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It was never supposed to be like this. Things just went a little too far. Okay, way too far. The first thing you have to understand is that I'm not an idiot. I was just sympathetic to Kyle's plight. I remembered what it was like to be a little guy, just starting out at the gym, wondering why my muscles wouldn't grow when everyone else's gains seemed to be in overdrive. But I'd fixed all that. Got my diet in check, started really pushing myself hard, and after a few years of consistent work, I was sporting a good 180 pounds on my 5'9 frame. Not huge, but big. Big and hard. When I'd flex my arms, a solid, veiny orb like a softball would pop up, almost stretching my sleeves to the breaking point. You can bet that I showed those babies off when I went out to the clubs. Kyle, though, Kyle was a mess. My little buddy was only an inch shorter than I was, but he looked like he weighed half what I did. I was surprised when he told me he weighed about a buck thirty. In two years of working out, he'd gained precisely three pounds of muscle. Now, I know what you're thinking. He must have been making some sort of easy-to-fix rookie mistake, right? You'd be wrong. I'd been to his place countless times. His fridge was bursting with chicken breasts, healthy carbs, greens. You'd think he spent all of his time cooking, but that wouldn't have left him much time for the gym. And boy, did he put in his hours there. I'd gone with him a few times. He couldn't lift much, on account of being a twig, but he lifted hard and he never gave up. If I'd had half his dedication during my own transformation, I'd have been an Olympia competitor for sure. Not that I was into that. Hot guys, yes. Posing straps and fake tans, not so much. Anyway, my point is that Kyle was obsessed. He'd tried everything, from supplements to a bad round of steroids that had left him looking like a pimply teenager for a month or two. Then had come reiki, Eastern medicine, hypnosis. None of it had worked, but he kept trying. So it wasn't a huge surprise when he turned up at my place that day with his newest hare- brained scheme. "I've finally got it," he said, pushing past me and plopping down on my couch like he owned it. I didn't bother asking what he'd gotten. He had a little brown bag, the sort that you pack middle school lunches in. From the way he was cradling it in his hands, you'd think it was the fucking Precious. Kyle continued, as I'd expected he would. "So, what if I told you I'd been going about getting big the wrong way this whole time?" He was really cute when he got like this. I'd never tell him that. Beautiful green eyes, sharp features. That curly dark hair. But he wasn't my type. I liked my guys big and aggressive, and Kyle was small and--okay, I guess he could be a bit aggressive, but it was hard to take a guy that skinny seriously. "I'd say you're dumb," I said. "You do all the right stuff." His eyes lit up. "Exactly. I do everything right with my lifting and diet. But I'm like an architect trying to build the Taj Mahal with no marble." "I don't follow." "It's made out of marble. If he'd made it out of adobe, it wouldn't be--" "No, I get the metaphor, dummy, I just don't know what you mean," I said. He set the package down on my coffee table, fingers twitching as if they were loath to part with it. "What I'm saying is that my body's mud. It doesn't have the building blocks I need in order to get big." "Them's genetics," I said, not without sympathy. "I'd help you out if I could." "What a relief! I was hoping you'd say that." Kyle let out a whoosh of breath. Uh oh. "I've tried helping you lift, though, and your form is great. I just don't have that much time to--" He held up a hand. "This won't take any time at all, I promise. Just like a few minutes, if that." I sat down across from him, my skepticism not put off one bit by his promises. It wasn't that I didn't want to help him. I'd supported him over the years, encouraged him in the gym, given him new plans to try. At this point, I knew anything I did was just throwing good effort after bad. "What do you need?" I asked, trying to keep the resignation out of my voice. "I need to borrow a little of your muscle," he said. I blinked. "Borrow?" "Okay, take. But only a few pounds." "Are you feeling all right? I can call 911." "I'm serious." He snatched the bag from the table and pulled out a little test tube. Well, not a test tube. It was more ornate than that. A vial, I guess? Inside was a greyish sludge. It moved sluggishly as Kyle shook the glass container. "What's that?" I asked. "Grade-A weirdass shit," he said. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." "Try me." "So, there was this government test at Camp Pendleton back in the early 2000s, right? And--" "Nope. Stop. You're right. Don't believe you." He blushed. "What matters are the results. This shit changes you inside." "It looks like it's going to give you stomach cancer," I said. "It's not. The guy I got it from is reputable." "So there are reputable dealers of black market government test by- products, now?" He rolled his eyes. "Reputable-ish. Doesn't matter, though. You said you'd help." I sighed. "Help how?" "Like I said, this stuff changes you inside. I drink it. And then I have to... you know, touch you." "If you came over to hook up, you could've just said so," I said, jokingly undoing the knot securing my shorts. Yeah, we'd fucked a few times, but that was a long time ago. It wasn't like that between Kyle and me, really. He kept on going. "I don't know how it works, precisely. The guy who sold it to me had a lot of papers on the mechanics of it, but let's just say it's magic. I touch you, and it transfers some of your muscles to me." "That sounds pretty unbelievable. And kind of ridiculous. I mean, if it were true, no one would be able to have sex with you again, right?" "No, it only lasts for a little while. I checked," he said. He held up the vial to the light. Even when he wasn't moving it, the fluid inside kept moving, as if it was slightly alive. "You're really serious about this, aren't you?" I asked. "Dead serious." "It's not going to work. You know that, right?" "Then you have nothing to lose," he said. "Okay, maybe a few pounds." If there was one thing Kyle could do, it was sell his crazy. For just a moment, I actually considered what would happen if he was right, and the snake oil he was holding actually worked. "How much are you thinking? I just got my bench over 250." He shrugged. "A few pounds? Ten? Would ten be okay?" I considered it. Ten pounds would put him in the range of normal. And I'd still be pretty big. I could gain it back in a couple of months. There was also the fact that there was no way in hell that Kyle's sludge was going to do anything. "Make it fifteen," I said, getting up. Kyle's eyes lit up. "Wow, Mike, you're too generous!" He exploded from the couch and wrapped me in a hug, giving me a kiss on the cheek. "Kyle, I don't want you to get your hopes up," I said, extricating myself from the embrace. A shadow of doubt passed over his face, but he forced a smile. "Hey, if it doesn't work, I'm only out ten grand, right?" "Ten grand!? Kyle! You have to return that shit and get your money--" It was too late. In the intervening heartbeats, he had uncapped the vial and taken a swig of its contents. There was not a drop left. "Tastes like shit," he said. "Feels funny." It had looked like shit, too. "You going to throw up?" I asked. His cheeks had a flush to them. It made his eyes seem unnaturally bright, like two cut emeralds. I reached for my cell, considered calling the hospital, just in case he keeled over from whatever he'd just drank. But he didn't look like the stuff was having any ill effects on him yet. "No, funny good. Like warm in my stomach." He let out a soft gasp. "I think I feel it working." "Okay," I said, putting my phone down. "So what do we do now?" Collecting his wits, he focused on me again. "Take your shirt off." I don't know why I went along with it. He probably could have touched me anywhere, like my wrist or my cheek. Without waiting to see if I had obeyed, he started stripping out of his own clothes, first his t-shirt and then his shorts, leaving him standing only in boxer briefs. I followed suit, but left my shorts on. Kyle's body struck me again with how totally unimpressive it was. He wasn't fat, not even skinny fat, but there just wasn't enough muscle tone to justify the hours he spent toiling in the gym. He had a smooth chest, flat as a pancake on both sides, with only the faintest divide to hint at where one pectoral ended and the other began. He had abs, but only the sort that small guys get because they don't have any body fat to hide the muscles. I guess the one thing you could say about Kyle's body was that he had a nice cock. At seven and a half inches, it was nearly as big as mine. Right then, it was tenting out his boxer briefs. "Maybe it's just black market Viagra," I said, flicking his cock gently. He moaned. "Oh, man, don't do that. Whatever it is, it's making me super horny." Seeing him so turned on was having a similar effect on me. My dick started waking up from its nap. I told Ol' One-Eye to go back to sleep, that there was nothing to see here. "So now you touch me?" I asked. My voice was suddenly hoarse. "Yeah," he said. "Like this." Kyle placed both of his hands gently on my chest. His palms were warm and damp, fingers trembling. Heedless of my commands, my dick kept lengthening, spurred on by the intimacy of the situation. I resigned myself to a full on boner. "What now?" I asked. "I think I feel something," he said. "Don't you?" "No, I--" But I did feel something. It was an electric tingle where his skin met mine, not precisely pleasant, but not painful either. As his hands lingered there, it grew in intensity. I felt a heady weariness piling up on me. All my limbs felt heavy, like I had just finished an incredible workout, or maybe like a few days of too little sleep were creeping up on me. I staggered. My arms reached out instinctually and I steadied myself by grabbing Kyle's skinny arms. What I felt made me pause. The electric buzz between us intensified. His biceps were small, but hard under my hands. I could feel the electricity buzzing through them, almost as if it was feeding them. The skin under my fingers shifted slightly, almost as if Kyle was flexing them, but he had barely moved. No, he was not tensing them at all. They were growing. It was a slow transformation. I would have missed it at a casual glance, but my eyes couldn't leave Kyle's swelling arm. It hardened as it grew, going from merely solid to feeling like rock in a matter of moments. Or minutes. I don't know how long I stared. As I watched, Kyle's abs started to reshape themselves. They tightened and drew in, slimming his already-thin waist. Or maybe it was just that his chest and back were growing broader. His lats started to flare out a little. The crease between his pecs deepened as the muscles themselves pushed outward slightly. Man, he was starting to look pretty good. Kyle pulled away. I stumbled, surprised by his sudden movement. At least he'd had the presence of mind. I'd found his transformation, however slight, to be hypnotic. Not to mention fucking hot. "Whoah," I said. "Whoah," said Kyle. He flexed his right arm. It had been a featureless noodle before, but a firm, goose-egg peak popped up. Kyle's fingers explored the hard muscle as if it was the only thing in the universe. I didn't blame him. It was easily thirteen or fourteen inches and shredded to the bone. "Looks good," I said. Kyle glanced up at me. His gaze took me in. His eyes widened. "Oh, shit," he said.

Part4 Eric spent more time in the change room after that. Well, and in the gym and he even started swimming in the pool. But either way that left him in the change room more often … using a locker near Kevin. Okay, he was intrigued. It was like Kevin was on steroids. Only he wasn’t. They tested for that because while getting your feet stretched out an extra five inches might not get noticed, but apparently putting on 20 pounds … closer to 25 by now … of muscle over a couple of months does get noticed. Curse logic. His body was just pumping the testosterone out naturally. So the more he worked out, the more he grew. And inspired by how well his body was responding to the workouts, Kevin was working out a lot. Pushing himself to see just how far he could go. Swim season was over now but it was looking pretty clear he wouldn’t be back on the team next year. He was just getting too damn muscular to swim competitively. He’d played football in high school but never been big enough to consider going further with it, but now? Pound by pound, day by day, that was changing. So, yeah, not-gay Eric was intrigued watching his play out in front of him. Buff Kevin, meanwhile, seemed to be in a better mood. Apparently being a walking growth hormone didn’t include rage. Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t ready to trash talk Eric when he walked in and saw him parked on the bench: “I see you spending time here, but you’re still a skinny-assed twerp.” Cue, the curse. “I know. I know. I don’t have a big thick muscle ass like you.” “Seriously?” Eric thought as the words tumbled out of his mouth. “A muscle ass? Tell me I did NOT just say that.” “That’s right,” Kevin laughed and slapped his own ass and kept walking. He really was getting off on his own growth, “And it’s getting more muscular every day.” Only it wasn’t every day. It was every second. Unlike the testosterone boost, this time the curse brought Eric immediate satisfaction. (I mean in the sense that he could tell it had worked, of course.) Kevin was wearing cotton shorts—was he free-balling in them?—and another tank top. The shorts had been loose enough before but Kevin’s ass thickened with dense glutes stretching the material and drawing it deep down into the cleft of his ass. Eric could literally here the material stretching as Kevin’s ass grew and filled those shorts to capacity. The material didn’t break, but it was stretched so tight over Kevin’s thick glutes that Eric could see the striations in Kevin’s ass every time he moved. The impact wasn’t limited to Kevin’s ass. Again, curse logic, if the ass changes, the rest of the body has to change to balance things out. Kevin’s quads, already a respectable size blew outwards, the tear drop above his knee dancing up and down as he moved, and his hamstrings rolled out to form a distinct shelf. Walking-growth-hormone Kevin had a solid upper body now but this change added gave him a bottom heavy powerskater’s body shape, with massive thighs and thick meaty glutes. “Fuck,” Kevin rubbed his hands up and down his thighs as he stepped on the scale to announce that he was now topping out at 215. He was oblivious to the fact he had gained 20 pounds of muscle in his lower body in the last minute but he still seemed to get something was up. His lower body seemed to be throbbing as he ran his hands up his muscles again. “Been going a little hard on the legs lately,” he said looking down at himself and then gave another laugh at Eric, “too bad I can’t share with you, eh skinny ass?” And with that Kevin walked out of the change room, his ass cheek’s were sliding tightly against each other as he moved and his inner thighs had to slide by each other as he walked. The movement opened up a tear on the seams of the shorts. They’d survive the workout. But Kevin would discover, to some annoyance and some pleasure, that the only clothes that would fit him at home now were sweatpants. His jeans wouldn’t even make it over his thighs, never mind that big thick muscular ass of his.

