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Alright - part 2 is here, and it's here just to introduce some of the characters I'll be playing around with later. I guess, thanks for reading and - well, hope you like it. Part 1 here: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/4927-growth-powder-part-1/ ///// Next morning, Max woke up to a rumbling stomach. He lay in bed for a few moments, thinking of breakfast. Some scrambled eggs, bread – and a good cold glass of orange juice. It was decided, that is what he was going to eat. He lazily got up, scratching his wide, strong back, as he headed to the toilet. After getting ready for the day, he went downstairs and started preparing breakfast. His parents had already gone to work, so it was up to him to make himself some food. He got out the eggs, and prepared them quickly, with the bread and everything else he wanted to eat, sausages, ham, and bacon – he was particularly hungry that morning. He scavenged the fridge for his favorite orange juice, but was disappointed when he didn’t find it. He thought for a moment, and then he remembered the powder he had found yesterday. Quickly he got a big, tall glass of water and mixed in some of the green powder, and started eating. After he had totally scraped all the plates clean and left his glass empty – he put on a pair of jeans, sneakers, a white t-shirt that had a symbol of his favorite band on it – the “O” and he headed out. He got on the bus, and looked around for his friend Jim, he found him and sat next to him. “Hey dude.” Max said, looking at Jim. Jim was a tad shorter and smaller than Max, but was also on the soccer team, so he was fairly athletic as well, but not as much as Max, Jim took it more casually, though he did like the sport – so Max thought at least. “Sup?” Jim said. “Not much dude, like, it’s Monday, so should be kinda just… tired, but, I’m not really.” “Whatdaya mean?” “I don’t know man, it’s like, I feel full of like energy.” “That’s great dude, lucky we have gym class first – so you can like, I don’t know, blow off some steam, I guess.” They talked for a while, and eventually arrived to school. With gym class first they headed to the locker room. On his way there, Max noticed something was a bit off with his jeans, they felt a bit tighter today, and he couldn’t really understand why. Other than that, he felt great, he was ready to use up some of this energy he had. They got into the locker room, and started changing. In there, there were a few other guys like Alex and Nathan, another guy on the soccer team with Max. Nathan was the captain of the team, he was a bit bigger than Max, and taller too, standing at a big 6 foot 3. And Alex was the standard nerdy type. As you might expect he was the tiniest guy in the room, standing at a respectable 5’6’’ a scrawny, friendly dude. As Max took his shirt off, Nathan approached him, slapping him on the back: “Look at you man, you’ve been putting on some mass?” Max looked down on himself, then smirked: “Hm, guess I have.” He said, flexing his large, almost 16 inch bicep. “Wow, I’ve really grown, then again I’ve been like, working like crazy lately. Guess it’s finally paying off.” “Good for you man.” Nathan said, smiling at him. “Yeah.” Jim added, then they started talking about something, then they all saw John enter the locker room. He was a bit late. He greeted everyone and started to change into gym clothes. John was about Max’ size, he was very athletic, yet no one quite knew what sport he played, if he played any sport at all. He was also kind of a jerk, so the other guys kinda talked to him on a mandatory basis. They, along with the rest of the class went into the gym. Today, they were playing basketball, Nathan and Max got to pick their teams. Nathan picked first, getting Jim and John on his team, along with the rest of the class that was any good. So, Max was stuck with Alex and his type, but he didn’t really mind. They played. Max gave it his best, by the end of it he was covered in sweat, his face red with exertion, but, even though he was really, really good – and even better today, he couldn’t have beaten the entire opposing team on his own. They lost 20 to 46, Max was annoyed, but kept telling himself that it was just a friendly game. “Oh. My. God. Man – we WRECKED you!” John shouted in the locker room, as Jim and Nathan laughed. ‘Why are they laughing? What is up with them?’ Though Max, as he took off his shirt, frowning at John. “Dude, relax. It’s like, just a game.” “Yeah – but we still kicked your asses.” “I like, I don’t care man.” “Ooh, what’s the matter?” John started. “Grumpy cuz you lost a whittw gawme?” “Come on dude, get off it.” Max was really getting annoyed now. But John somehow looked angry as well. “Or what?” “Just – shut up man!” Max turned to John, arms spread, seeming like he had enough of him. “I said – or what!?” John came close to Max, and just pushed him with both hands, slapping his bare, meaty chest. Max was pushed back a bit, and then he was really pissed. He wanted to get closer but Nathan pulled him by the arms, he saw John try to come at him too, but Jim was pulling him back. They shouted at each other. “Look dude, I can like, beat the shit out of you – RIGHT NOW – man!” Shouted John. “Oh yeah?” Said Max, pulling his arm from his friend’s grasp as he flexed it. “Look at this man, I’d wreck you, you—“ This went on for a bit, but eventually the rest of them managed to calm them down, and they made peace. Next was algebra class, and Max was seated next to Alex. The teacher went on about something, but it seemed more in the background to Max – Alex was usually very quiet, and kinda nervous around Max, for some reason. He was usually concentrated, but today, Max noticed that something was distracting him. He looked at him a few times, noticing that he was… staring at him? Or, more particularly at his muscles. He did wear a tight t-shirt today, or did he, he could have sworn that it was a regular t-shirt that very morning. Nevertheless, Alex was sneaking a few glances at his arms whenever he could. At first, Max was a bit annoyed, but then he grew to kinda like it. He decided to play with Alex a bit. He looked when Alex looked over at his arm, and then, he flexed it, making the triceps and biceps pop out, Alex’s eyes went wide at this, Max looked down at him, Alex looked up at Max for a moment, before quickly turning his head towards the blackboard, his face turning red. Max smiled at this, and he did it a few times more. Strangely, Alex spoke up, well, whispered something to him. He usually wasn’t the one to start a conversation. “Err… he- hey.” “Hm?” Max responded, looking at him. “Is that um, is that… an ellipse on your t-shirt?” “Heh, why are you looking at—What?” Max looked down. “No it’s a circle, like an “O” –“ He then noticed that the thick slabs of his pecs underneath his shirt have managed to stretch out the red O on his t-shirt into a sort of ellipse, his eyes went wide and he almost gasped, but then, he grinned. “Nah man – it’s supposed to be a circle, trust me.” A few more classes went on, and eventually school was over. On the ride back home, Nathan looked at Max and said: “Man, you’re jacked! Look at you, I’ve been trying to put on some mass, but like, I just can’t. What do you use, dude?” “Hm? Oh – I like, just eat a lot, drink the stuff you do – nothing out of the ordinary. Guess I’m just having a growth sprout.” “Lucky you, anyway – if you do have a secret – please do share.” “Haha! Yeah, I wish. I would if I had, trust me – if I knew, I’d use it.” Max got home, put his bag on his bed and took off his (now tight) t-shirt, smiling at himself in the mirror. “Oh yeah, I’m liking this.” He still wasn’t quite sure if he’d grown so big recently, or maybe he just hadn’t noticed, anyway – he was thirsty. And he wanted some orange juice. He got down, rummaged through the fridge, looking for orange juice, and on the way eating some chicken, cheese, cake – he didn’t find any orange juice, but he was surprised at how much food he managed to eat in such a short time. “Damn. No o—Oh, wait.” He said, remembering again that he had some of that powder. It didn’t really harm hi, so, he guessed that it wasn’t bad for him, so he made himself a tall glass of it. Though, this time he put in a bit more than usual, just to strengthen the flavor. He went upstairs again – and as he went into his room, he drank half the glass. “Man, nothing beats orange juice, but I guess this’s good.” He went by the mirror, and as he did, he noticed something strange. He placed the glass on the night stand and went closer to the mirror. He looked at himself in it, and then, flexed his right arm. His muscle bunched in a large ball, as always but – it… kept getting bigger. Maybe he was going crazy or… He looked down at his pecs, he could have sworn that the two big muscles moved out a bit, thickening, rounding out. He looked at his abs too, almost feeling them… grow? What could it possibly--- He looked at the drink. He drank the rest of it, and stepped in front of the mirror. Then – his jaw dropped. He literally saw himself… expand. He quickly took off his, now very tight jeans, looking at his calves jut out more and more, his thighs expanded outwards, serrations deepening between his muscles, making them look bigger, and more defined. He flexed his forearms, seeing them too grow, almost bursting with power. He was big and strong before but now – now he was, kinda buff. He flexed for himself in the mirror, observing his big pecs jump up and down, his abs contract into small balls of tight muscle, his arm and leg muscles bunched up with power and his underpants felt kind of… tight. “Wow, yeah – no, this definitely beats orange juice.”

