Estimates say there were around 175,000 attendees at this year’s Comic-Con International; nerds of all shapes and sizes, geeks from all over the globe, not to mention all the panelists, the industry professionals, the directors, the actors.
But within the chaos of the week, the frenzied shopping, the signings, the lines stretching deep into the streets of downtown San Diego, four of these 175,000 individuals shared an experience they would never forget. An experience so hot, so indescribable, so profoundly nerdy, that it can only be described with one word:
“C’mon! We’re going to miss the light!”
Rodger shook himself out of a trance. He’d lost himself somewhere in the sea of people shuffling around him, the hot summer sun beating down on his neck. He wasn’t even sure he was awake. This all had to be a dream.
He felt someone tug on his hand. “Rodger, do you wanna go to Comic-Con or not??”
It was his best friend, Jamal. They’d both talked about going to San Diego for Comic-Con while they were freshmen in college. Every year they tried to get passes. Every year they sold out.
This year, they weren’t taking no for an answer, They’d driven all the way down from Portland in Jamal’s rickety old truck in the hopes that they could snag a pass off of one of the hundreds of thousands of attendees. Trading passes was apparently a common thing, and Jamal was dying to see the Aquaman panel in Hall H.
But Rodger? He was in it for the ride. The crazy cosplays, the sweet deals, the first look exclusives on his favorite comics. For the first time in his life, he might actually go to Comic-Con.
Wednesday went by. Nothing. Then Thursday. Silence. By Friday, the boys were starting to get antsy, holed up in their tiny hostel room searching forums on Jamal’s janky laptop, waiting for two poor suckers to give up their passes so they could enter the convention.
It was Rodger who suggested going on a walk. The streets outside the convention center were always bustling with cosplayers, attendees scrambling to get lunch while street vendors pawned off cheap merchandise on the sidewalk.
It was there that they ran into two girls who had to leave early. They agreed to give Rodger and Jamal their badges for a hundred dollars each. Just like that. Rodger was going to Comic-Con.
His head was still reeling. What would he see first? What panels would he go to? Would he see any of his favorite stars?
“Dude,” Jamal said. He was still tugging on his hand, “We can’t stand here all day, we’re going to get trampled!”
He was right. There were ten seconds left on the light, and if they didn’t cross soon, they’d down in the sea of people coming up from behind them. So Rodger stumbled out onto the street, and still holding his best friend’s hand, ran full till towards the convention center. Towards the weekend of his dreams.
As he did, he noticed a single pin bobbing on the lanyard holding his badge. He caught a glimpse of the green, the words wrapped around the side:
Tom used to remember when Comic-Con was cool. He used to remember the thrill of being up onstage in front of thousands of screaming fans. Today, all he wanted to do was go back to the hotel room and take a nap. The panel seemed to drag on, and though he was doing his best to put on a happy face (he was an actor after all), he had resorted to stifling yawns.
It wasn’t that he didn’t care: he was so excited to be playing Eddie Brock, the iconic Spider-Man villain in his own stand-alone movie. He loved the enthusiasm of the fans, the feeling of being part of a bigger cinematic universe. What he didn’t love was the Con. Year to year, everything seemed the same. The same costumes, the same crazy fanatics, the same crowds.
Just like that, it was over. He was waving to the crowd, smiling as his bodyguard, McConnell, ushered him offstage.
He could sense his mood almost immediately. “Feeling the heat?” he asked.
Tom scoffed, dropping his voice. “Feeling something.”
McConnell didn’t just protect him; he knew him inside out. The convention usually had top notch security to escort talent to and from panels and booths, but Tom insisted that McConnell accompany him this year. It was a great call.
“Here,” he handed him a silver water bottle with a Venom label on the side, “Studio merchandise. Drink up.” Tom took a big swig and handed it back as he walked over to the signing booth.
Almost immediately, he felt more energized. Maybe he was just dehydrated, maybe McConnell had slipped something into the bottle. For whatever reason though, he felt his spirits lifting as he went about signing posters for the fans in their various Venom t-shirts and costumes.
“Hey, are you doing okay man?”
It came from a guy standing above him. Younger guy with a nervous smile. Tom was in the middle of signing his poster. He pointed to Tom’s hand. “You look like you’re shaking.”
Sure enough, Tom’s hand was quivering. He’d been so caught up in his new energy, he didn’t even notice.
“Guess I’m excited,” he joked. In a desperate attempt to change the subject, he pointed to a small green pin on the young man’s lanyard. “Haven’t seen one like that before.”
“Oh—it’s not mine. I mean… I found it.” The last thing Rodger wanted was to let loose that his badge wasn’t actually his. But Tom didn’t seem to care. He seemed distracted, frantic, distant.
He handed back the poster with a smile. “See you around, mate.”
“Yeah, see you around!” Rodger was buzzing with excitement. He couldn’t wait to tell Jamal about his signing. He had opted to skip the signing in favor of standing in line for the Aquaman panel. Like he was ever going to get in…
Tom was buzzing, but for different reasons. With each consecutive poster, he felt himself get more and more jittery, more sweaty.