I posted this on the old forum many years ago. I'm curious to see if it can be still interesting to the people who've never seen it before. Maybe it'll inspire others to write new chapters in entirely new directions from what had been done in the old forum. Enjoy. Ben. 1. Down and down went the elevator, he could never remember how deep, exactly. A freudian block of some kind, maybe? Wanna stay sane? Then don’t think too much, compadre. You could feel the heat receding while descending down the mineshaft, the well getting somehow cooler and damper, and then, in an unsettling way, getting warm again. The magnetically levitating elevator plunged straight into hell, as temperature neared the unbearable. And then it stopped almost instantaneously, the sudden augmented gravity making the men, even these ultra-developed, specifically mutated specimens grunt in unison, their kneecaps and exploding quads absorbing the multiplied weight. The metallic reinforced doors slid screeching open, and the stench of sulfur, ozone and sweat saturated the air. They moved silently into the scarcely lit cave towards their respective shafts without even speaking, the first drops of sweat already soaking their shirts and pants. Here we are, near the core. Some workplace. You must be born into this job, they say. No way you could survive the sheer intensity of the mine work, the onslaught on the muscles and the back, the loudness, the unbreathable air, the solitude, and of course the blackness, the constant scarcity of light and the consequent nostalgia for a day in the sun without being accustomed to it since your birth. Sadly, this being the planet Mars, a day spent idly bronzing on a beach more than a fantasy was a proven impossibility. And the thing is, Ben wasn’t born into this job. And neither ware the others. They were made into it. Physically augmented for the job. This was labor camp M01. M for Mars, 01 for it was the first and, for the moment, only colony on this planet. Built by the legion of Superheroes, mind you. Not that the public on earth was ever to know this, of course. A mine, and a prison. Or maybe a prison and then a mine, as if the drilling and the uranium were just some afterthought?—well, here I am again, thinking… Ben shrugged and activated the strange contraption hanging from a specially designed rucksack attached to his body. You could call it a rucksack, if you’ve ever seen a nuclear-powered rucksack weighing around 200Kg, that is. In fact, it was more like a battery. Powering a nuclear drill that could break even through the most sturdy rocks of the known universe, and of course make short history of anything less resistant should it come unto its path. Like a hand, or your foot, or a camp guard, for that matter. That’s why on M01 you could find so many augmented, sturdy men looking all muscular and pumped up like some superhuman bodybuilder (or like Thor, to be more precise) limping around trying to divert your attention from the missing foot flexing their enormous biceps or stroking their equally inhuman cocks—sometimes with the left hand, in want of a right one, pulverized by the powerful yet hardly manageable jackhammer. And no hope of having limbs replaced with some new biomedical ones developed on earth, with this being just some faraway jail-house full of superstrong criminals people either ignored the existence of or wished as far away as possible, when not dead altogether. Ben coughed hard, as always at the beginning of a shift, before throat and lungs got accustomed to the fine uranium-rich dust floating around him as soon as the drill started to break rocks with its ultrarapid microvibrations. 4 Years like this. He wiped his eyebrows.These were tears alright but not for sadness, he repeated to himself plunging the drill into the rocks again, his triceps exploding, his arms hard and unmovable, rocks creaking all around. Can’t be sadness, never. He punched the rock, chunks flying everywhere, a fissure creaking a couple meters down the shaft. It has to be rage. Rage can be your friend, here, actually your only friend. Rage can save you. On M01 you got acquainted with rage as if it were your next-of-kin, as soon as you got raped the first night, before the doctors called you in and put you through the augmentation process. And then after it, when you were excited, feeling like superman and looking just as muscular and maybe horny as hell and aggressive and all, well then it was certainly not the end. That was just the beginning. People got if possible more violent, you could get assaulted practically every minute especially during work shifts, for no apparent reason except the thrill of trying out all this strength on someone. Anybody could be a target, as long as the aggression involved at least 2 or 3 people against one. Ben snorted. What use is there in being superstrong, if everybody else is it too? Ben heaved the small cart now full of rocks and adjusted it on the tracks, then pushed it grunting up the shaft. As soon as he got it moving, its magnetic propulsion system took command, and it glided silently up and away. He stood there panting for a couple seconds, the shirt beautifully stretching over his powerful torso at every breath, revealing the perfectly sculpted lower abs where they began to get covered by the dark trail of hair coming up from his crotch, there where the pants absconded the realm of pleasure that was his ample basket. Ben reached for a flask of water hanging from its belt and drank some of the dense, mineral-rich water inside. 15 second pause, see if I can make it 20 or even 30? But then he heard, before even seeing, the small floating camera coming and zooming in on him. Alright, alright. He gave it the finger, of course, but started the drill again all the same. He admired his manly hands as they gripped the drill strongly. So strongly in fact, that even this special metal bore the indentations of his fingers. After all these years, he was still somehow aroused by the sight of his own arms, his forearms especially, with all the little powerful muscles dancing around at every movement of his hand, like little supermen themselves, ready at his orders to give a hand or to get into a fight, prevail on anything and crush it to dust. He didn’t know if it was the same for everybody, but seeing how everyone couldn’t help but flex in front of every mirror they might come across, he was ready to bet it was: power made him horny. He wondered if Superman, or Thor or Hercules ever felt like this watching themselves, flexing their godlike muscles. Could he be as strong as them? Certainly not. In fact, inmates like Ben were strong and hung and physically practically perfect, they could curl a ton and withstand normally deadly environmental conditions (not to mention fucking each other—mostly without consent of the fucked ones—for hours) but still they were abused, and prisoners all the same. The M01 had its own way of belittling you, making you feel vulnerable and unsafe. Not a difficult task on planet without a proper athmosphere… And the guards were augmented too, obviously.Everybody dreamed of getting back to earth and show ‘them’ what a man really was, but in fact nobody knew anything about any actual inmate returning to earth to live as a god among mortals. When new inmates came in, invariably they had never heard anything about the augmentation process. Ben once asked a guard about it, and before being as usually punished with the high-charge electrical dissuasor the bastard said inmates were allowed to live a somewhat normal life in special reserves, like the indians did. Or you can stay with us indefinitely, if you don’t like the idea, sucker. FRAZZ! So as long as they could work, even if physically injured, inmates had a chance to see the end of their detention period and ‘return to earth’, whatever that might really mean. If not, weird, perfectly timed incidents seemed to happen all of a sudden. Like some emergency door in a not too deep tunnel opening unexpectedly and sucking a fatally injured or rebellious inmate out into the scorching heat and airless surface of the planet, were eyes and lungs exploded outward, the skin got fried by the sun and life left you even before your superhuman corpse touched earth. That is, Mars. Oh, well. Let’s get to work, or this day’ll never pass. Ben adjusted his grip on the drill and pushed it further into the rock. He smiled, after all. Can you think of anything more macho than this? he thought. Isn’t that the very image of fucking? To drill into the rock, tearing the damned thing and the whole fucking red planet in two with the power of a unrelenting drill, driven by the steady, superhumanly strong grip of his hand, all this inhuman power in himself unleashing against this hard yet unsuspecting matter which may try to resist but will finally submit to the swelling of his triceps, the sheer, unstoppable might of his pecs and quads and calves, his ass contracting, pushing him forward, and further still, the indestructible rock proving no match for his brawn, or the power that he unleashes with utter pleasure and abandonment, and… Ripp! Aw, fuck! Long time it didn’t happen to me, he grinned to himself, snapping back to reality. He smiled at his proud cock saluting him out of the pants it just effortlessly ripped apart. They augmented us but nobody has still invented anything wearable strong enough to contain a superhuman cock once it decides to get hard.Trying not to lose control of the dangerous drill in his excited state he looked around. Good, fucking camera not in sight. He pushed the drill further into the rock, intensifying the motion and breaking the wall of the tunnel at the height of his torso, so as to have the lower side of it brushing against his thighs and crotch. Not that whoever was operating the camera would have had much to say had he catched him doing this, it being a favorite pastime of every inmate, as long as it didn’t stop you from work.Brushing against the rock Ben got himself harder then it, and then, bending his knees slightly, rammed his cock inside the protruding part of the wall, shivers of pleasure traversing every mound of muscle on his godlike form, grunts of pleasure escaping his lips, the drill steady in his hand, the metal groaning and bending under his grip. The poor rock wasn’t anywhere as hard as him, it really had no chance. And offering little resistance, too. No way this mineral could prove harder then the asscheeks of any other inmate he had already the pleasure to force into submission and fuck… His cock and thighs pulverized the rock around them almost as efficiently as the nuclear drill itself. The harder-then steel shaft hungry for resistance, making its way into the rock as far as possible… I’m a fucking god of a man, a fucking unstoppable mountain of muscle, a fucking fuck machine… He picked up speed, large chunks of rock collapsing all around him, the drill in his hand going faster then ever, his forehead brushing against the wall and actually denting it like the rest of his almost indestructible body, his pelvis getting quicker and quicker, the unmovable rock being crushed and cracked by a power it had never withstand in all the millennia it lived. Inmates in other tunnels began to feel the vibrations even while working the drill. Some of them got aroused too.Feeling himself close, Ben stopped the drill lest he lose control of it and launching a last assault against the rock rammed his fingers right INTO the wall, gnawed at it, crushing chunks of it under his bare teeth and RAMMED his mighty, superhumanly hard cock into the rock, his 8-pack shredding the shirt and leaving indentations on the wall, every muscle flexed and engorged with blood and earth-shattering POWER. His cock exploded, and he bellowed, cum spraying everywhere, lights flickering around, and small particles of rocks snowing down in the other tunnels on inmates who smiled for themselves betting on who it was this time or getting hard themselves, zipper breaking and pants ripping. His hand still on the wall idly crushing pieces of rock to dust, his cock getting slowly soft again, Ben’s first action as soon as his mind cleared enough for it was to get the drill in function again: the cameras were to return soon, you could always bet on it. No point in being punished again, maybe frazzed into unconsciousness with electric charges, or left without food for days, like the last time. Without much thinking he started to amass all the broken, vanquished boulders into another cart.And yet, he didn’t feel as spent as usual after an orgasm, especially after one so explosive as this. Strange. Something began to make its way into his head… Wait a minute… Did I just BITE the rock? Since when could anybody DO that? For the first time, he watched around himself. His heart skipping a beat, not exactly for fear. Was this all his cum? The small tunnel looked almost like a riverbed. A riverbed of cum. Since when do I cum so much? Where did this come from? And why am I getting hard again? He shuffled his feet on the ground, his working boots sticky with goo. He looked at himself: his hands seemed somehow bigger, and of a strange, pallid color. And then… What’s this?! He had practically no shirt at all, it was all in shreds, and his pants ripped around his bulging quads too. He moved and flexed his thigh, just for the pleasure of it, marveling at the swiftness of the movements, the elegance of those brutal masses of fluid power that could in an instant become so much harder then any rock. He didn’t feel spent. Quite the contrary, he felt stronger. No, mightier, sexier even. The explanation revealed itself in all his simplicity: I grew. The thought made him all hard again. He felt constricted even by his boots. But then of course three cameras appeared simultaneously humming and floating around him… He had broken the rhythm of the carts, thus slowing down the whole chain of work up at the refinement facility. “Inmate Sherman! Resume activity immediatly! As soon as your shift ends, report to…” Suddenly he felt bold. Stronger, really unstoppable. Invulnerable. A part of his mind was telling him that this was another of the usual delusions, the power-trips that could overcome new inmates in the first week of experiencing the exhilarating effects of superstrength, breaking havoc on the walls of the containment facility (which had no sense at all, being there no way to escape if not onto the red deadly desert planet out there), attacking guards or paramilitary staff on the base, believing they could really do anything, and ending always into submission and humiliation, the more painfully the better.But another part of him was screaming louder and louder, like if suddenly breaking free from some kind of confinement, feeding from some invisible and new source of power, inflating his muscles, making him feel like a real superman, no, like a GOD, and letting his dick go into overdrive, the mighty, vein-covered shaft rising again in all its splendor. He moved with a quickness that surprised even him, grabbing the camera into his hand and immediately crushing it into dust. “Inmate Sherman! This will be considered mutiny! Do you know what kind of punishment… ” he grabbed and destroyed the other two cameras, just for the hell of it. Their little metallic body offered no more resistance then a mosquito to a normal man. Alarms began to reverberate all around, energy shields sealing the tunnels to prevent inmates to group and oppose resistance. They were coming. Ben, began feeling suddenly very calm. Even pleasantly so. He grabbed his belt, which was of a special alloy making it ultra resistant and easily teared it apart. What was remaining of his pants fell down, then he teared away the remnants of the shirt, kicked away the boots. He was nude, he felt alive as never before. He stood there for a second enjoying in a sort of stupefied way the sheer fact of breaking all rules and not being terrorized by it, but turned on, instead. He closed his hand around his cock, not so surprised by now in finding it bigger, stronger than ever. They were coming. With stunners, firearms, muscles bigger than his. Well, maybe until now bigger than his. He stood there smiling in the dim light, a living statue of muscles harder than any marble ever, his dick in one hand. He flexed a biceps and marveled at the sight of so much power, he licked it with abandonment. They were coming, they had to be in the elevators already. And yet I couldn’t care less. Or maybe I do? He wasn’t perhaps the most beautiful man in the whole complex, a blond, slavic guard or a rugged Brasilian inmate maybe claiming the prize, but he knew he had a special, unique combination of refined male facial features (black hair and blue eyes, perfect nose and square jaw), and big powerful muscles packed onto a body that seemed short until you came actually near him, when you saw his killer smile grinning down on you, his blue sparkling eyes focused on you, mostly lethally. Just why the hell was he standing there stroking his dick in the tunnel thinking about how beautiful he was? Now here’s old Reason again, arguing. Relax. Reason doesn’t apply to you anymore… He didn’t know what sort of power source had overcome him —given that one really did in the first place— but it surely made him feel powerful and calm and cocksure as hell. He felt godly, he couldn’t find any other word. He stroked his ample organ once and then took a piece of rock from the cart in one hand and smashed it against his ultra-cock, grinning at how fragile the stone felt in his hand compared to his manhood, grinding it against his skin, slowly pulverizing it. He carefully took in the movements of his superhumanly strong forearm muscles… imagining all the supermen on the planet fighting each other for the honor of pleasuring him, kneeling submissively in front of the columns of power that were his legs, licking his thighs and slowly up until reaching his balls and then the harder-than-steel shaft, looking up pleadingly like the slaves they were, licking him clean of all the precum he was abundantly releasing. He abandoned his head backwards enjoying the fantasy, which he didn’t really think of as a fantasy, after all, and only then noticed the strange light flickering from a fissure in the –now to him very small– tunnel. A particular shade of green. He smiled. He heard, with an eerie clearness, the elevator doors opening, boots of running men. At least seven. He ignored the screams and calls of the others inmates, who where trying to understand what was going on. Whathever IT was, it was behind the wall he had just fucked. He reared his fist and hit the wall with all his might. Which he probably by now underestimated. The blow felt to the others inmates like a nuclear explosion, happened once when one of the drills overheated and the battery blew, killing everybody on the floor, as the tunnel collapsed. Only this one was to obliterate everything in the whole sector and would be the last thing they would ever hear. The wall in front of Ben got simply pulverized, tunnels all around his now titanic figure collapsing over inmates and guards not strong enough to sustain the immense weight, the elevators shafts crumbling and trapping the cars in their distorted tracks, shock-waves reverberating to the surface like a strong earthquake, breaking equipment and causing a fire, making personnel in the facility fall on they very sorry asses… The planet itself was shook, like by a shiver of fear. A silence of death came upon the whole sector, but Ben couldn't care less. He opened his eyes, his gaze able to see clearly through the abating dust. He was bathed in green light. Before him, boiling from the heat coming directly from the core of the planet, was a huge underground lake. A green boiling, turbulent, dangerous-looking mass of hot liquid, perhaps originating from molten rocks. He felt a power surge not even comparable to the augmentation process, which was instead rather troublesome and painful. He gasped for air, and stretched every muscle of his body, his hands reaching the ceiling and simply pushing through, the rocks irrelevant to his strength. What is this stuff? Oh.. oh god! He came again, veins covering every part of his body, muscles reshaping in more superhumanly beautiful way, his cum spraying all over the strange lake. The orgasm lasting minutes and then beginning anew still. He was growing, adding muscle to muscle, the feeling of strength and power inside him becoming almost unbearable, the pleasure supreme. He was standing at an aperture he created with his blow in the wall of the cave, up over the brim of the lake, inside this immense and strangely lit hollow space that had till now escaped every geological survey of the planet. The boiling liquid stretched in front of him for what seemed like a mile, the river of his white cum mixing with the color. It had to be very hot, yet he felt a pleasant warm sensation. As yet another orgasm subsided, he watched at himself, looking at his hands in astonishment: not only had he grew again, amassing more unstoppable brawn on his already inhuman figure, but he had also turned a slight green. Must be some gamma radiation in the fluid… I’m becoming a fucking Hulk! Well, an intelligent, incredibly strong and probably very mean fucking Hulk, he thought. Very well. Now what? He felt still hungry for more power. He looked around, he was aware of having caused the death of all his shift companions and a series of incidents up on the surface but he couldn’t be bothered by the thougth. Instead he felt a stirring in his cock again, a mischievous smile creeping onto his face. So many superstrong badasses squashed like bugs because I threw a single punch? How lame is that? How fucking unthinkably powerful am I now? He stroked his dick into hardness again (Will I ever have enough?) and sneered at the idea of having ever been a prisoner. Contained, chained, submitted. He was a god now. Time for this universe to become his playground. He squared his gigantic shoulders, passed his hands onto his pecs feeling the enormous, unstoppable mass of brawn. He looked at the pulsing sphere of contained yet terrifying power that were his biceps, caressed his thighs, feeling every muscle saluting him, springing to attention, ready to effortlessly crush any planet that might irritate him into a pulp. Just like those other fuckers back here, he smiled. Then he stretched, appreciating the pleasure of having so much deadly power at his complete disposal and saw the lake of boiling liquid for what it was. His own personal little swimming pool. With a light push on his feet which made part of the wall of the cave crumble into dust he plunged elegantly into the scorching hot, boiling mass of liquid.

