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Naoki stepped off the pier and onto the sandy beach. The boat -- a one-person sailboat -- was moored at the end, rope trailing along a piling.

The island in front of him was perfectly picturesque, the arm of the cove curving along a white sand beach, shaggy palms turning into a thick jungle almost immediately at the end of the shore, with the looming silhouette of a volcanic mountain behind that, its slopes encrusted with vegetation, blue-green from distance haze. The only sound was the easy crash of the surf of the beach, an erratic wind punctuating it with rustling branches.

This looked like it was gonna be his best vacation yet. Even having to rent his own boat and sail here all by himself didn't put a damper on his mood. If anything, the hours-long expedition over just built his anticipation to get out in the wild for a week.

It didn't take him long to set up a camp site -- there was a cleared area just beyond the dock, with just enough space for a tent and a fire pit between the beach and the jungle. It was just like the brochure said, although he was getting the feeling it'd been a while since anyone else had been out this far. It had been written back in the days when there were businesses on the other side of the island, quarrying or geological science or something, but that had closed down years ago. Turning around, all he could see was ocean and a few of the closer islands, pale green-white in the distance, completely blocking the sight of the mainland. It was nice to get away from it all for a while, after all.

Unloading the supplies from the boat didn't take long, and setting up the tent hardly took longer. He looked out across the cove, and up at the sun, still high in the sky. He'd intended to get started looking around the island in the morning, but there was still plenty of time left in the day, so he just took his canteen and set down one of the straggling jungle trails.

The jungle was amazingly verdant, the leaves all a thick glossy green, the underbrush forming a solid wall of vegetation on the sides of the narrow path. Birdsong rang out at erratic intervals from above, deep lulling noises interspersed by sharp chirps and tweets, and though the canopy rustled and shifted he never quite got a good look at the birds themselves, just flashes of bright yellow, red, blue plumage in the corner of his eye. The terrain was rough, roots and scattered rocks, and always uphill towards the volcano foothills.

But, being that the path was rough and uphill, he found himself draining his canteen sooner rather than later. He was right at some ecological boundary line, the soil changing to a rusty red-black from the rich brown further below, and with it the trees grew even more massive, with ocher trunks bigger around than his outstretched arms.

He sadly shook his canteen, the last dregs sloshing along the bottom, not even enough to spill into his mouth when he upended it. He sighed sadly, looking back at the trail to the camp. Maybe he should've checked out the old well before taking a hike.

He was just about ready to turn around and start the slow thirsty slog back to the camp when he spotted a tree just off the path: one of the immense trees was in season, apparently, and its boughs were heavy with ripe fruit. Now that he was aware of it, the mellow sweetness he'd noticed in the air had to be coming from them. They were almost glossy, surface pipped, and -- when he stepped off the path to grab one -- they came off the branch almost without effort, dense and heavy, so ripe they practically oozed juice.

He knew he shouldn't just eat some random unknown fruit, but it wasn't bright red or sour-smelling or anything like that. He twisted it with both hands, the thick rind tearing almost perfectly. Thick orange-red pulp oozed out, smearing over his fingers and dripping down his wrist. The inside was the same color, the flesh almost translucent, jelly-like, in a thousand tiny bubbles, like some combination of a tangerine and a persimmon. It smelled so good, the sweet, rich scent making the dry feeling in his throat worse and worse.

He bit into it, juice smearing over his nose and lips, staining across his pale fur and blending into the dark markings around his face. The bubbling juice-sacs burst in his mouth, and it was delicious. Sweet and slightly tart, mellow enough that he could simply gulp it down. He set back on his way to the camp, parched throat entirely dealt with. Its pulp got everywhere, drying sticky between his fingers, catching in the fur around his mouth even after he tried wiping his face. He sloppily ate the rest of it, eventually hollowing it down to the pith. It only took a minute or two to eat, and it gave him an extra bounce in his step on his way down.

A few minutes passed before the energy turned into a hot flush, sizzling across his face and down his chest. It radiated up all the way to the tips of his long fuzzy ears, the pale-pink interior flushing darker. His skin seemed extra-sensitive, the still, humid air making his skin prickle, fur standing out stiff. It wasn't bad; it made the walk down to sea level feel even more like stepping in a humid bathroom, acutely aware of the heavy, moist air wrapping all around his sweating body.

He was hot from his run, and sweat trickled down his back, over his stomach. His damp clothes caught ever-so-slightly, rubbing over his fur. Little puffs of air burst up his shirt, like a cool breath across his stomach. His shorts were sweaty and bunched together, catching between his thighs as he walked, and the slight jostle against his balls sent a low shock of pleasure radiating through his body. Heat simmered up through his stomach, intensifying with each step. His cock and balls jounced between his thighs, sweat making his fur drag and cling, rubbing together heavily. His heartbeat raced, pulsing through his whole body.

He staggered to a stop up against a tree, and the ragged glide between his legs stopped, replaced simply with a heavy throb that had been underlying it the whole time. He wasn't getting hard, exactly, but his cock felt thick and heavy between his thighs, balls pushing against the crotch of his shorts, spilling out against his thighs. He stood there, leaning panting against the tree, shocks of heat racing across his stomach, cock and balls throbbing like it was a second heartbeat.