What was in that water?
“C’mon, really?”
“Sorry sir,” said the gangly man in the blue convention shirt, “the room is at full capacity. We can’t let anyone else in.”
“But we’ve been waiting in line for hours!” Jamal motioned to the long line of impatient fans standing with him outside the doors of Hall H. It wasn’t true; Jamal had only been there for an hour. He’d made a beeline for the giant ballroom, hoping to get to the Aquaman panel on time.
He had severely underestimated the line, and now he was stuck outside, and the panel was about to begin.
But the line manager just shrugged. “There’s nothing I can do.” It was no use trying to pester him. Jamal threw up his hands and walked down the hall to the farther doors. There was a small part of him that hoped one would be open, but he knew it was a fantasy. There was no way anyone else was getting in there.
He turned back to the main door. The crowd had largely dispersed, disappointed fans in various DC outfits scattering about the carpet. All except for one: a girl in a Harley Quinn outfit. She was sexy as all hell, and was obviously flirting with the gangly convention employee.
She whispered something in his ear. He blushed. Then, he looked around. When he could see no one was watching, he cracked open the door and let her slip inside.
“Bull. Shit.” Jamal was vivid. That wasn’t fair! But through the layers of fury and frustration, an idea began to form in Jamal’s mind. A sick smile crossed his face, and he scurried off.
Tom burst into his room. He was shaking all over now. Sweat leaking from every pore. He tried calling McConnell again. Voicemail.
Damnit! He hasn’t shown his face since he gave him that water earlier in the day. Tom had to be escorted back by the convention bodyguards, who looked at him with concern as he stumbled into his hotel room.
He made for the sink. Drinking straight from the tap, the water only provided the smallest amount of respite. It was like something was growing inside him, trying to get out.
“What’s happening to me?” Tom asked his reflection. It was like a scene out of a movie—out of his movie. Only he could actually feel something crawling over his skin, seeping out of his pores.
He tore off his jacket, tore off his shirt. His sweat-drenched chest glistened in the bathroom lights, shining off of his tattoos. Seeing himself in the mirror, pecs rising and falling with every heavy breath, sent a sharp spike of arousal pulsing through his body.
As much as he hated to admit it, he was getting turned on. Even as he began to notice the black goo starting to wrap itself around his wet muscles. He had to be dreaming, because the goo looked almost exactly like—
But it was impossible. Symbiotes weren’t real; they were from a comic book for christ’s sake! And yet he was looking more and more like Venom every second.
Every muscle the symbiote covered seemed to triple in size. Tom hadn’t had a six-pack in ages, and yet when the black goo wrapped around his chest, he saw each individual ab pop outward like bricks on a wall. When it crept up his pecs, they jutted out a solid three-inches from his body, jiggling slightly as the signature white Venom logo appeared between his jugs.
“Fuckin’ A,” Tom remarked, holding his new muscles. The symbiote felt cool and smooth under his fingertips, and he continued to watch in the mirror as it snaked over his traps and his shoulders, turning them all into precious mounds of hard meat.
Arms were next. The Venom suit transformed his biceps into black balls of steel, throbbing and gyrating along with his shuddering body. His frame had expanded a whole foot, and Tom was finding it hard to even fit in the bathroom. He shuffled his way out towards the bed, just in time for the symbiote to creep under his pants—under his briefs.
And that’s when the real fun began…
It started with his ass. He felt a tickling sensation as the black ooze crept over and between his cheeks. It teased the tip of his hole, sending him into a dizzying state of arousal, before completely penetrating him. Tom had been fucked in the past, but this was something else; it was like the suit was making love to him while simultaneously transforming him.
His thighs were tearing through his jeans, leaving the boxers in shreds, but the real marvel was his cock. In the movies and in the comics, Venom was conspicuously nullified, but this suit was a whole other story. Tom watched in awe as the symbiote slithered up his erect dick. Slowly, caressing every centimeter of exposed skin. And by the time it reached the head, it had done the same thing it had done with every other muscle on Tom’s body: expanded it tenfold.
Tom moaned. This was the horniest he had ever been in his life, and yet Venom would not let him cum. It still had yet to make it to his head. The ooze was just at the top of his neck when Tom remembered what happened to Eddie Brock’s head when the symbiote took hold. Suddenly, he was terrified; he didn’t mind being a muscled up beast, he just didn’t want to be a monster.
But it was too late. Tom savored the last few glimpses of sunlight before his vision was obscured by black. He felt Venom get inside his head—literally. His jaw cracked as his smile widened, his slick, slimy tongue licking the length of his entire body as he imagined the sheer havoc he was going to wreak.
“YEESSSSS” Venom cried out as he finally came, gallons of milky symbiote juice painting the walls of Tom Hardy’s hotel room.
But Tom wasn’t here. Not anymore. Venom made a sinister smile as he paced about the tiny room, his tongue still savoring his muscles.