Almost there! One part to go. Thanks for putting up with my ridiculous macro fantasy thus far, guys! Hope you enjoy! A new kind of power source Part 5 The Bible tells us that Moses spoke to God at the top of a mountain. Tim’s biceps put Mount Sinai to shame. “WHAT DO YOU THINK?” His divine voice reverberated through the air. “THESE PEAKS AS BIG AS A FUCKING CITY YET?” He flexed the bulging mass several times, each pump of the stupendous muscle causing it to swell yet further with unbridled strength and impossible growth. Every movement, however casual, caused my flea-like form to tumble about the straining peak. It was only when Tim spoke to me that I knew he remembered I was still there. I was in no danger of falling over the “side”. At full tensed glory, you could have sat a quarter of the population of Swindon on the pale, steel-hard mound. Of course, with every second that passed, that number increased dramatically. There was no danger he would lower his arms either. He was having too much fun. I slammed into one of the tunnel-sized veins criss-crossing the peak’s surface and rolled to my feet. Steadying myself against the hot surface of the blue, furiously-pumping wall of flesh, I tried to catch my breath. “Not yet, Tim,” I gasped. “Man, I can’t believe you’re still so god-damned SMALL!” “GRRRR!” He roared in response, pumping his biceps even more furiously than before. I managed to make it over to a nearby striation (this one only a small ditch compared to the canyon size of some of the others I’d nearly fallen into) and was able to wedge myself into the gap between the two unyielding walls to prevent myself from any further falls. Rolling about the distended muscle was a hot experience – but I was getting pretty bruised too. And I needed a few moments to get my breath back. I spat out a little blood, and a tooth. A minor price to pay for getting a chance to play on a god’s bicep. I realised, for the first time, that I couldn’t even see the curvature of his arm. The pale flesh just stretched out before me, slick with sweat. I had long since given up trying to stay dry. Besides, being drenched in Tim’s manliness was hardly an uncomfortable experience. Hell, by now, most of Wiltshire probably stank of MAN. I imagined people in nearby towns sniffing at the air, the women getting wet and even the straight men getting steel-hard erections as the rich, testosterone scent of muscle-god filled their nostrils. I wondered, not for the first time, from how far away Tim’s muscles could be seen. Other counties? London itself? When would the French start noticing the titan swelling up across the Channel from them? I couldn’t wait until the Americans caught a glimpse of him. Speaking of views, the one to my left was blocked by the veiny mound. To my right, Tim’s pale flesh just went on and on into the horizon, an endless field of twitching, straining brawn that undulated with vast subterranean muscle. “GRRRRRRR!” He roared again. I couldn’t see from here but I was sure that his breath parted the clouds I’d last seen clustering about his pecs, scattering cumuli across the UK with every huff. “YOU’RE JUST NOT TRYING HARD ENOUGH TO GROW ME, SPECK. DON’T YOU WANT THIS AS MUCH AS I DO?” I was sure that my desire was, if anything, stronger than it had ever been, and Tim was gaining hundreds of pounds of muscle mass every few seconds. It had taken a bit of practice but I had been able to break some small part of my mind away from the intense act of growing my friend so that I could actually appreciate his ascent into godhood. It was this part that responded to Tim: “You’re questioning MY desire? I want you to grow MASSIVE. Bigger than you could ever imagine. I think it’s YOU who’s afraid to grow that big…” I noticed my voice was beginning to echo and realised the steel walls about me were starting to stretch wider and wider apart. Soon my refuge would become another canyon-like striation. “Maybe you’re just happy to be this puny, this small.” I grinned. “Maybe I should find someone else to give your device to, huh? What do you say, tiny?” There was a sudden LURCH and my world tilted. I dropped out of the striation and before I knew it I was skidding across the hot, rippling surface of Tim’s bicep peak. My heart was in my mouth. I scrabbled desperately at the slick surface. “PUNY?” The word tore through reality like a nuclear explosion. “I’LL SHOW YOU WHO’S PUNY!” Tim’s growth had kicked into overdrive. I plunged into a bead of sweat several times bigger than my house. Kicking furiously through the hot, viscous, saline liquid, my head and shoulders broke the surface. It was difficult to tell from my crooked, pathetic perspective, but I figured I was somewhere near Tim’s elbow. Only the surface tension of the water was keeping me safe from gravity’s pull. This kept happening. Just when we thought we were both putting 100% of our energies into growing Tim, into cramming more and more mass onto his frame, there would be a sudden jolt like this and his rate of growth would increase. Was the source of the energy – our desire – growing too? Or had we, as I suspected, underestimated the real power of the devices? I glanced about me. Where once there had been an unrestricted view of a cloudless blue sky, now there was just TIM. Shit, that was one of his wrist muscles – his brachio-radialis, perhaps – bursting with rippling mass as it stretched out across the stratosphere. The bicep peak beneath the sweat droplet writhed as the titanic muscles expanded monstrously. Within minutes, his entire body mass had doubled; no, tripled. “My God!” I found myself gasping, though if you asked me whether I was praying to the Abrahamic deity or to my friend, I would be hard pushed to answer. I’ll go for the latter. I was filling the sweat droplet with cum from my ever-ripe balls – had been ever since he had started swelling once again – and somehow my ejaculate seemed a more fitting offering for Tim than any other deity. “STILL TOO SMALL!” he thundered, even as he passed what must have been twenty miles high and nearly that in width. Twenty one miles. Twenty two. Twenty three. The thing is, he was still too small. In our RPs we had rapidly skipped through the stratosphere. Now our journey seemed to be taking forever. I waited until one of my bouts of orgasm was over, then cried out: “Oh, you think YOU want you to grow big, little man? Well your desire’s got NOTHING on mine! I’m gonna show you just how freaking big you could be – if only you really wanted it half as much as me!” I gave another couple of kicks as I trod water. “And then – I’m gonna grow you even BIGGER!” The competition to see who could grow him the most, and the fastest, had begun. * I think there was a faint shift in ambience as we smashed into the mesosphere, though it could have simply been my imagination. Part of my brain marvelled that what had once been his height – a pathetic 25 miles – was now the circumference of one of Tim’s biceps. Grossly out-of-proportion to his stature, his physique was nothing short of… …of… …well, pretty good, I guess. The other part of my brain was obsessed with the thought: Tim was still far too small. “THAT’S MORE LIKE IT, SPECK!” The god’s voice filled my world. He was still flexing his biceps furiously, but they were so monstrous – and I, in comparison, so utterly pathetic – that I barely noticed. Do you notice when continents grate together? Or when the world spins? “WHERE’D YOU GET TO, ANYWAY?” I had lucked out. The crook of his arm was a confluence of sorts, and the bead of sweat had just grown bigger and bigger as more and more rivulets of perspiration flowed into it. The saline globe – now vast enough to flood a stadium – had gradually run around the curvature of Tim’s grotesquely swollen tricep and now hung suspended on the thickening mass of that beautiful muscle. This gave me a perfect view. Glancing one way, I could see the muscles of my god broadening with more and more insane mass. Glancing the other, I could make out the cirrostrati and cirrocumuli drifting far, far below, a swirling sea of white lapping up against Tim’s thickening calves. Logic told me that I shouldn’t be able to see anything. That at this size, at this height, Tim should be nothing more to me than a fuzzy mass, and the Earth little more than that. Yet my perspective was skewed, and I found I could make out details that should have been impossible from my perspective. “I’m on your tricep, Tim!” I called out. Again, he should not have been able to hear me. He clearly had no problem, however. “HANG ON!” The world below me disappeared, replaced with a vast, pale landscape of foothills. It was the tip of Tim’s finger. Carefully he reached up and scraped the bead of sweat onto the flesh of his digit. It had been some time since I was last on Tim’s fingertip. Before, its size had numbed my brain. Now, even the valleys of his fingerprints were lost in shadow. It was, like the rest of him, simply incomprehensible. Fifty miles. Fifty two. Fifty four. Tim raised me to his face. For a moment, I saw the same cute young guy who had thrown his arms about me and ground his cum-drenched briefs into my crotch in his driveway. Then he chuckled, nearly blowing me off his finger and sending me spinning endless miles to my death, and I knew that that Tim was long gone. The only thing linking the two was the desire to grow. “FUCKING PUNY,” he smirked, looking down at me. There was no way he should have been able to see me. No way either that I should have been able to make out his entire handsome, high-cheekboned face when his nose alone was nearly twelve times the size of Ben Nevis. And yet, here we were. “Just like our RPs!” I yelled up at him. His grin widened. “Except usually by this time you’re a lot bigger than this.” Seventy miles. Seventy five. “SHAME YOU MISSED THE BEST PART. ME CRUSHING THE FUCKING ARMY. AND ALL THOSE SKY-SCRAPERS TOO!” I laughed. “Nah – the best part’s still to come!” “ME OUTGROWING THE UK?” I shook my head. “You outgrowing the EARTH, dude.” * He blinked. If anything, that grin seemed to widen. Ninety. One hundred. “YOU SEEM PRETTY CERTAIN THAT’S GONNA HAPPEN, FOR A SPECK. WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU WON’T JUST PASS OUT ONCE WE HIT THE EXOSPHERE? OR THAT I WON’T JUST INADVERTANTLY CRUSH YOU?” He flexed his pecs beneath me. Like continental plates moving, the giant masses clenched into steel-hard globes of brawn. “EVEN AS I’M TALKING TO YOU, I CAN FEEL MY FEET SMUSHING THE LAST BITS OF SWINDON AND MOST OF THE SURROUNDING AREA INTO PASTE, AND I’M NOT EVEN TRYING,” he said cockily. “YOU DON’T STAND MUCH OF A CHANCE AGAINST MUSCLE THIS FUCKING HUGE.” “I won’t pass out. And you won’t crush me.” I was mildly surprised by the tone of certainty in my voice. “THAT AN ORDER?” He frowned. I felt a shift beneath me. There was a terrible BOOM, followed by a RUMBLE of destruction that sounded as though a mountain had decided to go for a romp across the surface of the Earth. Tim had taken one step forward. No, this definitely wasn’t the same guy I’d met earlier. This was Tim in full RP mode now, obsessed with nothing more than his own growth. One hundred and twenty. One hundred and forty. “No, not an order – a reality.” A look of bemusement crossed Tim’s features. It was as though he was weighing up the fun it would be to grind me to nothing against the possibility of his growth stopping. In the end, his greed won. “GO ON, SPECK. OUT WITH IT.” Two hundred. Two hundred and fifty. “You see, I began, I think your devices do more than just grow muscles.” “HOW DO YOU ACCOUNT FOR MY MASS, THEN?” He reached up and flexed the bicep of his other arm. It swelled and swelled, stretching grotesquely huge as it filled more and more of the space between titanic elbow and seething, monstrously striated, vascular wrist. “Oh, it grows muscles all right.” My mouth had gone very dry at the sight. Of course, the fact that the muscle kept growing bigger before my eyes did little to help me steady my train of thought either. “But I think it’s capable of so much more. I think it can affect reality itself.” After all, it had kept me alive so far. And provided Tim with skyscrapers and an army to fight, when that should have been impossible in a town like Swindon. And allowed us to communicate, and perceive each other. The list went on. “REALITY?” Tim clenched his bicep into a mind-blowing monster flex as though willing it to grow even faster than before. On cue, I started cumming again as the sinewy mass expanded before me, but I fought through the orgasm. “What I’m proposing is…what if we both – at the same time – stopped just thinking ‘Grow bigger, grow more muscular’ – which is taking far too long anyway, even with the occasional boosts we keep throwing at you. You’re still far too small.” No sooner had I ridden one orgasm out than I was struck with another, more intense one as I began to contemplate what I was proposing. “AND?” He growled, still pumping that bicep into inhuman hugeness. I collected my thoughts. “And instead, just think – again, together, right at the same time – ‘Be bigger than the Earth’.” Four hundred. Five hundred. “BIGGER THAN THE EARTH?” “Then we’ll make you bigger still. This’ll just be a test run. A testing of my theory.” He lowered his grotesque planetoid of a bicep. “FUCK. LET’S DO IT.” And we did.

