. They were so warm and
sweet.

"That would be nice," I smiled. "Are you safe to take the stairs again?"

"Maybe with another pair of legs," he smiled. "I'll just go barefoot," he
added, sliding his four feet out of their flipflops.

"Bubala," I said. He was beautiful, swaying slightly on all six of his
legs, on his six beautiful bare feet.

"I don't think I could carry you right now even with six legs," he
smiled, "but you can lead me by the hands."

So I did, loving the sight of his six beautiful feet as they found their
way up the stairs, and, soon, the weight, sleekness and warmth of his six
beautiful legs as they gently wrapped themselves around me.

And then he said it to me, my six-legged David held me in his beautiful
pairs of arms and legs, and smiled sweetly, looking me in the eye, and he
said it: "Bubala."