“My, my,” he whispered to himself, “just wait until those geeks get a load of me.” He glanced down at his big black cock, still leaking like a faucet. “A very big load of me.”
“Please! You’d be doing me a huge favor!”
But the girl in the skimpy Deadpool outfit only shook her head at Jamal, storming off down the hall. She was the fifth hot girl he’d talked to, but no one wanted to go along with his plan. Without someone to bribe the scrawny door man, there was no way in hell he was going to make it into Hall H. There was no way he’d ever get to see Jason Momoa, and this whole trip would have been a waste.
“Need help?” Jamal heard a voice call from behind him. He spun around to see a man dressed like a security guard. Perhaps he was with the convention?
Jamal explained to the man what his plan was, even going so far as to ask him if he could escort him into the ballroom. The security guard only laughed.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said, “but I can make sure you get in on your own. As a matter of fact…“ he leaned in, dropping his voice, “I can make sure you meet Jason Momoa. In person.”
Jamal’s face lit up. “Really? How??”
But just handed Jamal a ring with a tiny dragon symbol on the band. “Try this on,” the security guard said, “it might help.”
Jamal slipped the dragon ring onto his finger. It looked kind of girl-ish on his big, hairy hand, but the sterling silver caught the light rather nice.
“Hey,” Jamal called after the guard, “what did you say your name was?”
But the man was already gone.
Voicemail. Again.
Jamal wasn’t picking up his phone and Rodger was starting to get worried. Part of him suspected that he’d made it into the panel and had his phone switched off, but he also knew his friend: if Jamal were really in the panel, he’d be sending him pictures left and right.
Something felt wrong. Rodger was about to re-dial when someone bumped into him.
“Excuse me,” said Darth Vader. Okay, it wasn’t really Darth Vader: just a guy in an incredible Darth Vader cosplay, complete with a voice module and everything.
Rodger was in awe. He made to ask the man for a picture, but he was already rushing over towards a line of other people in various Star Wars, Marvel and DC outfits, all standing behind a sign that read:
“Oh sweet!” Rodger thought. And then he remembered that he was supposed to wait for Jamal. That they were supposed to meet at the Starbucks inside the convention center in less than a half hour.
Well, it shouldn’t take THAT long, Rodger thought to himself, looking back to the sign. Besides, if he gets to go off and do his own thing, so can you!
So Rodger marched inside the ballroom, taking a seat right near the front as the contest prepared to start. He was so excited, he didn’t even notice the guy in the incredibly realistic Venom suit standing in line…
Jamal darted into the bathroom stall and slammed the door. Panting. He had barely made it a hundred yards after running into the security guard before he started feeling shaky. Was it something he ate?
His phone buzzed. It was Rodger. He couldn’t pick up, not when he was feeling like this. The last thing he wanted was his friend to worry.
But Jamal was freaking out himself. It was like he was getting lighter and lighter with every breath, like he was disappearing into thin air.
The ring, he thought to himself. It HAD to be the dragon ring that the security guard gave him. He didn’t know how, but it was causing him to feel this way. Causing him to… change.
He tried to take it off. No use. It was practically fused onto his finger. He started to panic, pulling out his phone to call an ambulance, and that’s when he felt it.
Though “it” was very difficult to describe. At first he thought he was getting a blowjob. He could have sworn someone’s lips were wrapped around his dick, sucking. But instead of sucking outwards, it was like someone was sucking his dick inwards.
Jamal tore off his clothes. He was sweating like hell, and he needed to see what was going on down there. The second he saw his crotch, his jaw dropped.
“What the fuck!?” Jamal cried in horror. He clasped his hand over his mouth. That was NOT his voice. It sounded airy, feminine.
Someone knocked on the stall door. “Hey,” called another female voice, “everything okay in there?”
“Fine!” Jamal called, trying to make his voice sound male again. But that’s when he realized: that was a girl outside the stall. He had gone into the women’s bathroom.
Jamal fell back. By now, the changes were accelerating, and there was nothing he could do but sit back and watch his body transform into whatever the enchanted ring wanted it to.
His dick wasn’t the only thing that Jamal was losing. He was right: he was getting lighter, muscle definition vanishing, frame getting smaller. But he was also getting literally lighter, as in his normal, dark skin was turning pale and milky.
God, I’m turning into a white chick, he thought to himself. When the truth settled in, he started to panic a little less. Maybe life wouldn’t be so bad as a woman…
A sudden shutter rocked his now tiny frame. He felt an uncontrollable force push out of his chest, and watched as two large tits erupted where his pecs previously sat. His eyes widened in shock. He had boobs. Real boobs. He felt their weight just to be sure. He’d touched other girls’ tits before, but this was something completely different. In a weird way, it was even sexier.
He felt his face contort, as well as tickle on his shoulder as he saw from the corner of his eye corn-blonde hair fall in droves off of his head. And then another, much warmer tickling sensation from where his dick used to be.
Jamal sent a curious hand down between his legs, and felt as the site of his former manhood curled into a canyon of flesh, wet and warm between his soft female fingers. He closed his eyes and rubbed his clit for the very first time, sending him over the edge within a matter of seconds. He groaned; he didn’t even care if anyone in the bathroom heard him. This felt AMAZING.