As Eddie and I went from my back deck into the kitchen, I couldn't believe how much bigger he looked after pumping himself up for a couple of hours. "I'm starving," Eddie said, as he made his way to the refrigerator. I noticed that my counters were full of stuff that hadn't been there when I'd left for work that morning. Big containers of protein powders, pre-workout mixes, creatine, BCAA's, oatmeal, big bags of brown rice, etc. Then, when Eddie opened up the frig, I saw that it was filled to the brim with food...family packs of chicken breasts, steak, fish, tons of vegetables, and gallons of milk. "Where did all this stuff....?" I said. "I went shopping," Eddie said, as he pulled out a gallon of what I thought was milk, but turned out to be heavy cream. "How did you....?" "Your credit card," he answered, as he poured half the gallon into the blender, opened a tub of protein powder, and mixed up a shake. He threw in a banana and some peanut butter as the blender ran. When it was done, he put the whole blender pitcher on the kitchen table. Then he pulled an entire rotisserie chicken out of the frig and sat down at the table with it. He popped the top off the blender and took a couple of slugs from it, then opened the chicken container and started ripping chunks of meat off it and stuffing them into his mouth. Before I knew it, he had devoured the chicken, and was chugging down the rest of the shake, tipping the pitcher back and shaking it to get all the thick liquid to run into his mouth. When he put it down, he saw me watching him, transfixed. "Did you want some?" he asked, nodding at the stripped carcass on the table. "No," I said, "I'm good." I was happy with just watching him stuff himself. Eddie got up and took the pitcher with him to the sink. He filled it up with water, then added a couple scoops from the tub of BCAA container, which changed the water to an orange color. Then he downed the whole pitcher. "God, that's good," he said, setting the pitcher down and wiping his mouth with his massive forearm. Then he peeled a couple more bananas and started eating them. "You sure it's a good idea to eat so much before the wrestling tryouts?" I asked him. He looked up at the clock. "That's not for a couple hours, man, I gotta eat to grow. Although I grew even on the crap they fed us in jail. Imagine what's gonna happen now that I'm really eating. Can practically feel myself growing. Look at my arms, man, so swollen and tight, I think the skin would split if I flexed them right now." And he was right. His biceps were so pumped. "I look bigger than I looked when I got here yesterday?" he asked me. "Yes," I said. And he did. And his skin was tight on him, like he was wearing a flesh colored wet suit. "Heh, yeah, I know I am, Cuz. And feeling so strong, too. Wait until those tryouts. I am gonna massacre anyone in my path." "How long since you wrestled?" I asked him. "I wrestled almost every day for the six months I was in jail. They had a room with mats. After my workouts, I'd challenge someone to fight me. Mostly gang members or bikers. They couldn't say no without looking like a pussy." "You ever lose?" "Dude, you remember I was state champ?" "Yeah." "Most those guys sucked at fighting, but it's still a rush to make a gang leader squeal in pain. Get him in a hold and bare down hard. And there was this MMA fighter who was in there for beating up his wife. I loved working him over, put him in hold after hold, sapping the strength out of him, then finish him with a sleeper or full nelson. Loved feeling him go completely limp, then dropping him to the mats. He got so he'd hide from me, but I always managed to hunt him down when I wanted." "Guards never stopped you?" "Nah, gave them something to watch. And there was one big old guard who'd wrestle me for fun. Used to be a champion powerlifter. Even did some pro wrestling for awhile. Dude must a been 60 years old, still strong as an ox though. Still juicing up too. The strongest guy I came across there. He taught me some pro wrestling moves. And got some gear for me, too." "Gear?" "Yeah, you know...anabolics, juice, gh, peptides, shit like that. He got some good stuff too, that's why I kept growing the whole time I was there. Came out 50lbs heavier and leaner then when I went in. And a whole lot stronger." He bounced his big swollen pecs a couple of times. Then he opened up a can that said Animal Pak on it, and pulled out a packet full of different sized pills. He filled the blender with water, and downed the whole thing as he swallowed the pills a couple at a time. He put the blender down, then let out a big belch. "S'cuse my manners, Cuz. Now I gotta go take a nap before this wrestling thing. Gotta rest up before I kick some butt. Get me up when it's time to go." I watched him saunter out of the kitchen, all full of swagger and power. He walked into the living room and plopped down on the couch. I cleaned up after him in the kitchen, and before I was done, he was snoring away. Two hours later, I went to wake him up. He was still snoring, slowly and deeply. I watched as his huge chest heaved up and down."Hey, Eddie," I said, "time to get going." He didn't budge. I went over to him and shook his shoulder. His delt was so big and so hard. I splayed my hand out across it and felt like I was trying to palm a basketball. I shook him harder. "Eddie!" I said, louder. His eyes didn't open, but his arm flew up and knocked me onto the coffee table. Next thing I knew, he was on top of me, pinning me down to the table like a gnat. "You shouldn't sneak up on a guy like that," he said. "I oughta show you what I'd do to my cell mate when he snuck up on me," he said, adjusting me underneath him. I had my hands on his forearms, which felt like steel cables. I felt his weight start to bear down on me. "Dude, you're not in jail anymore." "Yeah, well....I was dreaming I was." "And I didn't sneak up on you. You told me to wake you up when it was time to go." "Oh, yeah. The wrestling thing." Eddie didn't move, and the grip he had on my shoulders was going to leave bruises. "But I feel like playing 'cell mates' with you," he said. His grip got tighter. I felt his forearms swell. He was staring at me like he was hungry. "Get off me, ya freak," I said, struggling as if I could break out of his grip. Eddie laughed, then pushed up off me. He stood up, straddling me on the table. His torso looked more massive than ever, towering over me like that. His huge pecs almost blocked out my view of his squared-off jaw line, thick with muscle and golden stubble. The crevice between his two pecs must have been half a foot deep. I squirmed underneath him, but I didn't really long for escape. Then he ran his calloused palm across my face, scraping my cheek. "You need to loosen up, Cuz. We'll have to work on that when we get back." He swung one huge leg over my head as he stepped away from the coffee table. "I'll go get ready." Then he went upstairs. I laid on the table top for awhile, waiting for my hardon to go down. By the time I sat up, Eddie was coming down the stairs. He had on a red wrestling singlet that looked like it was painted on him, his huge muscles expanding out all over it. His big arms jutted out at a 45 degree angle as he stood in front of me. "How's it look?" he said, as he reached inside the singlet and adjusted his big genitals. "Oh my god, Eddie." I could see his abs thru the singlet, like stacked up bricks covered with red cellophane. "Heh heh. Yeah, right? Had to special order this bad boy. They don't usually make em this big. Wanna wrestle?" He crunched over into a most muscular pose. The straps of his singlet looked like they were going to snap like overstretched rubber bands, as his enormous traps rose up and pushed on the back of his cauliflower ears. "I won't hurt you too bad," he said with a smirk. "Save your wrestling for the tryout, musclehead," I said, as I got up and grabbed my keys. "Who you calling a musclehead?" he said in mock anger. Then he flexed his arm in the mirror in the hallway. Twenty-five inches of biceps muscle rose up at his command. "I'm more like a super freak," he said, kissing his own peak. "Maybe that can be my pro wrestling name. Super Freak." I rolled my eyes at his cockiness, as we headed out to my car. Maybe there would be someone at the tryouts who could show him up a little, knock him down a peg or two. But as I watched his hulking frame lumber out to my car and squeeze into the passenger seat, I doubted it. When we pulled into the parking lot next to the gymnasium, it didn't seem too crowded. But when we went inside, there were quite a few people there. At one end of the gym floor, there was a sign that said "Meet Vinny the Viking". Next to the sign was a table, behind which sat a well-built, good-looking blond stud signing autographs. There was a fairly long line of people waiting to meet him. "Must be Vinnie," I said to Eddie, who just grunted, as he looked over at the other side of the gym, where there was a large area of floor mats set up. A group of guys mingled around the area. They were a range of different sizes and builds, but most of them were big and jocky looking. "Must be the other contestants," I said. "You mean losers," said Eddie, with a smirk. There was another table at this end of the gym where Eddie went to sign himself in. As he was finishing up the form he had to fill out, two guys in bad fitting suits came over and walked onto the mats. They asked for everyone who was there to tryout to gather around, and then they introduced themselves as promoters for this new wrestling league, which they said was going to be a combo of wrestling entertainment and mixed martial arts. "We're here today to see if there's any local talent that might be able to join our ranks of fighters. We'd like to pair you up two at a time on the mats and see what you've got to show us," explained the one promoter. " Now, if you'll gather round..." "Holy shit...." said the other promoter. "Jack, take a look over here," he said to his partner, as he watched Eddie saunter up the group. Jack looked over and saw Eddie, rippling out of his singlet, looking twice the size of anyone else there. "Looks like we got a big one, Pete," he said to his cohort. "What's your name, big guy?" "I'm the Super Freak," said Eddie. Pete swallowed hard as he soaked in the size of Eddie's muscles, but Jack laughed and said, "How'd you come by a name like that, boy?" "Cause I freak out anyone who tries to fight me," answered Eddie. "Well, I can see why you might," said Jack, "but why don't we see for ourselves. Come up here on the mats and we'll find someone for you to take on." Eddie walked up next to Jack, and turned to look at the other tryouts. He was twice the size of most of them, and vastly more heavily muscled than any of them. Some of them backed away nervously as Jack looked them over. "You there," he said, pointing to one guy. "You look like a healthy victim...I mean, specimen. Step up here and see what you can do against the Freak." The guy who stepped up looked to be in his early 20's, and around 6' tall, maybe 220lbs, built like a college football star. Certainly big enough to handle himself in a bar fight. But next to the 340 pound Eddie, he looked like a junior high school kid about to take on the circus strongman. Jack and Pete stepped off the mats, and Jack said, "Ok, guys, show us what you got." Eddie turned towards his opponent. The smaller guy stood there, frozen. Then Eddie went at him, picked him up and pressed him overhead, racked him behind his neck, and started doing squats. Slow deep squats. Eddie smirked as his big thighs started to pump up, even from such a light weight for him. He did more reps, and his quad veins started to pop out all over his tree trunk legs. Tree trunks that looked hard as petrified wood. And petrified was how Eddie's opponent looked as Eddie used him as a weight. Then Eddie pressed him overhead again, and dropped him to the mat. You could hear the wind swoosh out of his lungs as he hit the ground. Eddie pinned him to the mat by putting his foot on the guy's forehead, then raised his arms and flexed into a double-bi as he stared out at the other tryouts. "Next," said Eddie. Every guy in the group backed away from the mats. Two of them ran to the gymnasium doors, pushed them open, and ran away into the night. Jack stepped back up on the mats. "Okay guys, don't worry, no one else is going to have to take on the Freak. I don't need a lawsuit when the big guy breaks one of you in two. Pete, go get Vinny over here so we can get a little action going on, see if the Freak has enough going on to take on a pro." Pete headed over to the autograph table. Jack leaned down over the guy that Eddie has just beaten. "You okay, kid?" he asked him, helping him to sit upright. The guy looked dazed, but shook his head yes. Eddie grabbed hold of his arm and helped him to his feet. "Didn't mean to slam you so hard, bro," Eddie said. "Guess I don't know my own strength sometimes." "No problem, Super Freak," said the guy, as Eddie helped him stagger off the mats and walked him back to the group of former tryouts who were staring at Eddie in awe Pete came up to the mats, followed by Vinny. "What's up, Jack?" Vinny asked the promoter. "I have a rookie I want you to wrestle around with for a minute," Jack said. "Aw man. You said I was coming just to promote the league tonight, not to fight some dude off the streets. Besides, I'm in jeans and a dress shirt." "Come on, Vinny, just a minute or two. I think this kid is gonna be something. Do it for me, just this one time." Vinny started to take off his shirt. "You're a pain, Jack. Just for a couple minutes. Where is this kid?" "Right behind you," said Jack. Vinny turned around as Eddie was walking up. Eddie said, "Hey, I know you. Seen you wrestling on TV when I was in jail." Vinny soaked in the massive size of Eddie by backing up until he bumped into Pete. "Jesus, Jack," said Vinny, whose 250lbs never looked so small. Jack laughed. "Show the kid the ropes, superstar." "You kidding me?" said Eddie. "I get to fight him?" I noticed that Eddie's voice was about an octave lower than Vinny's. "That's right, Freak. That cool with you?" "Oh fuck yeah," said Eddie, stepping onto the mats. He turned towards Vinny, then reached up and pulled the straps of his singlet over his behemoth shoulders. He tugged it down until his huge torso was fully exposed. He bounced his enormous pecs back and forth. He looked three times thicker and more densely muscled than Vinny. Then he made a fist and slammed it into the palm of his other hand a couple of times, making a hard slapping sound that echoed in the gym. Then he opened his hand and motioned with his fingers for Vinny to step up on the mats. "Come on, little dude. This is gonna be fun."

Awesome. Good to see you writing! I missed your stories.

