Max Reynard | Morphelio

Product Description

An unlikely pair brave the Ghost House together, having gotten lost on the way to a college house party. An evil sorcerer seeks command over the power of his ghost army, to unleash him from the curse that binds him to the house, and he only needs one more host to breed the final additions.

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Asher made his way down a quiet street breaming with illuminated plastic ghosts, orange and purple lights, fake graves, and the such. He was dressed in tight corduroy pants, converse sneakers, and a tucked in tee-shirt of the eight eeveelutions. He wore his usual round-frame glasses, a pair of eevee ears, a big puffy eevee tail, and he’d painted his face with a fox nose and whiskers. The destination was a house party a few blocks away from the very top of campus, where a few of his friends had convinced him to join them in crashing what should be a crowded affair of sloppy college drinking.

Oliver forewent any bother with a costume tonight. He had his football letter jacket on, a plain white tee shirt tucked into a pair of jeans, his cleats without the spikes in, and his hair coiffed back. Oliver filled out his outfit with lots of broad, lean muscle and a cocky strut, as he made his way towards his buddy’s party, but he now wondered at what point he’d made a wrong turn, because he didn’t the street he was on …

“Excuse me,” Asher called out to an upperclassman in what he assumed was a football costume. “Do you know how to get to Tim’s party from here?”

Oliver sized Asher up and down. Thin, short, nerd, and what the fuck was he wearing? “What the fuck are you wearing?” he sneered in response.

Asher blushed and his voice quieted. “It’s an Eevee costume. It’s a … pokemon …”

Oliver raised an eyebrow but ended the line of questioning. “How do you know Tim?”

“Well, I don’t, I guess. My friends invited me. I don’t know if they …”

He trailed off. “Fucking Freshmen. Crashing parties.” Oliver muttered, then more audibly. “Follow me.”

Asher started suddenly once he processed the words, stumbled a moment, and then took quick strides to keep up with Oliver’s long legs, a few paces behind.

“So … you’re a football player?”

“Yeah, for the school.”

“Wait, are you actually a football player?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Then it’s … not a costume …”

Oliver glanced back with squinted eyes and pursed lips, in annoyance, but carried on.

“Do – … do you know where you’re going? It’s just we’ve passed this house already.”

Oliver stopped suddenly, causing Asher to walk into the back of him, nearly falling backwards against the brick wall of Oliver’s body.

“I – think so? Not really. I mean I thought I knew, but the streets look so different.”

“Well, they’re decorated for Halloween.”

“Not the yards! Jesus. The actual streets. My phone’s not working either, the gps is acting all fucked.”

“Hmm … I hear music around that corner. Maybe it’s that way?”

“Yeah … maybe.”

The unlikely pair rounded another corner and made their way toward a house, heavily-adorned in spooky decor, with flashing lights of different colors coming from behind drawn curtains, and a the unrecognizable bass line of some club music.

“That must be it.” Asher said, jogging forward slowly, in a very un-athletic way that made Oliver chuckle. He found himself with a lingering smile as he stared, forgetting the moment, then snapped back to attention.

“That’s not it!” He yelled out.

“It just looks different,” Asher shouted back mockingly, without turning. He made his way to the front, and opened it without missing a beat, heading right in.

“That wiley little nerd!” Oliver stomped, before running after him.

Oliver heard the door slam shut behind him, and spotted Asher across the room, examining the dusty surroundings. The music and lights seen outside were eerily absent.

“I told you this wasn’t it,” Oliver began, reaching back and missing the doorknob, grabbing air instead.”

“The door’s gone,” Asher said, calmly, continuing to pace about the abandoned Victorian foyer.

“What the fuck?!” Oliver sputtered, looking back at a blank wall. “Where the hell’s the door?”

Asher shrugged. “We should probably look for another one, though. This place is creepy.”

‘Creepy?!’ Oliver thought to himself. ‘The front door just disappeared.’

“Hmm … they’re all locked.” Asher whispered, trying one of the few doors leading out of the foyer. “We’ll have to check upstairs. Maybe there’s a window over some bushes or a trellis, if we’re lucky.”

Oliver stared in confusion, sort of admiring the other boy’s lack of anxiety, while sweating through his armpits in his own panic. He followed, shoulders hunched with nerves, without another word, and ascended the stairs.

The pair slowly entered the first room at the top of the stairs, Oliver with his hands on Asher’s shoulders, as if to hide behind him, despite being twice his size. Candles, aflame in their holders and fixed to the walls, dimly lit the room, which contained an old couch, a record player, a dusty ovular rug, and a piano.

The door slammed shut behind them, pinned closed against Oliver’s attempts to wrench it open. Asher wandered in, looking all around with rapt attention. Then he froze at the sound of a yelp, and the rapid stretching of fabric.

Oliver was suspended in the air, legs dangling, upper body and arms bent forward and flailing about at nothing. He was being lifted, seemingly, by his underwear, which was taught and stretched, the back of its waistband a few inches above the rest of him and flossing his ass crack.