While the orgasm racked his body, he felt the soft brush of clothing wrap itself around his silky skin. It was a dress, he saw, a long flowing beige dress held together by a silver dragon crest that matched the one still resting on his finger.
Another knock. “Hey girl,” the woman said outside, “just let me know you’re okay! I can get first aid up here if you—“
The stall opened. Out stepped a breathtaking woman in a Daenerys Targaryen cosplay. She looked like she could have been on the show.
“Sorry,” Jamal said with a clever smirk, “I’m fine.”
The woman was a bit in shock. She nodded. “You sure you don’t need anything—“
“Really, I’m good. I’m in a bit of a rush actually.” He headed outside, calling back after: “I’ve got a panel to catch.”
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” The voice came from a woman in a Wonder Woman cosplay, who walked out onto the stage to thunderous applause. “WELCOME TO THE 30th ANNUAL SDCC COSPLAY CONTEST!”
Rodger looked around him. He seemed to be one of the only ones not wearing a cosplay, and these people weren’t even in the competition. Suddenly, he felt self conscious; he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to get into Comic-Con in the first place, so making an outfit was the least of his worries. He could have at least worn his Captain America shirt from home. It would have been better than nothing.
The MC continued: “As per our annual tradition, we’re going to call on one of YOU to announce our first batch of competitors!” The response was immediate. People all around Rodger jumped up, waving their hands, hoping to be picked.
Rodger did the opposite. He tried his very best to disappear into the itchy plastic chair in the second row. The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to his un-costumed self.
“YOU! Right there in the second row!”
He did nothing. Someone next to him tapped on his shoulder. “Hey,” they said, “I think she’s talking about you!” It wasn’t possible. But when Rodger looked up, he could see the MC was looking directing at him, motioning for him to come up onstage.
“C’MON!” she said, “don’t be shy!”
Shy was putting it lightly; Rodger was red as the face of Mars as he awkwardly stumbled up onto the platform. He could feel the judgmental eyes of everyone on his back, even as the applause continued to roll like thunder.
When he reached the MC in the tuxedo, he blurted out: “I’m sorry, I don’t have a cosplay, I didn’t have time to put one together and—“
“Relax,” the woman said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “it’s your first Comic-Con isn’t it…” she glanced down at his badge, “… Rodger?”
“Is it that obvious?”
The MC laughed, “I’m sure we could get something together for you.” With that, she turned back to the crowd and spoke into the mic, “ladies and gentlemen, this is Rodger here’s FIRST TIME at Comic-Con.” The crowd went nuts. Rodger blushed. “SO, to show him some good ol’ SDCC hospitality, who’s got something ABSOLUTELY AWESOME for him to wear today?”
More hands. The amount of support almost brought poor Rodger to tears. Thiswas why he wanted to come to Comic-Con. This was a dream come true.
But it was only going to get better…
“YOU! C’mon up, let’s see what you got!”
She had chosen a man in a suit, who looked almost like a security guard. He brought with him two Wolverine claws, which he handed to a beaming Rodger.
“Ooooooooh Wolverine, how about that?” the MC remarked, “why don’t you go ahead and try those on for us.”
Rodger felt a surge of raw power as he gripped the small handle and felt the claws side in-between his fingers. They looked so realistic when he was holding them; he could have sworn they were real.
After the audience had calmed down, the MC in the Wonder Woman costume held up a list of names to read off for Rodger.
“First up,” he said, voice booming throughout the room. He could have sworn it sounded deeper, but maybe it was just the acoustics, “…we have the greatest Sith Lord of all time—and the worst father—everyone give it up for Darth Vader!”
As the Star Wars music played through the loudspeakers and the guy in the hyperreal Vader outfit strutted up onstage, Rodger felt something strange happen to his body. It was subtle at first: the ground seemed slightly farther away, his constant bumping against the MC. But by the time he called the next name, he felt he was a fully three inches taller. And three inches wider.
“Our next contestant—“ okay, now his voice was REALLY different. It was much deeper, much raspier. More masculine. He gauged the audience to see if anyone was noticing, but they all seemed to be too enamored with the cosplays. “Our next contestant comes all the way from the goblin kingdom. His pastimes include stealing children and solving mazes. Let’s hear it for… King Jareth!”
A guy in a spot-on David Bowie outfit drew righteous applause, but Rodger was too focused on his body to care. The first thing to change was his frame, now it was starting to fill in. Muscles were erupting every which way, filling up the parts of his shirt and pants he didn’t even know existed. He could barely see the list over his ever rising chest, and with every pound of muscle seemed to come a new degree of heat. He was sweltering.
“You okay?” asked the MC quietly. The normal Rodger would have insisted that he was fine and suffered through it, but he was feeling especially cocky, especially bold.
“Mind if I take my shirt off?” he asked, not even believing the words that were coming out of his mouth, “I’m burning up here.”