MUSCLE MEMORY By LuvsMusl Cody was in rough shape when I picked him up from the hospital. For ten weeks he had been flat on his back, battling a nasty infection. Between the ravages of being sick, and his utter lack of appetite, he had lost at least 60 pounds off his once athletic, solid frame. In short, he was a wreck. He could move only very slowly, one labored step at a time, as I helped him to my car. During the 50 yard journey he needed to stop twice and take a minute or two to rest. But at least now the infection had been knocked back and he had been cleared to come home. I was every bit as happy as my roommate that now he could start moving a little more, rehabbing, and getting back to his old, healthy self. I won’t lie, I love the kid, and we’ve been friends for six years and roommates for two. It killed me to see him like that, and it was a huge relief that he was finally out of the woods. There was still one hurdle to jump, however. The infection had apparently crossed the blood-brain barrier, and his mind and memory were pretty dicey. The doctor was optimistic, but couldn’t guarantee that Cody would get his full mental agility back. For now, he was pretty good at recognizing and understanding whatever was right in front of him. He remembered my car, and knew the route home, and was instantly familiar with our apartment. But almost everything that happened before he got sick was kind of a blurry haze. He’d get a vague memory of something, and he’d say “Did we go to Clairmont together?” Or, “Do I know someone named Christine?” It was unsettling, to say the least. We got home, and as I was helping him to his bedroom Cody put a bony hand around my arm and squeezed my bicep. “Look at you,” he laughed. “Mr. Buff.” Then, sadly, “And then there’s me.” “A month or two and that won’t be a problem,” I told him. “Some healthy eating, maybe a slow reintroduction to the gym, and you’ll be a stud again. Dude, you’ve always been considerably bigger and harder than me.” “Was I?” He clearly had no memory of it, and seemed pretty skeptical. “It’s true. You’ve always been jacked, and you’re crazy good looking. No homo, but in shape you’re a muscular love god. Girls walk into traffic staring at you.” He laughed, still not quite buying it. “Okay, Mike, I’ll take your word for it. But you’ll be my motivation. Cause compared to me you look like fucking Hercules. No homo.” First day back at the gym was a little unnerving. It was like he’d never been there before, and had to be led to the locker room and then pointed to each training room or piece of equipment where we both had clocked hundreds of hours. The great thing, though, was that a dozen of our gym buddies stopped by at one point or another, to high-five Cody, tell him they’d missed him, and offer sincere encouragement. He clearly remembered and recognized a few of them. But with most of them he just played along, accepting their delighted back slaps and fist bumps, while shooting me a look of complete cluelessness. “I sure have some big-ass friends,” he whispered. “You do,” I told him. “But, trust me. In no time flat you’ll fit right in again. It’s called muscle memory.” To be honest, I thought maybe my words were a little too optimistic. On doctor’s orders, Cody took it slow and easy that first day. Light weights, not too many sets or reps. But he was definitely enjoying himself. He was like a caged up animal that is suddenly released back into its natural habitat. And at the end of the workout, damned if he didn’t have a nice little pump going. Miraculously, in three weeks Cody’s body was pretty close to what it had been before he got sick. He obviously had amazing powers of recovery. All of our friends were blown away, and people – inside the gym and everywhere else – couldn’t stop complimenting him on his remarkable comeback. In the locker room, as we showered and dressed, he couldn’t help hitting a proud double biceps pose in front of the mirror. “Is this pretty much how you remember me looking?” he asked. “Dude, you’re a tick away from your all-time best shape. Maybe even more shredded, since you dropped all that bodyfat while you were sick.” “You know, you were right. I am bigger and harder than you. Feel that.” He moved his perfectly shaped, baseball bicep in front of my face. “You’re kidding, right? I didn’t think we were those guys. Those ‘bro’, feel my bicep’ guys.” He laughed. But he didn’t move his arm away. Instead he flexed it a few times to pump some more blood into the two bulging heads, and, with a smile in his voice, challenged me again. “Bro’. Just fuckin’ feel it.” I did what he said. It was hard. A little disturbingly, so was I. I was switched to the night shift for the next couple of weeks, so I didn’t see much of Cody for the rest of the month. We texted back and forth, like always, and occasionally left smartass notes for each other on the fridge. “Hey, loverboy, pick up some laundry detergent,” stuff like that. Finally it worked out that we could spend part of a day together, so we made a date for the gym. On my drive there I realized that except for a glimpse or two of him bundled up among the twisted sheets and pillows on his bed I hadn’t laid eyes on my roommate for at least three weeks. I didn’t spot him on the gym floor. Glad that I wasn’t too horribly late I hustled to the locker room. No sign of him in there, either. Just some massive guy with his huge back to me, changing into his gym clothes. When he bent over to stuff his bag into a bottom locker his thick, perfect lats flared into a giant V the width of a Buick. And that beefy, solid, sculpted bodybuilder ass… Jesus! Let’s just say for a few seconds I not only forgot all about Cody, I forgot what year it was, I forgot my own name. The guy obviously felt me staring, and turned toward me as he scrunched up his tee shirt, getting ready to pull it over the mountains of beef that were pretending to be his shoulders. “Mike! You’re late.” …I think it’s called a fugue state. That thing where your mind and senses just go completely blank because they can’t process reality. I don’t know if I stood there gaping for twenty seconds or twenty minutes. But my next memory was Cody’s handsome face, blue eyes twinkling like in the best of times, breaking into a playful, welcoming smile. Instead of pulling the tee shirt on he straightened his back and tensed his…his muscles. I mean his MUSCLES. Brick wall, razor cut, vascular as hell, stacked and jacked, boner-inducing M… There was sweat running down the crack of my ass. “Dude, tell me the truth,” he said. We haven’t really seen each other for a couple weeks. Can you tell I got bigger? “Cody, are you kidding me? You’re fucking massive! How did you do this? You’re a monster! You look like you’ve put on thirty pounds, and you’re still ripped to the bone!” “I’m up fifty,” he said. “It’s funny. But I think my memory’s coming back. I started remembering what I looked like, and it’s like my body just began falling in line with it. Like you said, muscle memory.” He turned toward the mirror, grabbed one hand with the other, and flexed into a side chest shot. His pecs seemed to triple in size as they ballooned into granite-hard wedges of sheer muscle mass, giant domes of hard beef criss-crossed with rows of deep striations. He flexed a little harder and his upper chest got even bigger, swelling up to a few inches below his chin. It was mind blowing. “So is this how big you remember me?” he asked. “Dude. Stop playing with my head. You’ve never been this huge. I’m not sure anyone has, at least no one around here. You’re, like, fifty pounds more muscular than sophomore year, remember? When we both did that juice cycle and ate like 9,000 calories a day.” “Aw, Mike. That’s why you’re my friend. You always have something nice to say.” He held the pose a little longer, appraising himself in the mirror. “Actually, I‘m remembering that I was a little bigger than this. Maybe even a lot bigger.” He slapped his chiseled midsection and pulled on the shirt. “Let’s hit the weights.” I’ve never trained harder in my life. Cody kept slapping plates onto the bar till we hit our normal max for each exercise, and then he’d drive me through a couple more sets, spotting me as lightly as he could as I grunted and strained to move more weight than I ever had. He was moving like a demon, no rest between sets, yelling out “Come on! This isn’t nap time!” if I tried to pause a moment. By the end of each movement my muscles were burning and quivering, and more than a few times I felt like I might heave. Thankfully, I got a break at the end of each exercise as Cody did an additional two brutal sets without me, usually maxing out at twice the highest weight we’d lifted together. At the end of our workout I could barely stand up. We grabbed our stuff and this time Cody had to help me to the car, more or less carrying me on the couple of occasions I started to lag. “Great workout,” he said as he poured me into the passenger seat. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” As he drove us home I very quickly began to nod out, as the blood drained from my head and rushed into my traumatized muscle fibers. And other places. The last thing I remember was glancing over at Cody as he drove, and wondering if I was hallucinating or if that ungodly huge thing hanging from the steering wheel, that veiny globe of meat that looked like a python digesting a hippo, really was his right arm. I came to on our battered sofa in the living room. Cody, in his briefs, handed me a shake. “Drink,” he said. “Carbs and protein, good stuff.” As I sipped my shake he chugged his. “Bro’, that was kickass. Insane pump, right?” He flipped on a light and strode to the middle of the room. Glancing in the little mirror over our dinette table, he started moving fluidly through a series of bodybuilding poses, watching his chest, his arms, his back, his shoulders as he kept flexing, ridges and striations looking sharper and sharper as he forced even more blood into his engorged muscles. “Mike, check it out,” he said. “Like Arnold in ‘Pumping Iron.’” He caught my eye as I stared in amazement. “It can’t be possible. But I swear you look twenty pounds bigger than when we left the gym,” I said. “Y’know, I think I do. I keep remembering, more and more, how I used to look, and I think my body is gradually getting there.” “Getting there? You’re there, bud, you’re miles past there. I think that virus did something crazy to your self-perception.” He looked at me in a strange way. As if taking me in for the first time. “Look at you,” he grinned, “sitting there all stiff and formal. The workout’s over, we’re home, get comfortable, kick back.” Before I could stop him he was playfully pulling my shoes and socks off, and then my gym shorts and my shirt. I tried to resist, giggling nervously like a teenaged girl, but he was just too strong. Pushing back against his powerful arms I felt like a little boy trying to fend off a grown man. When at last he’d stripped me to my bikini briefs I quickly grabbed a pillow to hide what was happening in my lap. Cody darted to his gym bag and fished around inside it for something. “I brought us a little present,” he said, and pulled a thick, expertly rolled joint from the bag. “Weed? Where did you get that?” “Oh, some girl at the gym gave it to me. And also her phone number.” “What girl?” “Kathy?... Cassie?... I don’t remember. Apparently I fucked her once.” “Apparently she liked it.” “Hey,” he said. “Here’s something else I remembered. That I could do this.” He came closer to me, jiggled his relaxed quad, then clenched it into a hard flex. Sweeping canyons and ridges of human rock exploded into enormous, sculpted columns. I gasped a little, then quickly looked up to see if he had clocked my reaction. His face was covered with a shit eating grin. I’m pretty sure he was teasing me. “For a while I forgot I had these ridonkulous wheels. And calves.” He turned, lowered his marble ass toward the floor, and flexed his calf. Two torpedos of fierce-looking muscle bulged side by side beneath the crook of his knee. “Wanna feel ‘em?” “I’m okay,” I mumbled, clutching the pillow tighter to my lap. “Why don’t we fire that thing up?” “Great idea.” He took a wooden match from a cup on the table, struck it with his thumb nail and lit the joint. He sucked in a prodigious toke, chest swelling as he filled his lungs. Then he sat beside me on the couch and handed me the blunt. As I took a hit I saw him staring down at his midsection. It was insanely beautiful. Perfect rows of hard symmetrical abs framed by the thick fingers of his upper obliques and the powerful V of his transversus abdominis, its two muscular branches converging on either side of his elegant, tawny pleasure trail. All of it pointing downward, down below the waistband of his briefs, down toward the inviting bulge straining against the cotton. Cody and I, both thoroughly baked, sat in silence a moment, staring at the pretty pattern made by those perfect muscles of his lower torso. After a moment Cody spoke. “Do me a favor, Mike. Run your fingers along the ridges between my abs. You know, like you used to do. Checking out how deep they are.” I didn’t honestly remember ever doing that. But I was really high, so I didn’t question it. I gently led my index finger up and down the valleys between his cobblestone abs, enjoying the feel, and the sight, of my digit disappearing to the second knuckle between those hillocks of muscle. After a minute Cody put his thick hand over mine, stopping me. But still clutching my fingers against his hard gut. “Do you know what else I remember?” he asked, pausing for effect. “I remember how sometimes we’d get a good buzz on after our workout and then you’d go crazy sucking my cock.” I started pulling my hand away. Pretty sure this was something I did not remember. “Okay, Cody, stop fucking around,” I said. “That, just now, was definitely not cool.” He continued to hold my hand in his powerful grip. There was nothing I could do about it. “No, really, Mike, this is something I completely remember. And I’m pretty sure you do, too.” “Well, you’re wrong,” I said. At which point he let go of my hand, reached over and pulled the pillow away from my lap, letting my hard, and by now throbbing cock surge upright, breaching the top of my bikini briefs like a big, happy whale rising through the surface of the Pacific. “See, you do remember,” he said. And then Cody kicked off his briefs, and gently but powerfully guided my head to his beautiful cock. I took it in my mouth and something inexplicable happened. Even though I had never done this before, or anything close to it, I actually did seem to remember. Or maybe it was the dope. In any case, it was clear that whatever I was “remembering” was working really well for Cody. And his deep grunts and groans of pleasure helped me remember better and better. A few seconds before he was about to cum Cody pulled his muscle cock out of my mouth and we both sat back and stroked off together, finishing, perfectly in unison, with an eruption of glistening joy juice that rivaled the dancing waters in Las Vegas. After a moment of blissful, breathless stillness, we toweled off and Cody helped me off the couch and guided me toward the bathroom. Standing behind him in the cramped shower stall under a stream of soothing water, I massaged soap onto his wide, muscled back. Euphorically exploring the thick hardness of his traps, his rear delts, the dense, rigid columns of his erector spinalis. My hands now had a mind of their own, and quickly skated down his smooth skin to the solid, triumphant curves of his magnificent ass. It was the Chartres Cathedral of asses, the Parthenon, the Taj Mahal of perfect, sculpted bubble butts. As my fingers slipped through the entrance, soaping him up between his glorious buttocks, my cock suddenly was rock hard again. Poking, without my help, into the soapy pathway I had just created. “You know what?” I said. “I just remembered something else. Do you remember how, sometimes after our workouts, we would shower together and I would fuck you senseless with my big, thick, pile-driver cock?” There was a moment of silence as he considered this. “I’m not sure I do remember,” he said. “Remind me.”

(Finally bonding with the new site. This story was up on the old site, so some of you will have seen it before. I'll be tweaking it and a few others and getting them up here.) It started with something small. The silliest of exchanges. Kevin walked into the change room as Eric was stripping off his shirt, looked over at Eric and said, “fuck man, you have no nipples whatsoever.” It was true. Well, it was true unless Eric was absolutely freezing in which something might pop up. But otherwise his nipples were pretty much non-existent. Genetic thing. That’s the sort of stuff Eric was thinking as he glared at Kevin. That and “fuck you, asshole.” But what came out of his mouth was: “Well, we can’t all have nice plump nipples like you.” And then it happened. As Eric glared he noticed that Kevin’s nipples were literally “plumping up.” They became full and engorged as if they were aroused but Kevin didn’t seem to notice. He just laughed at Eric, flexed his chest, and said, “Yeah, you wish you had a lot of things like me.” As he flexed the nipples pushed out to … it was hard to tell, not a half inch … a third, maybe? They were not obscenely large, but they were full and swollen—plump—and when Kevin finally pulled his shirt on, still snickering, he gave them an involuntary pinch and for a moment look slightly bewildered by the action, by their sensitivity. Then he dismissed it, smiled at Eric again and said, “Seeya round, goof.” And headed off. His nipples pushed noticeably against his white shirt, even seeming to grow slightly more as they rubbed against the material. They didn’t go down. Eric had chalked the weird moment up to a cool breeze, or maybe Kevin was just, you know, sensitive there. But they didn’t go down. Whatever had happened, it was the new norm. Every time Eric saw him in the hallways, or in class, the nipples were still … there. Obviously there. Tweakably there, as when Kevin’s girlfriend gave them a tweak when they were kissing in the hallway. Kevin positively purred in return ad Eric was betting nipple play was a bigger part of their sex life now. But the point was nobody noticed that Kevin looked different. On some level, Kevin seemed to, or at least he seemed to be paying his nipples more attention. Rubbing them absently. But that might have just been because the new, plumper, more sensitive nipples were hard to ignore. But every time, Eric saw Kevin walk by with those nice plump nipples pushing against his shirt he was left with one simple truth: the curse worked. Things didn’t actually start with the nipples. They started back in sixth grade when Kevin punched out Eric for the first time. Then junior high. Then high school. Now they were in the same fricking university dorm. Oh the physical bullying had stopped. You can’t get away with that shit by the time you hit university. No, now it was just snide remarks every time Kevin saw Eric. That steady drip drip drip of insults that seems even worse than a beating. So one day, after Eric had been dumped by his girlfriend, he decided he wanted to curse Kevin. Actually the dumping had had nothing to do with Kevin. But as Eric was walking home from the dump site, Kevin had jogged by and called him a bandy legged pussy whip. It was the snare drum to the shittiest day ever. Ba-dum-bum! Eric wasn’t even sure what a bandy legged pussy whip was, but the gendered language pissed him off and he was mad already. So he headed over to his buddy Tommy’s place and bought a curse. The $100 was handed over and the curse handed back before Eric even asked how it worked. “So I can curse Kevin with this?” he asked as Tommy pocketed the money. “This” was a scroll with a bunch of latin on it. Read it, invoke his name, burn some incense, eye of newt, blah blah blah. “No.” “No??” “Well, yes, but no,” Tommy said. “There are some pretty strict rules. You’re only allowed to curse him with a compliment and only when he has said something negative about you—so he’s the trigger, not you—and the compliment has to be the exact opposite of what he said about you. Oh, and you won’t actually be able to control what you say, it’ll just come rolling out of you.” … Tommy rolled his eyes and went on, “Say, he walks in and calls you an ugly little shit.” Yeah. Been there. Done that. “You’ll turn around and say, “Yeah, I know, I’m not beautiful like you.” It’ll just pop out of your mouth and the curse will make him more beautiful.” … “So I’ll curse him and he’ll get better looking?” “Yup,” Tommy nodded, pleased sometimes this curse stuff took hours to explain. “How is that even remotely a curse?! I’ll doom him to being tall, dark and handsome?!” “Hey, it’s the best we could do with the money you had. Really nasty curses cost a lot of money. But that’s not the only thing, you cast an evil curse and it damages your soul. You pay a price every time you do something negative to him. But with this? You’re giving him what he wants. From a spiritual differential point of view, you come out the good guy.” “But … I don’t WANT to be the good guy! I want to be the dick that curses this asshole.” Tommy was having none of it: “Too bad. You’re the good guy. Look, you’re not seeing the big picture here. Kevin trashes you a lot. Like, a lot a lot. Remember that one time when he called you a pussy boy in the middle of … ” Eric glared “The point is you’ll have a lot of opportunity to throw ‘complements’ at him and, well, sometimes positive things, too many positive things aren’t a good thing.” So, bigger nipples so far. Didn’t see that coming and they didn’t seem like such a bad thing. But Eric couldn’t help wondering what would come next.