Then Oliver was spun around, so that the back of him faced Asher, reaching his hands out against the wall in an attempt to steady himself. He whimpered as his jeans wore torn apart – the pants sliced, and ripped down, off his legs, leaving him with a thin g-string of denim. Then the remaining denim joined the underwear in becoming taught and rising above his ass. His underwear was torn apart and tossed aside, leaving his ass bare to the room.

Asher could only stare. Oliver’s pink, puckered hole on display, denim g-string sliding to one side to fully expose him. Then Oliver gasped and grunted, his hole suddenly dilating 2 inches wide. The rim of his sphincter dragged a millimeter inside, then back out, over and again. Something unseen had entered Oliver and was fucking him without mercy.

The plunging grew more rapid, then it stopped, but Oliver’s eyes lit up, head tilting back fully, as he grit his teeth and grabbed his abdomen with both hands, feet and toes splayed in his shoes.

His abdomen quickly filled out into a round, tight ball that rolled his shirt up and parted his letter jacket open. His hips bucked like he was convulsing, and he let out a guttural grunt. Then his feet expanded in a moment’s time, bursting through his sneakers with massive size. His chest did the same, tearing open his shirt and ballooning forward as a pair of hugely inflated pectorals, soft and bouncy, with big, round areoles. All over his body, an extra 30lbs of fat puffed up his skin, exploding the last bits of clothing, leaving only his stretched out letter jacket.

When he was released, he felt to the ground as a wet slimy mess, landing on his ass with a bounce and farting out a huge gush of luminescent green goo, like a ghostly slime. Asher ran around to the front of him to offer aid, spotting a fat erection the shape of a football, jutting out from under the expanse of his gut, and leaking pearls of fresh cum.

“Ergh … what the fuck was that …. and what’s IN me??”

“Did you cum?”

“What?! .. what the fuck does that matter? I got fucked in the ass, of course I came, but what was it?? Some kinda ghost? Get this shit out of me!”

“Hmm,” Asher replied, with curiosity in his voice. “Looks like ectoplasm, I suppose, if it was a ghost. Can you … push it out?”

Oliver’s face fell flat, grumpy even. Then he bore down and grunted, splashing out a small pocket of the goo, but nothing else.

“Dude, it’s not working.”

“Whatever it is, it’s not just in your gut. It made you fat, too. And your feet grew bigger.”

“That’s -! … not true ….. ah, what the fuck ….”

“C’mon, I’ll help you up. We gotta get you out of here, and then I’ll make sure you’re okay.”

Asher extended a hand and helped Oliver to his feet, wrapping his other arm around Oliver’s waist to help more, halfway up. Oliver stared into Asher’s eyes with a bit of a whimper, feeling weak in the knees, but steadying himself to stand fully.

“Here …. this blanket’s dusty, but it’ll do as a makeshift skirt. At least your jacket survived. Let me tie it around your hips.”

Oliver blushed, teeth clenched and stood awkwardly stiff, as the younger man handled him without bashfulness, tying the blanket around him, fixing his newly filled-out cheeks and his cock so that they were comfortable under the material, as if they were his own body. Then, without trying anything further, he straightened back up and walked back towards the door to the hallway.

“The hallway’s this way,” Asher called out, with a slightly confused, and impatient, expression.

“Yyyeah.” Oliver followed again, feeling the blanket rise a bit in front of his crotch.

In the rooms that followed, they found a host of different functions, each covered in dust and long abandoned, but with no egress to the outside world. As they ventured, Oliver found himself increasingly encumbered.

What began as a round, unfamiliar gut, was continuing to expand like a slowly-filling balloon. Ectoplasm leaked from his cheeks, but he couldn’t get anything more substantial to release. He felt himself slow down, his skin stretch, his feet ache; felt himself weigh more and more.

“Stop … Asher … I can’t …. arghh … I’m about to explode – ughhh!!”

Asher finished opening one last door at the end of the hall on the third floor, then whipped around at hearing Oliver’s cries. He turned to run over, but a gust of wind suddenly billowed down the hall from the opened door, snatching Asher with a tornadic grip and sucking him inside.

Oliver called out in protest, and then waddled down the hall painfully, as fast he could muster. He made it through the door and saw Asher across the room sprawled out on the floor, unconscious.

“Asher!!”

Before he could get to him, a man’s voice broke the air of the room with a cackling snarl. Perched at the top of a landing, accessed by a tall, fixed ladder, which formed a tower at the top of the house, was a man dressed in clothing from centuries before.

“There he is, my savior,” the man teased. “The last recruits I need for my modest army. Enough power in numbers to finally break the damn seal on this prison of a house.”

“Dude, I don’t what you’re talking about, but if you’ve hurt Asher, I’m gonna kick your fucking ass.”

“You don’t exactly look to be in a state to fight, there, jock boy,” he sneered. “What’s that you’re leaking?”

Oliver made to shout back an insult, but doubled over instead, grimacing and clutching the engorged gut as it pulsed in his hand.

“If I can collect enough souls to power my broken artifact, I can wrench apart the magic those dickhead ‘wizards of the academy’ put on my house that’s kept me here for the last 200 years.” He let the words buzz through his nose in a mocking, childish tone.