If it had been old Rodger, the woman might have looked at him confused, but she could see the veins popping and writhing underneath his wet, sweaty shirt, and only and idiot would have passed up a chance to see him take it off.
“What do you say?” she asked the crowd, “Wolverine here wants to get in character, how does that sound?” Everyone cheered, the MC nodded to Rodger, and with one swift motion, the shirt was off.
The audience gasped, followed by a tidal wave of hoots and cheers. They were in love with him—some quite literally—and now they had a front seat to his glorious transformation.
Rodger cleared his throat, continuing to read: “She’s a beauty, she’s a grace, she’s deck you in the face! Quit clowning around and give it up for… Harley Quinn!”
And then, for the first time, Rodger started to feel pain. Not excruciating, but sharp, enough to make him visibly wince. Specifically the pain was coming from his hands, still holding the claws. He throught he would be able to power through it, but as the girl in the Harley Quinn outfit came up onstage, he had to put the claws down for a second.
The problem? He couldn’t. Literally, Rodger could not leg got of the claws. His fists remained tightly clenched around the metal shears, even as the pain grew more and more acute.
As the girl continued to wave and swing her bat, Rodger continued to pry open his fingers. When he was finally able to, he could see that he was no longer holding onto anything:
The claws were real.
It was impossible. It defied logic and physics. And yet here he was, six long knives protruding from his sweaty-steak muscled arms. There was only one way to tell if they were actual claws; in the comics Wolverine could retract them at will. How he did it, Rodger didn’t know. He’d never had anything close to superpowers before.
He closed his eyes, channeling his energy towards his hands. He felt his new muscles flex, blood rushing to his cock as the prospect of really becoming Wolverine set off his imagination. All he needed to do was…
SHINK.
Another gasp from the crowd. Rodger opened his eyes to see both claws has disappeared back into his body. Silence fell over the ballroom. Rodger focused again on pulling them out. He let out a primal growl, one final spurt of growth hitting his body as the Adamantium claws emerged from slits in-between his fingers.
He wasn’t Rodger anymore: he WAS Wolverine.
Utter chaos. Everyone got up and cheered. Even the contestants up onstage applauded, knowing they’d been beat.
“Well!” said the MC, genuinely impressed, “I don’t think there’s much of a competition here. I’d say the obvious winner of the 2018 SDCC Cosplay Contest is—“
“ME.”
Everyone gasped as a large, dark figure climbed up onto the stage. Rodger turned to see an absolutely enormous guy in a Venom cosplay stretched so tight it could barely contain his bulging muscles.
Only it wasn’t a cosplay: he was wearing an actual symbiote. He was ACTUALLY Venom.
It worked. It actually worked. All Jamal had needed to do was smile and wink at the hapless employee for him to let him (or her) into Hall H.
But it was all for naught. The Aquaman panel had finished, and now Jamal was wandering aimlessly about the floor. He’d totally forgotten about Rodger, all he was thinking of now was finding the security guard again to give him the ring back. So he could change back to normal.
“God, you look exactly like her,” said a deep, burly voice Jamal seemed to recognize almost instantly. He spun around to see none other than Jason Momoa, standing above him with that every charming smolder. The security guard was right.
“I… I…” Jamal was speechless. Jason put a finger to his lips and pulled them aside before he could be seen. They disappeared into one of the backrooms inside a booth. It was quieter here. More intimate.
“I’m so sorry,” the actor said, nervous, “I felt like I just had to say something. I’ve really missed my time on Game of Thrones, and your cosplay just looks so… I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it.”
What. The. Fuck. Jamal was standing here with his favorite actor of all time, and HE was the one gushing over HIM. This was serious magic he was dealing with here; whatever ring he had on, the one that had transformed him into the gorgeous woman, was making Jason Fucking Momoa fawn all over him. This couldn’t be real.
“What’s your name?” Jason asked.
“Jama—Jessica. My name is Jessica.”
“Jessica…” Jason mouthed as if it was the greatest word of all time. Jamal had to stop himself from laughing. This all felt like crappy fan fiction his sister would have written in middle school. But it was ACTUALLY happening. And more than that, Jamal was starting to look at Jason in ways he had never before. Not as an actor he loved and admired, but a man who he wanted to fuck.
Welp, I guess this is what it’s like being a girl, he thought to himself.
“Please let me buy you drinks—if that’s okay. I’d love to hear your story.”
Jamal should have just said yes. He wanted to say yes, but he also wanted to see what Jason looked like towering above him. Naked, dick in his mouth. Or her mouth.
No, gross man! This is Aquaman we’re talking about here! You’re just this straight dork from Portland!
“Actually,” Jamal said instead, getting closer to Jason, feeling his chest through his button-down shirt, “I had a little bit more in mind…”
They burst into Jason’s hotel room, hands and lips everywhere. Jamal had only been kissed once or twice (by girls, of course). Being kissed by a man was something else. Specifically, being kissed by this man.