Luke didn’t fall asleep until 5 in the morning. He slept for two hours, woke at 7, and felt perfectly rested. Of course, it was Saturday and he didn’t really need to get up, but he did anyway. But as he was getting showered and dressed, he had two realizations. First, his clothes barely fit him. All his jeans were uncomfortably tight and noticeably too short; the cuffs were above his ankles, half way to his calves. His shirt sleeves were short, too. But they could be rolled up to hide it. What could he do about his pants? He didn’t know, maybe new ones? Second, he hadn’t gotten any more muscular overnight. He felt a confusing mix of emotions over this. He was relieved, thinking maybe the whole thing might be over, but also disappointed at the same time, as part of him had been enjoying the increases in muscularity. But no, he couldn’t let himself feel that way. This was some kind of a condition and he had to resolve it. Of course, why he hadn’t grown was just as much of a mystery as why he had. “There’s no mystery,” he heard a voice inside him say. “You didn’t grow yesterday because you didn’t work out.” Of course, it was obvious. Exercise was somehow exacerbating the situation. “Okay, Luke,” he murmured. He had a bad habit of talking to himself. “No more exercise for a while. Take it slow.” What?! Even as he said it, he found something deep inside him bucking against the idea. Unbidden, the memory of the security guard warning him not to go out alone at night came to mind. He was suddenly angry. Not at the guard because he had been right. Luke couldn’t have defended himself. Luke was angry at himself. He should be able to defend himself! He’d been able to get that scholarship, earn his way to Harvard; why shouldn’t he be able to take a freakin’ walk at midnight? The answer was he should be able to. He was going to exercise, was going to get bigger, and was going to get stronger. He enjoyed the way it felt. Why shouldn’t he? Why shouldn’t he be able to protect himself? Muscles were ok in moderation. In fact they were a good idea. By the time he was done wracking the question in his head, he’d resolved to return to the gym. He’d just try and make sure he didn’t exert himself too much, so that he didn’t run the risk of developing too much. There wasn’t even really any assurance that whatever was happening with his body would continue. He smiled, having reassured himself, packed an old book bag with gym clothes, and left. Luke’s first stop was the dining hall where he scoffed a record setting breakfast. Since he was eating so much, he wondered if he shouldn’t be doubling up on the vitamins, too. But no, he figured that probably wasn’t necessary. Luke arrived at the gym and walked past the desk again, idly checking to see if The Douche was there. He wasn’t. That was reassuring. He flashed his ID and went through to the changing room, switching from his undersized clothes to his gym shorts and tank top. He stretched with a little pride and walked out onto the gym floor. There were plenty of people here, but they were all too busy training to notice him, which suited Luke just fine. There were dozens of machines that he frankly had no idea how to use; luckily, there was a large rack of dumb-bells available at the far end of the gym. He walked over and grabbed a pair of 25-pound weights. He figured lifting the 50-pounders again would be suicidal, and would probably just trigger another drastic transformation. 25 seemed to be a good middle ground. The weights did feel a little light in his hands, though. He tried a few bicep curls and found them almost embarrassingly easy. He set the weights back and grabbed a pair of 30s. They felt a little more solid, at least. He swung the dumbbells up in each arm, one after the other, his new muscles easily dominating the weights. After eight or nine repetitions, he started to feel the weight in his hands, the burn in his muscles. Oh yeah, this was what it was all about. He gritted his teeth and pulled the weight up slowly, watching his biceps peak at the top of the movement. The sight was waking something in him, a feeling he didn’t completely understand. He loved that pumped up bicep, fucking loved it! He let the weights fall back to his side with a shuddering gasp and looked at himself in the mirror. He liked what he saw. His arms, pressed against his side, looked bigger than ever. Yeah. A thin sheen of sweat had his hard body glistening, the smooth grid of his abs sharply visible beneath the fabric of his shirt. The image was mesmerizing, and it also drove him to move on! He went through another set of reps. As much as he loved watching his bicep bulge, he moved through the other exercises as well. He exercised his chest until he lost the pump and his back until it swelled hard with blood. He hadn’t meant to push himself so hard, but fuck, he couldn’t stop. He shifted to some weighted squats, surprising himself with how much he could lift. A leg press machine was free, so he hopped on that, pounding out a few repetitions with fervor. He didn’t even notice the numbers he was setting the weights to. He was past that; he just wanted whatever burned. By the time he was done, he was sweating buckets. His muscles were swollen from all the blood rushing to them. He checked himself out in a mirror and saw that his musculature was larger and more pronounced than before. The faintest outline of veins were even visible on his biceps. Feeling a kind of primal, visceral pride, he grinned and stumbled back to the changing rooms. When he checked his phone, he saw that it was nearly 1 PM. I got here at 9:30! Luke thought, feeling slightly uneasy. He hadn’t been able to keep track of the time. He’d gone from one exercise to the next, slowly trying out the complicated-looking machines until, by the end of his session, he’d been on nearly everything in the building. He realized a couple guys—both about as thin-but-chubby as Luke had been just two days ago—were staring at his arms. Luke grinned and flexed his bicep. His arm swelled eagerly. “Check out the guns,” he said, sounding more than a little cocky. He immediately felt mortified. Without another word, he pulled on his too small t-shirt and pants, then left the changing room as quickly as he could. What’s getting into me? That’s not the kind of thing I’d say! I’m an intellectual for crying out loud! He headed back to the dining hall, his stomach screaming for food, his thoughts flashing through his head like beams of light. While he’d been at the gym, time had seemed to go away. Why had he enjoyed that so much? What was it that had prompted him to show off like that? He just wished he knew more of what was going on with his body, and his mind. He ate another record setting meal and then walked back to the dorm, his longer strides moving him much quicker than before. He didn’t feel lethargic or tired, but rather impossibly energetic. It was like an electrical current was running beneath his skin. But somehow, as soon as he laid down on his bed, he dropped right off to sleep. As Luke slept, he felt the real world intruding on his dreams, pressing through the thin membrane between the waking and sleeping worlds. He felt pressure, all over his body, as though he were constantly moving outside of himself. He felt his arms bulging, his stomach tightening, his legs burning and throbbing. Through the sleepy haze of the dream he felt faint stabs of pain as his muscles rebuilt themselves. It hurt, but it felt good, too … and his dreams were only about himself, a genius, succeeding at Harvard, with a body fit for an Olympian…. Luke woke up groggily and slapped a hand to his face to try to wake himself up, and flinched at the pain. “Ow.” He felt strange. As the pall of sleep slipped away from him, he felt refreshed, though he was starving. A feeling of dread—tempered by anxious excitement—settled into the bottom of his stomach. He pushed himself to his feet and looked in his mirror again. “Whoa...” He was big. His biceps, once just a distinctive curve unless he was really flexing them, now protruded off of his arm, thick and heavy, even as they hung loosely at his sides. His triceps bulged up behind his arms, giving them substantial size. The vein that had been present at his workout had settled into permanent residence, snaking down his now beefy bicep and towards his wider forearms. His shoulders had grown as well, their curved shape defined and unmistakable, now. His back was definitely broader, pushing his arms off from his sides as they rested against the broad, thick muscles there. His abdominals were now unmistakably defined, and his thighs had a slight teardrop shape even when he was standing perfectly relaxed. And damn, he was pretty sure he’d gotten taller again, too. It looked like another couple of inches. He took shallow breaths, trying to calm himself. “Okay, it definitely didn’t stop,” Luke whispered under his breath, half-elated, half-terrified. He was torn between punching the air and running to hide under his bed. He darted into the shower and stripped down. When he saw himself naked, the effect was magnified. His back tapered down in a v-like shape down to his thin waist that blossomed out into his larger thighs. Biting his lip, he raised an arm and flexed the bicep, gasping in elated shock. The muscle curled into a hard ball nearly half again as large as it had been before and featured a prominent peak. He began rotating his wrist repeatedly from the front to the back, from the front to the back, causing his biceps to leap and dance, the vein on his peak twisting as his muscles bulged. Fuck. He felt himself getting stiff, and marveled to see that his member was now longer and thicker than before. He slipped into the shower without another word. He turned on the water and took care of himself with one hand as he meticulously washed every hard bulge and etched crevice with the other. When he was done he dried off hastily, and pulled his clothes back on. He realized with some anxiety that you could see his sculpted shoulders, chest, back and arms bulging through the fabric. “I definitely need some new clothes,” he said to his reflection. “Although...,” he said and flexed, watching and feeling his big, hard muscles, swell up into stark definition and stretch out the cloth, “…this has its appeal, too.” “Discretion, discretion,” he thought to himself. “This is going to have consequences, definite consequences.” He just didn’t know what kind or how severe. And until he had some idea, it was better to keep the changes on the down low. He pulled on his gym shorts (there was no way his longer, meatier legs would fit into those skinny jeans now). Even his shoes barely fit. So limping, he discretely made his way to the clothing shops of Harvard Square. As he walked, he was running things in his head, trying to think of something that could explain what was happening to him. Increased metabolism? That would make sense. It doesn’t seem to be hormonal. No abnormal emotional state, just heightened mental alertness. It was the best theory he had so far, but he had no idea what was causing it. Maybe a reaction from the vitamin pills? No, that was impossible; no compound when combined with vitamins would cause this sort of reaction. Maybe something in the water? Perhaps it was genetic. Maybe some sort of delayed onset of certain DNA markers, a switch in his genetic code that had failed to go off. He knew there were some people whose bodies produced an abnormal amount of muscle tissue—the same abnormality was intentionally bred into cows—but those people, as far as Luke knew, were always born with the condition. Perhaps his condition was simply unique, or extremely rare. If that were the case, he definitely wanted to keep this under wraps. He didn’t want to have to spend his first year at Harvard being some Ph.D. student’s pet project. As a student on a scholarship, he’d be particularly vulnerable to the whims of a faculty member. He’d always had to be aware of his own dependency on others. It galled him. He was still steaming when he walked into the clothing store. It was quiet. The salesperson was helping a student couple. Luke looked around. Suddenly, he realized he didn’t know what size he took in anything! He was going to need help. The student couple seemed to be making up their mind about something. The guy turned to the sales person and said, “We’re going to need a few minutes to decide. You should probably go help that jock over there before he flexes out of his shirt.” “I am not a jock!” Luke shot back. The vehemence surprised even him. “Ok, you’re not a jock, bro. Chill,” said the guy looking a little nervous. Suddenly, a realization struck Luke. He almost laughed. That guy was scared of him, scared of Luke, the nerd! Why? Because Luke the nerd was bigger and stronger than him. Luke the nerd had bigger, harder fucking arms, a larger chest, and broader fucking shoulders. It made him a little light headed. He felt and odd sort of thrill run though him, and he ran a hand over his hard bulging arm. He could probably beat the crap out of that guy! Wait, what? No! No, no, no, no, no! Luke was getting really carried away. He would never beat the crap out of anyone, even if he did call him a jock. So what if he did? What’s wrong with being a jock? What’s wrong with being muscular? Nothing. It was good. It felt good. There was nothing to get upset about here. “Can I help you?” asked the sales person, breaking Luke out of his reverie. Luke bought some new clothes, all on the large side. Not only did he want to de-emphasize the changes, but he also wanted them to last a while, and the way he was growing, he’d better get them down right baggy. He went back to his dorm, closed his door and walked into his room. His eyes immediately went to his roommate’s weight set, still sitting on the floor. No. I’ve already taken this way too far, Luke thought. It really isn’t wise to push this until I know exactly what’s going on. Instead he went to his computer to research metabolic anomalies, but he found his mind constantly drifting back to his body. He had to admit it was one hell of a distraction. He could feel it bulging under his clothing, his hard, powerfully built, buff body. Fuck. He took off the shirt and baggy pants and turned to look at his sculpted physique in the mirror. When he twisted his sides, he could see little oblique muscles popping out around his ribcage. He brought a hand up and touched them. They tickled. He licked his lips and rubbed a hand along his abs, watching the skin brush across his defined muscles. I do look good, though. He put his hands behind his head and clenched his stomach, his abs locking together like armor plating. His lats spread out with the motion, showing off the width of his back. He laughed. Just two days ago he didn’t even have lats! “I can’t hide this anymore,” Luke whispered. He was noticeably taller and starting to look like a bodybuilder. His muscles were almost completely depleted of body fat. It was like his body had burned through every bit of energy he’d provided for it. Probably something metabolic, then, Luke thought rapidly, even as he tried to think of what he could do now. He’d have to tell someone what was going on. Who could he trust? Will. Luke didn’t feel quite ready to show the rest of the world his body, though. Instead he just picked up his phone and called Will. “Hey, buddy,” he answered. “Long time, no hear. What’s up?” “Will, can you come up to my dorm room, please. It’s urgent.” “How about meeting you at the dining hall for Lunch,” said Will. “That won’t work,” said Luke. “You have to come up here. Please, it’s really important.” “Okay, I’m coming.” Luke unlocked his door, stepped back from it, and waited, shirtless. He heard the rapid clunking steps of Will ascending the stairs, and took a breath, trying not to think about how the sunlight pouring in through his dorm room window struck his large, defined muscles and illuminated them with highlights and shadows that emphasized their threatening size and veined hardness as he felt them shift heavily with his every movement. Fuck. He was getting stiff again. Will knocked on his door. “You decent?” “More than decent.” The words were out of Luke’s mouth before he could stop them. Will walked in the door and his jaw dropped in mute shock. Almost independently of the rest of his body, his arm reached for the doorknob and forced the door shut. “What the fuck? Luke, you’re jacked!”