“I’m not … ergh … neither of us are helping you with whatever your psychotic plan is!” Oliver growled, clutching himself as he crawled toward Asher.

“Poor boy, I don’t need you two. I just need what you grew for me. Open up, toots.”

Oliver stopped in his tracks, on hands and knees, head shooting up, eyes wide and lips pursed. His enormous belly, now dragging against the floorboards, rumbled and bounced in every direction, violently. Then Oliver screeched, his hips splayed, knees spreading apart by some internal force. His hole popped wide open, bigger than a fist and he let out a wail as gallons of ectoplasm erupted out from him.

Then a dozen ghostly silhouettes emerged from him like billowing bodies of glistening smoke, caught in a great wind. A last blast of gas and goo left Oliver, leaving him with the extra padding of fat, the massive feet, and the engorged pectorals he’d grown earlier, but the intense bloating that had rounded his cock and belly were all at once relieved.

Oliver’s eyes flickered and he slumped forward, arms giving way, chest down with his ass hiked up into the air, until his hips released and he came to rest in a frog pose, exhausted and flickering in and out of sleep with a leaking hole. He reached instinctively and found Asher’s ankle, which he grasped tightly, rubbing compassionately with his thumb, then let his head fully rest against the floor.

“Finally!” the sorcerer bellowed. “The last sacrifices needed. Come to me, now, my abominations! Imbue yourselves into my amulet!”

The ghosts from Oliver’s hole flew through the air and disappeared into a gold-encased sapphire on a chain, joined suddenly by hundreds of others as they streamed into the room through the walls and floor. Then the man whispered something unintelligible over the noise and the amulet exploded with a great light. A presence that hung over the house suddenly lifted, a great magic shattering. Downstairs, the front door reappeared.

As the man climbed down and walked toward the doorway to the hall, Oliver perked back up enough to lift his head. “What’re you going to do to us,” the words weakly passing his lips.

“Nothing.” the man responded simply. “I just wanna leave. Those guys were mad because I cursed them to all impotence, but they started it with that fire ants prank. They’re probably all dead now anyway. There’s only so much boredom one man can take trapped inside an old house with no internet. Ya know?”

Then the evil sorcerer walked down the hallway, descended the stairs to the foyer, stepped through his front door, and crumbled into dust as soon as his feet hit the doormat.

Asher and Oliver slept until morning, being woken by sunlight piercing the windows. Asher woke first, getting himself to his knees and then jostling over to Oliver. He bent forward, caressing loose strands of hair from Oliver’s forehead, and then gave him a gentle kiss on the brow.

“Olive …” he whispered.

“What … did you call me, nerd?” Oliver muttered, coughing and then gingerly gathering himself enough to sit up.

“Ha! Nothing, nothing.”

“Ugh … can’t believe you’re still wearing those stupid ears”

“Well, nothing happened to them, so where else would they be? What happened, anyway?”

Oliver squinted back at him again in feigned annoyance, then responded. “Some guy was trapped here and he needed more ghost babies to power his amulet or something so he could leave. Then he left.”

“Is he, like, out conquering worlds or something?”

“Nah, nah, he’s dead, don’t worry about it …. do you … is that a boner in your pants, dude?”

“Oh!” Asher blushed. “Well … you should see yourself right now haha. I mean you were already so hot, but now you’re all adorably plumped out on top of those sexy muscles, and, uhm …. well you’re naked and you were lying there with your ass hiked up, so …”

“So … you were peepin my bod.”

“Yyyeah. I was imagining having sex with you. I was picturing fucking your ass.”

Oliver blushed this time. He peered back down at Asher’s tented pants. “That chub looks pretty big, can I see it?”

Asher quickly obliged, opening his fly, and releasing a long, thick cock, 9 inches and girthy, far larger than his short, twink-stature would imply. He held it up with one hand as if to show it off, and there were plentiful sections of cock to show on either end of his closed fist, fingers unable to reach all the way around.

Oliver stared with wide eyes, unconsciously returning to all fours. Asher stared, too, at the fat, round, perky cheeks Oliver was sporting. The two bridged their distance, meeting lips and tongues, and wrestling around on the floor. Then Asher climbed on top from behind, pinning Oliver to the floor, facedown, and plunged his hole full of meat.

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Weeks later, after spending most of their days together, Asher and Oliver sat in the school library, drinking tea. “Hmm …” Asher started, head down in a book.

“What?” Oliver replied. Staring longingly at the messy mop of hair on top of his boyfriend’s head, and playing footsie with him under the table.

“This book. It describes the aftermath of being impregnated by a ghost. Have you noticed anything new lately?”

“Just get to it, dweeb.”

“Mhm. Well it says if a man is impregnated by a ghost, it leaves a sort of womb behind. If you have sex with another man afterwards, you can be knocked up again.”

“……… that … kind of makes me want you to fuck me, even more than I already do thinking about that club of yours ….”

“…… that kind of makes me want to fuck you more, too.”

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Ghost House | Audio on Max Reynard Tube