Jason’s mouth rough and warm, passionate as it locked with Jamal’s two luscious lips. As he began to explore the curves of his female anatomy, Jamal ran his hands all over Momoa’s thick hide. The man was built. Every piece of flesh felt like a hot stone.
The door shut, and Jason’s shirt came off. Jamal stepped back to get a good look: had never gazed at another man’s body with so much lust, so much yearning, and yet seeing Jason in the glow of the afternoon light set him afire.
All he could do was just stand and stare. Jason smirked. “You like?” Jamal nodded. Jason stepped forward so that they were just centimeters apart. Then he took hold of the large dragon ring holding Jamal’s clothes up, and gave a gentle tug.
That was all it took. The dress came loose and fell to the ground. Jamal felt exposed in the light, the cool air conditioning of the room. Jason sensed his insecurity. “You look beautiful,” and then, in a deep whisper, “my queen.”
They kissed. Jamal felt the encompass him, holding his frail body tightly to his as something thick and hard pressed up against his womanhood. He looked down. Sure enough, Jason’s erection was practically bursting through his pants.
“I see my dragon is waking up,” Jamal said seductively. He ran a hand over the bulge. Jesus christ is was enormous. Suddenly he was worried about having to fit all of that inside his pussy. He’d never had anything inside his pussy. He’d never had anything inside him period.
“Trust me,” Jason said as if reading his mind, “I’ll make sure you’re nice and loose.” Jamal smiled. He undid the actor’s belt and let his pants fall to the floor. He continued to rub the hulking dick through Jason’s briefs. It drove him nuts.
When he felt his cock was fully erect, Jamal got down on his knees so that it was level with his eyes. The scent wafting off of him was intoxicating, and there was a dark wet spot of pre-cum soaking the front of his underwear.
Slowly, like unwrapping a present, Jamal pulled down the briefs. Something hard slapped against his cheek, and he grasped it with his right hand, guiding the dick inside his mouth.
“Fuuuuuuuck,” Jason moaned. Jamal was doing wonders on his cock. He’d never been sucked like this before.
But Jamal had never sucked before, period. He was nervous at first, that his inexperience would show. But within seconds, he was swallowing that 9 inch dick like he’d been doing it for years.
He felt himself get hoisted up, the dick falling out of his mouth and Jason’s lips suddenly intertwined with his. “My turn,” he whispered, and threw Jamal onto the bed. Jamal didn’t even have time to protest before Jason was crawling up to him. Animal like, growling.
He buried his face down between Jamal’s thighs. Instinctually, he expected a blowjob, but this was something else. The rough scratch of Jason’s beard against his pussy, the ferociousness of his tongue as it flicked on his clit.
“GOD!” Jamal yelled. He was seeing colors. This orgasm wasn’t like the last one: it was euphoric, almost unbearably so. And it just kept on going.
His body went limp. He surrendered entirely to Jason, allowing his motions to guide his own. Before he knew it, he was on his knees, ass in the air, and Jason’s tongue still doing magic on his soaking wet snatch.
“Ready?” Jason said. Jamal could only nod. He felt Jason sit up on the bed, then something very hard up against the walls of his vagina.
And then he was inside.
It hurt at first. A lot. To the point that Jamal was ready to call back and tell him to stop. But within seconds, his body was relaxing and expanding to make way for Jason’s cock. Not only that, but he felt himself rocking back and fourth against his hips, back arching like a groomed cat.
“Harder,” he purred.
Jason obliged. He grabbed both of Jamal’s thick, fleshy cheeks and drove hard and deep, pounding until both bodies were intertwined in a rhythm of sweat, grunts, and skin.
Jamal was starting to feel it again; that smoldering sensation like a firecracker slowly burning in his crotch, the flames making their way up his body to the tip of his lips, and he cried out Jason’s name as he squirted all over the bed. He didn’t think it was possible to have two orgasms this powerful so close together. Then again, he had no idea how long they had been fucking.
Something warm erupted in what Jamal could only assume was his womb. “GAAAAAAGHHH,” Jason let out a bestial sound, and he stopped thrusting. He lingered for a moment there, body tense, hands gripping Jamal’s boobs, and then he shuttered. The intensity of his orgasm made Jamal push back against him affectionately. It only made him shutter more.
Jason pulled out, falling back onto the bed. He was still writhing. Jamal flipped around to get a better look at the monster of an orgasm this man was experiencing. But after a solid minute of writhing, he could tell something was wrong.
“Was I too much for you?” Jamal asked playfully. Jason couldn’t respond. He was holding his mouth shut and gripping his still rock-solid dick. “Jason?”
A burst of fire sent Jamal stumbling back. When he smoke had cleared, he could see mist still coming out of Jason’s mouth. He had literally breathed fire.
He turned to Jamal with wild, terrified eyes. “What’s… happening… to me?”
RING
“911, what’s you emergency?… wait… slow down, who’s having a fight?… where is this? At Comic-Con?… a guy in a Wolverine outfit? Fighting a guy in a Venom outfit?… oh, no it’s ‘really Venom?’… suuuuuure. You nerds have fun over there, don’t get hurt.”