It had been two years since Vinny started balancing between his bodybuilding career and his pro wrestling gig, and it wasn't getting any easier. He loved bodybuilding, but it didn't exactly pay the bills, and he was getting to the point where the wrestling was paying pretty well, and he was due up for a two-year contract. Given his popularity in the circuit, he knew he could ask for a lot more. Still, that didn't stop him from entering a major bodybuilding contest just a week before the big wrestling match he was on the roster for that night. He was still a little drained from the hardcore dieting he'd done for the contest, but at 6' tall and 230lbs, he was ripped to the bone, and would drive the crowd wild with his flexing. Besides, the match was pretty much all choreographed out, and he was due to beat the Urban Cowboy for a chance to go for the championship belt. He'd fought the Urban Cowboy about a dozen times before, and they both had their moves down. What could go wrong? But when Vinny got to the arena, he was met in the locker room by two of the promoters, both of whom looked agitated and nervous. "What's going on?" Vinny asked them. "Ok, here's the deal, Vin," said one of them, a heavy-set guy in an ill-fitting suit. "The Urban Cowboy broke both his wrists in a rodeo this afternoon." "So the match is off?" asked Vinnie. "No,no, we can't do that. But we found a replacement....you've probably heard of him, he's called the Mighty Beast." Vinny got a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Wasn't he that fat hairy old guy. I remember watching him when I was a little kid. I thought he retired?" What he failed to mention was that as that little kid, his older cousin had taken him to see pro wrestling, and the Mighty Beast was on the card. When the big gutted, bulked up powerhouse came out, Vinny had gotten that same tug in his gut. And as the brutally strong pro wrestler had beaten his opponent to oblivion, little Vinny had gotten his first boner. After that, he would ache for the Mighty Beast to show up on TV wrestling matches so he could masturbate to him. "Not exactly retired," said the promoter. "He's been wrestling on and off in Japan." "So I'm supposed to fight some old washed up dude on my way to a championship belt? What is he, like 50 years old?" The second promoter mumbled thru his hand, "Fifty-seven." "No way," said Vinny, "I'm not gonna beat up on some old timer like that. I'm 25 years old, I'll look like a jerk." Meanwhile, he was calculating in his head that the Massive Beast must have been in his forties when Vinny first started getting off on him. It was because of the thick brute muscle daddy that Vinny, when he was in his teens, started building his own muscles and flexing out in the mirror in his bedroom. "Listen Vinny, I know it's last minute, but we have a full house tonight, and we need that fifth match. Just do this for us, and we can pretty much guarantee that 2-year contract and the championship match down the road." Those sounded like some vague promises, but Vinny's heart was pounding hard at the thought of facing off with his idol. Still trying to sound nonchalant, he said "Ok, I'll do it. Does the old man know the routine?" "You said it yourself, Vin, he's an old timer. He knows all the routines. You won't regret this." As the two promoters left the locker room, Vinny thought he heard the smaller guy say, "He's gonna regret this, isn't he?" As the night progressed and the early matches started, Vinny stayed backstage, warming up and flexing in the mirrors. He couldn't help but admire his condition. His body fat was holding at about 4 percent. His muscles rippled at his slightest move, and his 8pac abs popped out like cobblestone when he flexed them. Some of the other wrestlers told him he was looking good as they passed by him, and he couldn't have agreed more. Although he had never been able to attain the sheer massive bulk of a guy like the Mighty Beast, he was still jacked up better than 99% of men. Meanwhile, there was still no sign of the old time wrestler. "Maybe he won't show up," said Vinny out loud as he hit a double-bi shot. Now that he'd had time to think about it, he had mixed feelings about beating down his long time hero. He watched himself in the mirror as his 18" biceps rose up. He kissed each hard peak, in a prelude to what he'd be doing when he got into the ring. When the time came for his match, Vinny made his way to the ring. He loved having the spotlight on him, and hearing the cheers mixed with the boos. Billed as Vin the Viking God, he'd become popular in his short time as a wrestler, and his blond hair and good looks didn't hurt, but some people loved to hate him for his arrogance. That didn't bother him because he figured they'd be arrogant too, if they looked like him. He hopped into the ring, wearing only his wrestling boots and a pair of Speedo sized trunks. He put on a show of flexing his muscular body, making sure to hit each side of the squared circle. The crowd ate it up, even the ones that heckled him. He hit pose after pose, till he was dripping sweat. Just as he was starting to think that the Beast was not going to show, entrance music started to play in the arena. The houselights dimmed, and a spotlight shown on a big hulking figure that was making his way down the main aisle. The big man wore a black cape that flowed around him as he sauntered toward the ring. He didn't wave or respond at all to the audience's cheers, but instead, seemed to be focused solely on Vinny. His dark eyes glared toward the ring . His grizzled face had an extremely powerful jaw line, thick with stubble, and an overdeveloped brow that was Neanderthal-like as it jutted out over his eyes. As he grabbed the ropes and pulled himself up, Vinny felt the whole ring shift. When he got inside the ropes, still cloaked in his cape, he jumped up and down a few times. The whole floor of the ring bounced like a trampoline. Both Vinny and the ref almost lost their footing. Just how fat had the old dude gotten, Vinny thought. But then the Mighty Beast undid his cape and let it fall behind him. There was a collective gasp from the crowd. Standing at 6'6", he weighed easily 350lbs. He was not fat. He looked solid as an ox. His chest was huge, and covered with thick salt and pepper hair. His roidgut rounded out, and even thru his thick gut hair you could see his ab ridges, cutting deeply into his hard 6pak. He had on black square cut trunks which were stretched tight as seal skin over his huge glutes and thighs...huge swollen thighs that pushed the legs of the short trunks up higher toward his crotch. His leg hair had not turned gray at all, but was jet black and curly on his 36"quads. He was barefooted, and after kicking his cape out of the ring, he turned and focused his full attention on Vinny. He stepped into the middle of the ring and put his fists up into a boxing stance. Vinny, deciding to play along, stepped up to him and put his hands up too. Vinny realized that he must look small in comparison to the massive old wrestler. He also noticed that the big man's face was overly bloated, as if from doing large amounts of anabolics. That would explain his extremely heavy muscularity. He was much bigger than Vinny had ever seen him as a younger man. Vinny noticed the size of the Beast's forearms. They had to be 18 inches, as big as Vinny's biceps, and all gnarly with twisting veins. Even his fists were over-the-top huge, with big bulging knuckles, made even bigger by his clenching of his meaty hands. Suddenly, he opened one of those meaty fists, and pointed to his big jaw, motioning to Vinny to take his best shot. This was off scripted, but Vinny decided, again, to play along. He swung up at the bigger man's jaw. The Beast dodged Vinny's jab with ease. The crowd laughed. This made Vinny bristle a little. He swung at the bigger man again, this time harder and faster. The Beast dodged again, easily. Then he did a little rope-a-dope in front of Vinny, which made the crowd laugh louder and start to cheer. Vinny didn't like the way this was going at all, so instead of throwing another punch, he swung a roundhouse kick into the side of the big man's knee. Vinny might as well have kicked a telephone pole. All he did was hurt his own shin. It felt like it almost shattered. The Mighty Beast glowered at him, balled up his ham-sized fist and slammed it into Vinny's abs. Vinny flew back like a rocket. His feet actually left the ground from the force of the blow. He hit the ropes hard, then fell to the ring. He could barely breath, he'd had the wind knocked out of him so badly. He looked up as the Beast made his way over to him. The big older man leaned over from his towering height, and put two thick fingers under Vinny's chin. He lifted Vinny up to his feet, and then kept pushing upward with those powerful fingers. Vinny, gagging and choking, grabbed the big man's 18" forearm and tried to push him away, but the powerful Beast kept digging in, until Vinny was on his tiptoes. And then, completely off the ground. Vinny's eyes teared from the pain of it. The old man held him airborne with his two fingers, then flexed his free arm, letting it rise up to its full 26" size. He kissed the peak, then lowered Vinny down till they were face to face. "This is going to be fun," said the big man, his breath hitting Vinny's face like a heat wave. He dropped Vinny to the mat, and then hit a most-muscular pose over him. His traps rose up, thick as an ox yoke. His delts swelled to the size of basketballs. The crowd went apeshit. Vinny had never seen so much muscle on one man. The tug in his gut was ten times stronger than he'd ever felt it, and it spread to his loins. He felt his dick engorging. He knew that if he stood up, the crowd would see his hardon. But before he had a chance to move, the Beast scooped him off the ground and pressed him overhead, one hand on his crotch and one hand on his neck. He started walking around the ring, showing the crowd how he could press Vinny's 230 pounds up and down like a broomstick. Vinny saw the ref leaning against a turnbuckle with awe in his eyes and a pup tent in his pants. Vinny had never felt such strength. And then he felt the Beast's thick thumb rubbing into his crotch until it stroked up against his swelling cock. Vinny's vision went white with pleasure. He put his left hand down onto the top of the bigger man's delt, a delt that was bigger than Vinny's head, and bowling ball hard. He could feel the power of it as the Beast pressed him up and down, up and down. After twenty reps, just as Vinny thought he was going shoot in his trunks, the Beast dropped him behind his head, letting Vinny fall the eight feet to the ring with a thud. With the wind knocked out of him again, Vinny struggled to his knees. He looked over and found that he was eye level with the big man's calves. They were immense. Vinny shook his head in disbelief. The Beast saw him looking at them, so he raised on foot up onto its ball and flexed the calf muscle. It swelled out like an over-filled hot water bottle. Vinny grunted out in awe. But then the Beast dove on top of him, driving Vinny flat onto his face. It felt like a bank vault had landed on him. "Come on, babe, fight me," growled the big man, as he ground his weight into him. Vinny twisted and squirmed as hard as he could, and maybe it was because he was so slippery from the heavy sweat he'd already worked up, he was able to slip out from under his brutally strong opponent. He rolled away from him quickly, jumped to his feet, ran to the ropes, bounced off of them and bodyslammed himself on top of the Beast. It was like landing on top of a boulder. At least when he landed on the mat, it had give. The big brute's back muscles had no give at all. Vinny shimmied his way to the back of the Beast's neck, slid his arms around and under the huge back and applied his full-nelson as tight as he could. He felt the massive mountain of a man underneath him start to move, the back muscles tighten as he got to his feet, Vinny clinging to his hold. By the time the Mighty Beast stood up to full height, Vinny's feet were dangling off the ground. He struggled to maintain his full-nelson, but the big man's lats were so wide and thick, he felt his grip slipping. And then, the Beast took a hold of Vinny's forearms. Vinny felt the powerful fingers wrap around his wrists like vices. Then he felt the Beast break his hold, pulling his hands apart with ease, then pulling his arms upward and judo flipping Vinny's whole body over his head and down to the mat onto his back. Vinny looked up, his eyes glazed, and watched as the Mighty Beast put his big foot on Vinny's chest, then flexed into a double-bi shot. The Beast was so heavily muscled, he reminded Vinny of the cartoon wrestler from the Bugs Bunny cartoon, whose muscles piled up and up, muscle on top of muscle, just like the Beast. Vinny was harder than he'd ever been in his life, and when his massive opponent bent over and picked him up, slamming him into a tight bearhug, his feet dangling in the air. Vinny let out a groan not from the crushing pain of the hug, but because he felt his hardon pressing into the stone hard roidgut of the big man. "Oh yeah, babe," the Beast said to Vinny, "you like this, don't you?" He squeezed Vinny harder against his huge chest and gutball. Then he slid Vinny up and down his hairy torso, grinding Vinny's dick into his thick pro wrestler muscle. "Oh god....." groaned Vinny. "And I just keep getting bigger and stronger. Feel it?" said the Beast as he squeezed harder. Vinny felt like his ribs would shatter. "Ffuckk," said the young pro. "That's it, babe. Cum to this muscle. Worship it. Spew to my 350lbs of superior size and power." He slid Vinny up and down. Vinny couldn't hold out. He busted right in his trunks. He came and came to his powerful opponent. He leaned his head against the Beast's thick neck and breathed him in. His scent smelled like leather and gun metal. Vinny came some more. Then he heard the roar of the crowd, and remembered where he was. "They can't see this...." Vinny said, realizing that his reputation might be sullied if the crowd got a look at him in this state. "Don't worry, stud," said the older fighter, "I'll get you out of here. Just tap out on my shoulder." Then he shook Vinny back and forth a couple of times, then squeezed him hard. Vinny tapped out on the massive wrestler's right delt. The ref called the match and the bell rang. The Beast lifted Vinny up and laid him over his right shoulder. The ref tried to raise the Beast's arm in victory, but the look that the big man gave him made him back up against the ropes. Instead, the wrestler flexed his free left arm and held it up next to Vinny's leg, showing that his biceps were bigger than Vinny's quads. Then he carried Vinny out of the ring, climbing down with the smaller man on his shoulder. He strutted up the aisle as the crowd went wild, and disappeared into the backstage area. "Now we're going to shower off," said the Beast, as he set Vinny down in the locker room. "Then, I'm taking you back to my hotel room, where you can service me proper." The big man stripped off his black trunks and his big dick flopped out, swinging between his massive thighs. Vinny wasn't sure what he could do with something that big, but he was eager to find out.