. “Um, pardon? Will, I, ah—” “Wait. Are you taking steroids?—” “What? No! I don’t know why this is happening. I don’t know why I’m getting bigger. I just keep exercising, and then I wake up with another ten pounds of muscle! Well, it was ten pounds when it started. Now I think it’s more like twenty! It’s insane!” Will stopped and nodded. “Really? How long as this been happening?” Luke’s heart leapt into his throat and he nearly cried with gratitude. He grabbed his friend in a bone-crushing hug. “Woah! Careful, big guy,” said Will. “What’s this all about?” “Sorry.” Luke relaxed his grip a little. “I just don’t know what to do. I was scared you wouldn’t believe me.” “Luke, I met you the first day, and you weren’t… like this.” Luke shrugged. “Damn! You’ve really got some guns on you.” “Yeah, but I don’t know how, or why, or what to do about them,” Luke said, intensely grateful to have someone to talk to about this. “My brain’s working about four times as fast as normal. I’m always hungry. I think my metabolism must be through the roof, and the only way to calm my thoughts is to work out. But whenever I work out, this happens!” He gestured down at his muscular frame helplessly. “You should go see the doctor, Luke. I know this is scary, but you’ve got to do what’s right. You don’t want to jeopardize your chances at Harvard, do you?” “No and I don’t want to become a Harvard case study either,” said Luke. “I take your point. Ok, we’ll figure this out, just the two of us, ok?” said Will. “If you can figure this out, you’re a heck of a lot smarter than I am,” said Luke. “I’ve read everything on the internet even resembling my case and there’s nothing.” “Maybe, you’re just too close to it,” said Will. “You just need a fresh perspective.” “Ok,” said Luke, “What’ve you got?” Will began pacing the room. “Ok, ok, your roommate, he was a big dude, right? Got kicked out for performance enhancers. Any chance you got effected by any?” “Effected? They’re not like viruses or anything. I’d have to have—” It hit Luke like a thunder clap! It had been right in front of him all the time and he hadn’t seen it! He ran over to his vitamin collection and retrieved the small bottle of Vitamin Y. He handed it to Will. “I got this out of the supplements he left behind.” Will looked it over. “Vitamin Y? There’s no such thing as Vitamin Y.” Quickly the boys scavenged the internet looking for information on Vitamin Y, Luke on his lap top and Will on his phone. Both of them came up empty. “Ok, ok,” said Will. “If there’s no such thing as Vitamin Y, what is this shit and where did your roommate get it?” “We could call him and ask,” suggested Luke. “We could,” said Will, “But this shit is obviously illegal, probably experimental. One thing’s for sure: he shouldn’t have it. Who’s to say he’d tell us the truth?” “Good point,” said Luke. “But if we don’t ask him, how do we find out?” “We start by finding out everything we can about him,” said Will. “You said you had his year book?” “Yeah, right here.” Luke opened the desk drawer and removed the tome. It had an index in it which quickly enabled the boys to find every page on which he was featured. The first page was the football team photo. There he was in the back, looking as huge and massive as Luke remembered. “Football Team, no surprises there.” The boys flipped through the pages to the next photo. It was the chess club, in his junior year they had won the state championship. There he was, in front this time, looking appropriately nerd-like—and skinny as they come. “That’s impossible,” said Luke. “But it fits, doesn’t it?” said Will “What does it say about him?” Will flipped through the book until he hit the page he was looking for. “Chess, Football, Honor Student, hopes to go to Harvard, like his father! He’s a legacy!” “So, his dad went here. So what?” “Think about it, Muscles,” said Will, picking up the bottle of Vitamin Y and shaking it, making it rattle. “It’d take somebody pretty smart to come up with this shit.” “His dad?” questioned Luke. “It would fit,” said Will. “And he was right here…” said Luke. “What do you mean he was here?” asked Will, and Luke told him all about Mr. Winton’s strange visit. “He must have come for this,” said Will shaking the bottle of Vitamin Y. “Let’s see what we can find out about him.” They found him listed on the alumni page. He was a research geneticist. “My spine’s tingling, which means I’m on to something,” said Will. “We need to read everything we can about this guy, where he works, what he’s working on, if he’s published anything; we need to read it all.” And so they did. For the rest of the day, they scoured the internet and Harvard’s intranet for anything they could find. Finally Luke stood up. “It’s all here,” said Luke tapping the screen. “His dad was researching the degeneration of the Y chromosome.” “The Y chromosome? That’s the chromosome that makes us male, right?” said Will. “Yup, and it’s degenerating. It’s already lost most of its functional genes.” “What,” gasped Will, “That’s terrifying. If the Y chromosome fails…That means no more males, no more humans!” “Calm down,” said Luke, “We got another 10 million years before it loses all its functional genes. I’m sure we’ll come up with an answer way before then. If fact, it looks like my old roommate’s dad is already hot on the trail. “He’s come up with an idea to reconstitute the lost genes in the Y chromosome. He wants to use gene therapy to beef it up, so to speak. But there’s some controversy as some of these genes haven’t been in the Y chromosome for hundreds of thousands, even millions, of years. Nobody knows what the effect of reintroducing them will be.” Luke sat down again. “Well, almost nobody,” said Luke, flexing his big peaked vein-ridden bicep. “Y chromosome. Vitamin Y,” said Will. “It all fits.” “Fuck,” said Luke. “I’ve got some experimental genetic substance running around inside me.” But his objections seemed hollow and empty, even to himself. He liked the way he looked. He liked the way he felt. And he was now more male than any guy on campus, and by extrapolation, more of a man than any guy on campus. That thought sent a palpable thrill running through his hard, muscular body. “Now, at least, you know what the substance has to be,” said Will. “And if the guy gave it to his own son, I think we can surmise there’s no risk to your health.” “But why would he leave it for me?” asked Luke. “Dude, this guy is trying to save the whole human race,” said Will “He’s not going to do it by altering the chromosomes of one guy, even if it is his son.” “So, what do I do now?” said Luke. “It looks like you’ve got two options: stop taking the pills or continue taking the pills. But I have to say, looking at you, I wouldn’t mind a dose or two myself.” “Here,” said Luke, handing the bottle to Will. “You’ve helped me a lot. It’s the least I can do for you… and for humanity, apparently.” Will helped himself to a handful of pills, dry swallowed one right away and put the bottle back on the desk. “Thanks, Bro!” Later on, after Will left, Luke looked at himself in his mirror and admired his new body. Now that he understood what was happening and that it probably wasn’t going to kill him, it didn’t scare him at all anymore. Damn, he looked good, and all those big, strong, hard muscles felt amazing shifting under his skin. And he could get bigger... But how much bigger? How much bigger would he get? He sat down at his computer and fidgeted with his mouse. What were we like as a species a million years ago? A little quick research showed him no one knew. Our recorded history only went back a paltry few thousand years, the smallest fraction of humanity’s history. Who knew the full extent of the changes these reconstituted genes would bring. He flexed an arm and watched his bicep bulge up. So far, he liked what he was seeing. There was that excess energy again. He found it hard to concentrate on anything. His brain was still working unbelievably fast, but it was like he was in the seat of an F1 racer and he’d just hit an ice patch, or something. He’d lost control of his thoughts; it felt like he was trying to think through a thick fog. Typing suddenly became a task too slow and mundane for his fingers, which flitted across the keys with imprecise haste. He grew frustrated and turned away from his laptop. He got to his feet and started pacing around the room. He kept coming back to the dumb-bells, as though they were drawing him, as though they were the sun and his room the solar system. Everything came back to them. But they were no longer just dumbbells, were they? They were a catalyst. They would alter him further. Did he want that? Did he want that kind of muscle? After all, he was going to be a research scientist. What did a research scientist need with all that muscle? The answer was nothing. He didn’t need it at all. But was a research scientist all that he was. Wasn’t he a man, too? Of course, he was. He knew being big and strong wasn’t all there was to being a man, but wasn’t it a part of it, maybe an important part? Of course it was. Humans are physical beings too, not just intellectual. Hither to, he had pretty much ignored that side of his nature, even suppressed it. But now, he thought as he stared at his bulging, striated chest, it would no longer be ignored. He could feel it calling to him almost as if it had a voice. “C’mon Luke, be a man,” it seemed to say. “Let’s just see how much man you can be.” Luke surrendered to the call, let go of his thoughts, reached down and picked up the dumbbells, not thinking about anything other than how good it felt to pump up his muscles. He craved the burn. The dumb-bells were set to 50 pounds. They were heavy, but not unmanageable anymore. As he held them at his sides, he felt his biceps and forearms going taut, the dormant strength in his arms being readied for duty. He looked at himself in the mirror and smiled greedily, admiring his abdominals, admiring the perfect taper and curves of his waist, admiring the vein that was popping out of his bicep thanks to the stress. He pulled one weight up, slowly, evenly, gritting his teeth with exertion and closing his eyes. When he got the weight to its peak, the opened his eyes and looked at his bicep, swollen to a beautiful peak. He licked his lips and let the weight down, before he raised the other, and kept repeating the bicep curls. He did as many exercises as he could, though he was finding them disappointingly easy. His muscles burned and bulged and coursed with strength, but he was increasingly dissatisfied. He needed to get back to the gym, where he could push some real weight. The fifty pounders were pushing him to his limit, but they wouldn’t do that for long, not with the rate he was getting stronger. He let the weights down back on the rack. His body felt hot and sweaty, and his arms felt weak from all the exercises. He’d focused a bit much on the bicep and triceps curls. He checked the time—nearly 10 pm. Nowhere near the time to sleep, yet. He got back to his computer and found it was at least possible to concentrate; most of the excess energy had been worked off. Unfortunately, if he kept using exercise as his solution, his development would quickly get out of control. So what? As the night went on, he tried to get back into his homework. He was mostly successful, but every now and again his brain went into overdrive. He’d start multitasking about a dozen different things, and then the noise of constant thinking became too much to handle and he’d have to take the weights in hand and pound out a few bicep curls. He found it only took a little exercise to vent the extra mental activity; the hard part was putting the dumb-bells down, even if his muscles felt like they were on fire. The veins in his biceps started to become more visible as he worked them harder. He liked them, liked getting them to pop out of his arms. It wasn’t until 4 AM that he managed to get to sleep. He stumbled into his bed in his underwear, sweat gleaming on his skin, coming down in rivulets between his abs. His entire body felt swollen and sore. A warm contentment flooded him. He knew he’d done it again. He knew he was going to get bigger, maybe much bigger, and he was looking forward to it, a lot. Perhaps these new genes were effecting his thought processes as well. He was obsessively enjoying his workouts, enjoying his muscles’ size and strength. But was that a good thing? Was it a smart thing? In the final moments of consciousness, before drifting off to sleep, he realized he no longer cared. He just liked it. Luke had another weird sort of waking dream. He was lying in bed, staring down over his pecs at the rest of his body. He could see his chest muscles, rising up a bit as he breathed. His arms were at his sides, lying on the bed with their biceps facing inward. He tried to move his neck and found he couldn’t. Suddenly, he felt a burning, an awesome burning. Was that even possible in a dream? He tried to wake himself up, but found he still couldn’t move. His chest heaved faster and faster, his pecs rising and falling like the rounded ornaments of a muscular tide. And then as the burning reached intolerable levels, he saw it: his body was actually starting to expand. Whoa! His arms twitched in fits as his biceps literally started to bulge outward, veins pressing against his skin like a roadmap. Oh man! His pectorals started to rise and thicken, faint striations appearing beneath his skin. Oh fuck! He couldn’t see the rest of his body, but he could feel it, feel his legs burning and pulsing with strength, feel his powerful thighs thickening and expanding with pure lean, brutal muscle. Yes! He began to yell, not with fear but with ecstasy. “ARRRGGHHHH! YEAH!!!! YEAH!!!! OH FUCK YEAH!!!! ARRRGGGHHH!” Luke snapped awake, the echos of his yells, still resounding in his ears. He remembered the details of his dream, still felt the burning. Had he really been yelling? He immediately swung his legs over the side of his bed and felt them rubbing against one another, his thighs chafing. He spread his legs out and looked down, half-expecting to see his old, flabby legs again. He did not. What he saw instead were huge, long, thick, muscular stalks. Oh fuck! He bounded got out of bed and looked at himself in the mirror. Holy fuck, he looked huge! First, he was taller, well over 6 feet, now. At least six inches taller than when all this started. His chest and back were wider than ever, now definitely substantially wider than a normal guy’s. Even his neck had grown thicker, so that it was nearly wider than his head, supported by noticeable trapezium muscles that obscured where his neck ended and his body began. His shoulders were half the size of his head, leading to huge biceps and triceps that bulged with burgeoning power. Even his forearms had grown thicker. His abdomen had become a study in grooves. He had an eight or ten pack now, each individual muscle bulging out of his mid-section like a cobblestone. The oblique muscles along his sides were impossible to miss, now. His legs had grown as well, particularly in his thighs, which had grown so large that unless he broadened his stance, they rubbed together. He took deep breaths, staring at his unbelievable physique. He remembered The Douche from the gym just a few days ago: at the time he had seemed pretty muscular. Now Luke was bigger, way bigger. That made him grin. When he breathed, his entire body rippled. He raised an arm and flexed it slowly, savoring the motion. His bicep grew and peaked, separating from the rest of his arm, the veins along it writhing as the muscle exerted itself. Irresistibly, one hand slipped down into his Jockeys and he started massaging his huge stiffening cock, licking his lips and flexing his muscles. His stomach clenched and bulged as he touched himself, even as he flexed his arm for his own enjoyment. He leaned forward