BAM!
Wolverine slammed into the concrete post, sending another host of attendees running and screaming for the door. Everyone at the cosplay contest thought it was a show at first: a guy in a super cool Venom outfit picks a fight with a guy in an super cool Wolverine cosplay. But the second those Adamantium claws started tearing through dry wall, and the second the symbiote started throwing chairs with its long, snake-like tentacles, people were running for the exit.
They were alone now, making an absolute wreck of the ballroom. Venom send a fresh wave of chairs in Wolverine’s direction. He tore them to shreds. “You’ll pay for this, Brock!” he growled, lunging at the cackling black monster and driving his claws into his chest.
But just like every time, the silver knives sunk into nothingness. Venom was practically invincible. He laughed maniacally. “Give up, Wolverine,” he said with a sinister smile, “get on your knees and worship this alien body.”
“Like hell,” he yelled, and sent a large block of shattered concrete hurtling towards Venom’s head. It narrowly missed.
“ALRIGHT,” Venom hissed, “I have HAD IT with you!” A thousand slimy black fingers shot out of his back and pinned Wolverine to the ground. He struggled against the force of the symbiote, but it was even too powerful for him. “You’re going to taste this cock, whether you like it or not!”
“Do you worst,” Wolverine said, “you might defeat me in battle. But when it comes to sex: I ALWAYS end up on top.”
“We’ll see about that,” Venom snickered, and from the base of his crotch emerged a dick so large and wide, Wolverine thought it looked like one of his own biceps. And that was saying something.
Before he knew it, It was brushing up against his cheek. “Here comes the choo-choo train,” Venom laughed, “Open wide!” As much as Wolverine hated to admit it, the musk wafting off the villain’s body was enchanting. This is probably how the symbiote caught its prey.
He tried to fit the head in his mouth, but it was like a fist. “I said… OPEN WIDE!” His jaw cracked. Suddenly the entire length of Venom’s cock was filling up his throat. Wolverine chocked back tears as he felt his stomach fill with the symbiote’s black ooze. He felt full, complete. Dozens of fingers caressing his sweaty, muscular body as Venom taunted and seduced him.
No… don’t give in!
He spat the cock out, all fourteen inches of it. Venom laughed as Wolverine panted, pre-cum dripping from his swollen mouth. “Looks like someone enjoyed that!” Venom’s two pearl white eyes were fixed on Wolverine’s super-sized dick, which he had gripped inside his fingers, his pants down at his feet. When did he start jerking off?
“You… you had your fun,” he said through heavy breaths, “Now leave this convention alone.”
“Oh but sweetheart,” Venom leaned in so his long, pink tongue brushed up against Wolverine’s face, “We haven’t even gotten to the best part yet…”
“Should I call an ambulance? Security??”
But Jason was long past giving answers. Every time he tried to talk, it was another burst of flame. Jamal was starting to get very, very hot, and not in a good way.
“Okay, let’s get you in the shower.” He tried to lift him up, but the man was really as heavy as he looked. Not to mention both hands were still gripped around his cock. “C’mon Jason,” Jamal continued, “You’ve gotta help me out here.”
He pulled him up and he slipped off the bed. Both hands shot out to catch himself, and a long, scaly pink muscle fell out and onto the floor.
Jamal gasped. He could see now: it was his dick. But it was unlike any human dick he had seen before. This was the dick of something else entirely… something he didn’t even know existed.
Jason let out another growl. This one was much deeper, much louder. He was starting to sound like an animal. Jamal could do nothing but sit back and watch as his favorite actor-turned-boyfriend turned yet again into something magical and new.
He arched his back. His spine was protruding out, the skin becoming hard like hundreds of different shells. His shoulders widened, the cracking sound of bones growing and shifting into new places. He banged his hand on the floor, and Jamal watched as the fingers began to turn to talons, the skin to silver scales.
Impossibly, Jason was getting more muscular. Waaaaay more muscular. Jamal was finding it hard to occupy space in the same room as him, as the previous Game of Thrones star started to look more and more like the dragons in that show.
Another crack as a long tail shot out from just above Jason’s ass. It sent everything flying as it waved around unwieldy. Jamal ducked underneath his ever expanding body, where he could see the fleshy dick grow to an astonishing three feet. How big must Jason have been by now?
Another growl drew his attention to his head. Jamal had barely been paying attention to his face, but he was unrecognizable now: all his features had expanded outwards into a muzzle, both nostrils sending smoke into the air, and his teeth turning from handsome white squares into yellow fangs fit for a dragon.
But it wasn’t just any dragon: Jason Momoa was transforming into a very specific dragon, the one from the show. Damnit, he thought, what was his name? He wasn’t caught up on Game of Thrones. That was always Rodger’s thing.
He needed to figure it out fast, because Jason scarcely resembled a human being anymore. All of his skin was replaced by brilliant scales, and orange spikes seem to erupt from every tip of his body, from his eyebrows to his spine to the edge of his arms, which were fast becoming wings.