A minute or two passed before he realized it wasn't his imagination; his cock really was swelling. The crotch of his shorts had been loose, but now they bulged outward, making an obscene outline. He pressed a hand across the front of his shorts, experimentally, and the pang of pleasure was like a bolt of lightning. He gasped, hand dropping bonelessly to his side as he reflexively arched up, thrusting his hips forward. His swollen cock bounced, slapping back down against his thighs, and the pulse of precome that came afterwards felt like a faucet being turned on, a huge wet squirt instantly soaking through his underwear and darkening the material of his shorts.

He tried to stand and instead stumbled forward, his cock a new strange weight, heavy and aching practically hanging off the front of his body. His shorts were more and more of a constraint, compressing the soft heft of his cock and balls, and the pressure jangled through his nerves, dissonant and electric without being unpleasant. He dragged his hands up the aching swell of his balls, pressed forward between his thighs, the length of his cock a fat tube to the side, and just barely -- with shading hands -- popped the button to his shorts and dragged the zipper down.

It hardly helped: the curve of his shaft burst out, underwear tearing, but the head of his cock was nestled down the leg of his shorts, trapped there by the heft of his swelling balls. His increasingly-soaked shorts creaked with every movement as he tried to fish out his cock. His shaft was too thick to easily grab, so he had to try and reach inside, slowly pulling the newly-fat arch of his cock out. His cockhead spat out more slick bursts of precome, and he could feel the fluid pulse inside him, rushing up the inside of his cock in sudden spasms.

It finally pulled out, exploding from his shorts in a gushing spray. Precome splattered all across his legs, smearing thinly across his hands. The limp length -- soft and jiggling, barely even erect at all -- was gargantuan. It flopped forward, head swinging between his thighs, pulsing thicker and longer, and the motion dragged him forward, staggering to avoid falling forward from the sudden shift in weight.

Even with his cock out, his shorts were still tightly-tented, balls stuck inside and already swelling, as if to fill the extra room. Smooth skin peeked through the vee of his undone zipper, balls straddling his crotch, heavy cords shifting inside his sac, practically churning.

He grabbed his cock with both hands, soft skin dimpling under his touch. Veins bulged to the surface around his palms, radiating up his shaft, all the way to the heavy folds of skin gathered around the ridge of his cockhead. His skin was slick and sweaty, moist with precome. It was pulsing under his fingertips, still slowly growing bigger, stretching further, bulging thicker behind his hands, until when he let go the tension released and it sprang forward, an inch longer. He tried to lift it, his length twitching and stiffening -- or just still growing, in tiny creaking stretches, -- his thin biceps in sharp relief as he dragged it up, closer to his face.

It peaked, head wobbling in the air, and then fell back to smack against his stomach. There was a second pulsing gush of precome, exploding in an arch over his head and raining down across his hair in syrupy strands. The weight of it bowled him back against the tree, leaving him clenching his cock, gasping for breath, wreathed in the unexpectedly sweet and floral-smelling aroma of his precome. Now that it was out in the open, he could watch it leak: the slit was thinly open, fat beads of precome bubbling up to gather at the tip, like shining dew. They grew too large, wobbling and splitting into streams as they dripped down his cockhead, smearing against skin and soaking into his shirt. His cockhead pulsed, spurting shorter lines of precome across his shoulder as it smeared a dark path over his teeshirt, inching larger across his chest.

Now that he was paying attention, it did seem... different. His pre was thick and syrupy, and where it gathered in thick piles it had the slightest translucent color, the same red-orange as the fruit. He stooped his head, mouth already open as he easily pressed his short muzzle against the curve of his cockhead, and the burst of sweetness across his tongue confirmed his suspicions.

His cock kicked, shuddering harder as he lapped across the smooth, turgid dome of his cockhead, beyond too big to fit in his mouth. It was taut and shining, close to the size of his head, the slit winking open and closed as it oozed dewy bubbles of precome. He licked long stripes across it, cleaning up the streaky lines of precome, the taste heavy and floral. Even erect his cock was soft, fingers digging into the bloated sides of his shaft, compressing it so it bulged out around his hands.

He tried stroking, both hands just barely overlapping as he worked up and down his shaft. His still-loose skin dragged along his shaft, foreskin just-barely curling over the fat lip of his cockhead. Precome was simply spilling out of him, in a constant stream, and even as he tried to swallow it all it spilled past his lips, catching along his foreskin and drooling down his shaft, running along the outlined ridges of his swollen veins, pulsing visibly with his heartbeat.

He panted against his cockhead, moist breath making him spurt out runny gushes of pre across his face, webbing along his forehead, his cheek, the bridge of his nose. He couldn't even stroke it properly; it was like doing some weight lift trying to reach all the way up and down his length. He needed one hand to just keep it steady, splayed out just below his cockhead, keeping the top-heavy weight of it pinned against his chest.