and flexed his traps, which snapped to life with astonishing power. From this angle they looked huge. He groaned softly and finished himself off, falling to his knees with force of his orgasm. He hit the floor with a thud. He took a heavy breath and looked at himself in his mirror, on his hands and knees. Aside from his face, he barely even recognized himself. Why am I enjoying it so much? He was so different. He knew he really should be afraid, but he wasn’t. He was excited. Luke slowly got back to his feet, bracing his palm against his knee. As he stood up, he naturally assumed a wide stance, his legs held apart so that his thighs weren’t competing for space. His arms were hanging lazily off of his muscular sides, which expanded and contracted slightly with each breath. He swallowed and he could see his neck surge with power. He licked his lips and tried to straighten his thoughts. What am I becoming, Luke asked himself, staring at his Herculean physique in his mirror. He raised a hand to his chin and his bicep bunched up to the size of a grapefruit. Whoa. He looked dubiously to the overlarge shirt that he’d discarded last night. Would it even fit? Only one way to find out. He pulled the shirt over his head and felt it tightening against his new bulk. It was tight, but not too uncomfortable. When he looked at himself in the mirror, though, it was plain that he was no longer skinny. The shirt was tight around the muscular contours of his body, and if anything, the pale fabric actually highlighted Luke’s transformation. When he pulled on his pants, they were stretched nearly to breaking around his thighs, though his tight waist didn’t prove a challenge. He took a breath and felt the fabric of his shirt straining against his hard bugling torso, and grinned. He liked the feeling. He liked it a lot. At least that was clear. He looked over at the innocuous looking bottle of Vitamin Y, and pondered his next big decision: Should he continue taking them? Why shouldn’t he? He knew that he had already passed by the bounds of conventional muscularity, but there was nothing wrong with it. He was free to get as jacked as he liked. “Yeah,” Luke muttered, feeling unusually cocky. “Jacked.” He raised his arm and flexed the bicep, watching it swell up huge and hard and veiny. He could feel the fabric straining; if he kept this up, it was going to tear. So, he kept it up. RRRIIIIP! Oh fuck yeah. That was it. He was sold. He took the Vitamin Y. Luke went out and bought some Olympic size weights and a bench for his dorm room. He was committed now, ready to go for it, all the way, come what may. And he was damned excited about the possibilities. He pulled off his baggy pants. His current shirt was squeezed uncomfortably across his pecs. He flexed his chest and felt the fabric stretching nearly to the breaking point as his chest exploded into a bulging plate of striated lines. He lifted the front and rubbed a hand along his washboard stomach, feeling each individual ab muscle barely contained by a thin layer of skin. He thought about them even bigger. Oh, fuck yeah. He immediately got to work, loading up the barbell with massive plates, until it weighed 300 pounds. He knew he’d be pushing it, and he didn’t care. He laid down on the bench and reached up to grab the bar, wrapping his hands around the corrugated metal surface. He bit his lower lip and heaved the weight off of its rest, immediately feeling the incredible pressure bearing down on his chest and arms. His face worked itself into an expression of rage as he slowly lowered the heavy weight and forced it back up, his muscles pushed to the brink of what they could do, bulging against his skin. Veins spread across his chest and biceps like spider webs as blood pounded through his muscles to fuel his insane workout. But now his insanity had a clear purpose and vision, no more uncertainly. He knew what he wanted. He thought about his muscles getting bigger, becoming inhumanly huge. He imagined shoulders like boulders, biceps more muscular than a python’s body. He grinned. I’ll walk naked at midnight if I want. He pumped the weight up and down with reckless fury, grunting at the apex of each repetition. Just as he felt his arms shaking out of control, he forced three more repetitions and finished with a savage scream. He put the barbell back onto its resting place and let his arms flop to his sides. His breath came in exhausted heaves, his lungs inflating like bellows as he inhaled huge gulps of air. A drunken smile was plastered on his face. After he took a rest, he removed some of the weight from the barbell and heaved it up onto his back for squats. He didn’t bother holding back his grunting anymore. It felt good to release his animal fury as his muscles were pushed to exhaustion. It cleared his head. Made it possible to think clearly. He went through a series of squats with burning intensity. Years of quiet rage burst back to his consciousness as he lowered himself beneath the deep weight of the barbell and forced himself back to a standing position. He remembered all the times people had called him a nerd, or belittled him just because he was smarter than they were. “Now—” he grunted in between reps, “I’m—bigger—and—stronger—than—them—too—yeah!” He dipped down for another squat and momentarily panicked as he realized his muscles were too exhausted to bring his back up. Somehow that enraged him, and on nothing but the power of blind, primal fury, he pushed himself back to his feet. He awkwardly made his way back to the weight set and laid the barbell back on its rack. The strength went out of his legs and he fell to his knees, leaning against the weight set. He laid on the weight set, his arms and legs flopping uselessly over the sides. With every deep, heaving gasp, his body heaved and swelled, revealing deeply striated muscles overlaid with a road map of veins. He found the strength to raise his right arm and just stared at his unflexed muscle, the huge bicep separated from his arm and criss-crossed with thick veins. He smiled. The work was done. Time to grow. After he recovered enough strength to stumble to the closet, he found the keg of protein powder his roommate had left behind and mixed a gigantic drink. He slurped it down immediately, then made two more. He’d meant to eat some fruit he’d bought earlier, but somehow that slipped his mind entirely. He wiped chocolate-flavored mush from the corner of his mouth and mixed another glass to take to his bed. He stumbled back to his bed and then popped another vitamin as he swallowed the rest of his drink. Finally, he flopped onto his bed and chuckled to himself as he fell asleep, savoring the burning in his muscles, the sweat on his skin, and hungering for the metamorphosis that was about to come…. Luke didn’t dream, this time, and his sleep passed as soundly as it ever had. When he woke up, it was with the sudden clarity of someone who had had exactly as much sleep as they wanted. He rolled out of bed and found his body big and clumsy. Barely able to contain his excitement, he pushed himself to his feet. Whoa, he was so fucking far off the ground now. He looked to the mirror and ROARED! He was fucking MASSIVE, a monster over 7 feet tall and all enormous, shredded muscle after shredded muscle after shredded muscle! He had to step back so the mirror would reflect his entire massively muscled body. He started to laugh, a deep rumbling, frightening sound. His carved biceps had swollen to the size of his head, and his shoulders were like boulders. His arms rested at a slight angle on his broad back, rising and falling with each deep breath. Veins pulsed on his biceps like writhing snakes, and had even started to wrap around his muscular forearms. His chest was buried by huge, beef-like slabs of pectoral muscle. Veins spread from a knot in his collarbone across his pecs, like a fine, branching road map that twisted as he breathed. Over-sized abs bulged and competed for space on his slim waist, almost making it look like he had a gut. Veins spread from his crotch over his abs and down to his thighs, which had become as thick as tree trunks. He had to widen his stance to keep his veiny inner thighs from touching one another. His calves had grown as well, moving from svelte, contoured muscles to bulging spheres in the shape of hearts. He turned around and examined his back, a brimming landscape bulging and twisting with huge muscles. He could see faint veins there, too. When he twisted his neck to look at himself, his giant traps resisted him, making it hard to look over his huge shoulders. He turned himself back around, clumsily adjusting to his new stance, and looked at himself from the front. He couldn’t help but stare at his barely-contained gigantic, ripped and bulging frame. He smiled, raised both his massive arms, and flexed his huge biceps, forming miniature mountains of muscles on his arms. Veins spread from his huge chest, across his giant shoulders, and through his enormous peaked biceps, bursting beneath his skin as huge muscles pushed them to the surface. He flexed his abs and watched them clench into brutal ridges of throbbing beef. Oh… fuck! Look at me! I’m a fucking massive genetic freak! And I feel… I feel fucking amazing! He knew that he wasn’t supposed to be proud of being a freak, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t a boy anymore, he was a genetic muscle monster, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He flexed and growled into his mirror, watching his godlike physique swell and bulge into astonishing shapes. He glanced down at the clock. Midnight. He snorted contemptuously. “Think I’ll hit the gym.” Of course he was stark naked and nothing he owned would fit him anymore. Then he remembered his old roommates Gym shorts. He pulled them from the wastebasket, shook the old underwear free from them and pulled them on. They were a perfect fit. Of course there was nothing else he could wear, so he’d have to go in only gym shorts. Ha. Fine with him. As soon as he stepped out his door he ran into Jimmy, the RA, looking sleep deprived as always. “Hey,” said Jimmy, as quizzical expression on his face, “I thought they kicked you out.” “That was my roommate,” rumbled Luke in his new baritone. “I thought your roommate was a little guy,” said Jimmy, looking more confused than ever. “I wouldn’t call him that,” said Luke, with a sly smile. “No, of course not,” said Jimmy. “Sorry if I gave away all your rubbers.” “No problem,” said Luke. “If I need any I can always borrow some from you.” “Nah, man,” said Jimmy. “They’d never fit you.” “No, they wouldn’t,” said Luke, tugging up on his gym shorts so they emphasized his ample package. “See you around.” Then he headed down the stairs to the lobby. He stopped by the security guard’s desk and said, “I’m going to the gym. Is that ok with you?” Luke saw the security guards eyes bug out at the unapologetic display of bugling, vein-ridden, masculine power standing in front of him. “Absolutely, sir. You go where ever you want whenever you want,” he said. “That’s what I thought,” said Luke, shooting the guard a cocky smile. He flexed his massive pecs for the guard, making them leap and dance, before heading out the door with his new rolling gate, courtesy of his gigantic, muscular thighs. As he walked across the campus, he saw the same shadowy figures moving just out of eyesight, but now they seemed tiny and inconsequential. And they seemed to be scurrying away from him just as fast as they could. Luke felt a self-satisfied smile manifest on his face as he enjoyed the sensation of his huge iron-like muscles shifting across his towering frame as he thundered through the night. When he got to the gym, he realized he had forgotten his ID card, but he went in anyway. Who was going to stop him? As soon as he walked in all eyes were on him. Of course they were. No one had seen anything like him in about a million years. One glance around showed him that The Douche was there. Could the night get any better? The Douche was doing Military presses; so, naturally, Luke set up right next to him. The Douche had one plate on each side of his bar. Luke added 4 plates to each side of his, knowing instinctively that his mammoth striated shoulders could easily handle the weight. He saw The Douche looking up at him with uncertain eyes as Luke began his set. Oh Luke loved this. He loved the feel of the weight in his hands. He loved feeling his muscles extend and contract powerfully as he raised and lowered the barbell over his head. He could feel his shoulders burning, his massive back heaving, his stone-like abs tightening. He felt like muscles were bulging out of his muscles as he finished his set and wracked the weight. He looked down at the substantially shorter Douche, and nodded at the guy’s barbell. “Light workout tonight?” “Yeah, yeah, sure,” said the Douche. “Me too,” grinned Luke, adding another plate to each side of his bar, and giving The Douche a good view of his monumental bulging, veiny biceps at the same time. “Do you think you could give me a hand?” “Ah… ah...,” stammered The Douche. “I’m kind of at the end of my workout. My shoulders are pretty beat. I don’t think I could spot you.” He began rubbing one of his shoulders and moving it around. “Spot me?” Luke laughed. “No dude, I was just noticing there aren’t any more plates nearby. I was going to ask you to grab onto the bar with both hands and hold on tight.” “What, you mean like this?” asked The Douche grabbing onto the bar. “That’s perfect,” said Luke grabbing the bar himself and lifting it out of the supports. “Hold on tight. ” Then Luke began his second set of military presses, lifting the bar with ten plates and the Douche hanging off of it, up and down over his head. Luke felt the burn intensely. This was actually turning out to be something of a challenge. The look on The Douche’s face was priceless. He looked torn between being scared, awestruck and humiliated. Good. Luke finished his ten reps and replaced the bar in the supports. The Douche was still hanging on for dear life. “You can let go now,” said Luke. “Thanks.” “Sure, sure,” said The Douche. “Let’s see what you’ve got,” said Luke. “What?” said The Douche. “Go on, flex. Let’s see what you’ve got.” “Ah… ok…,” said The Douche and flexed. Up came his baseball. Luke flexed, and up bulged his giant, throbbing, vein-covered mountain. Oh fuck yeah. The Douche’s eyes bugged out of his head. “I’ve… ah… gotta go now.” “Ok,” said Luke, “And cheer up. We’ve all gotta start somewhere. Although, looking at you…” And then it happened. Luke could tell The Douche had suddenly recognized him. The Douche’s mouth dropped open, he turned pale white and he looked like he was going to shit his pants. “It’s all about taking the right vitamins,” said Luke grinning, and intermittently flexing his massive pecs. The Douche turned and practically ran to the locker room. Luke just broke out laughing. Life was good. “Picking on the little guy, Muscles?” Luke turned around and there was Will, except it was more like Will and a half. His friend had gotten substantially bigger. He was at least f 4 inches taller, still dressed in his old street clothes, Luke could see big pecs were now stretching out his shirt, straining the buttons and pulling the front slightly apart. His upper arms had substantially expanded, and once again his shirt was challenged to contain both them and his meaty shoulders. And obviously muscular thighs were stretching out his pants. Soon he wouldn’t be alone. Soon there’d be another behemoth walking around Harvard. In fact, Will seemed to be growing faster than he had. Luke grinned. “Whoa Dude, what happened to you?” Will grinned. “I wanted to catch up with you so I embarked on an accelerated program of eating, sleeping, working out, and vitamin Y,” Will flexed causing his big arm to bulge up in his shirt and pop a few threads in his sleeve. “I feel like a new man!” “More like a rebooted ancient man,” said Luke, grinning. “So what do you think they’ll call us?” said Will. “I mean there’s been Cro-Magnon Man and Chancelade Man… What will we be called?” “I don’t know,” said Luke. “How about Harvard Man?”