“C’mon… what’s your name…” Jamie? Tyrion? No… those are other characters. Actual humans. What do you call a dragon?
There was no space in the room anymore. Jamal was pressed up against a wall, Jason’s muzzle just inches from his face. He was the size of a tank. All scales. All muscle.
“Dragon… Drogo… Drogon— Drogon! Your name is Drogon!”
The connection was instant. This wasn’t just any dragon. It was his dragon. Jamal placed a hand around the dragon’s head, soothing it. “It’s okay buddy… I’m here.”
He felt the dragon shutter under his touch. He same shutter Jason had given him earlier. He glanced underneath his belly. Sure enough, that long dragon dick was spewing silver white dragon cum all over the carpet.
Jamal laughed. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to help you there, buddy,” he said, “but I’m flattered.” The dragon gave a playful scoff, and Jamal started to look around the room for an escape route. “Now… how do we get you out of here?”
How long had it been? Hours? Days? Seconds? Was he still at the convention? Had he gone… somewhere else?
Was this real?
Rodger awoke from a trance. He was bouncing up and down, something wet and long impaling his ass with brutal, sexual force. And he was loving it.
It wasn’t a dream. He really had turned into Wolverine. He really had fought Venom. And now he was having sex with the symbiote super villain, and it was probably the greatest sex he’d ever had.
Rodger moaned in pleasure. He was straddling Venom and riding him like a rodeo machine. On his chest, he felt that snake-like tongue lapping the sweat off of his hairy man pecs. It flicked at his nipple, driving him wild.
He grabbed Venom’s abs with one hand, stroking his cock with the other. “Fuck me harder,” he hissed to the gooey black bodybuilder.
Venom smiled up at him. “Yes daddy.” He felt both strong hands grip his sides like he was a rag doll, and heard the wet slapping sound of his slimy body up against Wolverine’s sweaty muscle ass.
Rodger threw his head back. “JESUS!” He painted Venom’s chest with his cum, which seemed to spurt from his dick like water from a broken fire hydrent. Just moments after, he heard Venom’s voice call from beneath him: “I’m cumming!”
There was a thundering crash and a flash of sunlight, and Rodger thought for a second that the Marvel villain had literally fucked him to death. But when he looked up, he saw something absolutely insane bursting through the roof.
“Hey boys,” called the woman in the impeccable Daenerys outfit. Both Wolverine and Venom were both too in awe of the giant fucking dragon that had just burst through the roof to say anything, much less notice the compromising position they were both still in.
She coughed, and both guys tumbled off of each other, covering their dicks. This was easier for Venom, who simply sucked his back up into his suit. All Rodger could do was try and conceal the leaking hard-on he was still sporting, and pretend like there wasn’t Venom jizz leaking out of his ass crack.
“I see you’ve been having fun,” the woman continued, “I’m actually looking for my friend, Rodger. Have you seen him? He was supposed to be at this cosplay contest or something.”
Rodger’s jaw dropped. “J—Jamal? Is that you?” He stepped forward. The woman didn’t look anything like his friend, but the way she smiled and hugged him told him that this was in fact Jamal. “You look…”
“Sexy as fuck?”
“Yeah! I mean… yes! You do.”
Jamal grinned, winking at his Wolverine dick. “You’re not so bad yourself.” He pointed behind him. “I see you got to meet Tom Hardy.”
Confused, Rodger turned around to see the last bits of symbiote leaving the naked body of Tom Hardy, who lay bewildered on the floor.
“What happened?” His eyes darted around the room frantically, “Where am I?”
Holy shit, Rodger thought to himself, I just had sex with Tom Hardy!… kind of.
“It’s a long story,” Rodger said as Tom looked around for something to cover himself with. He turned back to Jamal. “Who’s Drogon?”
“Jason Momoa,” he said, “Another long story.” They laughed, and Jamal motioned to his dragon, “Wanna take a ride? You might want to put some clothes on, the scales might be hard on your ass.”
Rodger blushed, slipping on Wolverine’s sweat-drenched pants as he and his best bud mounted the dragon.
“Is every Comic-Con this awesome?” Rodger asked.
“God, I hope so,” Jamal said, and they flew off into the setting sun.
EPILOGUE
It would live in infamy: the day that the convention came to life. Where Wolverine and Venom duked it out in the grand ballroom, where Daenerys Targaryen burst out of the 30th floor of the Marriott hotel with a fully grown dragon.
But aside from the four individuals who lived it, only one man could tell you everything that happened that day, all the dirty details. And dirty they were.
He snickered as he escorted a very confused Tom Hardy into his limo, both watching as a giant dragon circled the sky above downtown San Diego. He rather liked being a bodyguard, particularly a bodyguard this handsome. He felt like he could go anywhere, like he could do anything.
But he already could. He could become any person that he wanted, transform anyone into anything his heart desired.
“Ready McConnell?” He heard another guard say. Right, that was the name he’d chosen. He liked it quite a bit actually. Maybe I’ll keep it for a while, he thought. He sure wasn’t letting go of this body anytime soon.
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