Really enjoying this story, and definitely remember it from the old site. So looking forward to seeing more!

I want another part. There is something about these types of stories that get me! Great job!! If another part gets developed, I'd love to read it!

Part 3 Eric had no business being in the gym. He was one of those start and stop work out guys. Do two weeks, get discouraged, quit for a month, then go back for another two weeks. You know the type. Cluttering up the benches when you want to use them. Furrowing their brows in confusion as they try to remember how a piece of equipment works. Bastards. But I digress. As it turns out Eric was on the bench press (Sigh) with a 25-pound plate on either side of the bar and struggling a bit when Kevin walked by and smiled at him: “Man, you must have no testosterone in you.” Honestly, Eric wasn’t even thinking about the curse. He was ready to snap back anyway and didn’t even realize it was the curse that was doing the talking. So he wasn’t expecting anything when he bit back with, “Yeah, we can’t all be filled with testosterone like you are. You’re like a walking growth hormone, aren’t you?” That was pretty elaborate. In response, Kevin’s body “rippled.” That was the best way to describe it. As if his entire body was shifting just a bit and then it was over. Eric knew the curse had been activated but there didn’t seem to be anything different about Kevin. No, wait. He had a five-o’clock shadow now. Just a hint of it. But it hadn’t been there before. The curse had also added a dark treasure trail to Kevin’s formerly smooth stomach, but Eric wouldn’t notice that until they were in the change room later on. But that was it. A bit of hair. The feet had been more dramatic. Hell, the nipples had been more dramatic. Didn’t a walking growth hormone look different? Like last time, Kevin was blissfully ignorant that anything had happened. But he did recognize sarcasm when he heard it and gave Eric a sharp punch in his shoulder. “You better watch your mouth, LaFarge (yeah, Eric had a last name) or this human growth hormone is going to rip off your face.” And that was it, Kevin walked away and went back to his workout as if nothing had happened. When Eric spotted him in the change room later on—and noticed that new treasure trail—Kevin even seemed to be in a pretty good mood. He high-fived one of his buddies and didn’t bother with Eric. Apparently the only impact had been a good workout. This had to be the crappiest curse ever. Fuckin’ Tommy. A few weeks later, Eric started to cotton on to the fact that maybe something had happened. He was waiting, blissfully unnoticed, behind Kevin to get into an exam when he noticed that Kevin’s shirt looked a bit tighter. Not dramatically. But enough to be noticeable. It looked like he had started working out more and the results were just starting to show. There was something else too; Kevin smelled. Not bad, exactly. Almost … sort of good. Like fresh sweat, which is a whole different thing from the smell of old sweat. He smelled “male.” If there was such a smell. Now, Eric wasn’t into guys. This whole episode kicked off with him getting dumped by his girlfriend. But that smell, man, whatever it was, Kevin was pumping it out and it lingered with Eric through the rest of the exam. It was almost two months before he saw Kevin again. Exam period led into Christmas, led into a batch of fresh classes in January that were Kevin free. He’d almost forgotten about the last encounter until he bumped into Kevin in the change room. Literally bumped into him. The curse had worked. It just took a while for the results to show up. Kevin was … growing. There was no other way to put it. Kevin had always been a couple of inches taller than Eric. So Eric had to look up when he was being insulted, but not much. But this time when Eric walked into, or rather bounced off of, Kevin, he found he was staring into the bully’s chin. “Get the fuck out of the way, dumb ass,” Kevin growled as he shoved Eric aside and walked into the change room. He was sweating, that male smell, wearing a tank top and sweats pants. He’d just been working out again. If Eric was a better stalker he would have realized Kevin had been working out a lot more. But at this point all he realized was that Kevin was bigger. Probably two inches taller, if the eyes to chin measure was any indication. That made Kevin 6’ even. Not a huge difference. But a difference. He’d also put on 20 pounds. Eric knew that because Kevin announced it after stepping on the scale (“Holy fuck, I’m up 20 pounds over the last two months!”) That made him 190. He announced that too before stripping off his shirt and heading towards his locker. The new 20 pounds were all muscle. And “fresh” muscle at that. Eric hadn’t ever thought of there being such a thing but it was the only way to describe it. Eric had bright telltale stretch marks on his thickening chest and shoulders that indicated he’d put on muscle fast. The impact was all over. Eric hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking about Kevin’s body before other than getting out of its way. But now Kevin’s pecs were growing into those thick nipples. His arms looked like they were, what, 18 inches? He shaved his chest—a swim team thing—but Eric could see the hint of a treasure trail and a dark hue to his chest that said the hair was coming in faster and thicker than it used to. From the moment Eric had uttered the words “full of testosterone,” Kevin’s body had began pumping out growth hormone, and was reshaping itself as a result. Eric’s doe-eyed appraisal didn’t go unnoticed. Kevin’s balled up tank top bounced off Eric’s face. Kevin had been methodically wadding up the sweaty tanktop while Eric was staring at him so it shouldn't have been a surprise when he chucked it at Eric. But Eric, even if he didn't want to admit it, was mesmerized by what Kevin was becoming and didn’t notice anything until he was being splatted with sweat and a tanktop. Kevin sneered: “You like what you see, dicksplash? Maybe if you were a “walking growth hormone” you could look like this too.” This time the curse had nothing to say.

Part 2 It probably sounds like Kevin is this huge bully. That’s certainly how Eric thought of him. But in reality, well, in an untouched reality, Kevin was only 5’10”—just two inches taller than Eric—and at 170 pounds only about 20 pounds heavier. He was on the swim team, which made the next change rather fortuitous. Yup, the feet; which seemed kind of fluky to Eric but he was getting the sense that this whole curse business was kinda fluky. Anyway, Eric stepped on Kevin’s foot when they were walking in the hallway. No, wait, that deserves a more information. It’s not like Eric just stumbled into Kevin. Rather he’d looked over and saw Kevin’s chest and been mesmerized by those fat nipples pushing through his shirt. He was thinking randomly that Kevin should get a piercing or something to justify them and then bam, his foot ended up on Kevin’s foot. Kevin might not have noticed, but he was wearing sandals and it hurt, so he shoved Eric aside and muttered, “Watch where you’re going, “lady foot.” That’s right, “lady foot.” Who even says that? It was probably just meant to be a size critique—Eric’s feet were a nimble size six and half—but Kevin always managed to throw in some of that gendered language to make himself feel more manly. No problem for the curse, it was willing to go with the flow and Eric found himself chirping back with a cutting, “Hey, sorry they’re not big ‘man feet’ like yours.” It was sort of like that classic transformation scene from an American Werewolf in London where the wolf guy’s feet stretch out. “Like” that but with no wolves or howling or Blue Moon playing in the background. Just, you know, the feet. Kevin’s size nines stretched to ten, eleven … they probably ended up at about a size fourteen. The sandals stayed size nine though. The curse didn’t do clothes. So Kevin’s now big manly toes were hanging over the end of his sandals and the straps were cutting into the thick arch of his new feet. He was lucky. He could have been wearing shoes, which would have been a whole lot more dramatic. As it was the curse did its thing and nobody but Eric noticed the physical change. But that mental adjustment apparently didn’t include “walking in size 14 feet for the first time” training for Kevin. He stumbled over his new flippers, the sandals went flying and he ended up on the ground in a heap. He looked up at Eric and growled. Literally growled. Fuck, Eric thought, it’s not like it’s my fault you’re clumsy. Wait … actually … Eric called on the better part of valour and bolted. As for Kevin, the change meant replacing three inexplicably too small pairs of shoes, some trashed sandals, a whole bunch of socks that apparently don’t stretch that much, getting tagged with the new nickname “Bigfoot” from his buddies—it was hard to tell if the nickname was new; it just started being used after the change—and setting a new swim record for the school during a competition later that week. In the end he did just fine with those big feet. Their next encounter would leave a bigger mark.

Second part, with all the sexy stuff, coming soon ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I know it seems almost immoral as a concept. Human Husbandry, I mean. It's fine to breed animals for specific traits, but to do it to humans? It's actually not as bad as it sounds. It's completely optional. People with genes that have value in certain fields are paid to donate their sperm or eggs. Or they can have marriages arranged by the government, who would categorize people into certain groups based on their genders, but both parties must fully consent. Or people can just volunteer to have sex for the purpose of procreation, matched up by their genes and then they can go their separate ways if they choose. It's all very fair and humane. Both genders are protected. Stop worrying about that. And so, this process, as you can imagine, takes a very long time. When done with animals, humans were able to breed things like cattle and dogs. Think about that. ANCIENT humans CREATED dogs! dogs would not exist if it were not for animal husbandry! Some wolves would wander near a settlement, more tame than other wolves. More loyal, smarter, even cuter. Humans would select these traits for utility, and breed these wolves. While there was inbreeding in order to further domesticate the animals, we don't do this with human husbandry. I actually feel sorry for the founders of this project, as it's been generations since they began their work, and it's been an amazing success. The thing is, it's not like we are creating genetically superior super humans that will wipe us out someday. It works more like...an ant colony. Sounds like a communist nightmare, I know, but seriously, it's not. While some breeds of humans have advantages, there are usually disadvantages, too. And genetic engineering? They still can't get the cancer rate of genetically modified rats below 80%. It's been stuck there for CENTURIES. The person who unlocks that secret will be swimming in zorbs. Like, for example, there are military stock. This breed of humans tend to actually be smaller than balanced humans. Their muscles and bones are more dense, and they are physically stronger. Their senses are amazing, but let's face it, they end up being kind of ugly. But they aren't bred for looks. They are bred to be fast, have more endurance, have as little weight as possible with as much strength. They can outshoot, out run, out last, and out see balanced humans easily. They are also extremely loyal. They make awesome friends. But they don't really think for themselves. It's also illegal for them to be bred for ferocity or disposition to violence. Instead, they are bred to better handle the mental stress of violence. Or scholar stock. Bred solely with IQ in mind initially, this was a mistake. As the brain functions on many levels, not just on pattern perception, spacial reasoning, and math. But this was found out quickly, and moving beyond the archaic notion of IQ, managed to amplify scholar stock's thinking ability 10 fold. They have larger brains, and thus, bigger heads. They tend to be less muscular, but have amazing reaction times. They are the richest stock, having more wealth than other stocks, statistically. But it's sad, as they do tend to have higher rates of addiction. They also have huge genitals. Which is nice. Sports stock have the most money invested into it, but only a small percentage actually participate in sports. It sucks for them, because if they don't make it into the industry as sports players, it's very hard for them to pick up jobs elsewhere other than manual labor. It's actually the politics of the time...there is no labor stock...because no one cares enough to invest in that, when balanced humans are much better suited at doing something else, but have no options. Enough about there, because this about a stock that developed outside of organizations. A stock that amazes people wherever they turn. A stock found purely on primal, natural, lust. Attraction, sexual prowess, fertility. Every group, faction, organization, and political party, invests into this stock, secretly or otherwise. It's the shallowest dream of our society, to get message sent directly to the chip people willingly have installed into their brain (that let's them get messages texted directly into the brain) from the Human Husbandry Organization saying that they have genes perfect for the legendary beautiful stock. Knowing that your genes are being put toward that purpose makes people feel great. That's not even it's official name. It goes by so many names, all over the world. From city to city, neighborhood to neighborhood. Even the fact that everyone can get the internet right in front of them on a hologram projected from space satellites, no one can agree on a name. Sex stock. Breeding stock. Giant stock. Omg stock. Women are sometimes called the Amazon stock. God/Goddess stock is a good one, too. Oh, this stock is full of famous people. Literally do nothing but be humans bred for sex. It's the most efficient, organized, and lucrative stock. These people are tall, statuesque, fit, and strong. It's like our tribal evolution amplified. The appearance of one has brought weaker individuals to instant orgasm. There are flaws. This stock is usually very stupid. Not only do they not need to think, they aren't bred to! They literally survive on their fame. Seriously, they go extinct in places that have war or political upheaval. They need constant sustenance, averaging 12,000 calories a day. Now, I say, usually. There are always exceptions to all these things. For you see, I'm part of the Stock of the Gods (That's my favorite name for us, actually). Not only am I extremely smart, but I'm also number 1 on the list of most desirable genetics within the stock. I'm literally on top. I owe it to the human race to find the perfect mate to have as many kids with as possible.