Chapter 1; 2; 3; 4; 5; 6; 7 A/N: I just noticed that the chapters are getting progressively longer (this one is twice as long as the first one). Anyway, here it is, hope you guys enjoy, I tried a few ideas that sounded fun, so let me know what you guys know. As always, please do comment and critique (you could even pm me if you want). --- I woke up suddenly, because Ty got up in a rush with a quiet "Sorry, I really need to go." And he quickly thuded into the bathroom. I was unwilling to get up, so I kept my eyes closed and rolled over to the large warm area that smelled like his body. I guessed he really need to go, since he almost groaned with relief. And there was the powerful stream. And another, and again. Well, my peeing hypothesis was totally wrong, because nobody does Kegels first thing in the morning when they really need to pee. Oh well. I started wondering if he ever did that before, but I wasn't sure. I couldn't remember, but he always got up before me. And then there was a longer stream with less force. And then the flush of the toilet. More thuds, but these were slower and somehow more relaxed. "You're lying on my spot." "So?" "Should I lie down on your bed?" At this I cracked my eyes open, he stood at my feet, towering over my lying form. "Don't you dare, it would collapse under you. And you wouldn't fit in it anyway." "Well, that leaves me with just one option." He scratched at his furry cheek. "Hmm, if Ty falls on Eli in his apartment, and there's no one else there, does it make a sound?" With that, he seemed to start growing bigger, my brain still slow from the remains of sleep only realizing too late that he was falling on top of me- BANG! I flinched and yelped, shutting my eyes, before realizing that nothing hurt. I opened them again, and I could only see the dark brown of his skin filling my whole field of vision. I looked to the side, where I could see one of his arms supporting his frame. He must have extended them to catch himself. "Fuck, don't freak me out like that! I would've been flattened to a pancake under you!" "Aww, but don't you trust me? I won't ever hurt you." As I got my breath under control, I wanted to repay him, so I grabbed onto his nipples and tweaked hard, as that always hurt me like hell. He roared in response, and he almost let himself drop onto me again. "Fuuuck, don't do that! I thought you were angry at me, not horny." "What are you talking about, I just hurt you." There was a pause, before he shifted downward so we could see face to face while he was still above me, his arms supporting him. "Uh, pain wasn't what I felt. I, um, enjoy that, actually. No offense, but I really don't think you have the strength to hurt me doing that. Not without some tool at least." "Damn. Sorry I tried to hurt you." He chuckled "It's okay. You must have really been freaked out. I get it. I won't do something like that again. But I won't refuse if you want to twist my nipples. At least in private, I don't think many people would appreciate me roaring anytime you wanted." "Okay, got it. Well, there's no way I'm going back to sleep, I've got too much adrenaline in my system now. What about you? Should we get up, go do something?" "Hmm, I want to stay in bed some more." Then he grinned. "And you're staying with me." He went back to the original position, his pecs hovering just over my head, before he lowered himself so I was once again surrounded by his body. I tried to push him up, with no effect, but he was careful to let me breathe. It was quite comfortable, feeling him, putting a firm pressure on every part of me like a heavy and hot blanket. Like I was in a tight full-body cast and it tightened and relaxed around me a little with his every breath. The short hairs tickled my face slightly. "In the bathroom, you came, didn't you." He only hmmed affirmatively. "Do you do that often while here?" "Sometimes, does it bother you?" "I never noticed before. But no, it doesn't bother me. I mean, it's fairly common, right?" "Well, maybe not exactly common, not in my, uh, quantity, but yeah, some guys do that. And, I think it might happen more often, due to the recent developments. You cool with that?" "Yeah." We spent a little more time like that, before we decided to get up. We made ourselves some breakfast and we talked about what we wanted to do that day. We settled on some exercise first, then Ty wanted to give me a massage. We cleaned the dishes, and went outside, so Ty could exercise himself a bit, and give me some pointers. First, he told me to just slowly work on my walking, just feel through the whole process, feel when it hurt, when it felt wobbly, and such. I still used crutches, but I tried to use them as little as possible. It was all quite hard, since he went through his own routine, displaying his body with no indication my presence bothered him. His muscles, writhing under his dark skin as he commanded, holding his body in various positions without much apparent protest. Then he decided to work on my strength a little, letting me test myself against him, we had an armwrestling match where he of course held his own without any effort whatsoever. I even tried both my hands against his, without any change which wasn't that unexpected. He complimented me anyway. That felt pretty nice. Then he put me through modified push ups, where he knelt behind me and held my shins off the ground to not put any strain on the ankles. Then he made me do pull ups. He stood in front of me, and he put his flat hands, palms facing his torso, in front of his chest, so I could grab onto his fingers. He raised them until I dangled a couple inches in the air. To give me motivation, he promised a quick peck for every time I could pull myself up to his face. That was great, even though I didn't manage more than three reps in a set. Then we did L-sits together, I managed only a few seconds at a time, without having the strength to lift even one of my legs. Ty of course had no problem holding it the whole time even with me struggling on top of his tighs, but his encouragements made me push myself harder. When we ended the last exercise, I was panting, clutching at my sore belly, while leaning on his midsection for a while. Then we stood up to go inside and Ty grabbed me and slung me over his shoulder, giving me a great sight of his back, glutes, hamstrings, calves and the backs of his massive feet as he made his way over to the shower, where we washed the sweat off. We decided to go to the food court for lunch, as I wanted to go outside for change. I assured Ty that it would be fine to go on foot, I'd tell him if it hurt too much so he could carry me. We arrived, the court wasn't fully packed, which was good, I was fine walking here, but I wasn't sure if I could manage waiting in a queue for a long time. We got our food (it was a thick and quite spicy tomato soup with mealworms), Ty of course got a big bowl of it, and we made our way to 'his' table. The crafters made it because of his request, but they improved on the basic design, and it could be used by other people who were bigger in some way, fat, tall... We spent most of our meal in silence, but I noticed that he was slower than usual, I almost had my bowl empty while his was still half full. I put my hand on his fist, noting that it was clenched pretty hard. I rubbed at it to get his attention. "Everything alright, big guy?" "Huh? Oh, yeah, I, yeah, I think. I'm just freaking out a little bit, overthinking everything..." "Would it help if you told me and I gave my opinion?" "I'm not sure. But I want to deal with this on my own, if you don't mind." "Alright." I didn't stop rubbing his hand, and it did get more relaxed. "Can you relax your hand a little bit more? I want to try something." I finished the soup, so I had both of my hands free now, which I used to coax his fingers from the fist, and I tried to interweave the fingers of his hand and mine. His hand was too large for me to get all of his fingers, but I managed to grab his pinkie and ring finger, with my thumb reaching his knuckle from the underside. I smiled at my victory, and looked up, Ty's stunned face was looking back at me. "What?" "Nothing, it's just a bit surprising for me. Not in a bad way of course." "Your hands are not that big Ty." "No, I didn't mean it that- I just wasn't expecting it that's all." The rough pad of his thumb assured me to keep holding his hand. When he finished his bowl, Ty carried the dishes to the cleaning counter, while I made my way to the entrance. As he reached me, I asked him: "Your folks weren't here today?" "I didn't see them, so probably not, they're probably taking another shift." "Okay, you mind if we take a little detour at our way home?" "Not really." --- We visited a craftstore, where I got some bodypaint, which I usually only got for the kids. They always love making a mess. But this time, I was intending to use it in a more precise way then they did. I told Ty that I recently got a nice canvas to paint on. --- Along the way we talked about the massage, I wanted just a regular back rub. Back home, we put the cans of paint away, Ty got the oil from the kitchen, as he instructed me to take some towels and put them below me, strip down and lay on the futon. I made myself comfortable, my hands under my forehead, an additional rolled up towel under my ankles. I heard Ty approach thanks to his thudding accompanying him everywhere. "Okay, I'm going to straddle you, do you mind if I'll be nude?" "Hmm, not really, but won't your penis get in the way?" "Let me try it." I heard the rustle of him taking off his boxers, and he moved over me, put the bottle of oil near my head, he got in the position above me on all fours, and he got up into the kneeling position. I felt his hairy balls land between my thighs, just under my ass, but he didn't touch me otherwise. "Okay, so it shouldn't get in the way. Although it may drop some precum on you, that alright with you?" "Yeah it's fine, as long as you don't cum, I don't want to clean this room." I felt him move again, and then I felt his long and hot penis pressing into my back, then his pecs joined it and then he planted a kiss onto the back of my head. "Don't worry, I'm pretty good at holding back." He raised himself, and grabbed the bottle, pouring the oil into his hands, warming it up by rubbing them together. "Here I go." One of his hands landed on the small of my back covering a considerable area, exerting light pressure as he moved it towards my head in a very short time. The other hand joined it on the other side, but moving slower. He repeated this a few times, gradually adding pressure. Then he changed to just the tips of his joined fingers, focusing the pressure. A moan escaped me in response to his stimulation. I assured him that it feels great, and urged him to continue. I felt like I was melting under him. He started adding more circular motions, squiggles, sometimes going slow and hard with the heel of his hand along my spine, sometimes using quick brushes that danced along my skin, sometimes driving a tip of his finger into a sore spot, almost to the point of unbearable pain, while whispering soothing words to take my mind off of it. Then he returned back to the slow strokes, and he moved onto my traps and the back of my neck, working it like a dough he had to prepare for baking. And then he tapped on my back, lightly (for him) and rhythmically. He ended with going back to the start, with the very light strokes across my whole back, before just resting his hands there, letting me feel their warmth. I whined a little bit, sad that it was over already. He chuckled "Enjoyed it?" "Soo much..." I felt drained of all energy, yet rejuvenated at the same time. "Didn't feel the precum falling though." "Yeah, got lucky and it all fell on my hands. Don't worry, you'll still smell like me until you shower." He was right, I didn't notice it until now, but there was his musk in the air now... "When did you get so good at this?" "On the farm, we usually massage each other after work, so I got a lot of practice. Though I probably never felt like you did. Guess it'd take someone a lot stronger to give me a proper massage." "Have you thought about having more than one guy working you at a time? Maybe they could walk and stomp on your back. That has to do something, right?" "Hmm, never looked at it that way. I'll bring it up, see if they're up to it. Maybe even do a few push ups as long as they're up there." "You're unbelievable, isn't massage supposed to be about relaxing?" "I guess so. " "Anyway, my body is feeling limp like boiled noodles right now. I don't think I'll be able to paint..." "Aww, and I wanted to see you paint so much..." "You're like a kid. Just give me a few minutes, and I'll be up. Also you're kind of keeping me down." "Oh, right, sorry." He jumped up, moving to wash his hands and put away the oil. I gathered my energy and sat up slowly, checking on my body. Despite the seemingly rough treatment, I felt really good, more loose, more relaxed... "I'll have to persuade him to do this more often. Well, it's probably not going to take much persuasion, to be honest." I went for the paint cans, selecting three colors. Green, red and yellow. I turned to Ty, who was looking at me with that curious expression of his. "Can you bring a chair to the bathroom?" "Bathroom? Why there? And where's your canvas." "You're the canvas." I said with a smile. The confusion written in his face was quickly replaced by a questioning look and then it settled into a wide smile. "That's awesome!" In his joy, he grabbed the chair in one hand, and with the other he grabbed me by my waist, cans still dangling in my hands, as he practically skipped into the bathroom, his cock that became hard very fast leading the way. He set me and the chair down, looking at me. "So what do you need me to do? Should I hold you in front of my chest as you paint it? Should I hold some poses for you?" He started posing, going through several in a few seconds, not able to choose one... And his cock started flinging pre cum like yesterday. He was like an overgrown puppy, just crackling with energy at the prospect of his master giving him a treat. "Whoa, hey, settle down. Can you sit down here?" He froze in the middle of the side triceps pose. "Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry, I got carried away." "Don't apologize, it's great that you're so enthusiastic. Though I have to say, the painting itself won't probably be that exciting." He sat down, and I took an old rag and brought the chair closer to him but as I approached him from the front, I sat down on his thigh, it was like I was facing a wall of living stone, shivering with excitement. "Okay, now take a couple of deep breaths, and lean back a bit." I opened the cans and dipped a finger in the first paint as he followed my directions. I started to cover his massive chest in lines, circles of different color, noting the drops that were caught on his chest hair. Painting it in my emotions, wherever my hands wanted to roam I let them. Well, at first, I steered them away from his nipple, but as I looked up to his face, I could see him looking back with such intensity... I let myself brush against it, first with just the clean parts of my hands, as I drew them near the nipple, and then even putting just a dot of paint directly on the top of it. Both actions resulted in sharp inhales from him, and an intensifying of the precum dripping from his cock, which now formed a puddle between his legs, soaking my foot a bit. I repeated the same thing while sitting on the other leg, which gave me acces to his other side. Then I moved onto his abs, where I highlighted his bellybutton, and drew lines more or less pointing towards it. He politely moved his dick away when it got in my way. I got a bit playful, 'accidentaly' smudging a bit of paint on it. As I decided his front was covered enough, I stood up and went to get the chair. "Is this the end?" "No, I'll continue on your back. Unless you want me to stop." "Please continue, this is pretty intense. Oh, and just sit down on the chair, I'll move you." He added with a smirk. I sat down and he reached over with one hand, grabbed the leg of the chair, and moved it, with just a twist of his torso slightly behind him, then he faced to the front again, grabbed out with the same hand backward, and moved it again, so now I was right behind him, giving me the vast canvas of his back at my discretion. Then he gave me the cans. I started working again, noticing that as I progressed, his breathing became more heavy, the muscles clenching under my hands. "Are you okay? Do you need a pause?" "No." He sounded pretty angry. "Please continue, it's just much more intense than I thought it would be. I'm just having a hard time holding it back." "Holding what back?" And then it clicked, the heavy breathing, the twitching muscles, the words filtered through his clenched teeth, the memory of his hard cock growing harder during my work on his front... "Oh, you want to cum? Fire away at will. I don't have to be the only one painting here." I continued, now focused more on very slow, very light strokes along his back, sometimes leaning closer and helping the paint dry with a gentle breath... "Fuck-" Another dot. "I-" Another stroke, this time quick and short. "I'm-" I dipped my whole hand in the paint, meanwhile gently blowing on an empty patch of skin. "I'm gonna-" I slapped my hand on his skin with all the force I could muster. He roared like a bear, arched his back, and his dick exploded. The ropes of his cum splattered on the wall several feet in front of us, painting it in a vertical puddle of white goo that reached above my head. It was amazing to watch. As his orgasm died down, the cum created a path from the wall painting leading directly to the person responsible. "Woah." Still huffing, he began to laugh. "You just got me to cum with only some paint and breathing, without anything touching my dick and the only thing you can say is 'Woah.'? " "I'm kind of speechless right now." He stood up and turned to me, his still throbbing cock pointing at me, then he leaned down, grabbed me under my armpits and brought me to his mouth to kiss me. I happily reciprocated. After a long while we stopped. He put me down again and stomped to the mirror. "Now I really want to see what you painted." He looked at himself, turning one way and the other, visibly growing more confused. "Uh, no offense meant to your talent, but... This just looks like a painting of a three year old kid that just got crayons." "Actually, it's a very complex pattern of lines and dots, designed specifically to make the paintee more turned on and to bring them to climax. I got it from a magic book I was given by my great grandpa." I tried my hardest to look completely serious, looking at him through the mirror from his side. "Are you kidding me?" "Yes." "Aww, and here I thought you could do some more magic for me." "You're magical enough as is. I just basically let my fingers go across your skin, while thinking about you, me, us... I thought this would be a good, I guess, intimacy exercise, but apparently it's also a bit more for you. Which is great." "I love you." I looked at his face directly. I knew he meant it. The next sentence was easy to say. I may not have been able to pin my exact emotions about all this, but I felt sure that it was in the right place. "I love you too." I hugged him, planting kisses on the painted skin as he brought me even closer to him with his arms.