He reached down, running his fingers over the thick flesh peeking from his shorts, wrinkling and stretching still. He tried to shimmy out of his shorts, balls aching to be free, each one pinned against his thighs, straining the material of his shorts. The seams just ripped, the soaked material creaking, stitches popping, as he tried to pull them down one-handed, dizzy and distracted with his mouth kissing his leaking cockslit.

The material tore into ragged sections, left ball rolling free in a sudden lurch as the outer seam tore down his leg. The sudden shift of it bursting free made him stumbling sideways, the immense weight sending him down on one knee, and that stretch was just enough for the rest of his shorts to jerk apart -- underwear long since torn to shreds, -- finally letting his balls hang free.

His balls brushed against the ground even kneeling with his thighs pressed together, skin slowly stretching lower; when he spread his legs they simply landed on the ground in fat squishing contact patches, all their excess weight suddenly resting on the ground instead of hanging like weights from his hips. They were soaked with sweat and pre, and the humid breeze seemed to cool and overheat him at the same time. Rushes of heat pulsed through his body, all focused on the newly-gigantic heft of his balls, the throbbing length of his cock. He smeared his hand across their swollen weight: huge oblong orbs, churning and working under his fingertips, cords straining against his rubbery skin in abstract lumps.

His cock was dripping eagerly against his face, his shaft bloated and lumpy, distended immensely in the middle. It was way too big and squishy to just jerk off. He dragged his hands around it, cock squeezing and distending, bulging out around his hands in response to the pressure. He dipped his tongue into his gaping cockslit, sweet fruity nectar bubbling out around his tongue, spurting in thicker, pulpy gushes across his face, drooling down his neck.

His hands worked along his shaft: one a constant grinding pressure against the underside of his cockhead, rubbing back and forth over the thick cord of flesh webbing out there, slick and coated in precome; the other dragging up along the fat bulge of his urethra, pulsing under his fingertips as he spurt lines of runny, gummy precome all across his face. He drew his hand back for a second, shifting his weight, and strings of precome stretched longer and longer without snapping, webbing between his fingers and trembling in glistening strands all across the underside of his cockhead, slowly sliding downward over a lower layer of thicker slime.

He whimpered, voice muffled by his cock, wet crackling noises resounding as he slurped along his cockhead. His lips felt swollen, dragging rubbery and smooth over his cockhead, flesh practically squeaking as he rubbed his face back and fort against his massive cock. His hips were pinned simply by the new weight of his cock, immobile as he tried to get himself off.

A dizzy heat swelled inside him, racing under the sweat-damp fur of his stomach, curling at the root of his cock deep inside and pulling, the feeling cresting and receding until he was ineffectually rocking his entire body against his cock, trying to get himself off. He opened his mouth, moans jerked out from his throat, and sloppy pre gushed in increasing floods across his face. With each pulse more dripped into his mouth until it started drooling out past his plump lips. His cockhead was flushed dark, flexing spasms making it flare out, fat and thickly-ridged, digging into the fur across his neck.

The tension rose, coiling higher and higher until it rushed through his entire body, orgasm coming closer and closer. He sloppily kissed his cockhead, his winking cockslit like some alien mouth kissing him back. He moved his hands frantically, straining against his cock, grinding and dragging and pulling and stretching. His cock bulged and distended as he dragged out the web of flesh under his cockhead until he could fit his entire hand in the folds between it, his other hand pressing back against the root of his cock until it felt like he was massaging his cock from the inside, flesh dimpling back over his hand as he pushed harder and harder.

He came with a broken wail, voice cracking as his balls lurched, knocking him backwards against the underbrush. His cock strained even larger, soft flesh iron-hard for a brief moment as the first bolt of come lanced out of him, shooting hard and high into the air and coming down like pattering rain onto the plants behind him.

Naoki mindlessly rocked his body against his spasming cock, come shooting past his face in huge bursts, the wet pulses between shots simply drooling thick and heavy across him, matting his fur to his body as he came and came, until he was coated from head to toe in a sticky layer of orange-white come, floral and sweet, like pulpy fruit juice. He pressed his mouth to his spurting slit, the shot more than enough to fill his mouth and then some, cheeks bulging as he struggled to swallow, the pulse lasting a full second and leaving him with his face coated and dripping. It was crisp, like fresh berries, with only the slightest hint of thick bitter-salt, an aftertaste that lingered in his throat as he lapped up the rest of it, gasping with each new pulse, too involved in his body-wracking orgasm to even swallow again.

He finally spent himself, going bonelessly limp as his cock drooled out the final dregs of his orgasm all across his chest, smearing his fur into stiff peaks. The ground below him was saturated, his fur grass-stained, his come soaking into the ground. He couldn't even think for a few minutes past, orgasm still resonating through his body, cock over-sensitive, echoing aftershocks running up and down his spine.

He pulled himself up eventually, though, dragging the softening weight of his cock up, legs almost folding simply from the effort of hefting his mammoth balls. He'd come here hoping to relax, but... he just had to know, if that was what happened from one fruit, what would it be like to eat more?

Slowly, stumbling under the weight of his new genitalia, he headed back up the path.