The Growth (part III) -all characters 18+ by Plasmanio200 The Growth III Several weeks had passed as Jake continued to push the envelope of his body's muscular capacity. The hypertrophy was quite amazing, experiencing more than any human could have ever conceptualized or even fantasized. Despite his bone structure growing significantly, the skeletal muscle cells in his body expanded and multiplied faster and larger than what could be considered normally proportional to his frame. The result was a freakishly large man, a man that couldn't walk with a normal pattern due primarily to his tremendous thighs and thickly rounded ass. No longer did he have the ability to reach his hands to his back because a pair of bulging, meaty arms wouldn't allow; at the same time, unable to see the floor directly under him from his massive, overblown pecs. His clothes would become torn rags on a weekly basis, almost as if his body refused to be covered in mere cloth. Jake wasn't complaining, however, but it was to the point where he no longer remembered or cared how it all came to this. Jake headed out of his quarters through the modified extra wide door as he began waddling down the corridor with what looked like a proud swagger. His growth hadn't gone unnoticed; every pair of eyes that passed him locked onto his physique until he was out of sight. It didn't help either with his modified uniform, which had become essentially a tiny pair of shorts and a t-shirt that looked like it was painted on him. Nothing was hidden as every massive muscle was clearly outlined in the fabric that was stretched painfully thin. Anyone could see his huge quads contracting and shaking with each step he took as his hams and glutes squeezed and bulged side to side. His enormous arms were pushed out to the side from his extra wide lat span; the men would get a good glance at just how full and dense his arms were when he would lift the right for saluting passing subordinates. He would grin as the same individuals passing by would often look in awe at the distention in his shorts from his ridiculously large crotch pouch. Even when completely soft there was no hiding it. Jake came around the corner to see two large food canister carts hooked together being wheeled towards the loading docks. He recognized the man pulling the carts. "Hey Kent, surprised to see you here again...what is this, the third time this week?" Jake asked in friendly small talk. "Fourth actually." Kent said looking up at the massive commander with his eyes slightly widening. "These kids have just been packing it away the past few weeks, by the time I get back to central command I'll be leaving for here again." "True warriors with appetites to match." Jake laughed. "Or something...I think I'll just have an automated pod from the service fly out here from now on, it'll be more efficient than me coming out here all the time." Kent loaded the remaining carts into the loading bay. "Hope that's okay with you sir." "No problem at all...in fact I like the initiative." Jake smiled with a grin as the bay doors closed. "Sir, do you have a minute?" A technician quietly requested as he put a metal clip board down on the desk with a small stack of charts. "Yes, what is it?" Doctor Matton said without looking, still documenting on his scribe. "I think there's something you should look at." He said in his quite voice. "What's that?" Matton casually replied. "It's the cadets sir. We had them go through a regular health screen and uh, well, the results are a bit unusual. We were just compiling data with basic body composition figures we collected only a few weeks ago, and well... a lot of changes." He slid the electronic chart in front of Matton. "Well you're working with young, testosterone charged men; it's not a surprise you're going to see some changes like that, especially in that respect. It's quite normal." Matton pretended to glance over the chart before turning back to his work. "This isn't normal sir..." Jake stood in the cafeteria, hands on his robust hips in an almost statuesque pose as he looked over the cadets loading up on helping after helping and cleaning their trays with ease. The atmosphere had changed from a noisy room filled with loud conversations and occasional shouts to one that was dampened by everyone's focused attention on their plates. Their bodies were bulging out of their PT gear which all had become more than two sizes too small. Their thick arms showed tremendous definition as they bent their arms to bring their forks to their mouths, causing their sleeves to pull up to midway over their mountainous shoulder. Pairs of big pecs and lats strained and created deep crevasses in the grey cotton with any upper limb movement. The shirts were so horizontally stretched that they pulled up from the waist, exposing their hard and defined abdominals. The cadets all needed to sit with their legs spread open wide to accommodate their bulbous thighs and massive rumps. They ate as much as they could to keep pace with their energy expenditure, a direct result from the tremendous amount of lean muscle mass. Jake watched the cadets file out with a smile on his face, seeing the future prospects become real men and exceptional soldiers. "You boys are going to impress me this afternoon in training right?" Jake asked with a deep and authoritative voice. "Yes sir!" The cadets responded as they passed their massive commandant with some high-fiving and flexing their arms and puffing up their chests as signs of male assertiveness. "Sir, they're waiting for you in the conference center." An assistant's voice chimed in behind Jake. Jake nodded as he headed out of the cafeteria. He walked into the conference room where all the department heads were seated around a large oval table, organizing their notes and chatting with one another just before their weekly meeting. The activity in the room quieted as they all looked up at Jake, whose monstrous physique intimidated the likes of anyone. "Good morning." His voice boomed as he sat down in the extra large chair that still creaked from his weight despite the ultra reinforcement. "Well now that we are all here, I think we should get started." Steve Winchester stated. He had been the director of education faculty for almost 10 years at the academy; a distinguished veteran. He reached into his case, pulling out digital files that he laid out and sighed. "Forgive me if I go out of our planned and usual agenda, but I feel there are some issues that should really take the focus this meeting, and I think many of you already know what I am talking about."A majority of people around the table began to nod their heads. "Well, yes, it looks like all of us have some concern here about the recent changes in behavior and attitude of our students." Steve said with everyone attentively listening. "Just looking from my perspective the average test scores in just the past few weeks have plummeted. Research papers and assignments are not being turned in and the ones that do have horrible quality. I've even had several professors tell me that they've observed students...masturbating during class. "Oh it's not just a problem there." Charles the facilities manager cut in. "These kids are jerking off so much in the showers I've had to replace the filters nearly every other day...and don't get me started on what I find in physical training facilities and the dorms. I honestly don't have time to be mopping up a bunch of horny jock jizz all day." All of the department heads broke in and began talking all at once, venting all their frustrations out in an unorganized manner. As everyone talked amongst themselves, Dr. Matton glanced up Jake, who appeared to be unconcerned about the raised issues as he just starred up into the ceiling corner. "What are your thoughts here sir." Matton asked as the room became quiet again. "Well." He said with a long pause. "Boys will be boys doc." Jake responded while nonchalantly putting his hands behind on top his head with his massive arms stretching and bulging. Everyone at the table had a surprised look to their face with some even confused at the response of their massive commandant. "So, what should or can we do sir?" Steve asked. "I'm really not too concerned about it; you all seem to have gotten yourselves worked up about nothing. Let's not forget the real reason why this academy his here. Soldiers don't get stronger and faster by reading; I'm training a future army here...priorities people." Jake sternly stated. "Sir, I beg your pardon, but this could be something that will eventually snowball out..." Steve quickly added before being cut off. "Unless, there's anything else besides this useless conversation, I will have to say that this meeting is over." Jake looked over everyone who had gone silent, just as he stood up with his power thighs and made his way out the door. "C'mon, last one; push it through the floor bro!!" A cadet shouted at another who was mid rep of a 450lb bench. "UghhhAHHH!!" He screamed as his elbows came into lock out. His pecs were so swollen and full from the set they pushed up and tore the thin fabric of his t-shirt from the collar all the way below the sternum. His huge chest exploded outward, the sweaty flushed skin fully exposed. He racked the bar and stood up to give a side palm slap to his spotter. "Fuck yeah!" He groaned out with achievement as his full pecs bounced and shook. Completely ignoring his destroyed shirt, he flexes his chest before moving into a double bicep, showing off his peaked arms. The entire weightroom was filled with cadets that looked like they were about to burst at the seams, grunting and pumping themselves up, lifting weights that would have been unimaginable for them only weeks ago. "Hell yes Connor, that's the way to do it!" Jake yelled as he walked into the noisy weightroom. "Keep it up." "Yes sir!" The cadet barked as he continued on with his next lift. Jake made his way around, checking over all the cadets as they stressed their growing physiques to get even bigger. He grinned with satisfaction with their abilities and progress. "I want to see everyone lifting at least 10% more next week." He yelled out as all the cadets smirked while giving Jake some form of verbal understanding. They would spend hours here, if not eating or sleeping. Their lives began to revolve around being big and getting bigger. The cadets hadn't even realized the changes that were happening to them. It just became a part of them as they lost their physical perspective of what was considered normal. Jake, still grinning, headed out the door. Jake found himself back in his quarters, standing in front of the large mirror he had installed. It couldn't even fit his entire, monstrous frame within its boundaries, but it did its purpose. He looked himself over, absorbing the awesome sight of man bigger and stronger than any, a true musclegod if there ever was one. He gently ran his large hands over his even larger muscles, feeling the hard, dense forms they had taken. Jake felt his entire body tingle with warmth as a soothing and relaxing state of mind came over him. He continued groping and feeling him-self, becoming psychogenically aroused by his own power and size. Running his hands across his torso, Jake swept his hand up to his pec, lifting and pulling it up. It was so heavy and thick, making his hand look so small in comparison. His pec was so large, it pressed up into his chin, tempting and luring his face down as he reached out his long wet tongue and began to gently lick and caress it. The muscle man's tongue slid up the smooth and firm skin, collecting every sensation he passed. He could taste his own ripped muscle through the tight skin, something he couldn't describe, but knew he was tasting pure, unadulterated testosterone. Jake was almost getting intimate with himself, but just then, he heard footsteps outside his door as he dropped his juicy pec, letting it bounce back into place. "I needed to talk with you." Matton's voice echoed in the hall as he knocked on the extra wide door. Jake opened the door, standing just in his green modified briefs which looked like a tiny strip of fabric around his groin, hanging on for dear life from the incredible tension from his huge cock and balls. "Yes what is it..." He stated rather than asking, sounding almost annoyed. Matton walked into Jake's quarters. "That was a ballsy move this morning, not sure the board appreciates being ignored like that." "Why, did they send you in here to tell me that they had their feelings hurt?" Jake said walking to his closet. "No, I'm here on my own account." The doctor paused for a moment. "We've got some bigger issues going on here." Matton held up another digital chart. "The cadet manifest for the past few weeks. It looks like we have several that are AWOL." He looked through a list of names. "Some have been gone for more than two weeks. I would have alerted you sooner, but it appears as if the new list has been altered." "And why are you telling methis?" Jake stated as he walked up to his dresser. "Did what I just tell you not raise any serious questions or red flags; perhaps any minor intrigue?" Matton responded. "No...I don't deal with the weak, Doctor." Pouring himself a glass of water. "They are drain on resources, time, and morale. Anyone who wants to graduate from this academy needs to be the biggest, fittest, and fastest...those who don't fit that bill would be best suited elsewhere." Dr. Matton sighed in frustration. "You have to at least care where they went or what happened to them?" "I'm sure they're fine, fulfilling their purpose somewhere..." Jake took a drink. Matton held up his hands as he disappointedly looked away, to non-verbally say he was done with the conversation; nothing was left for him to say. He walked out, slightly shaking his head. Jake was already starting to feel defensive, almost threatened. He started to form suspicion in his mind; Dr. Matton was no longer to be trusted. A roar of laughter and shouting came down hallway from the lockers into the showers. The huge cadets had just finished training; they were hot, sweaty, pumped and sitting on elevated testosterone levels. "Dude you're such as fuckin' pussy." Connor yelled as the group walked in. Their long dangling cocks slapping side to side against their swollen thighs. "Fuck you man." Brad said in an angry tone. "No seriously, you guys should have seen him, grunting and groaning like a little bitch with only 500lbs on the squat bar." Connor started mimicking Brad in a derogatory fashion with awkward faces and over-exaggerated postures. "I was still sore from the other day; I can move more weight than that." Brad said. "Whatever dude, you're just a small fucker, I got you beat any day." Most of the cadets were finishing up and heading out. "C'mon look." Connor broke into a double bicep pose, revealing his dense 250lb body stuffed into a 5'8" frame. "You've got nothin' on this." Connor went into more flexes, showing off his lats and tightening up his quads hard, revealing their incredible detail. Brad was getting even more annoyed by the obnoxious jock's behavior. "Fuck, my cock is even bigger than yours." He walked up to Brad, pressing up into his body as he grabbed both their dicks, pressing them together at the base. "See, I got at least two, three fuckin' inches on you." Brad gave Connor a huge shove directly into his big pecs, causing him to step back several feet. "Get off me you fuckin' fag!" "Ohhh..." Two of Connor's friends yelled out, the only cadets left in the shower. "Yeah? What'd you call me?" Connor jolted forward, slamming Brad to the shower floor on his stomach as he pinned him down. "Adam...Jason, hold him down for me." The two other muscled cadets came over and held Brad's arms and trunk to the floor. "Fag huh?" Connor began to slap Brad's big ass side to side as if he were smearing butter across a hot pair of buns. "Try this, fag..." Connor stuffed his long, thick meat stick into Brad's big bubble butt. "Ohhhh fuckkk!!" Brad screamed out as he felt it slide even further into him. "Get off!!" He yelled in semi-pleasurable pain. "Get off...yeah bitch, exactly what I'm gonna do!" Connor tugged on Brad's hair as he started to rhythmically fuck Brad. "Aghh...shit!" Brad winced as he felt the well muscled Connor relentlessly riding him like a bull. Connor dug into Brad's fleshy, thick muscle butt with his hands, gripping each side as he pumped himself in and out...in and out. "Ahh fuck yeah...you like my cock you little shit?" Connor pulled his hair and head back again. "Damn this tight ass feels good." He was getting closer and closer, his balls already wanting to bust. He clenched his teeth and moaned loudly as his cock blew a juicy payload inside of Brad. "Ohhhhhh!.....Yes...fuck yes..." A loud moan bellowed out from Connor as he gave Brad's right ass cheek a hard slap. Brad tried to get up, but Connor and his goons pressed back down. "Not done with you yet, this tight ass is due for another fucking by yours truly." Connor smiled as his two friends just grinned and nodded in agreement. But from just the few minutes they started, Brad's moans started to sound a bit different; a deeper, thicker tone filled the shower. Connor looked confused, trying to take a glance at his face, but just then Connor felt a tightening pressure on his dick. "What the fuck?" Connor looked down at Brad's ass, which actually looked like it was expanding; in fact, it was. Connor gave out a soft undesirable moan as he tried to pull out but couldn't. Brad's meaty ass swelled around his cock, forcing it to stay nice and hard. "Let go!" He whined. He looked down again, only to see not just Brad's glutes growing, but his entire body. "Shit dude, look at em'!" Jason gasped as Adam could only stare at Brad who was quickly expanding. His muscles were blowing up like balloons, pulling and straining on his already tight skin. He's groans and screams were sounding less and less human, becoming a low and loud beastly growl. "Yeeess!" Brad's mutated voice yelled out. His growing glutes pushed up higher off the ground, taking Connor with it, trying to keep pace with his swelling thighs that were rounding out with extreme muscular develop over bones that had no time to grow. Nestled in-between his blimping legs was a plump cock, growing in length and width faster than anything ever should. The change in his body spread to his mid-section, getting thicker yet leaner. His back paraspinals even started to gain in size all along the length of his spine, looking like long, huge sausage casings being packed with meat to the point of nearly bursting. It spread out to his lats that flared tremendously like a pair of wings on a 747, pushing his swelling arms further out to the side. Brad's shoulders filled out like a couple of ridiculously over sized beach balls that led down his gigantic bi's and tri's. "Ugghhhhhh!!" Brad screamed again as his pecs surged forward into a huge rack, sticking out nearly a foot from his solid abs, perfectly firm and tender. Brad looked up with a face that looked of pure rage with his eyes darkened and his veiny traps that looked like they were going to swallow his head. "Moooore!!!" His voiced shook the showers, flexing his gargantuan muscle butt as Connor squealed, feeling his man juice get milked out of him. Jason and Adam looked at each other just as they were about to flee for the door, but Brad reached up, gripping their long thick cocks, one in each hand at the base. "FEEED ME!!" Pulling them closer as just the shear energy from Brad's body caused the two muscle jocks to instantly harden. Brad stuffed both their dicks inside his mouth, stretching it wide as he started to violently suck them off. "Oh fuck fuck fuck!! Adam cried out as the awesome power from Brad's lungs sucked so hard on his shaft he could feel his nuts pulling up in his sac, emptying the thick creamy contents. All three cadets tried to pull away but couldn't escape the powerful grip of Brad, who was still thickening and growing at a lethal rate. The howls and loud screams echoed through the locker room...all going unheard.

YES! My fave author is HERE!