Beautiful and hot all at the same time!

I haven't posted any story before. The purpose of this teaser is twofold. It will give readers a vague hint of the setting, and I will become familiar with how this forum handles text layout-wise. Please tell me if something looks funny on your computers. There are so many things that may go wrong with computers and internet. In another thread, the text I posted was perceived as white letters on white background for some readers. Thatwas not intentionally, and I hope to avoid such problems. DISCLAIMER The teaser doesn't contain anything worth warning for, with the possible exception of slightly derogative designations of citizens of the USA and the Russian Federation, but some of the chapters of the finished story will. Do not read this if you find any of the aforementioned things offensive. Project Defender – The Teaser Janssens felt an icy chill in his chest. Earth was under attack. Communication with the Yankees, the Russkies and Beijing was lost, the satellites down and the trans-atlantic cable broken. Europe was on its own now, and the Space Squids annihilated city after city. He knew his duty. He had been hand-picked by Forces Spéciales and sent to the International Pan-European Research Facility B as a test subject. But to know one's duty and to feel relaxed were two different things. The results of The Program on some of his brothers-in-arms were as remarkable as the results on some were disastrous, and The Program was still on a prototype stage. Even if Doc, Viking Guy, Boffin and Coach did their best, none of them, nor he himself, could know for sure what would happen to him in the cylindric Chamber 1. Do you accept The Program? He hadn't been able to imagine how the Neuro-Reprogramming would feel. First, he reacted in fear. Do you accept The Program? No! No, no, no! It pressed its influence against his mind, trying to control him. You will accept The Program No! The fear of losing himself, the fear of becoming something else, something machine-like, something... You will accept The Program You will accept The Program You will ... something monstrous, something without control, something... accept The Program You will accept The Program You will accept The Program ... something totally amazing, something totally obedient, something totally martial... You will accept The Program You will accept SIR, YES SIR! And when the Phase of Neuro-Reprogramming was accomplished, the Phase of Physical Reprogramming was initiated. The inividual unit formerly known as 'Janssens' would never be entirely the same as before, but humankind would have another Defender. Chapter one will be found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/5059-project-defender-–-chapter-one/

This just keeps getting better. I love the creative ways of intimacy you're coming up with. The massage was quite traditional, but the body paint session was something else! Too often this genre feels like people following the same and same and same tropes. Content-wise, authors repeat what they already know, but chop off the edges in the process rather than adding anything. We only notice how a lot of the stuff out there is the same old thing when we read something as fresh as this

the bodypaint reminded me of those that some sex shop seels where you just throw yourself into teh paint and youa nd your partner just rolls into teh sheets when you are doing whatever you are doing. That's a cool thing for a moment i thought, they were gonna do that.

Love this story so much The body paint was a great idea, I'd love to do that

This is so sweet. I like how Ty reacts to Eli's touch. The big man getting so worked up by the person he cares about. And Eli doing more things to explore their intimacy, getting out of his confort zone to please his lover. I do wonder wat got Ty so upset un the dinner and Im glad Eli work through that to get to him.

This is great I followed the "Papa Werebear" stories for a long time.

Thank you for the support, I'm hoping to get the next part up within the next few days. Troy will finally become a fully formed werebear

interesting. Instead of werewolf you chage it to bears in all the aspects of the word. His life is gonna change from now on. I would love to read what's next

Yes, bears are my favorite flavor! More please!

wow.. very hot! can't wait for more!

Damn hot story!!! Please keep it going. Dying to hear more about their growth, especially legs, glutes, and their monstrous packages.

“THE ANATOMY LESSON” by LuvsMusl “Brian?” He was surprised to hear Coach Porter calling him from the other end of the locker room. Brian had taken to putting in extra sessions in the weight room after practice. The school’s compact but well equipped gym was usually packed with other kids, football players and wrestlers, mostly, until six o’clock or so. He would take a half hour break after football practice, gulp a mix of high energy carbs and BCAA’s, and then grab an hour or so in the gym by himself, lifting intensely without any distractions. Lifting was his passion, his obsession. He had no particular plans to seriously pursue bodybuilding or any other sport. He just loved the feel of the iron, and seeing himself get stronger week by week, and watching his muscles grow steadily bigger and harder. He looked up and smiled as Porter strolled toward him. “You’re here pretty late, Coach. Prepping for Friday night?” A jayvee game was being played the following evening. “No, just catching up on lesson plans and stuff. That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.” Brian shrugged slightly, pantomiming ‘what do you mean?’ “I’m about to do Anatomy with my senior Men’s Health class. Our class, I should say, since you’re in it.” “Okay…” “I was watching you in the weight room earlier…” Brian reddened a little, somewhat disconcerted at the thought that Coach had been secretly spying on him while he trained. “…And I was thinking. What if instead of just using those dumb charts, like every year, I get an actual guy, one of my athletes, to stand in front of the class and model the different joints and muscle groups as I point them out?” “Y’ mean –“ Porter chuckled at the anxious look on Brian’s face. “Yeah, dummy, I mean you. Just look at how well-defined your muscles are. It’ll be much clearer to people what I’m talking about than if I just point at flat diagrams on a chart. Am I right?” Brian went into his own head for a moment. He wasn’t much of an exhibitionist. Of course, it always made him feel good when girls, or other guys, made comments about how great his body looked. But now he pictured himself standing naked, or almost naked, in front of a room full of his classmates and teammates, being made to pose and flex. He couldn’t quite decide whether he hated the idea… or if… Porter decided for him. “Let’s just spend half an hour and see if we can plan it out. Grab a quick shower and then come on back to my office. Just your briefs. We can do a Speedo or something on Monday.” Without giving Brian a chance to answer, the coach turned and strode back toward his office. In the shower Brian thought more about the idea as he soaped himself up and started rinsing off. He was suddenly more focused than normal on his hard-earned eight pack, his thick pecs, his muscled arms and legs… all the while imagining the other guys in class staring at him in astonishment. In envy. Fuck, he suddenly thought. Why am I hard? A little disturbed that the image of himself preening and flexing in front of the twenty other men in his health class turned him on so much, he got to work furiously stroking his meaty cock (“My best body part,” he would joke whenever a girlfriend saw his thick 9.5 inches for the first time.) The giant boner was refusing to cooperate. He had to turn off the shower head and keep grabbing more palmfuls of pink liquid soap. Coach is waiting, he thought. How long have I been in here? Finally, to get the job done, Brian turned his mind back to the image of him flexing his massive physique in front of a roomful of admiring, lesser men. This got him a little closer. To cross the finish line he had to flex his pumped-up left bicep, and stare hard at the thick vein that crossed the deep, perfect separation between the muscle’s two heads. At the same time cranking his swollen tool with the other hand until finally, thankfully, he came, in a series of five emphatic spurts. Red-faced and breathless, he turned on the cold water to rinse his river of cum off the shower tiles, and off where it had splattered back onto his thighs. Porter sat at his desk, nervously laying out his anatomy notes. What’s taking him? “Coach?” He looked up and saw Brian, a little shy in skimpy red briefs, filling his office doorway. Filling was the right word. Dirty blond hair still wet from the shower, the kid, without gym shorts or a tank top interrupting the flow of his physique, looked like a young god. Porter felt something stirring downtown, and reflexively averted his eyes, glancing, for a moment, at the framed photo of his wife and two kids on the desk. “I’m, uh… ready when you are,” Brian mumbled, the hesitation in his voice suggesting otherwise. “Good. Good. We’ll get started in a sec.” Porter stood up, not sure how to begin. He found it literally impossible to avoid staring at the kid’s beautifully symmetrical, exquisitely sculpted body. He’d seen Brian in clothes, or in his football uniform, a thousand times. But seeing him now, like this, he realized that the boy’s perfect proportions disguised the reality of how big and full his muscles actually were. “My God, Brian, you really do have an amazing physique. What are you weighing right now?” “One ninety-seven, Coach,” Brian offered proudly. “My goal is to hit two ten by the end of the school year. Without sacrificing this…” He ran his palm over his flat, shredded midsection. Coach smiled. “A hard two ten, huh? And you’re what? Five eleven?” “Five nine.” Porter let out an impressed whistle. “That’ll be quite an accomplishment. Especially for a 17 year-old.” “I’m 18, actually. I missed a lot of school the year my family moved here, so I repeated fourth grade.” Porter felt himself blushing bright red and it terrified him, sickened him even, that his heart had leapt when he heard that Brian was over 18. What was he thinking? Brian noticed it, too. Was Coach turned on by him? Could Jack Porter, the school’s famously tough, macho, hard ass football coach possibly be aroused by the sight of his shirtless body? Were his muscles that impressive? He had no conscious intention to test this. But, apparently, there was an unconscious urge, because without any thought Brian tensed his pecs and they jumped for a second, ever so subtly, briefly revealing the nice separation between his upper and lower chest, and the deep indentations where the side of his pectoral muscles flowed into his delts. The look that flashed momentarily in Porter’s eyes told Brian everything. Oddly, instead of feeling uncomfortable he found himself growing more relaxed. Fully on purpose this time he lifted his arms and clasped his hands casually behind his head, knowing full well that this would accentuate the V-taper of his torso, bring his obliques into high relief, and flex his biceps into perfect, solid globes beside his head. “Let’s do this,” he said, suddenly sounding like the man in charge. Porter cleared his throat, knowing that if he didn’t his voice would break. “Um… I usually start with the midsection.” Brian moved to lower his hands, but the coach stopped him. “No, keep ‘em like they were, that’s perfect.” Brian interlaced his fingers behind his head again, this time tensing his body so that everything popped. “Yes, yes, that’s good,” Porter said, his words colored with way more excitement than he’d intended to convey. “I won’t do my whole spiel. But I’ll start by talking about your... your… uh… rectus abdominus… upper obliques… serratus anterior…” As he listed the muscles Porter’s hands moved over Brian’s body, gently at first, outlining each muscle as he named it, then pointing out all the individual examples of that type. “Very impressive, Brian,” he said, unable to stop himself from commenting. “Looks like every muscle in your body is perfectly developed.” “Thanks, I work hard at it.” Throughout the process Brian had kept watching the coach’s face, his eyes, enjoying the extreme reaction his physique was causing in the older man. It wasn’t clear whether Porter noticed his own breathing getting heavier, or his fingers spending more and more time on each of the muscles he enumerated… stroking and feeling its density, its elegant shape, its meaty perfection. But Brian noticed, and it thrilled him to his core. I fucking own this guy, he thought. I bet I could get him to do anything. As if sensing Brian’s thoughts the coach’s voice got a little soft and dreamy as he continued his exploration: “External intercostals. Beautiful.” He forgot to talk for the next minute or so as his hands continued wandering, tracing the transversus abdominus -- the muscular V that framed Brian’s lower abs -- and finally rested, once again, in the middle of the boy’s phenomenal, marble sculpture of a stomach. “Punch me,” Brian said. “What?” “Hit me, Coach, with your closed fist, as hard as you can.” Porter chuckled nervously. “I boxed in college, Brian. I had twenty-two amateur fights, I won most of them. Trust me, you don’t want me to hit you.” “If you want to touch any more of my muscles you’ll do it. And not a love tap, either. I want you to pull back and slam me with 100% of your full strength.” The coach was incredibly aroused by Brian’s confidence. And he craved seeing just how strong, how rock solid the kid’s magnificent eight pack was. He set his stance for maximum leverage, pulled his big fist back, and torqued his entire, solid 230 pounds toward Brian’s midsection. The 18 year-old didn’t budge, not a centimeter, didn’t register the blow at all, as Porter’s fist connected with the cinder-block wall that was his midsection. “Fuck!” Coach shouted in pain and pulled his arm back, moving his fingers to see whether any of the bones in his hand had cracked or even broken. Brian laughed, reveling more and more in his newfound power. “Pretty fucking hard, right? Tell the truth. You’ve never anyone with a body like this, let alone a kid.” He put his hands on his 28 inch waist and flared his lats, creating a mind-blowing V in a move that also showcased his spectacular, pumped-up delts, biceps, triceps, pecs… and of course that stone wall of a stomach. The coach was momentarily speechless. “N… No, Sir.” The ‘Sir’ surprised Brian. But no less than it shocked Porter, who had no idea why it had come out of his mouth. Well, he had some idea. Emboldened, Brian bent his right arm under his chin and flexed it, causing a diamond hard, perfectly shaped bicep peak to rise like a steely half moon above his brachialis. “Hey, Coach,” he teased. “Feel that shit. You know you want to.” Coach put his still-aching hand on the boy’s bicep and squeezed it, flushing with delight at how insanely hard and ungiving it was. He might as well have been squeezing a cue ball or a trailer hitch. “Go ahead, kiss it if you want. Put it in your mouth.” Porter met the boy’s gleaming eyes, which showed just how much Brian was getting off on teasing and dominating him. He leaned forward and kissed the stunningly perfect bicep as Brian flexed it again, making it even harder. Porter put his mouth around the granite sphere and sucked it as if it were a thick, juicy cock, slurping and moaning in delight. He would have gone on forever if Brian hadn’t finally stopped him, pushing the coach’s head away, disappointment and frustration darkening the older man’s face. “You like that, don’t you,” Brian teased, now “popping” the beautiful peak, making it jump, over and over, from flaccid to granite hard, a perfectly shaped beef balloon bouncing and swelling. “Boom! Boom! Boom!” “I like it very much, Sir.” “I’m a thousand times the man you’ll ever be. You know that, don’t you? And I’m still in fucking high school.” Brian was on auto-pilot now, improvising, riding his muscle bronco for all it was worth. “Yes, Brian. I mean, yes, Sir. It’s true.” “Fucking right it’s true. You’re hardly a man at all, compared to me. More like a worm. An insect. Next to this you’re nothing.“ He hit a tight most-muscular pose and his 18 year-old body congealed into an edifice of powerful, carved-up beef, veins like quarter-inch pipes throbbing in his thick neck, his brutal shoulders, his ungodly muscular arms. As the boy held the pose, twisting slightly left and right to deliver the full measure of his intimidating virility, Porter couldn’t keep himself from reaching down and stroking the excited thing that was growing inside his gym shorts. Seeing this, Brian stopped flexing, pushed the coach’s hand aside and grabbed hold of the man’s hard cock through his pants. “Is that what my big muscles do to you?” He squeezed Porter’s dick a little harder. “Yes, Sir. I love your big muscles. I live for your muscles.” Brian grinned, still not letting go. “Does it ever get this hard for Mrs. Porter?” He tightened his grip even more, staring into the coach’s eyes, grinning with amused contempt, a bald challenge. A surge of fury formed in the older man’s gut and rose to his throat, an instinctive reaction to his pupil’s brazen disrespect. But before Coach could act on this Brian lifted his callused palm to the coach’s cheek and gave it a patronizing pat. “It’s okay, Jack. My body has reduced better men than you to complete submission. Much better men.” Porter’s anger instantly shrank to a tiny pebble, washed away in the tidal wave of the muscleboy’s cockiness, his effortless dominance. A wet spot of pre-cum had started growing on the front of the coach’s pants. “Okay, let’s finish the lesson. I’ll flex my big teenage muscles and you tell my homies what they’re looking at.” Brian turned his back on Porter and unpacked a masterful rear biceps shot, a sweeping landscape of sculpted flesh that caused the coach to grab his desk for support. The boy reached his hands up and pulled his back into a tighter version of the pose, forcing even deeper valleys in the mountain range of thick muscle: “I’m waiting.” “Sorry, Sir. I’m sorry…” He had to catch his breath before he could start. “Well, um… those are your… your...” “Yeah, yeah, my fucking traps. My fucking lats. My beautiful fucking rhomboids. You’re boring me.” “But –“ “Shut up, worm. What about my glutes? …Are we going to talk about my glutes, Coach?” Without turning back around Brian pulled his briefs down and kicked them out of the way. Porter found himself staring at the most staggeringly beautiful 18 year-old muscle ass in the history of human asses. His knees buckled and he was on the floor, reduced to servitude by the sheer force of youthful male perfection that loomed in front of him. Brian clenched his curvaceous onion and it consolidated into a rock hard matrix of gluteal magnificence – deep grooves and solid ridges striping his shapely butt like the protective armor of some prehistoric creature. Coach made a little noise, from deep in his throat, like the cry of a dying loon. And then he lunged forward, propelling his face toward the tawny curve, the shadowy crescent that promised the fulfillment of his darkest, most joyful and secret dreams. But before Porter’s tongue could find its target Brian pivoted around and whacked Coach in the jaw with his massive billy club of an erect cock. When the older man recovered Brian grinned and wagged his big piece in Coach’s face, making it bounce with pure muscle control, which left his hands free to stroke his abs seductively. “It’s quite a bit bigger than yours, Jack. I guess that’s no surprise.” “No, Sir.” “Maybe if you’re a good boy I’ll let you suck this muscle cock.” “I’ll be a good boy, Sir. I promise.” “Who owns you, little man?” “You do, Sir.” Coach jerked a little, he was starting to cum in spite of himself. “Who’s your muscle master?” “You are!” “Who?” “You, Sir! Brian! Brian Hansen!” Brian laughed and shoved his battering ram of a tool into Coach’s mouth. He grabbed the back of Porter’s head and slammed it repeatedly against his own hard abs, rhythmically fucking the older man’s face as Porter gagged and choked in delirious ecstasy… holding on for dear life to the teen muscleman’s flaring vastus lateralis. With each hard thrust Brian yelled out a command: “Take that teenage cock! Eat that nasty dick muscle! Brian Hansen is God! Brian’s muscles rule your worthless life.” Coach gargled a worshipful assent, somehow forcing it past the wide pillar of cock that filled his throat. Suddenly Brian pulled out, stepping back and stroking his swollen red erection, which was still slick with the coach’s saliva. “You want some of this hot muscleboy cum?” “Yes, Sir!” “How bad do you want it?” “More than anything! A million times more than anything I’ve ever wanted!” “Then work for it. Talk about my muscles.” Brian continued massaging his engorged cock, no longer looking at Coach but instead giving full attention to his raging boner as Porter clamored to gather his thoughts and began talking: “You’re the king of muscle. You’re a boy with the body of a god. Your biceps are giant mountains of male power. Your body is the Master of all men. Every time you flex your giant muscles it’s like you’re fucking my brain, my heart, my soul. Fuck me, Muscle God! Fuck me with your big, powerful, fucking muscles!” Brian was getting closer. “Don’t stop! Grab hold of my balls.” The coach happily did what he was told. “I want your muscles, Brian. I love your muscles. Your muscles own me. I’m a lowly slave to your giant teenage muscles.” Brian was now really close. “Whose teenage muscles?” “Your teen age muscles! Muscle God Brian’s fucking powerful, godlike teenage muscles!” About to cum, Brian shoved the coach aside and continued the chant himself, crying out triumphantly with each stroke of his truly magnificent cock: “My muscles!... My muscles!... “Brian’s!... “Fucking!...Powerful!”... “Godlike!”….”MUSCLES!” And with that he shot, his 18 year-old firehose spewing thick muscleboy cum on the coach’s face, in his cum-hungry mouth, on his shirt, across the desk, drowning the anatomy notes in a huge pool of hot, creamy spooj. For a long moment they just sat there, man and boy (though it’s not entirely clear which was which), physically and emotionally spent. After a while Porter grabbed a gym towel and wiped the cum off his face. He smiled, shyly. “Thank you, Brian. I really mean it.” Brian shrugged. “No worries.” He stood up and noticed that his dick, still semi-erect, was continuing to drip cum on the coach’s carpet. Porter saw it, also. “Don’t bother about that. I’ll have the cleaning crew come in and spruce this place up on Saturday. Or maybe I’ll have the jayvee squad do it.” He chuckled at his own joke. “I guess I better go shower.” Porter looked up at the kid, who was more pumped and shredded than ever after the intense flexing session. Mother of Christ, he thought. That boy truly is a god. “Oh, Coach, one more thing. Could you maybe write me a pass to get out of fifth period on Monday? That way I can come here and pump up before Health class.” Porter grabbed his pad and scrawled out the note. He presented it to Brian, noticing the way the kid’s triceps flared into a huge, striated horseshoe as he leaned on the desk to take it from his hand.” “Thanks.” He flashed Porter a dazzling, toothy grin. “I can’t wait for Monday.” “Neither can I.” “And don’t worry, Coach. I won’t tell anyone you’re a fag.” He winked playfully and swaggered out of the office. His dimpled glutes seemed to mock Porter as they bounced and flexed into the darknesss of the locker room.